The Malefactor









.
30
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“She came into his arms with all the naturalness of a
child. (Page 304.)
[Prontispiece


The Malefactor
__
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
IS
AUTHOR OF
"The Hillman,” “The Double Traitor,"
“Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo," Etc.
With Frontispiece
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers
New York
Published by arrangement with LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY


2. Z fut 211.6.5
AVARD COLLEGE
HARVARO
Zway 5.1934
LIBRARY
Centurons Carvers
Copyright, 1905, 1907,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
All rights reserved


CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAPTER
PAGE
I. A SOCIETY SCANDAL . . . . . . . . .
II. OUTSIDE THE PALE. :........ 12
III. A STUDENT OF CHARACTER · ...... 20
IV. A DELICATE MISSION : ..........
V. THE GOSPEL OF HATE . . . . . . . .,
VI. “HAST THOU FOUND ME, O MINE ENEMY ?”
VII. LORD OF THE MANOR . .........
VIII. THE HEART OF A CHILD .......
IX. THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES .....
X. A FORLORN HOPE . . . . . . . . . ..
XI. PROFESSOR SINCLAIR'S DANCING ACADEMY. ...
XII. MEPHISTOPHELES ON A STEAMER . . .
XIII. A COCKNEY CONSPIRATOR ........
XIV. THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE . . .
XV. “DEVIL TAKE THE HINDMOST” ..... 120
XVI. THE HIDDEN HAND......... 128


CONTENTS
153
177
185
2 II
BOOK II
CHAPTER
PAGE
I. “MR. WINGRAVE, FROM 'AMERICA " . . . . 136
II. THE SHADOW OF A FEAR .....
III. JULIET Asks QUESTIONS. .....
IV. LADY RUTH'S LAST CARD • ... ... 160
V. GUARDIAN AND WARD .....
VI. GHOSTS OF DEAD THINGS . ....
VII. SPREADING THE NET . . . . .
VIII. IN THE TOILS. .......... 193
IX. THE INDISCRETION OF THE MARCHIONESS . 202
X. “I AM MISANTHROPOS, AND HATE MANKIND".
XI. JULIET GAINS EXPERIENCE . ...... 218
XII. NEMESIS AT WORK .........
XIII. RICHARDSON TRIES AGAIN . ......
XIV. “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT” ....
XV. AYNESWORTH PLANS A LOVE-STORY.... 245
XVI. A DEED OF GIFT . . . . . .
XVII. For Prry's SAKE . . . . . .
XVIII. A DREAM OF PARADISE. ....
XIX. THE AWAKENING .........
XX. REVENGE IS — BITTER .......
XXI. THE WAY OF PEACE . . . . . . . . 290
XXII. “ LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW” . .
in
N


THE MALEFACTOR
we bore ourselves, and we sleep - and all the rest of
the world does the same. Passion we have outgrown,
emotion we have destroyed by analysis. The storms
which shake humanity, break over other countries.
What is there left to us of life? Civilisation ministers
too easily to our needs, existence has become a habit.
No wonder that we are a tired race."
“Life is the same, the world over," another man
remarked. “With every forward step in civilisation,
life must become more mechanical. London is no
worse than Paris, or Paris than Tokio."
Aynesworth shook his head. “I don't agree with
you,” he replied. “It is the same, more or less, with
all European countries, but the Saxon temperament,
with its mixture of philosophy and philistinism, more
than any other, gravitates towards the life mechanical.
Existence here has become fossilised. We wear a mask
upon our faces; we carry a gauge for our emotions.
Lovell is going where the one great force of primitive
life remains. He is going to see war. He is going to
breathe an atmosphere hot with naked passion; he is
going to rub shoulders with men who walk hand in
hand with death. That's the sort of tonic we all
want, to remind us that we are human beings with
blood in our veins, and not sawdust-stuffed dolls."
Then Lovell broke silence. He took his pipe from
his mouth, and he addressed Aynesworth.
“Walter," he said, “ you are talking rot. There
is nothing very complex or stimulating about the pas-
sion of war, when men kill one another unseen; where
you feel the sting in your heart which comes from
God knows where, and you crumple up, with never
a chance to have a go at the chap who has potted you


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from the trenches, or behind a rock, a thousand yards
off. Mine is going to be, except from a spectacular
point of view, a very barren sort of year, compared with
what yours might be if the fire once touched your eyes.
I go where life is cruder and fiercer, perhaps, but you
remain in the very city of tragedies.”
Aynesworth laughed, as he lit a fresh cigarette.
“ City of tragedies ! ”, he exclaimed. “It sounds
all right, but it's bunkum all the same. Show me
where they lie, Lovell, old chap. Tell me where to stir
the waters."
Several of those who were watching him noticed a
sudden change in Lovell's face. The good-humour and
bonhomie called up by this last evening amongst his
old friends had disappeared. His face had fallen
into graver lines, his eyes seemed fixed with a curious
introspective steadiness on a huge calendar which
hung from the wall. When at last he turned towards
Aynesworth, his tone was almost solemn.
..
“Some of them don't lie so very far from the
surface, Walter," he said. “There is one” - he
took out his watch — " there is one which, if you like,
I will tell you about. I have just ten minutes."
“ Good!”
“Go ahead, Lovell, old chap!"
“ Have a drink first !”
He held out his hand. They were all silent. He
stood up amongst them, by far the tallest man there,
with his back to the chimney-piece, and his eyes still
lingering about that calendar.
“ Thirteen years ago,” he said, “ two young men —
call them by their Christian names, Wingrave and
Lumley — shared a somewhat extensive hunting box


THE MALEFACTOR
scarcely recognises. She was not one of these! She
seemed to carry with her the concentrated essence of
femininity. Her quiet movements, the almost noise-
less rustling of her clothes, the quaint, undistinguish-
able perfumes which she used, her soft, even voice,
were all things which seemed individual to her. She
was like a study in undernotes, and yet” – Lovell
paused a moment — “and yet no Spanish dancing
woman, whose dark eyes and voluptuous figure have
won her the crown of the demi-monde, ever possessed
that innate and mystic gift of kindling passion like
that woman. I told you I could n't describe her! I
can't! I can only speak of effects. If my story
interests you, you must build up your own idea of
her."
“Becky Sharpe!” Aynosworth murmured.
Lovell nodded.
"Perhaps," he admitted, “only Ruth was a lady.
To go on with my story. A hunting 'coterie,' as you
fellows know, means lots of liberty, and a general
free-and-easiness amongst the sexes, which naturally
leads to flirtations more or less serious. Ruth's little
affairs were either too cleverly arranged, or too harm-
less for gossip. Amongst the other women of the hunt,
she seemed outwardly almost demure. But one day
- there was a row!”
Lovell paused, and took a drink from a glass by his
side.
“I hope you fellows won't think that I'm spinning
this out,” he said. “It is, after all, in itself only a
commonplace story, but I've carried it locked up in
my memory for years, and now that I've let it loose,
it unwinds itself slowly. This is how the row came


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about. Lumley one afternoon missed Wingrave and
Ruth from the hunting field. Someone most unfor-
tunately happened to tell him that they had left the
run together, and had been seen riding together towards
White Lodge, which was the name of the house where
these two young men lived. Lumley followed them. -
He rode into the stable yard, and found there Ruth's
mare and Wingrave's covert hack, from which he had
not changed when they had left the field. Both ani-
mals had evidently been ridden hard, and there was
something ominous in the smile with which the head
groom told him that Lady Ruth and Wingrave were in
the house.
“ The two men had separate dens. Wingrave's
was much the better furnished, as he was a young
man of considerable taste, and he had also fitted it
with sporting trophies collected from many countries.
This room was at the back of the house, and Lumley
deliberately crossed the lawn and looked in at the
window."
Lovell paused for a moment or two to relight his
pipe.
“Remember,” he continued, “that I have to put
this story together, partly from facts which came to
my knowledge afterwards, and partly from reasonable
deductions. I may say at once that I do not know
what Lumley saw when he played the spy. The house-
keeper had just taken tea in, and it is possible that
Wingrave may have been holding his guest's hand,
or that something in their faces or attitude convinced
him that his jealousy was well founded. Anyhow, it
is certain that Lumley was half beside himself with
rage when he strode away from that window. Then in


THE MALEFACTOR
the avenue he must have heard the soft patter of hounds
coming along the lane, or perhaps seen the pink coats
of the huntsmen through the hedge. This much is
certain. He hurried down the drive, and returned with
Ruth's husband.”
Lovell took another drink. No one spoke. No
one even made a remark. The little circle of listeners
had caught something of his own gravity. The story
was an ordinary one enough, but something in Lovell's
manner of telling it seemed somehow to bring into their
consciousness the apprehension of the tangled web of
passions which burned underneath its sordid details.
“Ruth's husband — Sir William I will call him—
stood side by side with Lumley before the window.
What they saw I cannot tell you. They entered the
room. The true story of what happened there I doubt
if anyone will ever know. The evidence of servants
spoke of raised voices and the sound of a heavy fall.
When they were summoned, Sir William lay on the
floor unconscious. Lady Ruth had fainted; Lumley
and Wingrave were both bending over the former. On
the floor were fragments of paper, which were after-
wards put together, and found to be the remains of a
cheque for a large amount, payable to Lady Ruth, and
signed by Wingrave.
“ The sequel is very soon told. Sir William died
in a few days, and Wingrave, on the evidence of
Lumley and Ruth, was committed for manslaughter,
and sent to prison for fifteen years!”
Lovell paused. A murmur went round the little
group of listeners. The story, after all, except for
Lovell’s manner of telling it, was an ordinary one.
Everyone felt that there was something else behind.


THE MALEFACTOR
So they asked no questions whilst Lovell drank his
whisky and soda, and refilled his pipe. Again his
eyes seemed to wander to the calendar.
“ According to Lady Ruth's evidence,” he said
thoughtfully, “ her husband entered the room at the
exact moment when she was rejecting Wingrave's
advances, and indignantly refusing a cheque which
he was endeavouring to persuade her to accept. A
struggle followed between the two men, with fatal
results for Sir William. That,” he added slowly, “ is
the story which the whole world read, and which
most of it believes. Here, however, are a few cor-
rections of my own, and a suggestion or two for you,
Aynesworth, and those of you who like to consider
yourselves truth-seekers. First, then, Lady Ruth
was a self-invited guest at White Lodge. She had
asked Wingrave to return with her, and as they sat
together in his room, she confessed that she was
worried, and asked for his advice. She was in some
money trouble, ingeniously explained, no doubt.
Wingrave, with the utmost delicacy, offered his assist-
ance, which was of course accepted. It was exactly
what she was there for. She was in the act of taking
the cheque, when she saw her husband and Lumley.
Her reputation was at stake. Her subsequent course
of action and evidence becomes obvious. The cheque
unexplained was ruin. She explained it!
“ Of the struggle, and of the exact means by which
Sir William received his injuries, I know nothing.
There is the evidence! It may or may not be true.
The most serious part of the case, so far as Lady
Ruth was concerned, lay in the facts as to her hus-
band's removal from the White Lodge. In an un-


THE MALEFACTOR
Friend horam , live!
TASOT
conscious state he was driven almost twelve miles, at
a walking pace. No stimulants were administered,
and though they passed two doctors' houses no stop
was made. A doctor was not sent for until half an
hour after they reached home, and even then they
seemed to have chosen the one who lived furthest
away. The conclusion is obvious enough to anyone
who knows the facts of the case. Sir William was
not meant to live!
“ Wingrave's trial was a famous one. He had no
friends and few sympathisers, and he insisted upon
defending himself. His cross-examination of the man
who had been his friend created something like a
sensation. Amongst other things, he elicited the fact
that Lumley, after first seeing the two together, had
gone and fetched Sir William. It was a terrible half-
hour for Lumley, and when he left the box, amongst
the averted faces of his friends, the sweat was pouring
down his face. I can see him now, as though it were
yesterday. Then Lady Ruth followed. She was
quietly dressed; the effect she produced was excel-
lent. She told her story. She hinted at the insult.
She spoke of the cheque. She had imagined no harm
in accepting Wingrave's invitation to tea. Men and
women of the hunt, who were on friendly terms,
treated one another as comrades. She spoke of the
blow. She had seen it delivered, and so on. And all
the time, I sat within a few feet of Wingrave, and I
knew that in the black box before him were burning
love letters from this woman, to the man whose code
of honour would ever have protected her husband from
disgrace; and I knew that I was listening to the thing
which you, Aynesworth, and many of your fellow


10
THE MALEFACTOR
story-writers, have so wisely and so ignorantly dilated
upon — the vengeance of a woman denied. Only I
heard the words themselves, cold, earnest words, fall
one by one from her lips like a sentence of doom —
and there was life in the thing, life and death! When
she had finished, the whole court was in a state of ten-
sion. Everyone was leaning forward. It would be
the most piquant, the most wonderful cross-examination
ever heard — the woman lying to save her honour and
to achieve her vengeance; the man on trial for his
life. Wingrave stood up. Lady Ruth raised her veil,
and looked at him from the witness-box. There was
the most intense silence I ever realised. Who could
tell the things which flashed from one to the other
across the dark well of the court; who could measure
the fierce, silent scorn which seemed to blaze from
his eyes, as he held her there — his slave until he
chose to give the signal for release ? At last he looked
away towards the judge, and the woman fell forward
in the box gasping, a crumpled up, nerveless heap of
humanity.
"My lord,' he said, 'I have no questions to ask
this witness !!
“Everyone staggered. Wingrave's few friends were
horrified. After that there was, of course, no hope
for him. He got fifteen years' penal servitude.”
Like an echo from that pent-up murmur of feeling
which had rippled through the crowded court many
years ago, his little group of auditors almost gasped
as Lovell left his place and strolled down the room.
Aynesworth laid his hand upon his shoulder.
“ All the time,” he said, “ you were looking at that
calendar! Why?”
monity.
.


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11
Lovell once more faced them. He was standing
with his back to a round table, strewn with papers
and magazines.
“It was the date," he said, “and the fact that I
must leave England within a few hours, which forced
this story from me. To-morrow Wingrave will be
free! Listen, Aynesworth," he continued, turning
towards him, “and the rest of you who fancy that
it is I who am leaving a humdrum city for the world
of tragedies! I leave you the legacy of a greater
married to Lumley, and they hold to-day in London
a very distinguished social position. To-morrow Win-
grave takes a hand in the game. He was once my
friend; I was in court when he was tried; I was
intimately acquainted with the lawyer's clerk who had
the arrangement of his papers. I know what no one
else breathing knows. He is a man who never for-
gives; a man who was brutally deceived, and who for
years has had no other occupation than to brood upon
his wrongs. He is very wealthy indeed, still young,
he has marvellous tenacity of purpose, and he has
brains. To-morrow he will be free!”
Aynesworth drew a little breath.
“I wonder," he murmured, "if anything will
happen."
Lovell shrugged his shoulders.
“Where I go,” he said, "the cruder passions may
rage, and life and death be reckoned things of little
account. But you who remain - who can tell ? — you
may look into the face of mightier things."


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13
back to matters already discussed, solely for the pur-
pose of prolonging the interview.
"You have quite made up your mind, then, to put
the Tredowen property on the market,” he remarked.
“ You will excuse my reminding you of the fact that
you have large accumulated funds in hand, and nearly
a hundred thousand pounds worth of easily realisable
securities. Tredowen has been in your mother's family
for a good many years, and I should doubt whether it
will be easily disposed of.”
The man at the head of the table raised his head.
He looked steadily at the lawyer, who began to wish
that he had left the room with his clerk. Decidedly,
Sir Wingrave Seton was not an easy man to get on
with.
“My mind is quite made up, thank you, on this
and all other matters concerning which I have given
you instructions," was the calm reply. “I have had
plenty of time for consideration,” he added drily.
The lawyer had his opening at last, and he plunged.
“Sir Wingrave,” he said, “we were at college to-
gether, and our connection is an old one. You must
forgive me if I say how glad I am to see you here,
and to know that your bad time is over. I can assure
you that you have had my deepest sympathy. Noth-
ing ever upset me so much as that unfortunate affair.
I sincerely trust that you will do your best now to
make up for lost time. You are still young, and you
are rich. Let us leave business alone now, for the
moment. What can I do for you as a friend, if you
will allow me to call you so ?”
Wingrave turned slightly in his chair. In his
altered position, a ray of sunshine fell for the first


14
THE MALEFACTOR
him soubleshough he inheren
time upon his gaunt but striking face. Lined and
hardened, as though by exposure and want of per-
sonal care, there was also a lack of sensibility, an
almost animal callousness, on the coldly lit eyes and
unflinching mouth, which readily suggested some ter-
rible and recent experience - something potent enough
to have dried up the human nature out of the man
and left him soulless. His clothes had the impress of
the ready-made, although he wore them with a dis-
tinction which was obviously inherent; and notwith-
standing the fact that he seemed to have been writing,
he wore gloves.
"I am much obliged to you, Rocke,” he said. “Let
me repeat your question. What is there that you can
do for me?”
Mr. Rocke was apparently a little nonplussed. The
absolute imperturbability of the man who had once
been his friend was disconcerting.
“Well," he said, “ the governor sent me instead of
coming himself, because he thought that I might be
more useful to you. London changes so quickly —
you would hardly know your way about now. I
should like you to come and dine with me to-night,
and I'll take you round anywhere you care to go;
and then if you don't want to go back to your old
tradespeople, I could take you to my tailor and boot-
maker."
“Is this all ? ” Wingrave asked calmly.
Rocke was again taken aback.
“ Certainly not,” he answered. “There must be
many ways in which I could be useful to you, but I
can't think of them all at once. I am here to serve
you professionally or as a friend, to the best of my


THE MALEFACTOR
15
ability. Can you suggest anything yourself? What
do you want?”
“ That is the question," Wingrave said, “which I
have been asking myself. Unfortunately, up to now,
I have not been able to answer it. Regarding myself,
however, from the point of view of a third party, I
should say that the thing I was most in need of was
the society of my fellow creatures."
“Exactly," Rocke declared. “That is what I
thought you would say! It won't take us long to
arrange something of the sort for you.”
“Can you put me up,” Wingrave asked, " at your
club, and introduce me to your friends there?"
Rocke flinched before the steady gaze of those cold
enquiring eyes, in which he fancied, too, that a gloam
of malice shone. The colour mounted to his cheeks.
It was a most embarrassing situation.
“I can introduce you to some decent fellows, of
course, and to some very charming ladies," he said
hesitatingly, “but as to the club - I - well, don't
you think yourself that it would scarcely be wise
to "
“Exactly,” Wingrave interrupted. “And these
ladies that you spoke of "
“Oh! there's no difficulty about that,” Rocke de-
clared with an air of relief. “I can make up a littlo
dinner-party for to-night, if you like. There's an
awfully smart American woman over here, with the
Fanciful Fan Company -- I'm sure you 'd like her,
and she'd come like a shot. Then I'd get Daisy
Vane — she's all right. They don't know anything,
and would n't care if they did. Besides, you could
call yourself what you liked.”


16
THE MALEFACTOR
“ Thank you,” Wingrave said. “I am afraid I
did not make myself quite clear. I was not think-
ing of play-fellows. I was thinking of the men and
women of my own order. Shall I put the matter
quite clearly? Can I take my place in society under
my own name, renew my old friendships and build
up new ones? Can I do this even at the risk of a
few difficulties at first? I am not a sensitive man.
I am prepared for the usual number of disagreeable
incidents. But can I win my way through ?”.
With his back against the wall, Rocke displayed
more courage. Besides, what was the use of mincing
matters with a man who had all the appearance of
a human automaton, who never flinched or changed
colour, and whose passions seemed dried up and with-
ered things?
“I am afraid not, Sir Wingrave," he said. “I
should not recommend you to try, at any rate for the
present."
“ Give me your reasons," was the cool response.
“I will do so with pleasure," Rocke answered.
“ About the time of the trial and immediately after-
wards, there was a certain amount of sympathy for
you. People felt that you must have received a good
deal of provocation, and there were several unex-
plained incidents which told in your favour. To-day,
I should think that the feeling amongst those who
remember the affair at all is rather the other way.
You heard, I believe, that Lady Ruth married Lumley
Barrington ?”
“Yes.”
“Barrington has been very successful at the Bar,
and they say that he is certain of a judgeship before


THE MALEFACTOR
17
long. His wife has backed him up well, they have
entertained lavishly, and to-day I should think that she
is one of the most popular hostesses in London. In
her earlier days, I used to hear that she was one of
the very fast hunting set — that was the time when
you know her. I can assure you that if ever that was
true, she is a completely altered woman to-day. She
is patroness of half a dozen great charitable schemes,
she writes very clever articles in the 'Reviews on the
Betterment of the Poor Question, and Royalty itself
visits at her house."
“I see,” Wingrave said drily. “I was not aware
of these changes."
“If ever,” Mr. Rocke continued, “ people were in-
clined to look a little askance at her, that has all gone
by. To-day she is one of the last women in the world
of whom people would be likely to believe ill."
Wingrave nodded slowly.
“I am very much obliged to you," he said, “ for
this information. You seem to have come here to-
day, Mr. Rocke, with good intentions towards me.
Let me ask you to put yourself in my place. I am
barely forty years old, and I am rich. I want to
make the most of my life — under the somewhat pecu-
liar circumstances. How and where should you live?”
“It depends a little upon your tastes, of course,”
Rocke answered. “You are a sportsman, are you
not?”
“I am fond of sport,” Wingrave answered. “At
least I was. At present I am not conscious of having
any positive tastes.”
“I think,” Rocke continued, “ that I should first
of all change my name. Then, without making any


18
THE MALEFACTOR
effort to come into touch with your old friends, I
should seek acquaintance amongst the Bohemian world
of London and Paris. There I might myself, per-
haps, be able to help you. For sport, you might fish
in Norway or Iceland, or shoot in Hungary; you could
run to a yacht if you cared about it, and if you fancy
big game, why, there's all Africa before you."
Wingrave listened, without changing a muscle of
his face.
“ Your programme,” he remarked, “presupposes
that I have no ambitions beyond the pursuit of
pleasure.”
Rocke shrugged his shoulders. He was becoming
more at his ease. He felt that his advice was sound,
that he was showing a most comprehensive grasp of
the situation.
“I am afraid,” he said, “ that none of what we
call the careers are open to you. You could not enter
Parliament, and you are too old for the professions.
The services, of course, are impossible. You might
write, if your tastes ran that way. Nowadays, it
seems to be the fashion to record one's experiences in
print, if — if they should happen to be in any way
exceptional. I can think of nothing else! ” .
“I am very much obliged to you,” Wingrave said.
“ Your suggestions are eminently practical. I will
think them over. Don't let me keep you any longer ! ”
“ About this evening," Rocke remarked. “Shall
I fix up that little dinner-party? You have only to
say the word!”
“I am very much obliged to you, but I think not,”
answered Wingrave. “I will dine with you alone
some evening, with pleasure! Not just at present!”


THE MALEFACTOR
19
Rocke looked, as he felt, puzzled. He honestly
wished to be of service to this man, but he was at a
loss to know what further suggestion he could make.
There was something impenetrable about his client,
something which he could not arrive at, behind the
hard, grim face and measured words. He could not
even guess as to what the man's hopes or intentions
were. Eventually, although with some reluctance, he
took up his hat.
“Well, Sir Wingrave,” he said, “ if there is really
nothing I can do for you, I will go. If you should
change your mind, you have only to telephone. You
can command me at any time. I am only anxious
to be of service to you.”
“You have already been of service to me,” Win-
grave answered quietly. “You have spoken the
truth! You have helped me to realise my position
more exactly. Will you give your father my com-
pliments and thanks, and say that I am entirely sat-
isfied with the firm's conduct of affairs during my-
absence ?”
Rocke nodded.
“ Certainly," he said. “That will please the
governor! I must be off now. I hope you 'll soon
be feeling quite yourself again, Sir Wingrave! It
must seem a bit odd at first, I suppose, but it will
wear off all right. What you want, after all, is
society. Much better let me arrange that little dinner
for to-night!”
Wingrave shook his head.
“ Later on, perhaps," he answered. “Good
morning!"


CHAPTER III
A STUDENT OF CHARACTER
TEFT alone, Wingrave walked for several min-
utes up and down the room, his hands behind
him, his head bent. He walked, not restlessly,
but with measured footsteps. His mind was fixed
steadfastly upon the one immediate problem of his
own future. His interview with Rocke had unsettled
- to a certain extent unnerved - him. Was this
freedom for which he had longed so passionately, this
return into civilised life, to mean simply the exchange
of an iron-barred cell for a palace whose outer gates
were as hopelessly locked, even though the key was
of gold ? Freedom! Was it after all an illusion ?
Was his to be the hog's paradise of empty delights;
were the other worlds indeed forbidden? He moved
abruptly to the window and threw it open. Below was
Piccadilly, brilliant with May sunshine, surging with
life. Motors and carriages, omnibuses and bansoms,
were all jostled together in a block; the pavements
were thronged with a motley and ever-hurrying crowd.
It seemed to him, accustomed to the callous and hope-
less appearance of a less happy tribe, that the faces
of these people were all aflame with the joy of the
springtime. The perfume from the great clusters of
yellow daffodils and violets floated up from the flower-
sellers' baskets below; the fresh, warm air seemed to
bring him poignant memories of crocus-starred lawns,


THE MALEFACTOR
21
judgment of e_only. Betwortune. They
of trim beds of hyacinths, of the song of birds, of the
perfume of drooping lilac. Grim and motionless, as a
figure of fate, Wingrave looked down from his window,
with cold, yet discerning eyes. He was still an alien,
a denizen in another world from that which flowed
so smoothly and pleasantly below. It was something
to which he did not belong, which he doubted, indeed,
if ever again he could enter. He had no part in it, no
share in that vigorous life, whose throbbings he could
dimly feel, though his own heart was beating to a
slower and a very different tune. They were his fel-
lows in name only. Between him and them stood the
judgment of — Rocke!
The evil chances of the world are many! It was
whilst his thoughts travelled in this fashion that
the electric landaulette of Lady Ruth Barrington
glided round the corner from St. James' Street, and
joined in the throng of vehicles slowly making their
way down Piccadilly. His attention was attracted
first by the white and spotless liveries of the servants
-- the form of locomotion itself was almost new to
him. Then he saw the woman who leaned back
amongst the cushions. She was elegantly dressed;
she wore no veil; she did not look a day more than
thirty. She was attractive, from the tips of her patent
shoes, to the white bow which floated on the top of
her lace parasol; a perfectly dressed, perfectly turned
out woman. She had, too, the lazy, confident air of
a woman sure of herself and her friends. She knew
nothing of the look which flashed down upon her from
the window overhead.
Wingrave turned away with a little gasp; a half-
stifled exclamation had crept out from between his


22
THE MALEFACTOR
teeth. His cheeks seemed paler than ever, and his
eyes unnaturally bright. Nevertheless, he was com-
pletely master of himself. On the table was a large
deed box of papers, which Rocke had left for his
inspection. From its recesses he drew out a smaller
box, unlocked it with a key from his chain, and
emptied its sole contents — a small packet of letters
- upon the table. He counted them one by one.
They were all there — and on top a photograph. A
breath of half-forgotten perfume stole out into the
room. He opened one of the letters, and its few
passionate words came back to his memory, linked
with a hundred other recollections, the desire of her
eyes, of her lips raised for his, the caressing touch of
her fingers. He found himself wondering, in an
impersonal sort of way, that these things should so
little affect him. His blood ran no less coldly, nor did
his pulses beat the faster, for this backward glance
into things finished.
There was a knock at the door. He raised his head.
“ Come in!"
A slim, fair young man obeyed the summons, and
advanced into the room. Wingrave eyed him with
immovable face. Nevertheless, his manner somehow
suggested a displeased surprise.
“ Sir Wingrave Seton, I believe ?” the intruder
said cheerfully.
“ That is my name,” Wingrave admitted; “but
my orders below have evidently been disobeyed. I
am not disposed to receive visitors to-day.”
The intruder was not in the least abashed. He
laid his hat upon the table, and felt in his pocket.
“I am very sorry," he said. “They did try to


THE MALEFACTOR
23
keep me out, but I told them that my business was
urgent. I have been a journalist, you see, and am
used to these little manoeuvres.”
· Wingrave looked at him steadily, with close-drawn
eyebrows.
“Am I to understand," he said, "that you are in
here in your journalistic capacity?”
The new-comer shook his head.
“Pray do not think,” he said, “ that I should be
guilty of such an impertinence. My name is Aynes-
worth. Walter Aynesworth. I have a letter for you
from Lovell. You remember him, I daresay. Here
it is!”
He produced it from his breast coat-pocket, and
handed it over.
“Where is Lovell ?” Wingrave asked.
“He left for the East early this morning,” Aynes-
worth answered. “He had to go almost at an hour's
notice.”
Wingrave broke the seal, and read the letter through.
Afterwards he tore it into small pieces and threw
them into the grate.
“What do you want with me, Mr. Aynesworth ? "
he asked.
“I want to be your secretary,” Aynesworth answered.
“My secretary,” Wingrave repeated. “I am much
obliged to you, but I am not requiring anyone in that
capacity.”
“Pardon me," Aynesworth answered, “but I think
you are. You may not have realised it yet, but if
you will consider the matter carefully, I think you
will agree with me that a secretary, or companion of
some sort, is exactly what you do need."


24
THE MALEFACTOR
“ Out of curiosity,” Wingrave remarked, “I should
be glad to know why you think so."
« Certainly," Aynesworth answered. “In the first
place, I know the story of your life, and the unfor-
tunate incident which has kept you out of society for
the last ten years."
“From Lovell, I presume,” Wingrave interrupted.
“ Precisely," Aynesworth admitted. “ Ten years'
absence from English life to-day means that you re
turn to it an absolute and complete stranger. You
would be like a Cook's tourist abroad, without a guide
or a Baedeker, if you attempted to rely upon your-
self. Now I am rather a Bohemian sort of person,
but I have just the sort of all-round knowledge
which would be most useful to you. I have gone
a little way into society, and I know something
about politics. I can bring you up-to-date on both
these matters. I know where to dine well in town,
and where to be amused. I can tell you where to
get your clothes, and the best place for all the et-
ceteras. If you want to travel, I can speak French
and German; and I consider myself a bit of a
sportsman.”
“I am sure," Wingrave answered, “I congratulate
you upon your versatility. I am quite convinced!
I shall advertise at once for a secretary!”
“Why advertise ?” Aynesworth asked. “I am
here!”
Wingrave shook his head.
“ You would not suit me at all," he answered.
“Why not?” Aynesworth asked. “I forget whether
I mentioned all my accomplishments. I am an Ox-
ford man with a degree, and I can write tolerable


THE MALEFACTOR
25
English. I've a fair head for figures, and I don't
require too large a salary.”
"Exactly,” Wingrave answered drily. “You are
altogether too desirable! I should not require an Ad-
mirable Crichton for my purpose.”
Aynesworth remained unruffled.
“ All right," he said. “You know best, of course!
Suppose you tell me what sort of a man would satisfy
you!”
“Why should I ?” Wingrave asked coldly.
“ It would amuse me,” Aynesworth answered, “and
I've come a mile or so out of my way, and given up
a whole morning to come and see you. Go on! It
won't take long!”
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
“I will not remind you," he said, “that you came
on your own initiative. I owe you the idea, however,
so I will tell you the sort of person I shall look out
for. In the first place, I do not require him to be a
gentleman.”
“I can be a shocking bounder at times," Aynes-
worth murmured.
“He must be more a sort of an upper servant,"
Wingrave continued. “I should require him to obey
me implicitly, whatever I told him to do. You have
a conscience, I presume?”
“Very little," Aynesworth answered. “I have been
a journalist.”
“You have the remnants of one, at all events,"
Wingrave said, " quite sufficient, no doubt, to inter-
fere with your possible usefulness to me. I must
have someone who is poor — too poor to question my
will, or to dispute my orders, whatever they might be.”


26
THE MALEFACTOR
“I have never," Aynesworth declared,“ possessed
a superfluous half-crown in my life.”
“You probably possess what is called a sense of
honour,” Wingrave continued. “You would certainly
disapprove of some of my proceedings, and you would
probably disobey my orders.”
“ Sense of honour!” Aynesworth repeated. “You
have too flattering an opinion of me. I don't know
what it is. I always cheat at cards if I get the
chance."
Wingrave turned away.
“ You are a fool,” he said, “and you won't suit
me."
“ When can I come?” Aynesworth asked.
“ You can stay now,” Wingrave answered. “Your
salary will be four hundred a year. You will live
at my expense. The day you disobey an order of mine,
you go! No notice, mind !”
“Agreed,” Aynesworth answered. “What should
I do first? Send you a tailor, I should think.”
Wingrave nodded.
“I will give the afternoon to that sort of people,"
he said. “Here is a list of the tradesmen I used to
deal with. Kindly avoid them.”
Aynesworth glanced at the slip of paper, and
nodded.
“All out-of-date now," he remarked. “I'll be back
to lunch.”
-


CHAPTER IV
A DELICATE MISSION
AYNESWORTH was back in less than an hour.
He carried under his arm a brown paper
parcel, the strings of which he commenced
at once to untie. Wingrave, who had been engrossed
in the contents of his deed box, watched him with
immovable face.
“The tailor will be here at two-thirty," he an-
nounced, “and the other fellows will follow on at
half an hour's interval. The manicurist and the
barber are coming at six o'clock."
Wingrave nodded.
“What have you there?” he asked, pointing to the
parcel.
“ Cigars and cigarettes, and jolly good ones, too,”
Aynesworth answered, opening a fat tin box, and
smelling the contents appreciatively. “ Try one of
these! The finest Turkish tobacco grown!"
“I don't smoke,” Wingrave answered.
“Oh! you've got out of it, but you must pick it
up again," Aynesworth declared. “Best thing out
for the nerves - sort of humanises one, you know!"
“Humanises one, does it?” Wingrave remarked
softly. “Well, I'll try!”
He took a cigarette from the box, curtly inviting
Aynesworth to do the same.


28
THE MALEFACTOR
" What about lunch ? " the latter asked. “Would
you care to come round with me to the Cannibal
Olub ? Rather a Bohemian set, but there are always
some good fellows there."
“I am much obliged,” Wingrave answered. “If
you will ask me again in a few days' time, I shall be
very pleased. I do not wish to leave the hotel just at
· present.”
“Do you want me ? " Aynesworth asked.
“Not until five o'clock,” Wingrave answered. “I
should be glad if you would leave me now, and return
at that hour. In the meantime, I have a commission
for you."
“Good!” Aynesworth declared. “What is it?”
“You will go," Wingrave directed, “to No. 13,
Cadogan Street, and you will enquire for Lady Ruth
Barrington. If she should be out, ascertain the time
of her return, and wait for her.”
“ If she is out of town?”
“She is in London,” Wingrave answered. “I
have seen her from the window this morning. You
will give her a message. Say that you come from
me, and that I desire to see her to-morrow. The
time and place she can fix, but I should prefer not
to go to her house."
Aynesworth stooped down to relight his cigarette.
He felt that Wingrave was watching him, and he
wished to keep his face hidden.
“I am unknown to Lady Ruth," he remarked.
“ Supposing she should refuse to see me?"
Wingrave looked at him coldly.
“I have told you what I wish done,” he said.
“ The task does not seem to be a difficult one.


THE MALEFACTOR
29
Please see to it that I have an answer by five
o'clock "
Aynesworth lunched with a few of his particular
friends at the club. They heard of his new adven-
ture with somewhat doubtful approbation.
“ You 'll never stand the routine, old chap!”
" And what about your own work!”
“What will the Daily Scribbler people say?"
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.
“I don't imagine it will last very long," he an-
swered," and I shall get a fair amount of time to my-
self. The work I do on the Daily Scribbler does n't
amount to anything. It was a chance I simply
could n't refuse.” .
The editor of a well-known London paper leaned
back in his chair, and pinched a cigar carefully.
“You 'll probably find the whole thing a sell,” he
remarked. “The story, as Lovell told it, sounded
dramatic enough, and if the man were to come back
to life again, fresh and vigorous, things might happen,
provided, of course, that Lovell was right in his
suppositions. But ten or twelve years' solitary con-
finement, although it may n't sound much on paper,
is enough to crush all the life and energy out of a
man."
Aynesworth shook his head.
“ You have n't seen him," he said. “I have ! ”
“What's he like, Walter ?” another man asked.
“I can't describe him," Aynesworth answered. “I
should n't like to try. I 'll bring him here some day.
You fellows shall see him for yourselves. I find him
interesting enough.”
“ The whole thing," the editor declared, “ will fizzle


80
THE MALEFACTOR
out. You see if it does n't! A man who's just spent
ten or twelve years in prison is n't likely to run any
risk of going there again. There will be no tragedy;
more likely reconciliation.”
“Perhaps,” Aynesworth said imperturbably. “But
it was n't only the possibility of anything of that sort
happening, you know, which attracted me. It was the
tragedy of the man himself, with his numbed, help-
less life, set down here in the midst of us, with a
great, blank chasm between him and his past. What
is there left to drive the wheels? The events of one
day are simple and monotonous enough to us, because
they lean up against the events of yesterday, and the
yesterdays before! How do they seem, I wonder, to
a man whose yesterday was more than a decade of
years ago!"
The editor nodded.
“It must be a grim sensation," he admitted, “but
I am afraid with you, my dear Walter, it is an affair
of shop. You wish to cull from your interesting em-
ployer the material for that ever-becoming novel of
yours. Let's go upstairs! I've time for one pool.”
“I have n't,” Aynesworth answered. “I've a com-
mission to do."
He left the club and walked westwards, humming
softly to himself, but thinking all the time intently.
His errand disturbed him. He was to be the means
of bringing together again these two people who had
played the principal parts in Lovell's drama — his
new employer and the woman who had ruined his life.
What was the object of it? What manner of ven-
geance did he mean to deal out to her ? Lovell's
words of premonition returned to him just then with


32
THE MALEFACTOR
indeed left her untouched. Her figure was slight,
almost girlish; her complexion as smooth, and her
colouring, faint though it was, as delicate and natu-
ral as a child's. Her eyes were unusually large, and
the lashes which shielded them heavy. It was when
she looked at him that Aynosworth began to understand.
She carried his card in her hand, and glanced at
it as he bowed.
“You are the Daily Scribbler,” she said. “You
.want me to tell you about my bazaar, I suppose."
"I am attached to the Daily Scribbler, Lady Ruth
Barrington," Aynesworth answered; “but my busi-
ness this afternoon has nothing to do with the paper.
I have called with a message from — an old friend
of yours."
She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. The gra-
ciousness of her manner was perceptibly abated.
“Indeed! I scarcely understand you, Mr. —
Aynesworth.”
“My message," Aynesworth said, “is from Sir
Wingrave Seton.”
The look of enquiry, half impatient, half interrog-
ative, faded slowly from her face. She stood quite
still; her impassive features seemed like a plaster
cast, from which all life and feeling were drawn out.
Her eyes began slowly to dilate, and she shivered as
though with cold. Then the man who was watching
her and wondering, knew that this was fear - fear
undiluted and naked.
He stepped forward, and placed a chair for her.
She felt for the back of it with trembling fingers and
sat down.
“ Is — Sir Wingrave Seton — out of prison ?" she


THE MALEFACTOR
33
asked in a strange, dry tone. One would have thought
that she had been choking.
“ Since yesterday," Aynesworth answered.
“But his time — is not up yet?”
“There is always a reduction,” Aynesworth re-
minded her, “ for what is called good conduct."
She was silent for several moments. Then she
raised her head. She was a brave woman, and she
was rapidly recovering her self-possession.
“Well," she asked, “what does he want?”
“ To see you," Aynesworth answered, “to-morrow
afternoon, either here or at his apartments in the
Clarence Hotel. He would prefer not to come here ! "
“Are you his friend ?" she asked.
“I am his secretary," Aynesworth answered.
“ You are in his confidence ?"
“I only entered his service this morning,” he said.
“How much do you know,” she persisted, “ of the
unfortunate affair which led -- to his imprisonment?”
“I have been told the whole story," Aynesworth
answered.
Her eyes rested thoughtfully upon his. It seemed
as though she were trying to read in his face exactly
what he meant by “ the whole story.”
“Then,” she said, “ do you think that anything
but pain and unpleasantness can come of a meeting
between us?”
“ Lady Ruth,” Aynesworth answered, “it is not
for me to form an opinion. I am Sir Wingrave
Seton's secretary.”
“ What is he going to do?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” he answered.
“ Is he going abroad ? ”.


84
THE MALEFACTOR
“I know nothing of his plans,” Aynesworth de-
clared. “What answer shall I take back to him?"
She looked at him earnestly. Gradually her face
was softening. The frozen look was passing away.
The expression was coming back to her eyes. She
leaned a little towards him. Her voice, although it
was raised above a whisper, was full of feeling.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” she murmured, “I am afraid
of Sir Wingrave Seton!”
Aynesworth said nothing.
“I was always a little afraid of him," she con-
tinued, “even in the days when we were friendly.
He was so hard and unforgiving. I know he thinks
that he has a grievance against me. He will have
been brooding about it all these years. I dare not
see him! I-I am terrified!”
“If that is your answer," Aynesworth said, “I will
convey it to him!”
Her beautiful eyes were full of reproach.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, in a low tone, " for
a young man you are very unsympathetic."
“My position," Aynesworth answered, “ does not
allow me the luxury of considering my personal
feelings."
She looked hurt.
“I forgot,” she said, looking for a moment upon
the floor; “you have probably been prejudiced against
me. You have heard only one story. Listen” - she
raised her eyes suddenly, and leaned a little forward
in her chair-“some day, if you will come and see
me when I am alone and we have time to spare, I will
tell you the whole truth. I will tell you exactly what
happened! You shall judge for yourself !”


THE MALEFACTOR
35
Aynesworth bowed...
“ In the meantime?”
Her eyes filled slowly with tears. Aynesworth
looked away. He was miserably uncomfortable.
“You cannot be quite so hard-hearted as you try
to seem, Mr. Aynesworth,” she said quietly. “I
want to ask you a question. You must answer it!
You don't know how much it means to me. You are
Sir Wingrave Seton's secretary; you have access to
all his papers. Have you seen any letters of mine?
Do you know if he still has any in his possession ?”
“My answer to both questions is 'No!"" Aynes-
worth said a little stiffly. “I only entered the service
of Sir Wingrave Seton this morning, and I know
nothing at all, as yet, of his private affairs. And,
Lady Ruth, you must forgive my reminding you that,
in any case, I could not discuss such matters with
you,” he added.
She looked at him with a faint, strange smile.
Afterwards, when he tried to do so, Aynesworth found
it impossible to describe the expression which flitted
across her face. He only knew that it left him with
the impression of having received a challenge.
"Incorruptible!” she murmured. “ Sir Wingrave
Seton is indeed a fortunate man.”
There was a lingering sweetness in her tone which
still had a note of mockery in it. Her silence left
Aynesworth conscious of a vague sense of uneasiness.
He felt that her eyes were raised to his, and for some
reason, which he could not translate even into a def-
inite thought, he wished to avoid them. The silence
was prolonged. For long afterwards he remembered
those few minutes. There was a sort of volcanic


36
THE MALEFACTOR
intensity in the atmosphere. He was acutely conscious
of small extraneous things, of the perfume of a great
bowl of hyacinths, the ticking of a tiny French clock,
the restless drumming of her finger-tips upon the arm
of her chair. All the time he seemed actually to feel
her eyes, commanding, impelling, beseeching him to
turn round. He did so at last, and looked her full
in the face.
“Lady Ruth,” he said, “ will you favour me with
an answer to my message ?”
“ Certainly,” she answered, smiling quite natu-
rally. "I will come and see Sir Wingrave Seton at
four o'clock to-morrow afternoon. You can tell him
that I think it rather an extraordinary request, but
under the circumstances I will do as he suggests. He
is staying at the Clarence, I presume, under his own
name? I shall have no difficulty in finding him ?”
“He is staying there under his own name," Aynes-
worth answered, “ and I will see that you have no
difficulty.”
“So kind of you,” she murmured, holding out her
hand. And again there was something mysterious
in her eyes as she raised them to him, as though
there existed between them already some understand-
ing which mocked the conventionality of her words.
Aynesworth left the house, and lit a cigarette upon
the pavement outside with a little sigh of relief. He
felt somehow humiliated. Did she fancy, he won-
dered, that he was a callow boy to dance to any tune
of her piping - that he had never before seen a
beautiful woman who wanted her own way?


CHAPTER V
THE GOSPEL OF HATE
" AND what,” Wingrave asked his secretary as
they sat at dinner that night, “ did you
I think of Lady Ruth ?”
“ In plain words, I should not like to tell you,"
Aynesworth answered. “I only hope that you will
not send me to see her again."
" Why not?”
“Lady Ruth," Aynesworth answered deliberately,
“is a very beautiful woman, with all the most dan-
gerous gifts of Eve when she wanted her own way.
She did me the scanty honour of appraising me as
an easy victim, and she asked me questions.”
“For instance ?"
“She wanted me to tell her if you still had in your
possession certain letters of hers," Aynesworth said.
“Good! What did you say?"
“I told her, of course," Aynesworth continued,
" that having been in your service for a few hours
only, I was scarcely in a position to know. I ven-
tured further to remind her that such questions, ad-
dressed from her to me, were, to say the least of it,
improper."
Wingrave's lips parted in what should have been
a smile, but the spirit of mirth was lacking.
" And then?”


38
THE MALEFACTOR
“ There was nothing else," Aynesworth answered.
“She simply dismissed me."
“I can see,” Wingrave remarked, “ your grievance.
You are annoyed because she regarded you as too easy
a victim.”
“Perhaps," Aynesworth admitted.
“ There was some excuse for her, after all,” Win-
grave continued coolly. “She possesses powers which
you yourself have already admitted, and you, I should
say, are a fairly impressionable person, so far as her
sex is concerned. Confess now, that she did not leave
you altogether indifferent."
“Perhaps not,” Aynesworth admitted reluctantly.
He did not care to say more.
“In case you should feel any curiosity on the sub-
ject,” Wingrave remarked, “I may tell you that I have
those letters which she was so anxious to know about,
and I shall keep them safe — even from you! You can
amuse yourself with her if you like. You will never
be able to tell her more than I care for her to know."
Aynesworth continued his dinner in silence. After
all, he was beginning to fear that he had made a
mistake. Lovell had somehow contrived to impart a
subtly tragic note to his story, but the outcome of it
all seemed to assume a more sordid aspect. These
two would meet, there would be recriminations, a
tragic appeal for forgiveness, possibly some melo-
dramatic attempt at vengeance. The glamour of the
affair seemed to him to be fading away, now that he
had come into actual contact with it. It was not until
he began to study his companion during a somewhat
prolonged silence that he felt the reaction. It was
then that he began to see new things, that he felt the


THE MALEFACTOR
39
enthusiasm kindled by Lovell's strangely told story
begin to revive. It was not the watching for events
more or less commonplace which would repay him
for the step he had taken; it was the study of this
man, placed in so strange a position, – a man come
back to life, after years of absolute isolation. He
had broken away from the chain which links together
men of similar tastes and occupations, and which goes
to the creation of type. He was in a unique position !
He was in the world, but not of it. He was groping
about amongst familiar scenes, over which time had
thrown the pall of unfamiliarity. What manner of
place would he find what manner of place did he
desire to find ? It was here that the real interest of
the situation culminated. At least, so Aynesworth
thought then.
They were dining at a restaurant in the Strand,
which Aynesworth had selected as representing one,
the more wealthy, type of Bohemian life. The dinner
and wine had been of his choosing. Wingrave had
stipulated only for the best. Wingrave himself
had eaten very little, the bottle of wine stood half
empty between them. The atmosphere of the place,
the effect of the wine, the delicate food, and the
music, were visible to a greater or less degree, accord--
ing to temperament, amongst all the other little groups
of men and women by whom they were surrounded.
Wingrave alone remained unaffected. He was care-
fully and correctly dressed in clothes borrowed from
his new tailor, and he showed not the slightest signs
of strangeness or gaucherie amongst his unfamiliar
surroundings. He looked about him always, with the
cold, easy nonchalance of the man of the world. Of


40
THE MALEFACTOR
being recognised he had not the slightest fear. His
frame and bearing, and the brightness of his deep,
strong eyes, still belonged to early middle age, but
his face itself, worn and hardened, was the face of an
elderly man. The more Aynesworth watched him,
the more puzzled he felt.
“I am afraid," he remarked, “that you are dis-
appointed in this place.”
“Not at all,” Wingrave answered. “It is typical of
a class, I suppose. It is the sort of place I wished to visit.”
In a corner of the room Aynesworth had recognised
a friend and fellow clubman, who was acting at a
neighbouring theatre. He was dining with some
young ladies of his company, and beckoned to Aynes-
how with some
worth to come over and join them. He pointed them
out to Wingrave.
“Would you care to be introduced ?” he asked.
“Holiwell is a very good fellow, and the girls might
interest you. Two of them are Americans, and they
are very popular.”
Wingrave shook his head.
“ Thank you, no!” he said. “I should be glad
to meet your friend some time when he is alone.”
It was the first intimation which Aynesworth had
received of his companion's sentiments as regards the
other sex. Years afterwards, when his attitude
towards them was often quoted as being one of the
extraordinary features of an extraordinary personality,
he remembered his perseverance on this occasion.
“You have not spoken to a woman for so many
years," he persisted. “Why not renew the experi-
ence? Nothing so humanising, you know — not even
cigarettes."


THE MALEFACTOR
41
once before I am sorbe recon.
I can assure you
Wingrave's face fell, if possible, into sterner lines.
His tone was cold and hard.
“My scheme of life," he said, “ may be recon-
structed more than once before I am satisfied. But
I can assure you of this! There will be no serious
place in it for women!”
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders. He never
doubted but that in a month or two his vis-à-vis would
talk differently.
“Your scheme of life," he repeated thoughtfully.
“ That sounds interesting! Have you any objection,
I wonder, to telling me what manner of life you pro-
pose to lead ?”
It was several moments before Wingrave answered
him. He was smoking a cigar in a mechanical sort
of way, but he obviously derived no pleasure from
it. Yet Aynesworth noticed that some instinct had
led him to choose the finest brand.
“Perhaps,” he said, letting his eyes rest coldly
upon his questioner, "if I told you all that was in
my mind you would waive your month's salary and
get back to your journalism!”
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.
“Why should you suppose that?” he asked. “I
am not a moralist myself, nor am I the keeper of
your conscience. I don't think that you could frighten
me off just yet.”
“Nevertheless,” Wingrave admitted, “there are
times when I fear that we shall not get on together.
I begin to suspect that you have a conscience.”
“You are the first,” Aynesworth assured him,
“ who has ever flattered me to that extent.”
“It may be elastic, of course,” Wingrave continued,


42
THE MALEFACTOR
“ but I suspect its existence. I warn you that asso-
ciation with me will try it hard."
“I accept the challenge," Aynesworth answered
lightly.
“You are rasher than you imagine,” Wingrave
declared. “ For instance, I have admitted to you,
have I not, that I am interested in my fellow crea-
tures, that I want to mix with them and watch them
at their daily lives. Let me assure you that that
interest is not a benevolent one."
“I never fancied that you were a budding philan-
thropist," Aynesworth remarked, lighting a fresh
cigarette.
"I find myself,” Wingrave continued thoughtfully,
“in a somewhat unique position. I am one of the
ordinary human beings with whom the world is
peopled, but I am not conscious of any of the usual
weaknesses of sentiment or morality. For instance,
if that gentleman with the red face, who has obvi-
ously eaten and drunk too much, were to have an
apoplectic fit at the moment, and die in his chair, it
would not shock or distress me in the least. On the
contrary, I should be disposed to welcome his removal
from a world which he obviously does nothing to
adorn."
Aynesworth glanced at the person in question. . He
was a theatrical agent and financier of stock com-
panies, whom he knew very well by sight.
“I suppose," Wingrave continued, “ that I was
born with the usual moral sentiments, and the usual
feelings of kinship towards my fellow creatures. Cir-
cumstances, however, have wholly destroyed them. To
me, men have become the puppets and women the


THE MALEFACTOR
43
dancing dolls of life. My interest in them, if it exists
at all, is malevolent. I should like to see them all
suffer exactly as I have suffered. It would interest
me exceedingly.”
Still Aynesworth remained silent. He was anxious
to hear all that was in the other's mind, and he feared
lest any interruption might divert him.
“ There are men in the world,” Wingrave con-
tinued, “called philanthropists, amiable, obese crea-
tures as a rule, whose professed aim in life it is to
do as much good as possible. I take my stand upon
the other pole. It is my desire to encourage and to
work as much evil as possible. I wish to bring all
the suffering I can upon those who come within the
sphere of my influence.”
“ You are likely," Aynesworth remarked, " to
achieve popularity."
Wingrave regarded him steadfastly.
“Your speech,” he said, “is flippant, but you
yourself do not realise how near it comes to the
truth. Human beings are like dogs — they are always
ready to lick the hand that flogs them. I mean to
use the scourge whenever I can seize the opportunity,
but you will find the jackals at my heels, nevertheless,
whenever I choose to whistle." .
Aynesworth helped himself to a liqueur. He felt
that he needed it.
“ One weakness alone distresses me,” Wingrave
continued. “In all ordinary matters of sentiment I
am simply a negation. There is one antipathy, how-
ever, which I find it hard to overcome. The very
sight of a woman, or the sound of her voice, dis-
tresses me. This is the more unfortunate," he con-


THE MALEFACTOR
tinued, “because it is upon the shoulders of her sex
that the greater portion of my debt to my fellow
creatures rests. However, time may help me!”
Aynesworth leaned back in his chair, and con-
templated his companion for the next few moments
in thoughtful silence. It was hard, he felt, to take a
man who talked like this seriously. His manner was
convincing, his speech deliberate and assured. There
was not the slightest doubt but that he meant what
he said, yet it seemed to Aynesworth equally certain
that the time would come, and come quickly, when
the unnatural hardness of the man would yield to the
genial influence of friendship, of pleasure, of the
subtle joys of freedom. Those past days of hideous
monotony, of profitless, debasing toil, the long, sleep-
less nights, the very nightmare of life to a man of
Wingrave's culture and habits, might well have poi-
soned his soul, have filled him with ideas such as
these. But everything was so different now! The
history of the world could show no epoch when pleas-
ures so many and various were there for the man who
carries the golden key. To-day he was a looker-on,
and the ice of his years of bitterness had not melted.
To-morrow, at any moment, he might catch a whiff
of the fragrance of life, and the blood in his veins
would move to a different tune. This was how it
seemed to Aynesworth, as he studied his companion
through the faint blue mist of tobacco smoke.
“ This expression of your sentiments," he remarked
at last, " is interesting so far as it goes. I am, how-
ever, a practical person, and my connection with you
is of a practical order. You don't propose, I presume,
to promenade the streets with a cat-o'-nine-tails ? "


THE MALEFACTOR
45
“ Your curiosity,” Wingrave remarked, “is reason-
able. To-morrow I may gratify some portion of it
after my interview with Lady Ruth. In the mean-
time, I might remark that to the observant person
who has wits and money, the opportunities for doing
evil present themselves, I think, with reasonable fre-
quency. I do not propose, however, to leave things'
altogether to chance."
“A definite scheme of ill-doing," Aynesworth ven-
tured to suggest, “would be more satisfactory ?”
“Exactly," he admitted.
He called for the bill, and his eyes wandered once
more around the room as the waiter counted out
the change. The band were playing the “ Valse
'Amoureuse "; the air was grown heavy with the
odour of tobacco and the mingled perfumes of flowers
and scents. A refrain of soft laughter followed the
music. An after-dinner air pervaded the place. Win-
grave's lip curled.
“My lack of kinship with my fellows,” he re-
marked, “is exceedingly well defined just now. I
agree with the one philosopher who declared that'eat-
ing and drinking are functions which are better per-
formed in private.'"
The two men went on to a theatre. The play was,
a society trifle -- a thing of the moment. Wingrave
listened gravely, without a smile or any particular
sign of interest. At the end of the second act, he
turned towards his companion.
“ The lady in the box opposite,” he remarked, “ de-
sires to attract your attention.”
Aynesworth looked up and recognised Lady Ruth.
She was fanning herself languidly, but her eyes were


46
THE MALEFACTOR
fixed upon the two men. She leaned a little forward,
and her gesture was unmistakable.
Aynesworth rose to his feet a little doubtfully.
“ You had better go,” Wingrave said. “Present
my compliments and excuses. I feel that a meeting
now would amount to an ante-climax."
Aynesworth made his way upstairs. Lady Ruth
was alone, and he noticed that she had withdrawn
to a chair where she was invisible to the house. Even
Aynesworth himself could not see her face clearly at
first, for she had chosen the darkest corner of the
box. He gathered an impression of a gleaming white
neck and bosom rising and falling rather more quickly
than was natural, eyes which shone softly through the
gloom, and the perfume of white roses, a great cluster
of which lay upon the box ledge. Her voice was
scarcely raised above a whisper.
“That is — Sir Wingrave with you?” .
“Yes!” Aynesworth answered. “It was he who
saw you first!”
She seemed to catch her breath. Her voice was
still tremulous.
“He is changed,” she said. “I should not have
recognised him."
“ They were the best ten years of his life," Aynes-
worth answered. “Think of how and in what sur-
roundings he has been compelled to live. No wonder
that he has had the humanity hammered out of
him."
She shivered a little.
“Is he always like this?” she asked. “I have
watched him. He never smiles. He looks as hard as
fate itself.”


THE MALEFACTOR
“I have known him only a few hours,” Aynes-
worth reminded her.
“I dare not come to-morrow,” she whispered; “I
am afraid of him.”
“Do you wish me to tell him so ?” he asked.
“I don't know,” she answered. “You are very
unfeeling, Mr. Aynesworth.”
"I hope not,” he answered, and looked away towards
the orchestra. He did not wish to meet her eyes.
“You are!” she murmured. “I have no one to
whom I dare speak — of this. I dare not mention
his name to my husband. It was my evidence which
convicted him, and I can see, I know, that he is vin-
dictive. And he has those letters! Oh! if I could
only get them back!”
Her voice trembled with an appeal whispered but
passionate. It was wonderful how musical and yet
how softly spoken her words were. They were like
live things, and the few feet of darkened space through
which they had passed seemed charged with magnetic
influence.
“Mr. Aynesworth!”
He turned and faced her.
“ Can't you help me ?”
“I cannot, Lady Ruth.”
The electric bell rang softly from outside, and the
orchestra commenced to play. Lady Ruth rose and
looked at herself in the mirror. Then she turned
and smiled at her visitor. The pallor of her face
was no longer unnatural. She was a wonderful
woman.
“I shall come to-morrow," she said. “Shall I see
you?"


48
THE MALEFACTOR
“That,” he answered, “ depends upon Sir Win-
grave."
She made a little grimace as she dismissed him.
Wingrave did not speak to his companion for some
time after he had resumed his seat. Then he inclined
his head towards him.
“Have you come to terms with her ladyship?"
he asked drily.
“Not yet!” Aynesworth answered.
: “You can name your own price," he continued.
“ She will pay! Don't be afraid of making her bid
up. She has a good deal at stake!”
Aynesworth made no reply. He was thinking how
easy it would be to hate this man!


CHAPTER VI
“ HAST THOU FOUND ME, O MINE ENEMY?”
AYNESWORTH was waiting in the hall on the
following afternoon when Lady Ruth ar-
rived. He had half expected that she would
drive up to the side door in a hansom, would wear
a thick veil, and adopt the other appurtenances of a
clandestine meeting. But Lady Ruth was much too
clever a woman for anything of the sort. She de-
scended at the great front entrance from her own
electric coupé, and swept into the hotel followed by
her maid. She stopped to speak to the manager of the
hotel, who knew her from her visits to the world-
famous restaurant, and she asked at once for Sir
Wingrave Seton. Then she saw Aynesworth, and
crossed the hall with outstretched hand.
“How nice of you to be here,” she murmured.
“ Can you take me to Sir Wingrave at once? I have
such a busy afternoon that I was afraid at the last
moment that I should be unable to come!”
Aynesworth led her towards the lift.
“Sir Wingrave is in his sitting-room,” he remarked.
“It is only on the first floor.”
She directed her maid where to wait, and followed
him. On the way down the corridor, he stole a glance
at her. She was a little pale, and he could see that she
had nerved herself to this interview with a great
effort. As he knocked at the door, her great eyes were


THE MALEFACTOR
51
at her steadfastly. There were no signs of any sort
of emotion in his face. Whatever their relations in
the past might have been, it was hard to believe, from
his present demeanour, that he felt any.
“Wingrave,” she said softly, “are you going to be
unkind to me — you, whom I have always thought of
in my dreams as the most generous of men! I have
looked forward so much to seeing you again — to
knowing that you were free! Don't disappoint me!”
Wingrave laughed shortly, and Aynesworth bent
closer over his work, with a gathering frown upon
his forehead. A mirthless laugh is never a pleasant
sound. ;
“Disappoint you!” he repeated calmly. “No!
I must try and avoid that! You have been looking
forward with so much joy to this meeting then? I
am flattered.”
She shivered a little.
“I have looked forward to it," she answered, and
her voice was dull and lifeless with pain. “But you
are not glad to see me," she continued. “There is
no welcome in your face! You are changed — alto-
gether! Why did you send for me?”
“Listen!”
There was a moment's silence. Wingrave was
standing upon the hearthrug, cold, passionless, Sphinx-
like. Lady Ruth was seated a few feet away, but her
face was hidden.
“ You owe me something!” he said.
“ Owe — you something ?” she repeated vaguely.
“Do you deny it?” he said.
“ Oh, no, no!” she declared with emotion. “Not
for a moment."


52
THE MALEFACTOR
“I want,” he said, “to give you an opportunity
of repaying some portion of that debt!”.
She raised her eyes to his. Her whispered words
came so softly that they were almost inaudible.
“I am waiting,” she said. “Tell me what I can
do!”
He commenced to speak at some length, very im-
passively, very deliberately.
“ You will doubtless appreciate the fact," he said,
“ that my position, to-day, is a somewhat peculiar
one. I have had enough of solitude. I am rich! I
desire to mix once more on equal terms amongst my
fellows. And against that, I have the misfortune to
be a convicted felon, who has spent the last ten or a
dozen years amongst the scum of the earth, engaged
in degrading tasks, and with no identity save a num-
ber. The position, as you will doubtless observe, is a
difficult one."
Her eyes fell from his. Once more she shivered,
as though with physical pain. Something that was
like a smile, only that it was cold and lifeless, flitted
across his lips.
“I have no desire," he continued, “ to live in for-
eign countries. On the contrary, I have plans which
necessitate my living in England. The difficulties
by this time, are, without doubt, fully apparent to
you."
She said nothing. Her eyes were once more watch-
ing his face.
“My looking-glass,” he continued, “shows me
that I am changed beyond any reasonable chance
of recognition. I do not believe that the Wingrave
Seton of to-day would readily be recognised as the


THE MALEFACTOR
53
Wingrave Seton of twelve years ago. But I propose
to make assurance doubly sure. I am leaving this
country for several years, at once. I shall go to
America, and I shall return as Mr. Wingrave, mil-
lionaire – I propose, by the way, to make money
there. I desire, under that identity, to take my place
once more amongst my fellows. I shall bring letters
of introduction - to you.”
There was a long and somewhat ominous silence!
Lady Ruth's eyes were fixed upon the floor. She was
thinking, and thinking rapidly, but there were no signs
of it in her pale drawn face. At last she looked up..
“ There is my husband," she said. “He would
recognise you, if no one else did.”
“You are a clever woman," he answered. “I
leave it to you to deal with your husband as seems
best to you."
“Other people,” she faltered, “would recognise
you!”
“Do me the favour,” he begged her, “ to look at
me carefully for several moments. You doubtless
have some imperfect recollection of what I was.
Compare it with my present appearance! I venture
to think that you will agree with me. Recognition
is barely possible.”
Again there was silence. Lady Ruth seemed to
have no words, but there was the look of a frightened
child upon her face.
“I am sorry," he continued, “that the idea does
not appeal to you! I can understand that my pres-
ence may serve to recall a period which you and your
husband would doubtless prefer to forget "
“Stop!"


54
THE MALEFACTOR
A little staocato cry of pain; a cry which seemed
to spring into life from a tortured heart, broke from
her lips. Aynesworth heard it, and, at that moment,
he hated his employer. Wingrave paused for a mo-
ment politely, and then continued.
“But after all," he said, “I can assure you that
you will find very little in the Mr. Wingrave of New
York to remind you of the past. I shall do my utmost
to win for myself a place in your esteem, which will
help you to forget the other relationship, which, if
my memory serves me, used once to exist between
us!”
She raised her head. Either she realised that, for
the present, the man was immune against all senti-
ment, or his calm brutality had had a correspondingly
hardening effect upon her.
“If I agree,” she said, “ will you give me back my
letters ?”
“No!” he answered.
“What are you going to do with them?”
“It depends," he said, “ upon you. I enter into
no engagement. I make no promises. I simply re-
mind you that it would be equally possible for me
to take my place in the world as a rehabilitated Win-
grave Seton. Ten years ago I yielded to sentiment.
To-day I have outlived it.” :
“ Ten years ago," she murmured, “you were a
hero. God knows what you are now!”
“Exactly!” he answered smoothly. “I am free
to admit that I am a puzzle to myself. I find myself,
in fact, a most interesting study.”
“I consent,” she said, with a little shudder. “I
am going now.”


THE MALEFACTOR
55
“You are a sensible woman,” he answered.
" Aynesworth, show Lady Ruth to her carriage."
· She rose to her feet. Hung from her neck by a
chain of fine gold, was a large Chinchilla muff. She
stood before him, and her hands had sought its shelter.
Timidly she withdrew one.
“Will you shake hands with me, Wingrave ?" she
asked timidly.
He shook his head.
“Forgive me,” he said; “I may better my man-
ners in America, but at present I cannot."
She passed out of the room. Aynesworth followed,
closing the door behind them. In the corridor she
stumbled, and caught at his arm for support.
“Don't speak to me," she gasped. “Take me
where I can sit down.”
He found her a quiet corner in the drawing-room.
She sat perfectly still for nearly five minutes, with
her eyes closed. Then she opened them, and looked
at her companion.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” she said, “are you so poor
that you must serve a man like that?”
He shook his head.
“It is not poverty," he answered. “I knew his
history, and I am interested in him!”
“You write novels, don't you ?” she asked.
“I try,” he answered. “His story fascinated me.
He stands to-day in a unique position to life. I
want to see how he will come out of it.”
“ You knew his story - the truth?”
“Everything," he answered. “I heard it from a
journalist who was in court, his only friend, the only
man who knew."


56
THE MALEFACTOR
“ Where is he now?”
“On his way to Japan."
She drew a little breath between her teeth.
“ There were rumours,” she said. “It was hard for
me at first, but I lived them down. I was very young
then. I ought not to have accepted his sacrifice. I
wish to heaven I had not. I wish that I had faced
the scandal then. It is worse to be in the power of
a man like this to-day! Mr. Aynesworth!”
“Lady Ruth!”.
“Do you think that he has the right to keep those
letters ?”
“I cannot answer that question.”
“ Will you be my friend?”
“So far as I can- in accordance with my obliga-
tions to my employer!”
She tried him no further then, but rose and walked
slowly out of the room. He found her maid, and
saw them to their carriage. Then he returned to the
sitting-room. Wingrave was smoking a cigarette.
“I am trying the humanising influence,” he re-
marked. “Got rid of her ladyship?"
“Lady Ruth has just gone,” Aynesworth an-
swered.
“Have you promised to steal the letters yet?” he
enquired.
“ Not yet!"
“Her dainty ladyship has not bid high enough, I
suppose,” he continued. “Don't be afraid to open
your mouth. There's another woman there besides
- the Lady Ruth Barrington, who opens bazaars, and
patronises charity, and entertains Royalty. Ask what
you want and she 'll pay!”


THE MALEFACTOR
57
“What a brute you are!" Aynesworth exclaimed
involuntarily.
“Of course I am," he admitted. “I know that.
But whose fault is it? It is n't mine. I've lived the
life of a brute creature for ten years. You don't
abuse a one-legged man, poor devil. I've had other
things amputated. I was like you once. It seemed
all right to me to go under to save a woman's honour.
✓ You never have. Therefore, I say you've no right
to call me a brute. Personally, I don't object. It is
simply a matter of equity.”
“I amend it," Aynesworth declared. “You are
acting like a brute."
“Precisely. I did n't make myself what I am.
Prison did it. Go and try ten years yourself, and
you 'll find you will have to grope about for your
fine emotions. Are you coming to America with
me ?”
“I suppose so," Aynesworth answered. “When do
we start?”
“ Saturday week."
“Sport west, or civilisation east ?”
“Both," Wingrave answered. “Here is a list of
the kit which we shall require. Add yourself the
things which I have forgotten. I pay for both!”
“ Very good of you," Aynesworth answered.
“Not at all. I don't suppose you'd come without.
Can you shoot ?"
“ A bit,” he admitted.
“ Be particular about the rifles. I can take you to
a little corner in Canada where the bears don't stand
on ceremony. Put everything in hand, and be ready
to come down to Cornwall with me on Monday."


58
THE MALEFACTOR
“ Cornwall !” Aynesworth exclaimed. “What on
earth are we going to do in Cornwall ?”
“I have an estate there, the home of my ancestors,
which I am going to sell. I am the last of the Setons,
fortunately, and I am going to smash the family tree,
sell the heirlooms, and burn the family records ! ”
“I should n't if I were you,” Aynesworth said
quietly. “You are a young man yet. You may
come back to your own!”
“ Meaning ?”
“You may smoke enough cigarettes to become actu-
ally humanised! One can never tell! I have known
men proclaim themselves cynics for life, who have
been making idiots of themselves with their own chil-
dren in five years."
Wingrave nodded gravely.
“True enough," he answered. “But the one thing
which no man can mistake is death. Listen, and I
will quote some poetry to you. I think - it is soine-
thing like this: -
“ The rivers of ice may melt, and the mountains
crumble into dust, but the heart of a dead man is
like the seed plot unsown. Green grass shall not
sprout there, nor flowers blossom, nor shall all the
ages of eternity show there any sign of life.'”
He spoke as though he had been reading from a
child's Primer. When he had finished, he replaced
his cigarette between his teeth.
“I am a dead man," he said calmly. “Dead as
the wildest seed plot in God's most forgotten acre!”


CHAPTER VII
LORD OF THE MANOR
HE came slowly towards the two men through
the overgrown rose garden, a thin, pale, wild-
eyed child, dressed in most uncompromising
black. It was a matter of doubt whether she was the
more surprised to see them, or they to find anyone
else, in this wilderness of desolation. They stood face
to face with her upon the narrow path.
“Have you lost your way?” she enquired politely.
“We were told,” Aynesworth answered, “ that there
was a gate in the wall there, through which we could
get on to the cliffs.”
“ Who told you so ?” she asked.
“ The housekeeper,” Aynesworth answered. “I
will not attempt to pronounce her name."
“Mrs. Tresfarwin," the child said. “It is not
really difficult. But she had no right to send you
through here! It is all private, you know!”
“ And you?” Aynesworth asked with a smile, “ you
have permission, I suppose ? ”
“Yes!” she answered. “I have lived here all
my life. I go where I please. Have you seen the
pictures ?”
“We have just been looking at them,” Aynesworth
answered.
“ Are n't they beautiful ?” she exclaimed. “I-
oh!”


60
THE MALEFACTOR
She sat suddenly down on a rough wooden seat
and commenced to cry. For the first time Wingrave
looked at her with some apparent interest.
“Why, what is the matter with you, child ? ” Aynes-
worth exclaimed.
“I have loved them so all my life,” she sobbed;
“ the pictures, and the house, and the gardens, and
now I have to go away! I don't know where! No-
body seems to know!”.
Aynesworth looked down at her black frock.
“ You have lost someone, perhaps ?” he said.
“My father," she answered quietly. “He was
organist here, and he died last week.”
“And you have no other relatives ?” he asked.
“None at all. No one — seems — quite to know
what is going to become of me!” she sobbed.
“Where are you staying now?” he enquired.
“ With an old woman who used to look after our
cottage,” she answered. “But she is very poor, and
she cannot keep me any longer. Mrs. Colson says
that I must go and work, and I am afraid. I don't
know anyone except at Tredowen! And I don't know
how to work! And I don't want to go away from
the pictures, and the garden, and the sea! It is all
so beautiful, is n't it? Don't you love Tredowen?”
“Well, I have n't been here very long, you see,”
Aynesworth explained.
Wingrave spoke for the first time. His eyes were
fixed upon the child, and Aynesworth could see that
she shrank from his cold, unsympathetic scrutiny.
" What is your name?” he asked.
“ Juliet Lundy," she answered.
“How long was your father organist at the church?”


THE MALEFACTOR
61
rich manable. Accompanion ked,
towards dos he image.com
“I don't know," she answered. “Ever since I was
born, and before.”
“And how old are you?”
“Fourteen next birthday.”
“ And all that time,” he asked, “has there been no
one living at Tredowen ? ”.
“No one except Mrs. Tresfarwin,” she answered.
“ It belongs to a very rich man who is in prison.”
Wingrave's face was immovable. He stood on one
side, however, and turned towards his companion.
“We are keeping this young lady,” he remarked,
“ from what seems to be her daily pilgrimage. I
wonder whether it is really the pictures, or Mrs.
Tresfarwin's cakes?”
She turned her shoulder upon him in silent scorn,
and looked at Aynesworth a little wistfully.
“ Good-bye!” she said.
He waved his hand as he strolled after Wingrave.
“ There you are, Mr. Lord of the Manor," he said.
“ You can't refuse to do something for the child. Her
father was organist at your own church, and a hard
struggle he must have had of it, with an absentee
landlord, and a congregation of seagulls, I should
think.”
“ Are you joking ?” Wingrave asked coldly.
“I was never more in earnest in my life,” Aynes-
worth answered. “The girl is come from gentlefolks.
Did you see what a delicate face she had, and how
nicely she spoke? You would n't have her sent out
as a servant, would you ?”.
Wingrave looked at his companion ominously.
“You have a strange idea of the duties of a land-
lord,” he remarked. “Do you seriously suppose that


62
THE MALEFACTOR
I am responsible for the future of every brat who
grows up on this estate ?”.
“ Of course not!” Aynesworth answered. “You
must own for yourself that this case is exceptional.
Let us go down to the Vicarage and enquire about
it.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” Wingrave an-
swered. “Nor will you! Do you see the spray com-
ing over the cliffs there? The sea must be worth
watching."
Aynesworth walked by his side in silence. He
dared not trust himself to speak. Wingrave climbed
with long, rapid strides to the summit of the head-
land, and stood there with his face turned seawards.
The long breakers were sweeping in from the Atlantic
with a low, insistent roar; as far as the eye could
reach the waves were crusted with white foam. Every
now and then the spray fell around the two men in
a little dazzling shower; the very atmosphere was
salt. About their heads the seagulls whirled and
shrieked. From the pebbled beach to the horizon there
was nothing to break the monotony of that empty waste
of waters.
Wingrave stood perfectly motionless, with his eyes
fixed upon the horizon. Minute after minute passed,
and he showed no signs of moving. Aynesworth found
himself presently engaged in watching him. Thoughts
must be passing through his brain. He wondered what
they were. It was here that he had spent his boy-
hood; barely an hour ago the two men had stood
before the picture of his father. It was here, if any.
where, that he might regain some part of his older
and more natural self. Was it a struggle, he won-


64
THE MALEFACTOR
me unhappy. Would you like to go down on the
beach and look for shells? I can find you some very
pretty ones.”
They clambered down, and wandered hand in hand
by the seashore. She told him quaint little stories
of the smugglers, of wrecks, and the legends of the
fisher people. Coming back along the sands, she clung
to his arm and grew more silent. Her eyes sought
his every now and then, wistfully. Presently she
pointed out a tiny whitewashed cottage, standing by
itself on a piece of waste ground.
“ That is where I live now, at least for a day or
two,” she said. “They cannot keep me any longer.
When are you going away?”.
“Very soon, I am afraid, little girl," he answered.
“I will come and see you, though, before I go.”
“You promise," she said solemnly.
“I promise," Aynesworth repeated.
Then she held up her face, a little timidly, and
he kissed her. Afterwards, he watched her turn with
slow, reluctant footsteps to the unpromising abode
which she had pointed out. Aynesworth made his
way to the inn, cursing his impecuniosity and Win-
grave's brutal indifference.
He found the latter busy writing letters.
.“ Doing your work, Aynesworth ?” he remarked
coldly. “Be so good as to write to Christie's for
me, and ask them to send down a valuer to go through
the pictures."
* You are really going to sell!” Aynesworth ex-
claimed.
“Most certainly," Wingrave answered. “ Heir-
looms and family pictures are only so much rubbish


THE MALEFACTOR
65
to me. I am the last of my line, and I doubt whether
even my lawyer could discover a next of kin for
my personal property. Sell! Of course I'm going
to sell! What use is all this hoarded rubbish to me?
I am going to turn it into gold!”,
“ And what use is gold ?” Aynesworth asked cu-
riously. “ You have plenty!”
“Not enough for my purpose,” Wingrave declared.
“We are going to America to make more."
“ It 's vandalism!” Aynesworth said, “rank van-
dalism! The place as it is is a picture! The furni-
ture and the house have grown old together. Why,
you might marry!”
Wingrave scowled at the younger man across the
room.
“You are a fool, Aynesworth,” he said shortly.
“ Take down these letters.”
After dinner, Wingrave went out alone. Aynes-
worth followed him about an hour later, when his
work was done, and made his way towards the Vicar-
age. It was barely nine o'clock, but the little house
seemed already to be in darkness. He rang twice
before anybody answered him. Then he heard slow,
shuffling footsteps within, and a tall, gaunt man, in
clerical attire, and carrying a small lamp, opened
the door.
Aynesworth made the usual apologies, and was
ushered into a bare, gloomy-looking apartment, which,
from the fact of its containing a writing table and
a few books, he imagined must be the study. His
host never asked him to sit down. He was a long,
unkempt-looking man, with a cold, forbidding face,
and his manner was the reverse of cordial. .


THE MALEFACTOR
e for inclined as a poocniends Whittle ready
“I have called to seo you,” Aynesworth explained,
“with reference to one of your parishioners — the
daughter of your late organist.”
“ Indeed!” the clergyman remarked solemnly.
“I saw her to-day for the first time, and have only
just heard her story," Aynesworth continued. “It
seems to be a very sad one."
His listener inclined his head.
“I am, unfortunately, a poor man," Aynesworth
continued, “but I have some friends who are well
off, and I could lay my hands upon a little ready
money. I should like to discuss the matter with you,
and see if we cannot arrange something to give her
a start in life.”
The clergyman cleared his throat.
“It is quite unnecessary," he answered. “A con-
nection of her father's has come forward at the last
moment, who is able to do all that is required for
her. Her future is provided for."
Aynesworth was a little taken aback.
“I am very glad to hear it,” he declared. “I
understood that she had neither friends nor relations."
“You were misinformed," the other answered.
riends nor relatie
“She has more misinformed a
“May I ask who it is who has turned up so unex-
pectedly?” Aynesworth enquired. “I have taken
a great fancy to the child."
The clergyman edged a little towards the door, and
the coldness of his manner was unmistakable.
"I do not wish to seem discourteous," he said,
“but I cannot recognise that you have any right to
ask me these questions. You may accept my word
that the child is to be fittingly provided for.”


68
THE MALEFACTOR
“I am afraid," Aynesworth said, after a moment's
reflection, “ that it is impossible for me to leave.”
“Why?”
“You will think it a small thing," he said, “but
I have given my promise. I must see that child again
before I go!”
“You are referring,” he asked, “ to the black-
frocked little creature we saw about the place
yesterday?”
“ Yes ! ”
Wingrave regarded his secretary as one might look
at a person who has suddenly taken leave of his senses.
“I am sorry," he said, “ to interfere with your
engagements, but it is necessary that we should both
leave by the seven o'clock train to-morrow morning.”
Aynesworth reflected for a moment.
“If I can see the child first,” he said, “I will
come. If not, I will follow you at mid-day.”
“In the latter case,” Wingrave remarked, “pray
do not trouble to follow me, unless your own affairs
take you to London. Our connection will have ended.”
“You mean this?” Aynesworth asked.
“It is my custom,” Wingrave answered, “ to mean
what I say."
Aynesworth set his alarm that night for half-past
five. It seemed to him that his future would largely
depend upon how soundly the child slept.


CHAPTER VIII
THE HEART OF A CHILD
\HE cottage, as Aynesworth neared it, showed
no sign of life. The curtainless windows
were blank and empty, no smoke ascended
from the chimney. Its plastered front was innocent
of any form of creeper, but in the few feet of garden
in front a great, overgrown wild rose bush, starred
with deep red blossoms, perfumed the air. As he
drew near, the door suddenly opened, and with a
little cry of welcome the child rushed out to him.
“How lovely of you!” she cried. “I saw you
coming from my window! ”
“ You are up early," he said, smiling down at
her.
“ The sun woke me," she answered. “It always
does. I was going down to the sands. Shall we go
together? Or would you like to go into the gardens
at Tredowen? The flowers are beautiful there while
the dew is on them!”
“I am afraid,” Aynesworth answered, “ that I
cannot do either. I have come to say good-bye."
The light died out of her face all of a sudden.
The delicate beauty of her gleaming eyes and quiver-
ing mouth had vanished. She was once more the pale,
wan little child he had seen coming slowly up the
garden path at Tredowen.


70
THE MALEFACTOR
“You are going — 80 soon!” she murmured.
He took her hand and led her away over the short
green turf of the common.
“We only came for a few hours," he told her.
“But I have good news for you, Juliet, unless you
know already. Mr. Saunders has found out some of
your friends. They are going to look after you prop-
erly, and you will not be alone any more.”
“What time are you going?" she asked.
“Silly child,” he answered, giving her hand a
shake. “Listen to what I am telling you. You are
going to have friends to look after you always. Are n't
you glad ?”
“No, I am not glad,” she answered passionately.
“I don't want you to go away. I am — lonely."
Her arms suddenly sought his neck, and her face
was buried on his shoulder. He soothed her as well
as he could.
“I must go, little girl,” he said, “ for I am off
to America almost at once. As soon as I can after
I come back, I will come and see you.”
“ You have only been here one day," she sobbed.
“I would stay if I could, dear,” Aynesworth an-
swered. “ Come, dry those eyes and be a brave girl.
Think how nice it will be to go and live with people
who will take care of you properly, and be fond of
you. Why, you may have a pony, and all sorts of nice
things."
“I don't want a pony," she answered, hanging on
his arm. “I don't want to go away. I want to stay
here — and wait till you come back.”
He laughed.
“ Why, when I come back, little woman,” he an-


THE MALEFACTOR
swered, “ you will be almost grown up. Come, dry
your eyes now, and I tell you what we will do. You
shall come back with me to breakfast, and then drive
up to the station and see us off.”
“I should like to come,” she whispered, “but I
am afraid of the other gentleman."
“Very likely we sha'n't see him," Aynesworth
answered. “If we do he won't hurt you."
“I don't like his face !” she persisted.
“Well, we won't look at it,” Aynesworth answered.
“But breakfast we must have!”.
They were half-way through the meal, and Juliet
had quite recovered her spirits, when Wingrave en-
tered. He looked at the two with impassive face, and
took his place at the table. He wished the child
“Good morning" carelessly, but made no remark as
to her presence there.
“I have just been telling Juliet some good news,"
Aynesworth remarked. “I went to see Mr. Saun-
ders, the Vicar here, last night, and he has found
out some of her father's friends. They are going to
look after her.”
Wingrave showed no interest in the information.
But a moment later he addressed Juliet for the first
time.
“Are you glad that you are going away from
Tredowen ?” he asked.
“I am very, very sorry," she answered, the tears
gathering once more in her eyes.
“But you want to go to school, don't you, and see
other girls ?” he asked.
She shook her head decidedly.
“ It will break my heart," she said quietly, “ to


172
THE MALEFACTOR
leave Tredowen. I think that if I have to go away
from the pictures, and the garden, and the sea, I shall
never be happy any more.”
“ You are a child," he remarked contemptuously;
“ you do not understand. If you go away, you can
leam to paint pictures yourself like those at Tre-
dowen. You will find that the world is full of other
beautiful places!”
The sympathetic aspect of his words was altogether
destroyed by the thin note of careless irony, which
even the child understood. She felt that he was
mocking her. :
“I could never be happy," she said simply, “ away
from Tredowen. You understand, don't you?" she
added, turning confidentially to Aynesworth.
“ You think so now, dear," he said, “but remem-
ber that you are very young. There are many things
for you to learn before you grow up."
"I am not a dunce,” she replied. “I can talk
French and German, and do arithmetic, and play the
organ. Father used to teach me these things. I can
learn at Tredowen very well. I hope that my friends
will let me stay here.”
Wingrave took no more notice of her. She and
Aynesworth walked together to the station. As they
passed the little whitewashed cottage, she suddenly
let go his hand, and darted inside.
“Wait one moment,” she cried breathlessly.
She reappeared almost at once, holding something
tightly clenched in her right hand. She showed it to
him shyly.
“It is for you, please,” she said.
It was a silver locket, and inside was a little picture


THE MALEFACTOR
73
awa
emem
Chings
of herself. Aynesworth stooped down and kissed her.
He had had as many presents in his life as most men,
but never an offering which came to him quite like
that! They stood still for a moment, and he held
out her hands. Already the morning was astir. The
seagulls were wheeling, white-winged and noiseless,
above their heads; the air was fragrant with the
scent of cottage flowers. Like a low, sweet under-
note, the sea came rolling in upon the firm sands
- out to the west it stretched like a sheet of softly
swaying inland water. For those few moments there
seemed no note of discord — and then the harsh
whistle of an approaching train! They took hold of
hands and ran.
It was, perhaps, as well that their farewells were
cut short. There was scarcely time for more than
a few hurried words, before the train moved out from
the queer little station, and with his head out of the
window, Aynesworth waved his hand to the black-
frocked child, with her pale eager face already stained
with tears — a lone, strange little figure, full of a sort
of plaintive grace as she stood there, against a back-
ground of milk-cans, waving a crumpled handkerchief!
Wingrave, who had been buried in a morning paper,
looked up presently.
“If our journeyings,” he remarked drily, “are to
contain everywhere incidents such as these, they will
become a sort of sentimental pilgrimage."
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.
“I am sorry," he said, “ that my interest in the
child has annoyed you. At any rate, it is over now.
The parson was mysterious, but he assured me that
she was provided for.”
I can
cture


74
THE MALEFACTOR
Wingrave looked across the carriage with cold, re-
flective curiosity.
“Your point of view," he remarked, “is a mystery
to me! I cannot see how the future of an unfledged
brat like that can possibly concern you!”
“Perhaps not,” Aynesworth answered, “but you
must remember that you are a little out of touch with
your fellows just now. I daresay when you were my
age, you would have felt as I feel. I daresay that as
the years go on, you will feel like it again.”
Wingrave was thoughtful for a moment. .
“ So you think,” he remarked, “ that I may yet
have in me the making of a sentimentalist.”
Aynesworth returned his gaze as steadfastly.
.“ One can never tell,” he answered. “You may
change, of course. I hope that you will.”
“You are candid, at any rate!”
“I do not think,” Aynesworth answered, “that
there is any happiness in life for the man who lives
entirely apart from his fellow creatures. Not to feel
is not to live. I think that the first real act of kind-
ness which you feel prompted to perform will mark
the opening of a different life for you.”
Wingrave spread out the newspaper.
“I think,” he said, with a faint sneer, “ that it
is quite time you took this sea voyage."


CHAPTER IX
THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
TR. LUMLEY BARRINGTON, K.C. and
M.P., was in the act of stepping into his
carriage to drive down to the House, when
he was intercepted by a message. It was his wife's
maid who came hurrying out after him.
“I beg your pardon, sir," she said, “but her lady-
ship particularly wished to see you as soon as you
came in."
“Is your mistress in ?” Barrington asked in some
surprise.
“ Yes, sir!” the maid answered. “Her ladyship
is resting, before she goes to the ball at Caleram House.
She is in her room now.”
“I will come up at once,” Barrington said.
He kept the carriage waiting while he ascended to
his wife's room. There was no answer to his knock.
He opened the door softly. She was asleep on a
couch drawn up before the fire.
He crossed the room noiselessly, and stood looking
down upon her. Her lithe, soft figure had fallen
into a posture of graceful, almost voluptuous ease;
the ribbons and laces of her muslin dressing gown
quivered gently with her deep regular breathing. She
had thrown off her slippers, and one long, slender
foot was exposed; the other was doubled up under-
neath her body. Her face was almost like the face
has opened the Before the beasly, an


76
THE MALEFACTOR
of a child, smooth and unwrinkled, save for one line
by the eyes where she laughed. He looked at her
steadfastly. Could the closing of the eyes, indeed,
make all the difference? Life and the knowledge
of life seemed things far from her consciousness.
Could one look like that even in sleep — and under-
neath ! Barrington broke away from his train
of thought, and woke her quickly.
She sat up and yawned.
“ Parsons managed to catch you, then," she re-
marked.
“ Yes !” he answered. “I was just off. I got away
from Wills' dinner-party early, and called here for
some notes. I must be at the House” – he glanced
at the clock — “in three-quarters of an hour!”
She nodded. “I won't keep you as long as that."
Her eyes met his, a little furtively, full of enquiry.,
“I have done what you wished,” he said quietly.
“I called at the Clarence Hotel!.”
“ You saw him!”
“No! He sent back my card. He declined to see
me."
She showed no sign of disappointment. She sat
up and looked into the fire, smoothing her hair me-
chanically with her hands.
“Personally," Barrington continued, “I could see
no object whatever in my visit. I have nothing to say
to him, nor, I should think, he to me. I am sorry for
him, of course, but he'd never believe me if I told him
so. What happened to him was partly my fault, and
unless he's changed he's not likely to forget it.”
She swayed a little towards him.
“ It was partly — also — mine," she murmured.


178
THE MALEFACTOR
upon her husband's coat sleeve, “the thing happened
all in a second. I had the cheque in my hand when
you and Sir William came crashing through that
window, and Sir William's eyes were upon me. The
only way to save myself was to repudiate it, and let
Wingrave get out of the affair as well as he could. Of
course, I never guessed what was going to happen.”
“Then it was Wingrave," Barrington muttered,
“who played the game ?”
“ Yes ! ” Lady Ruth answered quietly. “But I am
not so sure about him now. You and I, Lumley,
know one another a little better to-day than we did
twelve years ago. We have had a few of the corners
knocked off, I suppose. I can tell you things now
I did n't care to then. Wingrave had lent me money
before! He has letters from me to-day, thanking
him for it.”
Barrington was a large, florid man, well built and
well set up. In court he presented rather a formi-
dable appearance, with his truculent chin, his straight,
firm mouth, and his commanding presence. Yet there
was nothing about him now which would have inspired
fear in the most nervous of witnesses. He looked like
a man all broken up by some unexpected shock.
“If he had produced those letters — at the
trial "
Lady Ruth shrugged her shoulders.
“I risked it, anyhow,” she said. “I had to. My
story was the only one which gave me a dog's chance,
and I did n't mean to go under — then. Wingrave
never gave me away, but I fancy he's feeling differ-
ently about it now! ”
“How do you know, Ruth ?”


THE MALEFACTOR
79
“I have seen him! He sent for me!” she an-
swered. “Lumley, don't look at me like that! We're
not in the nursery, you and I. I went because I had
to. He's going to America for a time, and then he's
coming back here. I think that when he comes back
- he means mischief !”
“He is not the sort of man to forget," Barrington
said, half to him lf.
She shuddered ever so slightly. Then she stretched
out a long white arm, and drawing his head suddenly
down to her, kissed him on the lips.
..“If only,” she murmured," he would give up the
letters! Without them he might say — anything. No
one would believe!”.
Barrington raised his eyes to hers. There was
something almost pathetic in the worshipping light
which shone there. He was, as he had always been,
her abject slave.
“ Can you think of any way?” he asked. “Shall
I go to him again?”
“ Useless !” she answered. “You have nothing to
offer in exchange. He would not give them to me.
He surely would not give them to you. Shall I tell
you what is in his mind? Listen, then! He is going
abroad to America almost at once. He is rich now;
he means to make more money there. Then he will
return, calling himself Mr. Wingrave — an American
— with imaginary letters of introduction to us. He
has ambitions — I don't know what they are, but they
seem to entail his holding some sort of a place in
society. We are to be his sponsors."
“Is it practicable ?” he asked.
“Quite," she answered. “He is absolutely un-


80
THE MALEFACTOR
recognisable now. He has changed cruelly. Can't
you imagine the horror of it? He will be always
in evidence; always with those letters in the back-
ground. He means to make life a sort of torture
chamber for us!”
“ Better defy him at once, and get it over,” Bar-
rington said. “ After all, don't you think that the
harm he could do is a little imaginary?”
She brushed the suggestion aside with a little shiver.
“ Shall I tell you what he would do, Lumley ? ” she
said, leaning towards him. “He would have my
letters, and a copy of my evidence, printed in an
elegant little volume and distributed amongst my
friends. It would come one day like a bomb, and
nothing that you or I could do would alter it in the
least. Your career and my social position would be
ruined. Success brings enemies, you know, Lumley,
and I have rather more than my share."
“Then we are helpless," he said.
“ Unless we can get the letters - or unless he should
never return from America," she answered.
Barrington moved uneasily in his seat. He knew
very well that some scheme was already forming in
his wife's brain.
“If there is anything that I can do," he said in
a low tone,“ don't be afraid to tell me."
“ There is one chance," she answered, “ a sort of
forlorn hope, but you might try it. He has a secretary,
a young man named Aynesworth. If he were on our
side "
“Don't you think,” Barrington interrupted, “ that
you would have more chance with him than I ?”
She laughed softly.


THE MALEFACTOR
81
“You foolish man,” she said, touching his fingers
lightly. “I believe you think that I am irresistible!”
“I have seen a good many lions tamed," he re-
minded her.
-“Nonsense! Anyhow, there is one here who seems
quite insensible. I have talked already with Mr.
Aynesworth. He would not listen to me!”
“ Ah!”
“Nevertheless," she continued softly, " of one thing
I am very sure. Every man is like every woman; he
is vulnerable if you can discover the right spot and
the right weapons. Mr. Aynesworth is not a woman's
man, but I fancy that he is ambitious. I thought that
you might go and see him. He has rooms somewhere
in Dorset Street."
He rose to his feet. A glance at the clock reminded
him of the hour.
“I will go,” he said. “I will do what I can. I
think, dear,” he added, bending over her to say fare-
well, “ that you should have been the man!”
She laughed softly.
“ Am I such a failure as a woman, then?” she asked
with a swift upward glance. “Don't be foolish,
Lumley. My woman will be here to dress me directly.
You must really go away.”
He strode down the stairs with tingling pulses, and
drove to the House, where his speech, a little florid
in its rhetoric, and verbose as became the man, was
nevertheless a great success.
“Quite a clever fellow, Barrington," one of his
acquaintances remarked, “when you get him away
from his wife.”


CHAPTER X
A FORLORN HOPE
YNESWORTH ceased tugging at the strap of
his portmanteau, and rose slowly to his feet.
I A visitor had entered his rooms — appar-
ently unannounced.
“I must apologise," the new-comer said, “for my
intrusion. Your housekeeper, I presume it was, whom
I saw below, told me to come up."
Aynesworth pushed forward a chair.
“Won't you sit down ?” he said. “I believe that
I am addressing Mr. Lumley Barrington.”
Not altogether without embarrassment, Barring-
ton seated himself. Something of his ordinary confi-
dence of bearing and demeanour had certainly deserted
him. His manner, too, was nervous. He had the air
of being altogther ill at ease.
“I must apologise further, Mr. Aynesworth,” he
continued, “ for an apparently ill-timed visit. You
are, I see, on the eve of a journey."
“I am leaving for America to-morrow," Aynes-
worth answered.
“With Sir Wingrave Seton, I presume ? " Barring-
ton remarked.
“Precisely,” Aynesworth answered.
Barrington hesitated for a moment. Aynesworth
was civil, but enquiring. He felt himself very awk-
wardly placed.
Orth-


THE MALEFACTOR
83
“Mr. Aynesworth," he said, “I must throw myself
upon your consideration. You can possibly surmise
the reason of my visit.”
Aynesworth shook his head.
“I am afraid,” he said, " that I must plead guilty
to denseness — in this particular instance, at any rate.
I am altogether at a loss to account for it.”
“You have had some conversation with my wife,
I believe?”
“Yes. But »
“Before you proceed; Mr. Aynesworth,” Barring-
ton interrupted, “ one word. You are aware that Sir
Wingrave Seton is in possession of certain documents
in which my wife is interested, which he refuses to
give up ???
“I have understood that such is the case,” Aynes-
worth admitted. “Will you pardon me if I add that
it is a matter which I can scarcely discuss ?”
Barrington shrugged his shoulders.
“Let it go, for the moment,” he said. “There is
something else which I want to say to you.”
Aynesworth nodded a little curtly. He was not
very favourably impressed with his visitor.
“Well!”
i Barrington leaned forward in his chair.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” he said, “you have made for
yourself some reputation as a writer. Your name has
been familiar to me for some time. I was at college,
I believe, with your uncle, Stanley Aynesworth.”
He paused. Aynesworth said nothing.
"I want to know," Barrington continued impres-
sively, “what has induced you to accept a position
with such a man as Seton ?"


THE MALEFACTOR
85
cannot understand why you should interest yourself
so much on my behalf.”
“If you wish me to speak in plain words," Bar-
rington said, “I will do so. I ask you to aid me as
a man of honour in the restoration of those letters
to my wife."
“I cannot do it," Aynesworth said firmly. “I am
sorry that you should have come to me with such an
offer. It is quite out of the question!”
Barrington held out his hand.
“Do not decide too hastily," he said. “Remember
this. Sir Wingrave Seton had once an opportunity
of putting those letters to any use he may have
thought fit. He ignored it. At that time, their tenor
and contents might easily have been explained. After
all these years, that task would be far more difficult.
I say that no man has a right to keep a woman's let-
ters back from her years after any friendship there
may have been between them is over. It is not the
action of an honourable man. Sir Wingrave Seton has
placed himself outside the pale of honourable men."
“Your judgment,” Aynesworth answered quietly,
“seems to me severe. Sir Wingrave Seton has been
the victim of peculiar circumstances.”
Barrington looked at his companion thoughtfully.
He was wondering exactly how much he knew.
“ You defend him," he remarked. “That is be-
cause you have not yet found out what manner of
man he is.”
“In any case,” Aynesworth answered, “I am not
his judge. Mr. Barrington,” he added, "you must
forgive me if I remind you that this is a somewhat
unprofitable discussion."


86
THE MALEFACTOR
as
A short silence followed. With Barrington it did
not appear to be a silence of irresolution. He was
leaning a little forward in his chair, and his head was
resting upon his hand. Of his companion he seemed
for the moment to have become oblivious. Aynes-
worth watched him curiously. Was he looking back
through the years, he wondered, to that one brief
but lurid chapter of history; or was it his own future
of which he was thinking, - a future which, to the
world, must seem so full of brilliant possibilities, and
yet which he himself must feel to be so fatally and
miserably insecure ?
“Mr. Aynesworth,” he said at last, “I suppose
from a crude point of view I am here to bribe you."
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.
“Is it worth while ?” he asked a little wearily.
“I have tried to be civil — but I have also tried
to make you understand. Your task is absolutely
hopeless ! ”
« It should not be," Barrington persisted. “This
is one of those rare cases, in which anything is justi-
fiable. Seton had his chance at the trial. He chose
to keep silence. I do not praise him or blame him for
that. It was the only course open to a man of honour.
I maintain that his silence then binds him to silence
for ever. He has no right to ruin my life and the hap-
piness of my wife by subtle threats, to hold those
foolish letters over our heads, like a thunderbolt held
ever in suspense. You are ambitious, I believe, Mr.
Aynesworth! Get me those letters, and I will make
you my secretary, find you a seat in Parliament, and
anything else in reason that you will!”
Aynesworth rose to his feet. He wished to intimate


THE MALEFACTOR
87
that, so far as he was concerned, the interview was at
an end. .
“ Your proposition, Mr. Barrington,” he said, “is
absolutely impossible. In the first place, I have no
idea where the letters in question are, and Sir Win-
grave is never likely to suffer them to pass into my
charge."
i “You have opportunities of finding out," Barring-
ton suggested.
“And secondly," Aynesworth continued, ignoring
the interruption, “whatever the right or the wrong
of this matter may be, I am in receipt of a salary
from Sir Wingrave Seton, and I cannot betray his
confidence.”
Barrington also rose to his feet. He was beginning
to recognise the hopelessness of his task.
“ This is final, Mr. Aynesworth ?” he asked.
.“ Absolutely!” was the firm reply.
Barrington bowed stiffly, and moved towards the
door. On the threshold he paused..
“I trust, Mr. Aynesworth,” he said hesitatingly,
“ that you will not regard this as an ordinary attempt
at bribery and corruption. I have simply asked you
to aid me in setting right a great injustice."
" It is a subtle distinction, Mr. Barrington," Aynes-
worth answered, “but I will endeavour to keep in
mind your point of view.”
Barrington drove straight home, and made his way
directly to his study. Now that he was free from his
wife's influence, and looked back upon his recent
interview, he realised for the first time the folly and
indignity of the whole proceedings. He was angry
that he, a man of common-sense, keen-witted and far-


88
THE MALEFACTOR
seeing in the ordinary affairs of life, should have
placed himself so completely in a false, not to say a
humiliating position. And then, just as suddenly, he
forgot all about himself, and remembered only her.
With a breath of violets, and the delicate rustling of
half-lifted skirts, she had come softly into the room,
and stood looking at him enquiringly. Her manner
seemed to indicate more a good-natured curiosity than
real anxiety. She made a little grimace as he shook
his bead.
“I have failed,” he said shortly. “That young
man is a prig!”
She sighed.
“I was afraid,” she said, “ that he would be ob-
stinate. Men with eyes of that colour always are!”
“ What are we to do, Ruth ?”
“What can we?” she answered calmly. “Nothing
but wait. He is going to America. It is a terrible
country for accidents. Something may happen to him
there! Do go and change your things, there's a dear,
and look in at the Westinghams' for me for an hour.
We'll just get some supper and come away."
“I will be ready in ten minutes, Barrington
answered. He understood that he was to ask no ques-
tions, nor did he. But all the time his man was
hurrying him into his clothes, his brain was busy
weaving fancies.


CHAPTER XI
PROFESSOR SINCLAIR'S DANCING ACADEMY
TR. SINCLAIR, or as he preferred to be
called, Professor Sinclair, waved a white kid
i glove in the direction of the dancing hall.
“ This way, ladies and gentlemen! ” he announced.
“A beautiful valse just about to commence. Tickets,
if you please! Ah! glad to see you, Miss Culling-
ham! You 'll find — a friend of yours inside!”
There was a good deal of giggling as the girls came
out from the little dressing room and joined their
waiting escorts, who stood in a line against the wall,
mostly struggling with refractory gloves. Mr. Sin-
clair, proprietor of the West Islington Dancing
Academy, and host of these little gatherings — for a
consideration of eighteen pence- did his best, by a run-
ning fire of conversation, to set everyone at their ease.
He wore a somewhat rusty frock coat, black trousers,
a white dress waistcoat, and a red tie. Evening dress
was not de rigueur! The money at the door, and that'
everyone should behave as ladies and gentlemen, were
the only things insisted upon.
Mr. Sinclair's best smile and most correct bow was
suddenly in evidence.
“ Mademoiselle Violet !” he exclaimed to a lady
who came in alone, “we are enchanted. We feared
that you had deserted us. There is a young gentle-


90
THE MALEFACTOR
man inside who is going to be made very happy. One
shilling change, thank you. Won't you step into the
cloak room ?”
The lady shook her head.
“ If you don't mind, Mr. Sinclair," she said, “I
would rather keep my hat and veil on. I can only
stay for a few minutes. Is Mr. Richardson here, do
you know? Ah! I can see him.”
She stepped past the Professor into the little danc-
ing hall. A young lady was pounding upon a piano,
a boy at her side was playing the violin. A few
couples were dancing, but most of the company was
looking on. The evening was young, and Mr. Sin-
clair, who later on officiated as M.C., had not yet
made his attack upon the general shyness. The lady
known as Mademoiselle Violet paused and looked
around her. Suddenly she caught sight of a pale,
anæmic-looking youth, who was standing apart from
the others, lounging against the wall. She moved
rapidly towards him.
“How do you do, Mr. Richardson ?” she said,
holding out her hand.
He started, and a sudden rush of colour streamed
into his cheeks. He took her hand awkwardly, and
he was almost speechless with nervousness.
“I don't believe you ’re at all glad to see me!” she"
remarked.
“Oh! Miss Violet!” he exclaimed. He would have
said more, but the words stuck in his throat.
“ Can we sit down somewhere?” she said. “I want
to talk to you.”
There were one or two chairs placed behind a red
drugget curtain, where adventurous spirits led their


92
THE MALEFACTOR
go away for a little time, if someone paid all your
expenses."
“ To go away!” he repeated blankly. “What for ? ”
Mademoiselle Violet leaned a little nearer to him.
“My mistress asked me yesterday,” she said, “ if
I knew anyone who could be trusted who would go
away, at a moment's notice, on an errand for her.”
“ Your mistress,” he repeated. “You really are a
lady's maid, then, are you?”
“Of course!” she answered impatiently. “Have n't
I told you so before? Now what do you say? Will
you go?”
“I dunno,” he angwered thoughtfully. “If it had
been for you, I don't know that I'd have minded. I
ain't fond of travelling."
“It is for me,” she interrupted hastily. “If I
can find her anyone who will do what she wants she
will make my fortune. She has promised. And
then "
“Well, and then?”
Mademoiselle Violet looked at him thoughtfully.
“I should not make any promises,” she said de
murely, “but things would certainly be different.”
The young man's blood was stirred. Mademoiselle
Violet stood to him for the whole wonderful world of
romance, into which he had peered dimly from behind
the counter of an Islington emporium. Her low
voice — so strange to his ears after the shrill chatter
of the young ladies of his acquaintance — the mystery
of her coming and going, all went to give colour to
the single dream of his unimaginative life. Apart
from her, he was a somewhat vulgar, entirely common-
place young man, of saving habits, and with some


THE MALEFACTOR
93
aptitude for business, in a small way. He had been
well on his way to becoming a small but successful
shop-keeper, thereby realising the only ideals which
had yet presented themselves to him, when Madame
Violet had unconsciously intervened. Of what might
become of him now he had no clear conception of
himself.
“I'll go !” he declared.
Mademoiselle Violet's eyes flashed behind her veil.
Her fingers touched his for a moment.
“ It is a long way,” she said.
“I don't care,” he answered valiantly.
“ To — America!”
“ America !” he gasped. “But — is this a joke,
Miss Violet?”
She shook her head.
“Of course not! America is not a great journey."
“ But it will cost "
She laughed softly.
“My mistress is very rich,” she said. “The cost
does not matter at all. You will have all the money
you can spend — and more.”
He felt himself short of breath, and bereft of words.
“Gee whiz!” he murmured.
They sat there in silence for a few moments. A
promenading couple put their heads behind the screen,
and withdrew with the sound of feminine giggling.
Outside, the piano was being thumped to the tune of a
popular polka.
“But what have I got to do?” he asked.
“ To watch a man who will go out by the same
steamer as you," she answered. “Write to London,
tell me what he does, how he spends his time, whether


94
THE MALEFACTOR
he is ill or well. You must stay at the same hotel in
Now York, and try and find out what his business is
there. Remember, we want to know, my mistress and
I, everything that he does.”
“Who is he?” he asked. “A friend of your
mistress ?”
“No!" she answered shortly," an enemy. A cruel
Á enemy - the cruellest enemy a woman could have!”
The subdued passion of her tone thrilled him. He
felt himself bewildered - in touch with strange things.
She leaned a little closer towards him, and that mys-
terious perfume, which was one of her many fascina-
tions, dazed him with its sweetness.
“If you could send home word,” she whispered,
" that he was ill, that anything had happened to him,
that he was not likely to return — our fortunes would
be made — yours and mine."
“Stop!” he muttered. “You - phew! it's hot
here!”
He wiped the perspiration recklessly from his fore-
head with a red silk handkerchief.
“What made you come to me?” he asked. “I
don't even know the name of your mistress."
“And you must not ask it," she declared quietly.
“ It is better for you not to know. I came to you
because you were a man, and I knew that I could trust
you."
Her flattery sank into his soul. No one else had
ever called him a man. He felt himself capable of
great things. To think that, but for the coming of
this wonderful Mademoiselle Violet, he might even
now have been furnishing a small shop on the out-
skirts of Islington, with collars and ties and gloves
this wonderful Moduk. that, but for the capable of


96
THE MALEFACTOR
dancing halls. She entered the little schoolroom, and
made her way to the platform, dispensing many smiles
and nods amongst the audience of the concert, which
was momentarily interrupted for her benefit. She
was escorted on to the platform by a young and earnest-
looking clergyman, and given a chair in the centre of
the little group who were gathered there. And after
the conclusion of the song, the clergyman expressed
his gratification to the audience that a lady with so
many calls upon her time, such high social duties,
should yet find time to show her deep interest in
their welfare by this most kind visit. After which,
he ventured to call upon Lady Barrington to say a
few words.


CHAPTER XII
MEPHISTOPHELES ON A STEAMER
N some respects, the voyage across the Atlantic
was a surprise to Aynesworth. His companion
· seemed to have abandoned, for the time at any-
rate, his habit of taciturnity. He conversed readily, if
a little stiftly, with his fellow passengers. He divided
his time between the smoke-room and the deck, and
very seldom sought the seclusion of his state-room.
Aynesworth remarked upon this change one night,
as the two men paced the deck after dinner.
“You are beginning to find more pleasure," he
said, “ in talking to people.”
Wingrave shook his head.
“ By no means," he answered coldly. “It is ex-
tremely distasteful to me.”
“ Then why do you do it?" Aynesworth asked
bluntly.
Wingrave never objected to being asked questions
by his secretary. He seemed to recognise the fact
that Aynesworth's retention of his post was due
to a desire to make a deliberate study of himself,
and while his own attitude remained purely nega-
tive, he at no time exhibited any resentment or
impatience.
“I do it for several reasons,” he answered. “First,
because misanthropy is a luxury in which I cannot
afford to indulge. Secondly, because I am really


98
THE MALEFACTOR
curious to know whether the time will ever return
when I shall feel the slightest shadow of interest in
any human being. I can only discover this by affect-
ing a toleration for these people's society, which I can
assure you, if you are curious about the matter, is
wholly assumed.”
Aynesworth shrugged his shoulders.
“Surely," he said, " you find Mrs. Travers enter-
taining ?”
Wingrave reflected for a moment.
“ You mean the lady with a stock of epigrams, and
a green veil ?” he remarked. “No! I do not find
her entertaining.”
“Your neighbour at table then, Miss Packe?”
“If my affections have perished,” Wingrave an-
swered grimly, “my taste, I hope, is unimpaired.
The young person who travels to improve her mind, and
fills up the gaps by reading Baedeker on the places
she has n't been to, fails altogether to interest me!”
“ Are n't you a little severe ? ” Aynesworth re-
marked.
“I suppose,” Wingrave answered, “ that it depends
upon the point of view, to use a hackneyed phrase.
You study people with a discerning eye for good
qualities. Nature — and circumstances have ordered
it otherwise with me. I see them through darkened
glasses.”
“ It is not the way to happiness," Aynesworth said.
“ There is no highroad to what you term happi-
ness," Wingrave answered. “ One holds the string
and follows into the maze. But one does not choose
one's way. You are perhaps more fortunate than I
that you can appreciate Mrs. Travers' wit, and find


THE MALEFACTOR
99
my neighbour, who has done Europe, attractive. That
is a matter of disposition.”
“I should like,” Aynesworth remarked, “ to have
known you fifteen years ago.”
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
“I fancy,” he said, “ that I was a fairly average
person — I mean that I was possessed of an average
share of the humanities. I have only my memory to
go by. I am one of those fortunate persons, you see,
who have realised an actual reincarnation. I have the
advantage of having looked out upon life from two
different sets of windows. — By the bye, Aynesworth,
have you noticed that unwholesome-looking youth in
a serge suit there?”
Aynesworth nodded.
.“ What about him?"
“I fancy that he must know - my history. He
sits all day long smoking bad cigarettes and watching
me. He makes clumsy attempts to enter into conver-
sation with me. He is interested in us for some
reason or other."
Aynesworth nodded.
“Shocking young bounder," he remarked. “I've
noticed him myself.”
“ Talk to him some time, and find out what he
means by it,” Wingrave said. “I don't want to find
my biography in the American newspapers. It might
interfere with my operations there. Here's this
woman. coming to worry us! You take her off,
Aynesworth! I shall go into the smoking room."
But Mrs. Travers was not so easily to be disposed
of. For some reason or other, she had shown a dis-
position to attach herself to Wingrave.


100
THE MALEFACTOR
"Please put me in my chair,” she said to him,
holding out her rug and cushion. “No! not you,
Mr. Aynesworth. Mr. Wingrave understands so much
better how to wrap me up. Thanks! Won't you sit
down yourself? It's much better for you out here
than in the smoking room - and we might go on with
our argument.”
“I thought,” Wingrave remarked, accepting her
invitation after a moment's hesitation," that we were
invitandon it.” he fore dinn
“That was before dinner,” she answered, glancing
sideways at him. “I feel braver now.”
“ You are prepared,” he remarked, “ for uncondi-
tional surrender ? ”
She looked at him again. She had rather nice
eyes, quite dark and very soft, and she was a great
believer in their efficacy.
“Of my argument ? ”
He did not answer her for a moment. He had
turned his head slightly towards her, and though his
face was, as usual, expressionless, and his eyes cold
and hard, she found nevertheless something of mean-
ing in his steady regard. There was a flush in her
cheeks when she looked away.
“I am afraid," she remarked, “ that you are rather
a terrible person.”
“You flatter me,” he murmured. “I am really
quite harmless ! ”
“Not from conviction then, I am sure,” she re-
marked.
“ Perhaps not,” he admitted. “Let us call it from
lack of enterprise ! The virtues are all very admi-
rable things, but it is the men and women with vicos


102.
THE MALEFACTOR
“You see," he continued, “I am not only bad, but
I admire badness. My wish is to remain bad — in
fact, I should like to be worse if I knew how. You
would find it hard to make a start. I could n't even
admit that a state of goodness was desirable!”
She looked at him curiously. The night air was
perhaps getting colder, for she shivered, and drew
the rug a little closer around her.
“You speak like a prophet,” she remarked.
“A prophet of evil then!”
She looked at him steadfastly. The lightness had
gone out of her tone.
“Do you know," she said, “I am almost sorry that
I ever knew you!”
He shook his head.
“ You can't mean it,” he declared.
“ Why not?”
“I have done you the greatest service one human
being can render another! I have saved you from
being bored!”
She nodded.
“That may be true," she admitted. “But can
you conceive no worse state in the world than being
bored ?”
“ There is no worse state," he answered drily. “I
was bored once," he added, "for ten years or so; I
ought to know !”
“Were you married ? ” she asked.
He shook his head.
“ Not quite so bad as that,” he answered. “I was
in prison!”
She turned a startled face towards him.
“ Nonsense!”


THE MALEFACTOR
103
“It is perfectly true,” he said coolly. “Are you
horrified ? "
“What did you do?" she asked in a low tone.
“I killed a man.”
“Purposely?"
He shrugged his shoulders.
“ He attacked me! I had to defend myself."
She said nothing for several moments.
“Shall I go ?” he asked.
“No! Sit still,” she answered. “I am frightened
of you, but I don't want you to go away. I want to
think. . . . Yes! I can understand you better now!
Your life was spoilt!”
“By no means," he answered. “I am still young!
I am going to make up for those ten years."
She shook her head.
“ You cannot,” she answered. “The years can
carry no more than their ordinary burden of sensa-
tions. If you try to fill them too full, you lose every-
thing."
“I shall try what I can do!” he remarked calmly.
She rose abruptly.
“I am afraid of you to-night," she said. “I am
going downstairs. Will you give my rug and cushion
to the deck-steward? And good night."
She gave him her hand, but she did not look at him,
and she hurried away a little abruptly.
Wingrave yawned, and lighting a cigar, strolled up
and down the deck. A figure loomed out of the dark-
ness and almost ran into him. It was the young man
in the serge suit. He muttered a clumsy apology and
hurried on.


CHAPTER XIII
A COCKNEY CONSPIRATOR
HE bar closes in ten minutes, sir!” the
smoking-room steward announced.
The young man who had been the sub-
ject of Wingrave's remarks hastily ordered another
drink, although he had an only half-emptied tumbler
in front of him. Presently he stumbled out on to the
deck. It was a dark night, and a strong head-wind
was blowing. He groped his way to the railing and
leaned over, with his head half buried in his hands.
Below, the black tossing sea was churned into phos-
phorescent spray, as the steamer drove onwards into
the night.
Was it he indeed - George Richardson? He
doubted it. The world of tape measures and calico
counters seemed so far away; the interior of his
quondam lodgings in a by-street of Islington, so un-
familiar and impossible. He felt himself swallowed
up in this new and bewildering existence, of which
he was so insignificant an atom, the existence where
tragedy reared her gloomy head, and the shadows
of great things loomed around him. Down there in
the cold restless waste of black waters — what was
it that he saw? The sweat broke out upon his fore-
head, the blood seemed turned to ice in his veins.
He knew very well that his fancy mocked him, that


106
THE MALEFACTOR
the slightest notice. Yet this morning, of all others,
he addressed him.
“I believe," he said, holding it out towards him,
“ that this envelope is yours. I found it under your
chair."
Richardson muttered something inarticulate, and
almost snatched it away. It was the envelope of the
fatal letter which Mademoiselle Violet had written
him to Queenstown.
“Sit down, Mr. Richardson, if you are not in a
hurry,” Wingrave continued calmly. “I was hoping
that I might see you this morning. Can you spare
me a few minutes ?”
Richardson subsided into his chair. His heart was
thumping against his ribs. Wingrave's voice sounded
to him like a far-off thing.
“The handwriting upon that envelope which I have
just restored to you, Mr. Richardson, is well known
to me,” Wingrave continued, gazing steadfastly at the
young man whom he was addressing.
“The envelope! the handwriting !” Richardson fal-
tered. “I- it was from "
An instant's pause. Wingrave raised his eyebrows.
“Ah!” he said. “We need not mention the lady's
name. That she should be a correspondent of yours,
however, helps me to understand better several mat-
ters which have somewhat puzzled me lately. No!
don't go, my dear sir. We must really have this affair
straightened out."
“What affair?” Richardson demanded, with a very
weak attempt at bluster. “I don't understand you —
don't understand you at all.”
Wingrave leaned a little forward in his chair. His


THE MALEFACTOR
107
eyebrows were drawn close together; his gaze was
entirely merciless.
“You are not well this morning," he remarked.
“A little headache perhaps! Won't you try one of
these phenacetine lozenges — excellent things for a
headache, I believe ? Warranted, in fact, to cure all
bodily ailments for ever! What! you don't like the
look of them?”
The young man cowered back in his chair. He
was gripping the sides tightly with both hands, and
the pallor of a ghastly fear had spread over his face.
"I don't know what you mean,” he faltered. “I
have n't a headache!”
Wingrave looked thoughtfully at the box between
his fingers.
“If you took one of these, Mr. Richardson,” he
said, “ you would never have another, at any rate.
Now, tell me, sir, how you came by them!”
“I know nothing about — " the young man began.
“Don't lie to me, sir,"? Wingrave said sharply.
“I have been wondering what the you meant
by hanging around after me, giving the deck-steward
five shillings to put your chair next mine, and pre-
tending to read, while all the time you were trying
to overhear any scraps of conversation between my
secretary and myself. I thought you were simply
guilty of impertinent curiosity. This, however, rather.
alters the look of affairs.”.
“ What does ?” Richardson asked faintly. “That
box ain't mine."
"Perhaps not,” Wingrave answered, “but you
found it in my state-room and filled it up with its
present contents. My servant saw you coming out,


108
THE MALEFACTOR
and immediately went in to see what you had stolen,
and report you. He found nothing missing, but he
found this box full of lozenges, which he knows quite
well was half full before you went in. Now, what
was your object, Mr. Richardson, in tampering with
that box upon my shelf ?”
“I have — I have never seen it before,” Richard-
son declared. “I have never been in your state-room !”
The deck-steward was passing. Wingrave summoned
him.
“I wish you would ask my servant to step this
way,” he said. “You will find him in my state-
room."
The man disappeared through the companion way.
Richardson rose to his feet.
“I'm not going to stay here to be bullied and cross-
examined,” he declared. “I'm off!”
“One moment,” Wingrave said. “If you leave
me now, I shall ask the captain to place you under
arrest."
Richardson looked half fearfully around.
“ What for?”
“ Attempted murder! Very clumsily attempted, but
attempted murder none the less.”
The young man collapsed. Wingrave's servant came
down the deck.
“ You sent for me, sir?” he enquired respectfully.
Wingrave pointed towards his companion.
“ Was that the person whom you saw coming out
of my state-room?” he asked.
“Yes, sir," the man replied at once.
“ You could swear to him, if necessary ?”
“Certainly, sir.”


110
THE MALEFACTOR
Richardson hesitated.
“She came to a dancing class at Islington," he said.
Wingrave's face was expressionless, but his tone
betrayed his incredulity.
“A dancing class at Islington! Nonsense!”
“ Mind," the young man asserted, “it was her
mistress who put her up to this! It was nothing to
do with her. It was for her mistress's sake.”
“Do you know the mistress ? " Wingrave asked.
“No; I don't know her name even. Never heard
it.”
“ Your letter, then, was from the maid ?"
“Of course it was,” Richardson answered. “If
you recognise the writing you must know that your-
self.”
Wingrave looked reflectively seaward. The matter
was not entirely clear to him. Yet he was sure that
this young man was telling the truth, so far as he
could divine it.
“Well,” he said, “you have made your attempt
and failed. If fortune had favoured you, you might
at this moment have been a murderer. I might have
warned you, by the bye, that I am an exceedingly
hard man to kill.”
Richardson looked uneasily around.
“I ain't admitting anything, you know," he said.
“Precisely! Well, what are you going to do now?
'Are you satisfied with your first reverse, or are you
going to renew the experiment?”
. “I've had enough," was the dogged answer. “I've
been made a fool of. I can see that. I shall return
home by the next steamer. I never ought to have got
mixed up in this."


THE MALEFACTOR
111
“I am inclined to agree with you,” Wingrave re-
marked calmly. “Do I understand that if I choose to
forget this little episode, you will return to England
by the next steamer ?”
“I swear it,” Richardson declared.
“ And in the meantime, that you make no further
attempt of a similar nature ?”
“Not I!” he answered with emphasis. “I've had
enough.”
“ Then,” Wingrave said, “we need not prolong this
conversation. Forgive my suggesting, Mr. Richardson,
that whilst I am on deck, the other side of the ship
should prove more convenient for you!”
The young man rose, and without a word staggered
off. Wingrave watched him through half-closed eyes,
until he disappeared.
“It was worth trying," he said softly to himself.
“A very clever woman that! She looks forward
through the years, and she sees the clouds gathering.
It was a little risky, and the means were very crude.
But it was worth trying!”


CHAPTER XIV
THE MOTH AND THE CANDLE
C
10-MORROW morning," Aynesworth re-
marked, “ we shall land.”
Wingrave nodded.
“I shall not be sorry," he said shortly.
Aynesworth fidgeted about. He had something to
say, and he found it difficult. Wingrave gave him no
encouragement. He was leaning back in his steamer
chair, with his eyes fixed upon the sky line. Not-
withstanding the incessant companionship of the last
six days, Aynesworth felt that he had not progressed
a single step towards establishing any more intimate
relations between his employer and himself.
“Mrs. Travers is not on deck this afternoon," he
remarked a trifle awkwardly.
“ Indeed!” Wingrave answered. “I had n't no-
ticed.”
Aynesworth sat down. There was nothing to be
gained by fencing.
“I wanted to talk about her, sir, if I might," he
said.
Wingrave withdrew his eyes from the sea, and
looked at his companion in cold surprise.
“ To me ?” he asked.
“ Yes! I thought, the first few days, that Mrs.
Travers was simply a vain little woman of the world,
perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and heart-


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113
less enough to flirt all day long, if she chose, without
any risk, so far as she was concerned. I believe I
made a mistake!”
“ This is most interesting,” Wingrave said calmly,
“but why talk to me about the lady? I fancy that
I know as much about her as you do.”
“Very likely; but you may not have realised the
same things. Mrs. Travers is a married woman, with
a husband in Boston, and two little children, of whom,
I believe, she is really very fond. She is a foolish,
good-natured little woman, who thinks herself clever
because her husband has permitted her to travel a
good deal, and has evidently been rather fascinated
by the latitudinarianism of continental society. She
is a little afraid of being terribly bored when she gets
back to Boston, and she is very sentimental.”
“I had no idea,” Wingrave remarked, “ that you
had been submitting the lady and her affairs to the
ordeal of your marvellous gift of analysis. I rather
fancied that you took no interest in her at all.”
“I did not,” Aynesworth answered, “ until last
night."
“And last night?" he repeated questioningly.
“I found her on deck — crying. She had been
tearing up some photographs, and she talked a little
wildly. I talked to her then for a little time.”
“ Can't you be more explicit ?” Wingrave asked.
Aynesworth looked him in the face.
“She gave me the impression," he said, “ that she
did not intend to return to her husband."
Wingrave nodded.
“And what have you to say to me about this?” he
asked.


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“I have no right to say anything, of course," Aynes-
worth answered. “You might very properly tell me
that it is no concern of mine. Mrs. Travers has al-
ready compromised herself, to some extent, with the
people on board who know her and her family. She
never leaves your side for a moment if she can help
it, and for the last two or three days she has almost
followed you about. You may possibly derive some
amusement from her society for a short time, but —
afterwards !”
“ Explain yourself exactly,” Wingrave said.
“Is it necessary?” Aynesworth declared brusquely.
“ Talk sensibly to her! Don't encourage her if she
should really be contemplating anything foolish !”
“ Why not?”
“Oh, hang it all!” Aynesworth declared. “I'm
not a moralist, but she's a decent little woman. Don't
ruin her life for the sake of a little diversion!”
Wingrave, who had been holding a cigar case in his
hand for the last few minutes, opened it, and calmly
selected a cigar.
“ Are n't you a little melodramatic, Aynesworth ? "
he said.
“ Sounds like it, no doubt,” his companion an-
swered, “but after all, hang it, she's not a bad little
sort, and you would n't care to meet her in Piccadilly
in a couple of years' time.”
Wingrave turned a little in his chair. There was
a slight hardening of the mouth, a cold gleam in his
eyes.
“ That,” he remarked, “is precisely where you are
wrong. I am afraid you have forgotten our previous
conversations on this or a similar subject. Discon-
Job.


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THE MALEFACTOR
direction. He made his way into the purser's room,
and carefully closed the door behind him.
Mrs. Travers greeted Aynesworth without enthu.
siasm. Her eyes were resting upon the empty place
which Wingrave had just vacated.
“Can I get your chair for you, Mrs. Travers,"
Aynesworth asked, “ or shall we walk for a few
minutes ?”
Mrs. Travers hesitated. She looked around, but
there was obviously no escape for her.
“I should like to sit down,” she said. “I am very
tired this morning. My chair is next Mr. Wingrave's
there."
Aynesworth found her rug and wrapped it around
her. She leaned back and closed her eyes.
“I shall try to sleep,” she said. “I had such a
shocking night.”
He understood at once that she was on her guard,
and he changed his tactics.
“ First,” he said, “may I ask you a question ? "
She opened her eyes wide, and looked at him. She
was afraid.
“Not now," she said hurriedly. “ This afternoon."
“ This afternoon I may not have the opportunity,”
he answered. “Is your husband going to meet you
at New York, Mrs. Travers ?”
“No!”
“ Are you going direct to Boston ?”
She looked at him steadily. There was a slight
flush of colour in her cheeks.
“I find your questions impertinent, Mr. Aynes-
worth,” she answered.
There was a short silence. . Aynesworth hated his


THE MALEFACTOR 117
task and hated himself. But most of all, he pitied
the woman who sat by his side.
“No!” he said, “ they are not impertinent. I am
the looker-on, you know, and I have seen — a good
deal. If Wingrave were an ordinary sort of man, I
should never have dared to interfere. If you had
been an ordinary sort of woman, I might not have
cared to."
She half rose in her chair.
“I shall not stay here,” she began, struggling with
her rug.
“Do!” he begged. “I am - I want to be your
friend, really!”
“You are supposed to be his,” she reminded him.
He shook his head.
“I am his secretary. There is no question of
friendship between us. For the rest, I told him that
I should speak to you."
“You have no right to discuss me at all,” she
declared vehemently.
“None whatever," he admitted. “I have to rely
entirely upon your mercy. This is the truth. People
are thrown together a good deal on a voyage like this.
You and Mr. Wingrave have seen a good deal of one
another. You are a very impressionable woman; he
is a singularly cold, unimpressionable man. You have
found his personality attractive. You fancy — other
things. Wingrave is not the man you think he is. He
is selfish and entirely without affectionate impulses.
The world has treated him badly, and he has no hesi-
tation in saying that he means, to get some part of his
own back again. He does not care for you, he does not
care for anyone. If you should be contemplating any.


118
THE MALEFACTOR
.
thing ridiculous from a mistaken judgment of his char
acter, it is better that you should know the truth.”
The anger had gone. She was pale again, and her
lips were trembling.
“Men seldom know one another," she said softly.
“ You judge from the surface only.”
“Mine is the critical judgment of one who has stud-
ied him intimately," Aynesworth said. “Yours is
the sentimental hope of one fascinated by what she
does not understand. Wingrave is utterly heartless!”
“That,” she answered steadfastly, “I do not
believe."
“ You do not, because you will not,” he declared.
“I have spoken because I wish to save you from do-
ing what you would repent of for the rest of your
days. You have the one vanity which is common to
all women. You believe that you can change what,
believe me, is unchangeable. To Wingrave, women
are less than playthings. He owes the unhappiness
of his life to one, and he would see the whole of her
sex suffer without emotion. He is impregnable to
sentiment. Ask him, and I believe that he would
admit it!”
She smiled and regarded him with the mild pity
of superior knowledge. ::
“You do not understand Mr. Wingrave," she re-
marked.
Aynesworth sighed. He realised that every word
he had spoken had been wasted upon this pale, pretty
woman, who sat with her eyes now turned seawards,
and the smile still lingering upon her lips. Studying
her for a moment he realised the danger more acutely
than ever before. The fretfulness seemed to have gone


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119
from her face, the weary lines from her mouth. She
had the look of a woman who has come into the knowl-
edge of better things. And it was Wingrave who had
done this! Aynesworth for the first time frankly
hated the man. Once, as a boy, he had seen a keeper
take a rabbit from a trap and dash its brains out
against a tree. The incident flashed then into his
mind, only the face of the keeper was the face of
Wingrave!


CHAPTER XV
“ DEVIL TAKE THE HINDMOST”
INGRAVE and Aynesworth were alone in
a private room of the Waldorf Astoria
Hotel. The table at which the former was
seated was covered with letters and papers. A New
York directory and an atlas were at his elbow.
“I propose,” Wingrave said, leaning back in his
chair,“ to give you some idea of the nature of my
business in this country. You will be able then, I
trust, to carry out my instructions more intelligibly."
Aynesworth nodded.
“I thought,” he said, “that you came here simply
to remain in seclusion for a time.”
“That is one of my reasons,” Wingrave admitted,
“ but I had a special purpose in coming to America.
During my — enforced seclusion — I made the ac-
quaintance of a man called Hardwell. He was an
Englishman, but he had lived in America for some
years, and had got into trouble over some company
business. We had some conversation, and it is upon
his information that I am now going to act."
“He is trustworthy ?” Aynesworth asked.
“I take the risk,” Wingrave answered coolly.
“ There is a small copper mine in Utah called the
Royal Hardwell Copper Mine. The shares are hun-
dred dollar ones, and there are ten thousand of them.
They are scarcely quoted now, as the mine has become


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121
utterly discredited. Hardwell managed this himself
with a false report. He meant to have the company
go into liquidation, and then buy it for a very small
amount. As a matter of fact, the mine is good, and
could be worked at a large profit.”
“You have Hardwell's word for that,” Aynesworth
remarked.
“ Exactly!” Wingrave remarked. “I am proceed-
ing on the assumption that he told me the truth. I
wish to buy, if possible, the whole of the shares, and
as many more as I can get brokers to sell. The price
of the shares to-day is two dollars!”
“I presume you will send out an expert to the mine
first?” Aynesworth said.
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” Wingrave an-
swered. “ The fact that I was buying upon informa-
tion would send the shares up at once. I mean to buy
first, and then go out to the mine. If I have made a
mistake I shall not be ruined. If Hardwell's story
is true, there will be millions in it."
Aynesworth said nothing, but his face expressed a
good deal.
“Here are the names of seven respectable brokers,"
Wingrave continued, passing a sheet of paper towards
him. “I want you to buy five hundred shares from
each of them. The price may vary a few points.
Whatever it is, pay it. Here are seven signed cheques.
I shall buy myself as many as I can without spoiling
the market. You had better start out in about a quarter
of an hour and see to this. You have my private
ledger?”
“ Yes."
“ Open an account to Hardwell in it; a quarter of


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123
" It was sent by someone on board the ship,” Win-
grave continued. “You have no suspicion as to whom
it could have been ?”
“None!” Aynesworth answered firmly. “At the
same time, I do not mind telling you this. If I had
thought of it I would have sent it myself."
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
“It is perhaps fortunate for the continuation of
our mutual relations that you did not think of it,"
he remarked quietly. “I accept your denial. I shall
expect you back at one o'clock.”
At a few minutes after that hour the two men sat
down to luncheon. Wingrave at that time was the
possessor of six thousand shares in the Royal Hard-
well Copper Mine, which had cost him, on an average,
two dollars twenty-five. The news of the dealing,
however, had got about, and although derision was the
chief sentiment amongst the brokers, the price steadily
mounted. A dozen telegrams were sent out to the mine,
and on receipt of the replies the dealing became the
joke of the day. The mine was still deserted, and no
fresh inspection had been made. The price dropped
a little. Then Wingrave bought a thousand more by
telephone, and it rose again to four. A few minutes
before closing time he threw every share of which he
was possessed upon the market, and the next morning
Royal Hardwells stood at one dollar seventy-five.
For a week Wingrave pursued the same tactics, and
at the end of that time he had made twenty thousand
dollars. The brokers, however, now understood, or
thought they understood, the situation. No one bought
for the rise; they were all sellers. Wingrave at once
changed his tactics. He bought five thousand shares


124
THE MALEFACTOR
in one block, and sold none. Even then, the market
nominal owner of sixteen thousand shares in a com-
pany of which only ten thousand actually existed.
Then he sat still, and the panic began. The shares
in a company which everyone believed to be worthless
stood at thirty dollars, and not a share was offered.
A small pandemonium reigned in Wingrave's sitting-
room. The telephone rang all the time; the place
was besieged with brokers. Then Wingrave showed
his hand. He had bought these shares to hold; he
did not intend to sell one. As to the six thousand
owed to him beyond the number issued, he was pre-
pared to consider offers. One broker left him a cheque
for twenty thousand dollars, another for nearly forty
thousand. Wingrave had no pity. He had gambled
and won. He would accept nothing less than par
price. The air in his sitting-room grew thick with
curses and tobacco smoke.
Aynesworth began by hating the whole business,
but insensibly the fascination of it crept over him.
He grew used to hearing the various forms of pro-
test, of argument and abuse, which one and all left
Wingrave so unmoved. Sphinx-like he lounged in his
chair, and listened to all. He never condescended to
justify his position, he never met argument by argu-
ment. He had the air of being thoroughly bored by
the whole proceedings. But he exacted always his
pound of flesh.
On the third afternoon, Aynesworth met on the
stairs a young broker, whom he had come across once
or twice during his earlier dealings in the shares.
They had had lunch together, and Aynesworth had


THE MALEFACTOR
125
ore
taken a fancy to the boy – he was little more - fresh
from Harvard, and full of enthusiasm. He scarcely
recognised him for a moment. The fresh colour had
gone from his cheeks, his eyes were set in a fixed, wild
stare; he seemed suddenly aged. Aynesworth stopped
him.
“Hullo, Nesbitt!” he exclaimed. “What's
wrong?"
The young man would have passed on with a mut-
tered greeting, but Aynesworth turned round with him,
and led the way into one of the smaller smoking rooms.
He called for drinks and repeated his question.
“ Your governor has me six hundred Hardwells
short,” Nesbitt answered curtly.
“ Six hundred! What does it mean?” Aynesworth
asked.
“Sixty thousand dollars, or thereabouts,” the young
man answered despairingly. “His brokers won't listen
to me, and your governor — well, I've just been to
see him. I won't call him names! And we thought
that some fool of an Englishman was burning his fin-
gers with these shares. I'm not the only one caught,
but the others can stand it. I can't, worse luck!”.
“I'm beastly sorry," Aynesworth said truthfully.
“I wish I could help you."
Nesbitt raised his head. A sudden light flashed in
his eyes; he spoke quickly, almost feverishly.
“Say, Aynesworth," he exclaimed, “ do you think
you could do anything with your governor for me?
You see — it's ruin, if I have to pay up. I would n't
mind — for myself, but I was married four months
ago, and I can't bear the thought of going home -
and telling her. All the money we have between us
it. I can't only one can
I wish I eastly sorry


126
THE MALEFACTOR
is in my business, and we've got no rich friends or
anything of that sort. I don't know what I'll do if
I have to be hammered. I've been so careful, too! I
did n't want to take this on, but it seemed such a soft
thing! If I could get off with twenty thousand I'd
keep my head up. I hate to talk like this. I'd go
down like a man if I were alone, but — but - oh!
confound it all — !” he exclaimed, with an ominous
break in his tone.
Aynesworth laid his hand upon the boy's arm.
“Look here,” he said, “I'll try what I can do with
Mr. Wingrave. Wait here! ”
Aynesworth found his employer alone with his
broker, who was just hastening off to keep an ap-
pointment. He plunged at once into his appeal.
“Mr. Wingrave,” he said, “ you have just had a
young broker named Nesbitt on.”
Wingrave glanced at a paper by his side.
“Yes,” he said. “ Six hundred short! I wish they
would n't come to me."
“I've been talking to him downstairs,” Aynesworth
said. “This will break him.”
“ Then I ought not to have done business with him
at all,” Wingrave said coolly. “If he cannot find
sixty thousand dollars, he has no right to be in Wall
Street. I daresay he'll pay, though! They all plead
poverty – curs !”
“I think Nesbitt's case is a little different from the
others,” Aynesworth continued. “He is quite young,
little more than a boy, and he has only just started in
business. To be hammered would be absolute ruin
for him. He seems such a decent young fellow, and
he's only just married. He's in an awful state down.


THE MALEFACTOR
127
stairs. I wish you'd have another talk with him. I
think you'd feel inclined to let him down easy.”
Wingrave smiled coldly.
“My dear Aynesworth,” he said, “you astonish
me. I am not interested in this young man's future
or in his matrimonial arrangements. He has gambled
with me and lost. I presume that he would have
taken my money if I had been the fool they all
thought me. As it is, I mean to have his — down to
the last cent!”
“He is n't like the others," Aynesworth protested
doggedly. “He's only a boy — and it seems such
jolly hard luck, does n't it, only four months married !
New York has n't much pity for paupers. He looks
mad enough to blow his brains out. Have him up,
sir, and see if you can't compromise!”
“Fetch him,” Wingrave said curtly.
Aynesworth hurried downstairs. The boy was walk-
ing restlessly up and down the room. The look he
turned upon Aynesworth was almost pitiful.
“He'll see you again," Aynesworth said hurriedly.
“ Come along."
The boy wrung his hand.
“You 're a brick!” he declared.


CHAPTER XVI
THE HIDDEN HAND
TINGRAVE glanced up as they entered. He
motioned Nesbitt to a chair by his side,
but the young man remained standing.
“My secretary tells me,” Wingrave said curtly,
" that you cannot pay me what you owe.”
“It's more than I possess in the world, sir," Nes-
bitt answered.
“It is not a large amount,” Wingrave said. “I
do not see how you can carry on business unless you
can command such a sum as this.”.
Nesbitt moistened his dry lips with his tongue.
“I have only been doing a very small business, sir,"
he answered, “but quite enough to make a living.
I don't speculate as a rule. Hardwells seemed per-
fectly safe, or I would n't have touched them. I sold
at four. They are not worth one. I could have bought
thousands last week for two dollars.”
“That is beside the question,” Wingrave answered.
“If you do not pay this, you have cheated me out of
my profits, for I should have placed the commission
with brokers who could. Why did you wish to see
me again?"
“I thought that you might give me time," Nesbitt
answered, raising his head and looking Wingrave
straight in the face. “It seems rather a low down
thing to come begging. I'd rather cut my right hand


THE MALEFACTOR
129
off than do it for myself, but I've — someone else to
think about, and if I'm hammered, I'm done for.
Give me a chance, Mr. Wingrave! I'll pay you in
time.”
“What do you ask for?” Wingrave said.
“I thought that you might give me time," Nesbitt
said, " and I'll pay you the rest off with the whole of
my profits every year.”
“A most absurd proposal,” Wingrave said coolly.
“I will instruct my brokers to take twenty thousand
dollars down, and wait one week for the balance. That
is the best offer I can make you. Good-day!”
The young man stood as though he were stunned.
“I- I can't find it,” he faltered. “I can't indeed.”
“ Your resources are not my affair,” Wingrave said.
“I shall instruct my broker to do as I have said.
If the money is not forthcoming, you know the
alternative.”
“ You mean to ruin me, then?” Nesbitt said slowly.
“I mean to exact the payment of what is due to
me," Wingrave said curtly. “If you cannot pay, it
seems to me that I am the person to be pitied — not
you. Show Mr. Nesbitt out, Aynesworth."
Nesbitt turned towards the door. He was very
pale, but he walked steadily. He did not speak
another word to Wingrave.
“I'm beastly sorry," Aynesworth said to him on
the stairs. “I wish I could help you!”
“ Thank you,” Nesbitt answered. “No one can
help me. I'm through."
Aynesworth returned to the sitting-room. Wingrave
had lit a cigarette, and watched him as he arranged
some papers.


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THE MALEFACTOR
“Quite a comedy, is n't it?” he remarked grimly.
“ It does n't present itself in that light to me,"
Aynesworth answered.
Wingrave blew the smoke away from in front of
his face. “Ah!” he said, “I forgot that you were a
sentimentalist. I look upon these things from my own
point of view. From yours I suppose I must seem a
very disagreeable person. I admit frankly that the
sufferings of other people do not affect me in the
slightest.”
“I am sorry for you," Aynesworth said shortly.
“If there is going to be much of this sort of thing,
though, I must ask you to relieve me of my post. I
can't stand it.”
“Whenever you like, my dear fellow," Wingrave
answered. “I think that you would be very foolish
to leave me, though. I must be a most interesting
study.”
“ You are — what the devil made you!” Aynes-
worth muttered.
Wingrave laid down his cigarette.
“I am what my fellows have made me," he said
slowly. “I tasted hell for a good many years. It has
left me, I suppose, with a depraved taste. Ring up
my brokers, Aynesworth! I want to speak to Mal-
colmson. He had better come round here.” .
The day dragged on. Aynesworth hated it all, and
was weary long before it was half over. Everyone
who came was angry, and a good many came whom
Wingrave refused to see. Just before five o'clock,
young Nesbitt entered the room unannounced. Aynes-
worth started towards him with a little exclamation.
The young man's evident excitement terrified him, and


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131
he feared a tragedy. Malcolmson, too, half rose to
his feet. Wingrave alone remained unmoved.
Nesbitt walked straight up to the table at which
Malcolmson and Wingrave were sitting. He halted
in front of the latter.
“Mr. Wingrave,” he said, “ you will give me my
receipt for those shares for fifty-seven thousand six
hundred dollars.”
Wingrave turned to a paper by his side, and ran
his forefinger down the list of names.
“Mr. Nesbitt,” he said. “Yes! sixty thousand
dollars."
The young man laid a slip of paper upon the
table.
“ That is a certified cheque for the amount,” he said.
“Mr. Malcolmson, please give me my receipt.”
“Ah!” Mr. Wingrave remarked. “I thought that
you would find the money.”
Nesbitt bit his lip, but he said nothing till he had
the receipt, and had fastened it up in his pocket.
Then he turned suddenly round upon Wingrave.
“Look here!” he said. “You've got your money.
I don't owe you a cent. Now I'm going to tell you
what I think of you."
Wingrave rose slowly to his feet. He was as tall
as the boy, long, lean, and hard. His face expressed
neither anger nor excitement, but there was a slight,
dangerous glitter in his deep-set eyes.
“If you mean,” he said, “ that you are going to
be impertinent, I would recommend you to change
your mind.”
Nesbitt for a moment hesitated. There was
something ominous in the cool courage of the older


132
THE MALEFACTOR
man. And before he could collect himself, Wingrave
continued :-
“I presume," he said, “ that you chose your own
profession. You knew quite well that there was no
place in it for men with a sense of the higher mo-!
rality. It is a profession of gamblers and thieves.
If you'd won, you'd have thought yourself a smart
fellow, and pocketed your winnings fast enough. Now
that you ’ve lost - don't whine. You sat down will-
ingly enough to play the game with me. Don't call
me names because you lost. This is no place for
children. Pocket your defeat, and be more careful
next time.”
Nesbitt was silent for a moment. Wingrave, cool
and immovable, dominated him. He gave a little
laugh, and turned towards the door.
“ Guess you're right,” he declared; “ we'll let it
go at that.”
Aynesworth followed him from the room.
“I'm awfully glad you're out of the scrape," he
said.
Nesbitt caught him by the arm.
“ Come right along," he said. “I have n't had a
drink in the daytime for a year, but we're going to
have a big one now. I say, do you know how I got
that money ??
Aynesworth shook his head.
“ On easy terms, I hope."
They sat down in the American Bar, and a coloured
waiter in a white linen suit brought them whisky and
Apollinaris in tall tumblers.
“ Listen," Nesbitt said. “My brain is on the reel
still. I went back to my office, and if it had n't been


THE MALEFACTOR
133
for the little girl, I should have brought a revolver
by the way. Old Johnny there waiting to see me, no
end of a swell, Phillson, the uptown lawyer. He went
straight for me.
“Been dealing in Hardwells ?' he asked.
“I nodded.
“Short, eh?'
«Six hundred shares,' I answered. There was no
harm in telling him, for the Street knew well enough.
*Bad job,' he said. “How much does Wingrave
want?'
6. Shares at par,' I answered. 'It comes to close
on fifty-seven thousand six hundred dollars.'
“I'm going to find you the money,' he said.
“ Then I can tell you the things in my office began
to swim. I'd an idea somehow that he was there as
a friend, but nothing like this. I could n't answer
him.
“It's a delicate piece of business,' he went on.
'In fact, the fewer questions you ask the better. All
I can say is there's a chap in Wall Street got his eye
on you. Your old dad once helped him over a much
worse place than this. Anyhow, I've a cheque here
for sixty thousand dollars, and no conditions, only
that you don't talk.'
“But when am I to pay it back?' I gasped.
“ If my client ever needs it, and you can afford it,
he will ask for it,' Phillson answered. That's all.'
“And before I could say another darned word he
was gone, and the cheque was there on my desk.”
Aynesworth sipped his whisky and Apollinaris, and
lit a cigarette.
“And they say," he murmured, “ that romance


184
THE MALEFACTOR
does not exist in Wall Street. You 're a lucky chap,
Nesbitt."
“Lucky! Do you think I don't realise it? Of
course, I know the old governor had lots of friends
on the Street, but he was never in a big way, and
he got hit awfully hard himself before he died. I
can't understand it anyway.”
“I would n't try,” Aynesworth remarked, laughing.
“ By the bye, your friend, whoever he was, must have
got to know pretty quickly.”
Nesbitt nodded.
“I thought of that,” he said. “Of course, Phill-
sons are lawyers for Malcolmson, Wingrave's broker,
so I daresay it came from him. Say, Aynesworth,
you don't mind if I ask you something ?”
“Not at all,” Aynesworth answered. “What is
it?”
“Why the devil do you stop with a man like Win-
grave? He does n't seem your sort at all.”
Aynesworth hesitated.
“ Wingrave interests me," he answered. “He
has had a curious life, and he is a man with very
strange ideas."
Nesbitt finished his drink, and rose up.
“Well," he said, “ he's not a man I should care
to be associated with. Not but what I daresay he
was right upstairs. He's strong, too, and he must
have a nerve. But he's a brute for all that!”
Nesbitt went his way, and Aynesworth returned
upstairs. Wingrave was alone.
“Have we finished this miserable business?"
Aynesworth asked.
“For the present,” Wingrave answered. “Mr.


THE MALEFACTOR
135
Malcolmson will supply you with a copy of the ac-
counts. See that Hardwell is credited with a quarter
share of the profits. Our dealings are over for the
present. Be prepared to start on Saturday for the
West. We are going to look for those bears."
“ But the mine?” Aynesworth exclaimed. “ It
belongs to you now. Are n't you going out to ex-
amine it?"
Wingrave shook his head.
“No," he said, “I know nothing about mines. My
visit could not teach me anything one way or the other.
I have sent a commission of experts. I am tired of
cities and money-making. I want a change."
Aynesworth looked at him suddenly. The weari-
ness was there indeed — was it his fancy, or was it
something more than weariness which shone out of
the dark, tired eyes ?


BOOK II
CHAPTER I
“MR. WINGRAVE, FROM AMERICA"
.
D VOUR years ago to-night," Aynesworth said,
K looking round the club smoking room thought-
fully, “we bade you farewell in this same
room!"
Lovell, wan and hollow-eyed, his arm in a sling,
his once burly frame gaunt and attenuated with dis-
ease, nodded.
“And I told you the story," he remarked, “ of -
the man who had been my friend.”
“Don't let us talk of Wingrave to-night!” Aynes-
worth exclaimed, with sudden emphasis.
“ Why not?” Lovell knocked the ashes from his
pipe, and commenced leisurely to refill it. “Why
not, indeed ? I mean to go and see him as soon as
I can get about a little better."
“If your description of him," Aynesworth said,
“ was a faithful one, you will find him changed.”
Lovell laughed a little bitterly.
“ The years leave their mark," he said, “ upon us
all -- upon all of us, that is, who step out into the
open, where the winds of life are blowing. Look at
me! I weighed eighteen stone when I left England,
I had the muscles of a prize-fighter, and nerves of
steel. To-day, I turn the scale at ten stone, and am
afraid to be alone in the dark.”


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THE MALEFACTOR
ing for it. A situation arises, and I say to myself:
Now, I am going to see something different.' I
never do, and yet I always expect it. Am I boring
you, Lovell ?”
“Not in the least! Go on! Anything concerning
Wingrave interests me.”
“It is four years ago, you know, since I went to
him. My first glimpse of his character was the cold
brutality with which he treated Lady Ruth when she
went to see him. Then we went down to his country
place in Cornwall. There was a small child there,
whose father had been the organist of the village,
and who had died penniless. There was no one to
look after her, no one to save her from the charity
schools, and domestic service afterwards. The church
was on Wingrave's estate, it should have been his
duty to augment the ridiculous salary the dead
man had received. Would you believe it, Wingrave
refused to do a single thing for that child! He
went down there like a vandal, to sell the heirlooms
and pictures which had belonged to his family for
generations. He had no time, he told me coldly, for
sentiment."
“It sounds brutal enough,” Lovell admitted. “What
became of the child ?”
“ One of her father's relations turned up after all,
and took care of her," Aynesworth said. “Wingrave
knew nothing about that, though. Then on the voy.
age across the Atlantic, there was a silly, pretty little
woman on board, who was piqued by Wingrave's in-
difference, and tried to flirt with him. In a few days
she was his slave. She was going home to her hus-
band, and you would have thought that any decent


THE MALEFACTOR
139
fellow would have told her that she was a little fool,
and let her go. But not Wingrave! She was land-
ing with him at New York, but someone amongst the
passengers, who guessed what was up, sent a Marconi-
gram to her husband, and he met us at the landing
stage.”
“ Nothing came of that, then ?”
“No, but it was n't Wingrave's fault. Then he
began dealing with some shares in a mine — the mine,
you know. They were supposed to be worthless, and
one boy, who was a little young to the game, sold
him too many. Wingrave was bleeding these brokers
for hundreds of thousands of dollars, and the boy
came and asked to be let off, by paying his whole for-
tune to escape being hammered. Wingrave refused.
I believe if the boy had n't just been married he'd
have blown his brains out!”
Lovell laughed.
“I don't envy you your job,” he remarked. “Is
there nothing to set down on the credit side of the
ledger ? ”
“Not much," Aynesworth answered. “He is a
fine sportsman, and he saved my life in the Rockies,
which makes me feel a bit uncomfortable sometimes.
He has a sense of justice, for he heard of this mine
from a man in prison, and he has kept accounts, show-
ing the fellow's share down to the last halfpenny.
But I have never yet known him to speak a kindly
word, or do a kindly deed. He seems intent upon
carrying out to the letter his own principles — to make
as many people as possible suffer for his own broken
life. Now he is back here, a millionaire, with im-
mense power for good or for evil, I am almost afraid


140
THE MALEFACTOR
of him. I would n't be Lady Ruth or her husband
for something."
Lovell smoked thoughtfully for a time.
“ Wingrave was always a little odd,” he remarked,
“ but I never thought that he was a bad chap.”
" Go and see him now!” Aynesworth said. “Tell
me if you think he wears a mask, or whether he is
• indeed what he seems."
1 The hall-porter entered the room, and addressed.
Aynesworth.
“ Gentleman called for you, sir,” he announced.
“It is Wingrave," Aynesworth declared. “ Come
and speak to him!”
They descended the stairs together. Outside, Win-
grave was leaning back in the corner of an electric
brougham, reading the paper. Aynesworth put his
head in at the window.
“ You remember Lovell, Mr. Wingrave ?” he said.
“We were just talking when your message came up.
I've brought him down to shake hands with you.”
Wingrave folded his paper down at the precise place
where he had been reading, and extended a very limp
hand. His manner betrayed not the slightest interest
or pleasure.
“How are you, Lovell ?” he asked. “Some time
since we met!”
“A good many years,” Lovell answered.
“Finished your campaigning ?” Wingrave enquired.
“ Knocked you about a bit, have n't they?”
“ They very nearly finished me,” Lovell admitted.
“I shall pick up all right over here, though.”
There was a moment's silence. Lovell's thoughts
had flashed backwards through the years, back to the


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141
time when he had sat within a few feet of this man,
in the crowded court of justice, and listened through
the painful stillness of that heavy atmosphere, charged
with tragedy, to the slow unfolding of the drama of
his life. There had been passion enough then, in his
voice, and blazing in his eyes, emotion enough in his
twitching features and restless gestures to speak of
the fire below. And now, pale and cold, the man who
had gripped his fingers then, and held on to them like
a vise, seemed to find nothing except a slight boredom
in this unexpected meeting.
“I shall see you again, I hope,” Wingrave remarked
at last. “By the bye, if we do meet, I should be
glad if you would forget our past acquaintance. Sir
Wingrave Seton does not exist any longer. I prefer
to be known only as Mr. Wingrave from America."
Lovell nodded.
“ As you wish, of course," he answered. “I do not
think,” he added, “ that you need fear recognition.
I myself should have passed you in the street.”
Wingrave leaned back in the carriage.
“Aynesworth,” he said, “if you are ready, will
you get in and tell the man to drive to Cadogan
Square? Good-night, Mr. Lovell!”
Lovell re-entered the club with a queer little smile
at his lips. The brougham glided up into the Strand,
and turned westwards.
“We are going straight to the Barringtons’ ? "
Aynesworth asked.
“Yes,” Wingrave answered. “While I think of
it, Aynesworth, I wish you to remember this. Both
Lady Ruth and her husband seem to think it part
of the game to try and make a cat's-paw of you. I


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THE MALEFACTOR
am not suggesting that they are likely to succeed, but
I do think it possible that one of them may ask you
questions concerning certain investments in which I
am interested. I rely upon you to give them no
information.”
“I know very little about your investments —
outside the mine," Aynesworth answered. “They
could n't very well approach a more ignorant per-
son. Are you going to help Barrington to make a
fortune ?”
Wingrave turned his head. There was a slight
contraction of the forehead, an ominous glitter in his
steel grey eyes.
“I think,” he said, “ you know that I am not likely
to do that.”
The two men did not meet again till late in the
evening. Lady Ruth's rooms were crowded, for it
was the beginning of the political season, and her
parties were always popular. Nevertheless, she found
time to beckon Wingrave to her, before they had been
in the room many minutes.
“I want to talk to you,” she said a little
abruptly. “You might have come this afternoon,
as you promised.”
Lady Ruth was a wonderful woman. A well-known
statesman had just asked a friend her age.
“I don't know," was the answer, “but whatever
it is, she does n't look it."
To-night she was almost girlish. Her complexion
was delicate, and perfectly natural, the graceful lines
of her figure suggested more the immaturity of youth,
than any undue slimness. She wore a wonderful collar
of pearls around her long, shapely neck, but very little


THE MALEFACTOR
143
other jewellery. The touch of her fingers upon Win-
grave's coat-sleeve was a carefully calculated thing. If
he had thought of it, he could have felt the slight ap-
pealing pressure with which she led him towards one
of the smaller rooms.
“ There are two chairs there,” she said. “ Come
and sit down. I have something to say to you."


CHAPTER II
THE SHADOW OF A FEAR
VOR several minutes Lady Ruth said nothing.
She was leaning back in the farthest corner
of her chair, her head resting slightly upon her
fingers, her eyes studying with a curious intentness
the outline of Wingrave's pale, hard face. He him-
self, either unconscious of, or indifferent to, her close
scrutiny, had simply the air of a man possessed of an
inexhaustible fund of patience
“ Wingrave," she said quietly, “I think that the
time has gone by when I was afraid of you.”
He turned slightly towards her, but he did not
speak.
“I am possessed," she continued,” at present, of a
more womanly sentiment. I am curious."
“Ah!” he murmured, “ you were always a little
inclined that way.”
"I am curious about you," she continued. “You
are, comparatively speaking, young, well-looking
enough, and strong. Your hand is firmly planted
upon the lever which moves the world. What are
' you going to do ?”
“That," he said, “ depends upon many things."
“ You may be ambitious," she remarked. “If so,
you conceal it admirably. You may be devoting your
powers to the consummation of vengeance against those


THE MALEFACTOR
145
who have treated you ill. There are no signs of that,
either, at present.”
“We have excellent authority," he remarked,
“ for the statement that a considerable amount of
satisfaction is derivable from the exercise of that
sentiment."
“Perhaps," she answered, “but the pursuit of
vengeance for wrongs of the past is the task of a
fool. Now, you are not a fool. You carry your life
locked up within you, as a strong man should. But
there are always some who may look in through the
windows. I should like to be one."
“ An empty cupboard,” he declared. “A cupboard
swept bare by time and necessity.”
She shook her head.
“ Your life,” she said, " is moulded towards a pur-
pose. What is it?"
“I must ask myself the question," he declared,
“ before I can tell you the answer!”
“ No," she said, “the necessity does not exist.
Your reckless pursuit of wealth, your return here,
the use you are making of my husband and me,
are all means towards some end. Why not tell
me?"
“ Your imagination," he declared,“ is running away
with you."
“Are you our enemy?” she asked. “Is this seem-
ing friendship of yours a cloak to hide some scheme
of yours to make us suffer? Or — " She drew a
little closer to him, and her eyes drooped.
“ Or what?” he repeated.
“Is there a little left," she whispered, “ of the old
folly ? "


146
THE MALEFACTOR
“Why not?” he answered quietly. “I was very
much in love with you.”
“It is dead," she murmured. “I believe that you
hate me now!”
Her voice was almost a caress. She was leaning a
little towards him; her eyes were seeking to draw his.
“Hate you! How impossible!” he said calmly.
“You are still a beautiful woman, you know, Ruth."
He turned and studied her critically. Lady Ruth
raised her eyes once, but dropped them at once. She
felt herself growing paler. A spasm of the old fear
was upon her.
“Yes,” he continued, “ age has not touched you.
You can still pour, if you will, the magic drug into
the wine of fools. By the bye, I must not be selfish.
Are n't you rather neglecting your guests ?”
“Never mind my guests,” she answered. “I have
been wanting to talk to you alone for days. Why have
you done this? Why are you here? What is it that
you are seeking for in life ? ”
“A little amusement only,” he declared. “I can-
not find it, except amongst my own kind.”
“ You have not the appearance of a pleasure-seeker,”
she answered.
“Mine is a passive search,” he said. “I have
some years to live — and of solitude, well, I have
tasted at once the joys and the depths.".
“ You are not in love with me any longer, are
you?" she asked.
“I am not bold enough to deny it,” he answered,
“but do not be afraid that I shall embarrass you
with a declaration. To tell you the truth, I have
not much feeling left, of any sort.”


THE MALEFACTOR
147
“ You mean to keep your own counsel, then?" she
asked.
“ It is so little to keep,” he murmured," and I have
parted with so much!”
She measured the emotion of his tone, the curious,
yet perfectly natural indifference of his manner, and
she shivered a little. Always she feared what she
could not understand.
“I had hoped,” she said sadly, “ that we might at
least have been friends."
He shook his head.
“I have no fancy,” he declared, “ for the cemeteries
of affection. You must remember that I am beginning
life anew. I do not know myself yet, or you! Let
us drift into the knowledge of one another, and
perhaps " .
“ Well! Perhaps ?”
“ There may be no question of friendship!”
Lady Ruth went back to her guests, and with the
effortless ease of long training, she became once more
the gracious and tactful hostess. But in her heart,
the fear had grown a little stronger, and a spectre
walked by her side. Once during the evening, her
husband looked at her questioningly, and she breathed
a few words to him. He laughed reassuringly.
“Oh! Wingrave's all right, I believe," he said,
“it's only his manner that puts you off a bit. He's
just the same with everyone! I don't think he means
anything by it!”
Lady Ruth shivered, but she said nothing. Just
then Aynesworth came up, and with a motion of her
fan she called him to her.
“ Please take me into the other room,” she said.


148
THE MALEFACTOR
“I want a glass of champagne, and on the way you
can tell me all about America.”
“ One is always making epigrams about America,"
he protested, smiling. “Won't you spare me?”
“Tell me, then, how you progress with your great
character study!”
“Ah!” he remarked quietly, “you come now to
a more interesting subject."
“ Yes?”
“Frankly, I do not progress at all."
“So far as you have gone?”
“If,” he said, “I were to take pen and paper and
write down, at this moment, my conclusions so far
as I have been able to form any, I fancy that they
would make evil reading. Permit me!”
They stood for a few minutes before the long side-
board. A footman had poured champagne into their
glasses, and Lady Ruth talked easily enough the jargon
of the moment. But when they turned away, she
moved slowly, and her voice was almost a whisper.
“ Tell me this,” she said; “is he really as hard and
cold as he seems? You have lived with him now for
four years. You should know that, at least."
“I believe that he is,” Aynesworth answered. “I
can tell you that much, at least, without breach of !
faith. So far as one who watches him can tell, he
lives for his own gratification — and his indulgence
in it does not, as a rule, make for the happiness of
other people.”
“ Then what does he want with us?” she asked
almost sharply. “I ask myself that question until
- I am terrified.”
Aynesworth hesitated.


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149
“It is very possible,” he said, “that he is simply
making use of you to re-enter the world. Curiously
enough, he has never seemed to care for solitude. He
makes numberless acquaintances. What pleasure he
finds in it I do not know, but he seldom avoids people.
He may be simply making use of you.”
“ What do you think yourself ? ”
“I cannot tell,” Aynesworth answered. “Indeed
I cannot tell."
She left him a little impatiently, and Aynesworth
joined the outside of the circle of men who had
gathered round Wingrave. He was answering their
questions readily enough, if a little laconically. He
was quite aware that he occupied in society the one
unique place to which princes might not even aspire
- there was something of divinity about his millions,
something of awe in the tone of the men with whom
he talked. Women pretended to be interested in him,
because of the romance of his suddenly acquired wealth
- the men did not trouble to deceive themselves or
anyone else. A break up of the group came when a
oertain great and much-talked-about lady sent across
an imperative message by her cavalier for the moment.
She desired that Mr. Wingrave should be presented
to her.
They passed down the room together a few moments
later, the Marchioness wonderfully dressed in a gown
of strange turquoise blue, looking up at her companion,
and talking with somewhat unusual animation. Every-
one made remarks, of course — exchanged significant
glances and unlovely smiles. It was so like the Mar-
chioness to claim, as a matter of course, the best of
everything that was going. Lady Ruth watched them


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THE MALEFACTOR
with a curious sense of irritation, for which she could
not altogether account. It was impossible that she
should be jealous, and yet it was equally certain that
she was annoyed. If Wingrave resisted his present
fair captor, he would enjoy a notability equal to that
which his wealth already conferred upon him. No
man as yet had done it. Was it likely that Wingrave
would wear two crowns ? Lady Ruth beckoned Aynes-
worth to her.
“ Tell me,” she said, “what is Mr. Wingrave's
general attitude towards my sex?”
“ Absolute indifference," he declared promptly,
“ unless "
He stopped short.
“ You must go on,” she told him.
“Unless he is possessed of the ability to make them
suffer,” he answered after a moment's hesitation.
“ Then Emily will never attract him," she declared
almost triumphantly,” for she has no more heart than
he has."
“He has yet to discover it,” Aynesworth remarked.
“ When he does, I think you will find that he will
shrug his shoulders — and say farewell.”
“All the same," Lady Ruth murmured to herself,
“ Emily is a cat."
Lady Ruth spoke to one more man that night of
Wingrave — and that man was her husband. Their
guests had departed, and Lady Ruth, in a marvellous
white dressing gown, was lying upon the sofa in her
room.
“How do you get on with Wingrave ?” she asked.
“ What do you think of him?”
Barrington shrugged his shoulders.


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151
. “What can one think of a man," he answered," who
goes about like an animated mummy? I have done
my best; I talked to him for nearly half an hour at
a stretch to-day, when I took him to the club for lunch
He is the incarnation of indifference. He won't list:
to politics; women, or tales about them, at any r .
seem to bore him to extinction; he drinks only as a
matter of form, and he won't talk finance. By the
bye, Ruth, I wish you could get him to give you a tip.
I scarcely see how we are going to get through the
season, unless something turns up.”
“ Is it as bad as that?” she asked.
“Worse!” her husband answered gloomily.
“We've been living on our capital for years. Every
acre of Queen's Norton is mortgaged, and I'm shot
if I can see how we're going to pay the interest."
She sighed a little wearily.
“Do you think that it would be wise ?” she asked.
“Let me tell you something, Lumley. I have only
known what fear was once in my life. I am afraid
now. I am afraid of Wingrave. I have a fancy that
he does not mean any good to us."
Barrington frowned, and threw his cigarette into
the fire with a little jerk.
“Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “The man 's not
quite so bad as that. We've been useful to him.
We've done exactly what he asked. The other mat-
ter's dead and buried. We don't want his money,
but it is perfectly easy for him to help us make a
little.”
She looked up at him quietly.
“I think, Lumley, that it is dangerous ! ” she said.
“ Then you 're not the clever woman I take you


152
THE MALEFACTOR
for," he answered, turning to leave the room. “ Just
as you please. Only it will be that or the bankruptcy,
- court before long!”
Si Lady Ruth lay quite still, looking into the fire.
shehen her maid came, she moved on tiptoe, for it
fair ,,d to her that her mistress slept. But Lady
Rutk as wide awake, though the thoughts, which
were flitting through her brain had, perhaps, some
kinship to the land of dreams.


CHAPTER III
JULIET ASKS QUESTIONS
“ ANY place,” the girl exclaimed as she entered,
“more unlike a solicitor's office, I never
I saw! Flowers outside and flowers on your
desk, Mr. Pengarth! Don't you have to apologise to
your clients for your surroundings? There's abso-
lutely nothing, except the brass plate outside, to show
that this is n't an old-fashioned farmhouse, stuck
down in the middle of a village. Fuchsias in the
window-sill, too!”
He placed a chair for her, and laid down the deed
which he had been examining, with a little sigh of
relief. It really was very hard work pretending to
be busy..
“ You see, Miss Juliet,” he explained with twink-
ling eyes, “my clients are all country folk, and it
makes them feel more at home to find a lawyer's office
not very different from their own parlour."
She nodded.
“What would the great man say?" she enquired,
pointing to the rows of black tin boxes which lined
the walls.
“Sir Wingrave Seton is never likely to come here
again, I am afraid,” he answered. “If he did, I
don't think he'd mind. To tell you the truth, I'm
rather proud of my offices, young lady!” .
She looked around.


154
THE MALEFACTOR
“They are nice,” she said decidedly, “but un-
businesslike.”
“You 're going to put up the pony and stay to lunch,
of course ?” he said. “I'll ring for the boy."
She stopped him.
“ Please don't!” she exclaimed. “I have come to
see you — on business!”
Mr. Pengarth, after his first gasp of astonishment,
was a different man. He fumbled about on the desk,
and produced a pair of gold spectacles, which he
adjusted with great nicety on the edge of his very
short nose.
“ On business, my dear!” he repeated. “Well,
well! to be sure! Is it Miss Harrison who has sent
you?”
Mr. Pengarth's visitor looked positively annoyed.
She leaned across the table towards him, so that the
roses in her large hat almost brushed his forehead.
Her wonderful brown eyes were filled with reproach.
“Mr. Pengarth,” she said, “ do you know how old
I am ?”
“How old, my dear? Why, let me see!” he ex-
claimed. “Fourteen and — why, God bless my soul,
you must be eighteen!”
“I am nineteen years old, Mr. Pengarth,” the
young lady announced with dignity. “ Perhaps you
will be kind enough to treat me now - er — with a
little more respect."
“Nineteen!” he repeated vaguely. “God bless
my-nineteen years old!”
“I consider myself,” she repeated, “ of age. I
have come to see you about my affairs ! ”
“Yes, yes!” he said. “ Quite natural.”


THE MALEFACTOR
155
“For four years," she continued, “I seem to have
been supported by some relative of my father, who
has never vouchsafed to send me a single line or
message, except through you. I have written letters
which I have given to you to forward. There has
been no reply. Have you sent on those letters, Mr.
Pengarth ? ”
“Why certainly, my dear, certainly!”
“ Can you tell me how it is that I have had no
answer ?”
Mr. Pengarth coughed. He was not at all com-
fortable.
“ Your guardian, Miss Juliet, is somewhat eccen-
tric,” he answered, “and he is a very busy man.”
“ Can you tell me, Mr. Pengarth, exactly what
relation he is to me?”
There was a dead silence. Mr. Pengarth found the
room suddenly warm, and mopped his forehead with
a large silk handkerchief.
“I have no authority,” he declared,“ to answer any
questions."
“ Then can you tell me of your own accord," she
said, “why there is all this mystery? Why may I
not know who he is, why may I not write to him?
Am I anything to be ashamed of, that he will not
trust me even with his name? I am tired of accept-
ing so much, and not being able to offer even my
thanks in return. It is too much like charity! I
have made up my mind that if this is to go on, I
will go away and earn my own living! There, Mr.
Pengarth!”
“Rubbish!” he exclaimed briskly. “What at?"
“ Painting!” she declared triumphantly. “I have


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157
“ But surely he will come back himself some time?”
she asked.
The lawyer shook his head sorrowfully.
“I am afraid," he said, “ that Sir Wingrave has
no affection for the place whatever."
“No affection for Tredowen,” she repeated won-
deringly. “Do you know what I think, Mr. Pen-
garth? I think that it is the most beautiful house
in the world !”
“ And yet you talk of leaving it."
“I don't want to go," she answered, “but I don't
want to be accepting things all my life from some-
one whose name even I do not know.”
“Well, well," he said, “you must wait until I
have written my letter. Time enough to talk about
that later on. Now, if you won't stay to lunch, you
must come and see Rachael, and have some cake and
a glass of wine."
“ How sweet of you," she exclaimed. “I'm fright-
fully hungry. Can I do anything to stop growing,
Mr. Pengarth? I'm getting taller and taller!"
She stood up. She was head and shoulders taller
than the little lawyer, slim as a lath, and yet won-
derfully graceful. She laughed down at him and
made a little grimace.
“I'm a giraffe, am I not?” she declared; "and
I'm still growing. Do show me your garden, Mr.
Pengarth. I want to see your hollyhocks. Every-
one is talking about them.”
They were joined in a few minutes by a prim,
dignified little lady, ridiculously like Mr. Pengarth,
whom he called sister, and she Miss Rachael. Juliet
walked down the garden between them.


158
THE MALEFACTOR
“Sister,” Mr. Pengarth said, “ Juliet has come
to-day to see me on business. In effect, she has come
to remind me that she is grown up.”
“Grown up,” Miss Rachael protested vigorously;
“rubbish! ”
“I am nineteen years old," Juliet declared.
“And what if you are," Miss Rachael replied
briskly. “In my young days we were in the nur-
sery at nineteen.”
“Quite so," Mr. Pengarth assented with relief.
“You took me by storm just now, Miss Juliet.
After all, you are only a child.”
“I am old enough to feel and to mean all that I
said to you, Mr. Pengarth,” she answered gravely.
“ And that reminds me, too — there was something
else I meant to ask you."
“Sister,” Mr. Pengarth said, “have you ordered
the wine and the cake?”
“Bless me, no!” Miss Rachael declared. “It shall
be ready in five minutes.”
She entered the house. Mr. Pengarth stooped to
pick some lavender.
“ The only time I ever saw Sir Wingrave Seton,"
she said, “was on the day before I was told that a
relation of my father had been found, who was
willing to take charge of me. There was a younger
man with him, someone very, very different from Sir
Wingrave. Do you know who he was?”.
“A sort of secretary of Sir Wingrave, I believe,
dear. I never met him. I was, unfortunately, away
at the time they came.”.
“ He was very nice and kind to me,” the girl con-
tinued, “just as nice as Sir Wingrave was horrid.


THE MALEFACTOR
159
I suppose it was because they came on that day, but
I have always connected him somehow with this mys-
terious relation of mine. Mr. Aynesworth did n't help
to find him, did he ?”
“ Certainly not!” the lawyer answered. “The in-
structions I had came first from Mr. Saunders, the
vicar of the parish. It was he who appeared to have
made the necessary enquiries."
“Horrid old man!” she declared. “He used to
make me feel that I wanted to cry, every time that
I saw him."
“Miss Rachael is calling us,” the lawyer declared
with obvious relief.
“New cake!” Juliet declared, “I can smell it!
Delicious!”


CHAPTER IV
LADY RUTH'S LAST CARD
HERE are two letters,” Aynesworth an-
nounced, “ which I have not opened. One,
I think, is from the Marchioness of West-
hampton, the other from some solicitors at Truro.
They were both marked private.”
Wingrave was at breakfast in his flat; Aynesworth
had been in an adjoining room sorting his correspond-
ence. He accepted the two letters, and glanced them
through without remark. But whereas he bestowed
scarcely a second's consideration upon the broad sheet
of white paper, with the small coronet and the faint
perfume of violets, the second letter apparently caused
him some annoyance. He read it through for a second
time, with a slight frown upon his forehead.
“ You must cancel my engagements for two days,
Aynesworth,” he said. “I have to go out of town.”
Aynesworth nodded.
“There's nothing very special on," he remarked.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“ It is not necessary,” Wingrave answered. “I
am going,” he added, after a moment's pause, “ to
Cornwall.”
Aynesworth was immediately silent. The one time
when Wingrave had spoken to him as an employer,
was in answer to some question of his as to what


THE MALEFACTOR
161
had eventually become of the treasures of Tredowen.
He had always since scrupulously avoided the
subject
“Be so good as to look out the trains for me,” Win-
grave continued. “I cannot go until the afternoon,"
he added after a momentary pause. “I have an en-
gagement for luncheon. Perhaps, if you are not too
busy, you will see that Morrison packs some things
for me."
He moved to the writing table, and wrote a few
lines to the Marchioness, regretting that his absence
from town would prevent his dining with her on the
following day. Then he studied the money column
in several newspapers for half an hour, and tele-
phoned to his broker. At eleven o'clock, he rode
for an hour in the quietest part of the park, avoid-
ing, so far as possible, anyone he knew, and gallop-
ing whenever he could. It was the only form of
exercise in which he was known to indulge, although
the knowledge of English games which he sometimes
displayed, was a little puzzling to some of his ac-
quaintances. On his return, he made a simple but
correct toilet, and at half-past one he met Lady Ruth
at Prince's Restaurant.
Lady Ruth's gown of dove colour, with faint touches
of blue, was effective, and she knew it. Nevertheless,
she was a little pale, and her manner lacked that note
of quiet languor which generally characterised it. She
talked rather more than usual, chattering idly about
the acquaintances to whom she was continually nod-
ding and bowing. Her face hardened a little as the
Marchioness, on her way through the room with a
party of friends, stopped at their table.


162
THE MALEFACTOR
The two women exchanged the necessary number
of inanities, then the Marchioness turned to Wingrave.
“ You won't forget that you are dining with me
to-morrow?”
Wingrave shook his head regretfully.
“I am sorry," he said, “but I have to go out of
town. I have just written you."
“What a bore," she remarked. “Business, of
course!”
She nodded and passed on. Her farewell to Lady
Ruth was distinctly curt. Wingrave resumed his seat
and his luncheon without remark.
“Hateful woman,” Lady Ruth murmured.
“I thought you were friends,” Wingrave remarked.
“Yes, we are,” Lady Ruth assented, “the sort of
friendship you men don't know much about. You see
a good deal of her, don't you?”
Wingrave raised his head and looked at Lady Ruth
contemplatively.
“Why do you ask me that ?” he asked.
“ Curiosity!”
“I do,” he remarked; "you should be grateful to
her.”
“Why?”
“It may save you a similar infliction."
Lady Ruth was silent for several moments.
“Perhaps," she said at last, "I do not choose to
be relieved.”
Wingrave bowed, his glass in his hand. His lips
were curled into the semblance of a smile, but he did
not say a word. Lady Ruth leaned a little across
the table, so that the feathers of her hat nearly brushed
his forehead.


THE MALEFACTOR
163
“ Wingrave," she asked, “ do you know what fear
is? Perhaps not! You are a man, you see. No one
has ever called me a coward. You would n't, would
you?”
“No!” he said deliberately, “ you are not a
coward.”
“ There is only one sort of fear which I know,"?
she continued, " and that is the fear of what I do not
understand. And that is why, Wingrave, I am afraid
of you.”
He set down his glass, and his fingers trifled for
a moment with its stem. His expression was
inscrutable.
“ Surely,” he said, “ you are not serious!”
“I am serious," she declared, “ and you know that
I am.”
“ You are afraid of me,” he repeated softly. “I
wonder why."
She looked him straight in the eyes.
“ Because," she said, “I did you once a very
grievous wrong. Because I know that you have not
forgiven me. Because I am very sure that all the
good that was in you lies slain.”
“ By whose hand ?” he asked quietly. “No! you
need not answer. You know. So do I. Yes, I can
understand your fear. But I do not understand why
you confess it to me.”
“Nor I,” she answered. “Nor do I understand
why I am here — at your bidding, nor why I keep
you always by my side, whenever you choose to take
your place there. Are you a vain man, Wingrave?
Do you wish to pose as the friend of a woman whom
the world has thought too ambitious to waste time


164
THE MALEFACTOR
upon such follies? There is the Marchioness! She
would do you more credit still."
“ Thank you,” he answered. “I like to choose the
path myself, when I pass into the maze of follies!”
“ You have not yet explained yourself,” she re-
minded him. “Of all people in world, you have
chosen us for your presumptive friends. Why? You
hate us both. You know that you do. Is it part of
a scheme? Lumley is investing money on your ad-
vice, I am allowing myself to be seen about with you
more than is prudent — considering all things. Do
you want to rake out the ashes of our domestic hearth
— to play the part of — melodramatic villain? You
are ingenious enough, and powerful enough.”
“You put strange ideas into my head," he told
her lightly. “Why should I not play the part that
you suggest ? It might be amusing, and you cer-
tainly deserve all the evil which I could bring upon
you.”
She leaned a little across the table towards him.
Her eyes were soft and bright, and they looked full
into his. The colour in her cheeks was natural. The
air around him was faintly fragrant with the per-
fume of her clothes and hair.
“We could n't leave off playing at the game — and
act it, could we?” she murmured. “We could n't
really — be friends ? ”.
Lady Ruth had played her trump card. She had
touched his fingers with hers, her eyes shone with the
promise of unutterable things. But if Wingrave was
moved, he did not show it.
“I wish,” he said, “ that I could accept your offer
in the spirit with which you tender it. Unfortunately,


THE MALEFACTOR
165
I am a maimed person. My sensibilities have gone.
Friendship, in the more intimate sense of the word,
I may never hope to feel again. Enmity — well, that
is more comprehensible; even enmity," he continued
slowly, “which might prompt a woman to disguise
herself as her own lady's maid, to seek out a tool to
get rid of the man she feared. Pardon me, Lady
Ruth, you are eating nothing.”
· She pulled down her veil.
“ Thank you, I have finished,” she said in a low.
tone.
He called for the bill.
“Pray, don't let my little remark distress you,"
he said. “I had almost forgotten the circumstance
until something you said brought it into my mind.
It is you yourself, you must remember, who set the
example of candour.”
"I deserve everything you can say," she murmured,
"everything you can do. There is nothing left, I
suppose, but suffering. Will you take me out to my
carriage ? You can come back and have your coffee
with the Marchioness! She keeps looking across at
you, and it will please her to think that you got rid
of me."
He glanced at his watch.
“I am afraid,” he said, rising," that I must deny
myself the pleasure of seeking the Marchioness again
to-day. I have a train to catch in half an hour. You
are ready?”
“Quite!”
They made their way through the maze of tables
towards the door, Lady Ruth exchanging greetings
right and left with her friends, although the tall,


166
THE MALEFACTOR
grave-looking man who followed her was by far the
greater object of interest.
“ Just like Ruth to keep him in her pocket," re-
marked her dearest friend, looking after them; “ they
say that he has millions."
She sighed a little enviously.
“ The Barrington ménage needs a little backing
up,” her companion remarked. “I should say that he
had come just in time. The Marchioness has her eye
upon him too. There may be some fun presently.”
Lady Ruth's dearest friend smiled.
“I will back Ruth,” she said drily. “Emily is
beautiful, but she is too obvious, and too eager!
Ruth's little ways are more subtle. Besides, look at
the start she has. She is n't the sort of woman men
tire of.”
Lady Ruth held out her hand through the window
of her electric coupé.
“ Thank you for my luncheon,” she said. “When
shall we see you again?”
“In a few days," he answered, standing bare-
headed upon the pavement. “I shall call directly I
return."
Lady Ruth nodded and leaned back. Wingrave
smiled faintly as he turned away. He had seen
the little shudder, which she had done her best to
hide!
Lady Ruth found her husband at home, writing let-
ters in his study. She sank wearily into a chair by
his side.
“Been lunching out ?” he enquired.
She nodded.
“At Prince's, with Wingrave.”


THE MALEFACTOR
167
· He made no remark, but he seemed far from
displeased.
“If I'd only had the pluck,” he remarked a little
disconsolately, “I might have made thousands by fol-
lowing his advice this week. It was you who put me
off, too!”
“It turned out all right?" she asked.
“Exactly as he said. I made five hundred! I
might just as well have made five thousand."
“ Can you let me have a couple of hundred ?" she
asked. “The people are all bothering so.”
“You know that I can't,” he answered irritably.
“I had to send the lot to Lewis, and then it was n't
a quarter of what he is pressing for. We shall never
get through the season, Ruth, unless »
She raised her eyes.
“ Unless what?”
“ Unless something turns up!”
There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Lady
Ruth rose to her feet, and stood facing the fireplace
with her back to him.
“ Lumley,” she said, “ let's face it!"
He gave a little start.
“Face what?” he enquired.
“Ruin, the Bankruptcy Court, and all the rest of
it!” she declared, a note of defiance creeping into
her tone.
Her husband's face was white with astonishment.
He stared across at her blankly.
“ Are you mad, Ruth ?” he exclaimed. “Do you
know what you are saying?”
“Quite well,” she answered. “I'm a little sick
of the whole show. The tradespeople are getting


168
THE MALEFACTOR
impertinent. I don't even know where to get flowers
for dinner to-night, or where to go for my Ascot
gowns. It must come sooner or later.”
“You 're talking like a fool,” he deelared harshly.
“Do you know that I should have to give up my seat
and my clubs ? ”
“We could live quietly in the country.”
“ Country be - hanged !” he exclaimed savagely.
“What use is the country to you and me? I'd sooner
put a bullet through my brain. Ruth, old lady," he
added more gently, “what's gone wrong? You ’re
generally such a well plucked 'un! Have you — had
à row with Wingrave ?” he asked, looking at her
anxiously.
“No!”
“ Then what is it?"
“Nothing! I've lost my nerve, I suppose ! ”
“ You want a change! It is n't so very long to
Cowes now, and, thank heavens, that 'll cost us nothing.
We're going on Wingrave's yacht, are n't we?”
“ Yes! we did accept."
Barrington fidgeted for a moment with a paper
knife.
“ Ruth,” he asked, “what's wrong between you
and Wingrave?”
“ Nothing," she answered; “I'm afraid of him,
that's all! ”
“ Afraid of him! Afraid of Wingrave!” he re-
peated.
“ Yes! I do not think that he has forgotten. I
think that he means to make us suffer."
Barrington was almost dignified.
“I never heard such nonsense in my life, Ruth!”


THE MALEFACTOR
169
he exclaimed. “I have watched Wingrave closely,
and I have seen no trace of anything of the sort.
Nonsense! It is worse than nonsense! You must
be getting hysterical. You must get all this rubbish
out of your head. To tell you the truth -
“ Well?”
“I was thinking that you might ask Wingrave to
help us a bit. I don't believe he'd hesitate for a
moment."
Ruth looked her husband in the face. There was
a curious expression in her eyes.
“Do you think that it would be wise of me to ask
him?" she demanded.
“Why not?” he answered. “You can take care
of yourself. I can trust you.”
“I told you that I was afraid of Wingrave," she
reminded him. “I can take care of myself as a
rule — and I do — as you know. I have elected to
be one of the unfashionables in that respect. But to
ask Wingrave for money is more than I dare do."
“ Then I shall ask him myself,” Barrington de-
clared.
She picked up her gloves and turned to leave the
room.
“I should prefer even that,” she said.


THE MALEFACTOR
171
Wingrave remained silent. He had the air of one
not troubling to reply to what he considered folly.
Through the wide open window floated in the various
sounds of the little country town, the rumbling of
heavy carts passing along the cobbled streets, the
shrill greetings of neighbours and acquaintances
meeting upon the sidewalk. And then the tinkling
bell of a rubber-tyred cart pulling up outside, and
a clear girlish voice speaking to some one of the
passers-by.
Wingrave betrayed as much surprise as it was pos-
sible for him to show, when at last she stood with
outstretched hand before him. He had only an im-
perfect recollection of an ill-clad, untidy-looking child,
with pale tear-stained cheeks, and dark unhappy eyes.
The march of the years had been a thing whose effects
he had altogether underestimated. The girl who stood
now facing him was slight, and there was something
of the child left in her bright eager face, but she car-
ried herself with all the graceful assurance of an older
woman. Her soft, dark eyes were lit with pleasure
and excitement, her delicately traced eyebrows and
delightful smile were somehow suggestive of her for-
eign descent. Her clothes were country-made, but
perfect as regarded fit and trimness, her beflowered
hat was worn with a touch of coquettish grace, a trifle
un-English, but very delightful. She had not an
atom of shyness or embarrassment. Only there was
a great surprise in her face as she held out her hands
to Wingrave.
“I know who you are," she exclaimed. “You are
Sir Wingrave Seton. To think that I never guessed."
“ You remember seeing me, then ?” he remarked,


172
THE MALEFACTOR
and his tone sounded all the colder after the full
richness of her young voice.
“I just remember it — only just," she answered.
“You see you did not take much notice of me that
time, did you? But I have lived amongst your an-
cestors too long to make any mistake. Why have you
stayed away from Tredowen so long ?”
“I have been abroad,” Wingrave answered. “I
I am not fond of England.”
“You had trouble here, I know,” she said frankly.
“But that is all past and over. I think that you
must forget how beautiful your home is, or you would
never bear to live away from it. Now, please, may
I ask you a question ?”
“ Any that you think necessary,” Wingrave an-
swered. “Spare me as much as possible; I am not
fond of them.”
“Shall I leave you two together for a little time?”
Mr. Pengarth suggested, gathering up some papers.
“ Certainly not,” Wingrave said shortly. “There
is not the slightest necessity for it."
Mr. Pengarth resumed his seat.
“Just as you please," he answered. “But you
must sit down, Juliet. There, you shall have my
clients' chair.” .
The girl accepted it with a little laugh. There
was no shadow of embarrassment about her manner,
notwithstanding the cold stiffness of Wingrave's de
portment. He sat where the sunlight fell across his
chair, and the lines in his pale face seemed deeper
than usual, the grey hairs more plentiful, the weari-
ness in his eyes more apparent. Yet she was not in
the least afraid of him.
the least of eyes more apparente plentiful, the weeper


THE MALEFACTOR
1173
“First of all, then, Sir Wingrave, may I ask you
why you have been so extraordinarily kind to me”.
“ There is nothing extraordinary about it at all,”
he answered. “Your father died and left you friend-
less, in a parish of which I am Lord of the Manor.
He received a starvation pittance for his labours,
which it was my duty to augment, a duty which, with
many others, I neglected. I simply gave orders that
you should be looked after."
She laughed softly.
“Looked after! Why, I have lived at Tredowen.
I have had a governess, a pony to drive. Heaven
knows how many luxuries ! ”
“That,” he interrupted hastily, " is nothing. The
house is better occupied. What I have done for you
is less, in proportion, than the sixpence you may
sometimes have given to a beggar, for I am a rich,
a ridiculously rich man, with no possible chance of
spending one-quarter of my income. You had a dis-
tinct and obvious claim upon me, and, at no cost or
inconvenience to myself, I have endeavoured, through
others, to recognise it.”
“I will accept your view of the situation,” the
girl said, still smiling, but with a faint note of dis-
appointment in her tone. “I do not wish to force
upon you expressions of gratitude which you would
only find wearisome. But I must thank you! It
is in my heart, and I must speak of it. There, it
is over, you see! I shall say no more.”
“You are a sensible young lady,” Wingrave said,
making a motion as though to rise. “I have only
one request to make to you, and that is that you
keep to yourself the knowledge which Mr. Pengarth


174
THE MALEFACTOR
informs me that you insisted upon acquiring. You
are nearly enough of age now, and I will make you
your own mistress. That is all, I think.”
The smile died away from her lips. Her tone
became very earnest.
“Sir Wingrave," she said, “ for all that you have
done for me I am, as you know, grateful. I would
try to tell you how grateful, only I know that it
would weary you. So we will speak only of the
future. I cannot continue to accept - even such
magnificent alms as yours.”
“ What do you mean, child ?” he asked, frowning
across at her.
“I mean,” she said, “ that now I am old enough
to work, I cannot accept everything from one upon
whom I have no claim. If you will help me a little
still, I shall be more than grateful. But it must be
in my own way.”
“You talk about work," he said. “What can you
do ?”
“I can paint,” she answered, “fairly well. I
should like to go to London and have a few lessons.
If I cannot make a living at that, I shall try some-
thing else.”
“You disappoint me,” Wingrave said. “There is
no place for you in London. There are thousands
starving there already, because they can paint a little,
or sing a little, or fancy they can. Do you find it
dull down here?”
“Dull!” she exclaimed wonderingly. “I think
that there can be no place on earth so beautiful as
Tredowen.”
“You are happy here?”


176
THE MALEFACTOR
“ Against the two of you,” Wingrave remarked, “I
am, of course, powerless. After all, it is no concern
of mine. I shall leave you, Pengarth, to make such
arrangements as Miss Lundy desires ! ” .
He rose to his feet. Juliet now was pale. She
dashed the tears from her eyes, and looked at him
in amazement, mingled with something which was
almost like despair.
“ You don't mean,” she exclaimed, “ you are going
away without coming to Tredowen ? "
“Why not?” he asked. “I never had any inten-
tion of going there!”
“You are very angry with me," she cried in de
spair. “I-I- "
Her lip quivered. Wingrave interposed.
“I shall be happy to go and have a look at the
place,” he said carelessly, “if you will drive me back.
I fancy I have almost forgotten what it is like."
She looked at him as at one who had spoken irrev-
erently. Her eyes were full of wonder.
“I think that you must have indeed forgotten,”
she said, “how very beautiful it is. It is your home
too! There is no one else,” she added softly, “who
can live there, amongst all those wonderful things,
and call it really — home!”
"I am afraid," he said, “ you will find that I have
outlived all sentiment; but I will certainly come to
Tredowen with you!”
sh. 7. think that were full of wonder spoken irrev.


CHAPTER VI
GHOSTS OF DEAD THINGS
“T T was here," she said, as they passed through
| the walled garden seawards, “ that I saw you
I first you and the other gentleman who was
so kind to me."
Wingrave nodded.
“I believe that I remember it," he said; “ you
were a mournful-looking object, in a very soiled pina-
fore, and most untidy hair.”
“I had been out on the cliffs," she reminded him,
“ where I am taking you now. If you are going to
make unkind remarks about my hair, I think that I
had better fetch a hat.”
“Pray don't leave me," he answered. “I should
certainly lose my way. Your hair in those days was,
I fancy, a little more —- unkempt!”
She laughed.
“It used to be cut short,” she said. “Hideous !
There! Is n't that glorious ? "
She had opened the postern gate in the wall, and
through the narrow opening was framed a wonder-
ful picture of the Cornish sea, rolling into the rock-
studded bay. Its soft thunder was in their ears;
salt and fragrant, the west wind swept into their
faces. She closed the gate behind her, and stepped
blithely forward.
12


178
THE MALEFACTOR
“Come!” she cried. “We will climb the cliffs,
where we left you alone, once before.”
Side by side they stood looking over the ocean.
Her head was thrown back, her lips a little parted.
He watched her curiously.
“ You must have sea blood in your veins," he re-
marked. “You listen as though you heard music all
the time.”
“ And what about you?” she asked him, smiling.
“ You are the grandson of Admiral Sir Wingrave
Seton, who commanded a frigate at Trafalgar, and
an ancestor of yours fought in the Armada.”
“I am afraid," he said quietly, “ that there is a
hiatus in my life somewhere. There are no voices
which call to me any more, and my family records
are so much dead parchment.”
Trouble passed into her glowing face, and clouded
her eyes.
“Ah!” she said, “I do not like to hear you talk
so. Do you know that when you do, you make me
afraid that something I have always hoped for will
never come to pass ?”
“ What is it?” he asked.
“I have always hoped,” she said, “that some day
you would come once more to Tredowen. I suppose
I am rather a fanciful person. This is a country of
superstitions and fancies, you know; but sometimes
when I have been alone in the picture gallery, with all
that long line of dark faces looking down upon me
from the walls, I have felt like an interloper. Always
they seem to be waiting! To-night, after dinner, I
will take you there. I will try and show you what
I mean."


THE MALEFACTOR
179
He shook his head.
“I shall never come back,” he said, " and there are
no more of my name.”
She hesitated. When at last she spoke, the colour
was coming and going in her cheeks.
“Sir Wingrave," she said, “I am only an ignorant
girl, and I have no right to talk to you like this.
Please be angry with me if you want to. I deserve
it. I know all about — that ten years! Could n't you
forget it, and come back ? None of the country people
round here, your own people, believe anything evil
about you. You were struck and you struck back
again. A man would do that. You could be as lonely
as you liked here, or you could have friends if you
wished for them. But this is the place where you
ought to live. You would be happier here, I believe,
than in exile. The love of it all would come back, you
would never be lonely. It is the same sea which sang
to you when you were a child, and to your fathers
before you. It would bring you forgetfulness when
you wanted it, or "
Wingrave interrupted her. His tone was cold, but
not unkind.
“My dear young lady,” he said, “it is very good
of you to be so sympathetic, but I am afraid I am
not at all the sort of person you imagine me to be.
What I was before those ten years — well, I have
forgotten. What I am now, I unfortunately know.
I am a soured, malevolent being, whose only pleasure
lies in the dealing out to others some portion of the
unhappiness which was dealt out to me."
“I do not believe it,” she declared briskly.
He shrugged his shoulders.


180
THE MALEFACTOR
“Nevertheless, it is true," he declared coolly.
“Listen! More or less you interest me. I will tell
you something which I have never get told to
a single human being. I need not go into par-
ticulars. You will probably believe a broad state-
ment. My ten years' imprisonment was more or less
an injustice ! ”
“Sir Wingrave!”
He checked her. There was not a tremor in his
tone. The gesture with which he had repelled her
was stiff and emotionless.
“I went into prison one man, I came out another.
While I live, I shall never be able to think kindly
again of a single one of my fellow creatures. It was
not my fault. So far as our affections are concerned,
we are machines, all of us. Well, my mainspring has
broken.”
“I don't believe it,” she declared.
“It is, nevertheless, true," he affirmed calmly.
“I am living in exile because I have no friends,
because friends have become an impossibility to me.
I shall not tell you any more of my life, because you
are young, and you would not believe me if I did.
Some day,” he added grimly, “ you will probably hear
for yourself.”
“I shall never believe anything," she declared,
“ which I do not choose to believe. I shall never be-
lieve, for instance, that you are quite what you think
yourself.”
“We will talk of other things,” he said. “Five
years ago, you showed Aynesworth where the seagulls
built.”
“And now I will show you,” she exclaimed, “if


THE MALEFACTOR
181
you are sure that your head is steady enough. Come
along!”...
It was after dinner that she took him into the pic-
ture gallery. Miss Harrison, very much disturbed
by the presence of the master of Tredowen, and still
more so by the hint which she had already received as
to coming changes, followed them at a little distance.
“I am so sorry," Juliet said, “that we have no
cigars or cigarettes.”
“I seldom smoke,” Wingrave answered.
“If only we had had the slightest idea of your
coming,” Miss Harrison said for the tenth time, “we
would have made more adequate preparations. The
wine cellar, at least, could have been opened. I
allowed Mr. and Mrs. Tresfarwin to go for their
holiday only yesterday, and the cellars, of course, are
never touched.”
“ Your claret was excellent,” Wingrave assured her.
“I am quite sure,” Miss Harrison said, “ that
claret from the local grocer is not what you are ac-
customed to "
“My dear madam,” Wingrave protested, “I seldom
touch wine. Show me which picture it is, Juliet, that
you — ah!”
She had led him to the end of the gallery, and
stopped before what seemed to be a plain oak cup-
board, surrounded by a massive frame. She looked
at him half fearfully.
“ You want to see that picture ?” he asked.
“If I might.”
He drew a bunch of keys from his pocket, and
calmly selected one. It was a little rusty, but the
cupboard turned at once on its hinges. A woman's


182
THE MALEFACTOR
face smiled down upon them, dark and splendid, from
the glowing touch of a great painter. Juliet studied
it eagerly, and then stole a sidelong glance at the
man by her side. He was surveying it critically, and
without any apparent emotion.
“Herkomer's, I think,” he remarked. “Quite one
of his best."
“It is your mother ?” she whispered.
He nodded.
“I'm not great at genealogy,” he said, “but I can
go as far back as that. She was by way of being a
great lady, the daughter of the Duke of Warminster."
must have been very fond of you.”
“ Customary thing, I suppose," he remarked.
“Lucky for her, under the circumstances, that she
died young.”
He closed the oaken door in front of the picture,
and locked it.
“I should like to see the armoury," he said; “ but
I really forget — let me see, it is at the end of the
long gallery, is n't it?”
She led him there without a word. She was getting
a little afraid of him. They inspected the library,
and wandered back into the picture gallery. It was
she, now, who was silent. She had shown him all
her favourite treasures, without being able to evoke
a single spark of enthusiasm.
“Once," she remarked, “We all had a terrible
fright. We were told that everything was going to
be sold."
He nodded.
“I did think of it," he admitted; “but there


THE MALEFACTOR
183
seemed to be no hurry. All these things are growing
into money year by year. Some day I shall send
everything to Christie's."
She looked at him in horror.
“ You cannot-oh, you cannot mean it?” she cried.
“Why not? They are no use to me."
“No use?” she faltered.
“Not a bit. I don't suppose I shall see them
again for many years. And the money — well, one
can use that.”
“But I thought — that you were rich ?" she
faltered.
“So I am,” he answered, “and yet I go on making
more and more, and I shall go on. Money is the whip
with which its possessor can scourge humanity. It
is with money that I deal out my -- forgive me, I
forgot that I was talking aloud, and to a child,” he
wound up suddenly.
She looked at him, dryeyed, but with a strained
look of sorrow, strangely altering her girlish face.
“You must be very unhappy," she said.
“Not at all,” he assured her. “I am one of those
fortunate persons who have outlived happiness and
unhappiness. I have nothing to do but live — and
pay off a few little debts.”
He rose directly afterwards, and she walked with
him out to the gardens, whence a short cut led to the
village.
“I have not tried again to make you change your
mind,” he said, as they stood for a moment on the
terrace. “If my wishes have any weight with you,
I trust that you will do nothing without consulting
Mr. Pengarth.”


184
THE MALEFACTOR
" And you " she faltered, "are you — never
in London ? Sha'n't I see you again any time?”
“If you care to, by all means," he answered. “ Tell
Mr. Pengarth to let me have your address. Good-bye!
Thank you for taking care of my treasures so well.”
She held his cold hand in hers, and suddenly raised
it to her lips. Then she turned away, and hurried
indoors.
Wingrave stood still for a moment, and gazed at
his hand through the darkness, as though the ghosts
of dead things had flitted out from the dark laurel
shrubs. Then he laughed quietly to himself.


CHAPTER VII
SPREADING THE NETS
D Y the bye,” the Marchioness asked him,
“have you a Christian name?”
“Sorry,” Wingrave answered, “if I ever
had I've forgotten it.”
“ Then I must call you Wingrave,” she remarked.
“I hate calling anyone I know decently well Mr.
anything.”
“ Charmed,” Wingrave answered; “it is n't a bad
name.”
“It is n't,” she admitted. “By the bye," she con-
tinued, looking at him critically, “ you are rather a
surprising person, are n't you?”
“Glad you 've found it out,” Wingrave answered.
“I always thought so.”
“One associates all sorts of terrible things with
millionaires — especially African and American ones,"
she remarked. Now you could pass anywhere for
the ordinary sort of decent person.”
Wingrave nodded.
“I was told the other day," he remarked reflect-
ively, “ that if I would only cultivate two things,
I might almost pass as a member of the English
aristocracy.”
“What were they?” she asked rashly.
“Ignorance and impertinence," he answered.
The Marchioness was silent for a moment. There


186
THE MALEFACTOR
was a little more colour than usual in her beautiful
cheeks, and a dangerous glitter in her eyes.
“You can go home, Mr. Wingrave," she said.
He rose to his feet imperturbably. The Mar-
chioness stretched out a long white hand, and gently
forced him back again.
“ You must n't talk like that to me,” she said
quietly. “I am sensitive.”
He bowed.
“ A privilege, I believe, of your order," he remarked.
“ Of course, if you want to quarrel - ”she began.
“I don't,” he assured her.
“ Then be sensible! I want to talk to you."
“ Sensible, alone with you!” he murmured. “I
should establish a new record.”
“You certainly are n’t in the least like a million-
aire,” she declared, smiling at him, “ you are more
like a "
“Please go on,” he begged.
“I dare n't,” she answered, shaking her head.
“Then you are n't in the least like a marchioness,"
he declared. “At least, not like our American ideas
of one."
She laughed outright.
“Bring your chair quite close to mine," she or-
dered, “I really want to talk to you.”
He obeyed, and affected to be absorbed in the con-
templation of the rings on the hand which a great
artist had called the most beautiful in England. She
withdrew it a little peevishly, after a moment's
pause.
“I want to talk about the Barringtons," she said.
“Do you know that they are practically ruined ?”


190
THE MALEFACTOR
rather a rude knock, and Ruth thought I'd better
come and see you.”
Wingrave remained a study of impassivity. His
guests whole demeanour, his uneasy words and
nervous glances were an unspoken appeal to be
helped out in what he had come to say. And Win-
grave knew very well what it was. Nevertheless, he
remained silent — politely questioning. Barrington
sat down a little heavily. He was not so carefully
dressed as usual; he looked older, his appearance
lacked altogether that air of buoyant prosperity which
was wont to inspire his friends and creditors with
confidence.
“I've been a fool, Wingrave,” he said. “You
showed me how to make a little money a few weeks
ago, and it seemed so easy that I could n't resist
having a try by myself, only on rather a larger
scale. I lost! Then I went in again to pull myself
round, and I lost again. I lost — more than I can
easily raise before settlement.”
“I am sorry,” Wingrave said politely. “It is
very unwise to meddle in things you know so little
about.”
For a moment the worm turned. Barrington rose
to his feet, and with a deep flush upon his cheeks
moved towards the door. But his spark of genuine
feeling died out almost as soon as it had been kindled.
Outside that door was ruin; within, as he very well
knew, lay his only chance of salvation. He set down
his hat, and turned round.
“ Wingrave,” he said, “ will you lend me some
money?"
Wingrave looked at him with upraised eyebrows.


THE MALEFACTOR
191
“I,” he remarked, “ lend you money? Why should
I ?”
“Heaven knows,” Barrington answered. “ It is
you who have chosen to seek us out. You have
forced upon us something which has at least the sem-
blance of friendship. There is no one else whom I
could ask. It is n't only this damned Stock Exchange
transaction. Everything has gone wrong with me for
years. If I could have kept going till next July, I
should have been all right. I have made a little
success in the House, and I am promised a place in
the next government. I know it seems queer that I
should be asking you, but it is that — or ruin. Now
you know how things are with me."
“ You are making,” Wingrave said quietly, “a
mistake. I have not pretended or given the slightest
evidence of any friendship for yourself.”
Barrington looked at him with slowly mounting
colour.
“ You mean "
“ Precisely,” Wingrave interrupted. “I do not
know what I might or might not do for Lady Ruth.
I have not considered the subject. It has not, in
fact, been presented to me."
“ It is the same thing," Barrington declared
hoarsely.
“Pardon me — it is not,” Wingrave answered.
“ What I ask you to do,” Barrington said, “I ask
on behalf of my wife.”
“ As an ambassador,” Wingrave said coldly, “you
are not acceptable to me. It is a matter which I
could only discuss with Lady Ruth herself. If Lady
Ruth has anything to say to me, I will hear it.”


192
THE MALEFACTOR
Barrington stood quite still for several moments.
The veins on his forehead stood out like tightly drawn
cords, his breath came with difficulty. The light in
his eyes, as he looked at Wingrave, was almost
murderous..
“If Lady Ruth desires to see me,” Wingrave re-
marked slowly, “I shall be here at nine o'clock this
evening. To-morrow my movements are uncertain.
You will excuse me if I hurry you away now. I
have an engagement which is already overdue."
Barrington took up his hat and left the room with-
out a word. Wingrave remained in his chair. His
eyes followed the departing figure of his visitor. When
he was absolutely sure that he was alone, he covered
his face with one hand. His engagement seemed to
have been with his thoughts, for he did not stir for
nearly an hour later. Then he rang the bell for
Aynesworth.


CHAPTER VIII
IN THE TOILS
TINGRAVE did not speak for several mo-
ments after Aynesworth had entered the
room. He had an engagement book before
him, and seemed to be deep in its contents. When at
last he looked up, his forehead was furrowed with
thought, and he had the weary air of a man who has
been indulging in unprofitable memories.
“Aynesworth," he said, “ be so good as to ring
up Walters and excuse me from dining with him
tonight.”
Aynesworth nodded.
“ Any particular form of excuse?” he asked.
“No! Say that I have an unavoidable engage
ment. I will see him to-morrow morning.”
“ Anything else?” Aynesworth asked, preparing to
leave the room.
“No! You might see that I have no visitors this
evening. Lady Ruth is coming here at nine o'clock.”
in a colourless tone. “Alone ?"
“ Yes."
remark. He turned towards the door, but Wingrave
called him back.
“ Your expression, Aynesworth,” he said, “ interests
me. Am I or the lady in question responsible for it?"
13


194
THE MALEFACTOR
“I am sorry for Lady Ruth,” Aynesworth said.
“I think that I am sorry, too, for her husband.”
“ Why? She is coming of her own free will."
“ There are different methods of compulsion,"
Aynesworth answered.
Wingrave regarded him thoughtfully.
“ That,” he said, " is true. But I still do not un-
derstand why you are sorry for her."
“Because,” Aynesworth said, “I know the history
of a certain event, and I know you. It is, I suppose,
for this end that you made use of them.”
Wingrave nodded.
“Quite right,” he declared. “I think that the
time is not far off when that dear lady and I can
cry quits. This time, too, I see nothing to impair
my satisfaction at the probable finale. In various
other cases, as you might remember, I have not been
entirely successful.”
“It depends," Aynesworth remarked drily, "upon
what you term success.”.
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
“I think,” he said coldly, “ that you are aware of
what my feelings and desired course of action have
been, with regard to those of my fellow creatures with
whom I have happened to come into contact. It seems
to me that I have been a trifle unfortunate in several
instances.”
"As for instance?” Aynesworth asked.
“ Well, to take a few cases only,” Wingrave con-
tinued," there was the child down at Tredowen, whom
you were so anxious for me to befriend. Of course,
I declined to do anything of the sort, and she ought,
by rights, to have gone to some charitable institution,


THE MALEFACTOR
195
founded and supported by fools, and eventually be-
come, perhaps, a domestic servant. Instead of which,
some relation of her father turns up and provides
for her lavishly. You must admit that that was
unfortunate."
“It depends upon the point of view," Aynesworth
remarked drily. “Personally, I considered it a most
fortunate occurrence."
“Naturally," Wingrave agreed. “But then you
are a sentimentalist. You like to see people happy,
and you would even help to make them so, if you
could without any personal inconvenience. I am
at the other pole. If I could collect humanity into
one sentient force, I would set my heel upon it without
hesitation. I try to do what I can with the atoms, but
I have not the best of fortune. There was Mrs.
Travers, now! There I should have been successful
beyond a doubt, if some busybody had n't sent that
cable to her husband. I wonder if you were idiot
enough to do that, Aynesworth ?”.
“If I had thought of the Marconigram," Aynes-
worth said, “I am sure I should have done it. But as
a matter of fact, I did not.”
“Just as well, so far as our relations are con-
cerned,” Wingrave said coldly. “I did manage to
make poor men of a few brokers in New York, but
my best coup went wrong. That boy would have
blown his brains out, I believe, if some meddling
idiot had n't found him all that money at the last
moment. I have had a few smaller successes, of
course, and there is this affair of Lady Ruth and
her estimable husband. You know that he came to
borrow money of me, I suppose ? ”


196
THE MALEFACTOR
“I guessed it," Aynesworth answered. “You
should be modern in your revenge, and lend it to
him.”
Wingrave smiled coldly.
“I fancy,” he said, “ that Lumley Barrington will
find my revenge modern enough. I. may lend the
money they need - but it will be to Lady Ruth !
I told her husband so a few minutes ago. I told
him to send his wife to me. He has gone to tell her
now!”
"I wonder,” Aynesworth remarked, “ that he did
not thrash you -- or try to.”
Again Wingrave's lips parted.
“Moral deterioration has set in already," he re-
marked. “When he pays his bills with my money,
he will lose the little he has left of his self-respect."
Aynesworth turned abruptly away. He was
strongly tempted to say things which would have
ended his connection with Wingrave, and as yet he
was not ready to leave. For the sake of a digression,
he took up a cheque book from the table.
“ There are three cheques," he remarked, “which
I cannot trace. One for ten thousand pounds, another
for five, and a third for a thousand pounds. What
account shall I put them to ?”
“ Private drawing account,” Wingrave answered.
“ They represent a small speculation. By the bye,
you'd better go and ring up Walters.”
“Do you wish the particulars entered in your
sundry investment book?” Aynesworth asked.
Wingrave smiled grimly.
“I think not,” he answered. “You can put them
to drawing account. If you want me again this
account shall I third for a thousand pounds


THE MALEFACTOR
197
evening, I shall dine at the Café Royal at eight o'clock,
and shall return here at five minutes to nine."
Lady Ruth was punctual. At a few minutes past
nine, Morrison announced that a lady had called to
see Mr. Wingrave by appointment.
“ You can show her in,” Wingrave said. “See that
we are not disturbed.”
Lady Ruth was scarcely herself. She was dressed
in a high-necked muslin gown, and she wore a hat
and veil, which somewhat obscured her features. The
latter she raised, however, as she accepted the chair
which Wingrave had placed for her. He saw then
that she was pale, and her manner betrayed an alto-
gether unfamiliar nervousness. She avoided his eyes.
“Did you expect me?” she asked.
“ Yes!” he answered, “I thought that you would
come.”
Her foot, long and slender, beat impatiently upon
the ground. She looked up at him once, but imme-
diately withdrew her eyes.
“Why did you bring me here?” she asked in a
low tone.
“My dear Lady Ruth!” he protested.
“If you want to play at being friends," she said,
k for heaven's sake call me Ruth. You found it easy
enough once."
“You are very kind," he answered. “Ruth, by
all means.”
“Now will you answer my question ?” she said.
“Do you mean to help us ?”
“Us — no!” he answered; “ you - perhaps yes ! ”
he added.


198
THE MALEFACTOR
Then she looked at him, and found herself puzzled
by the perfect impassivity of his features. Surely he
would drop the mask now. He had insisted upon her
coming!
“Perhaps ? ” she repeated. “What then -- are the
conditions ?”
He bent over towards her. Curiously enough, there
was, mingled with many other sensations, a certain
sense of triumph in the thought, it was almost a hope,
that at last he was going to betray himself, that he
was going to admit tacitly, or by imputation, that her
power over him was not wholly dead. It was a ter-
rible situation — in her heart she felt so, but it had
its compensations. Wingrave had been her constant
attendant for months. He had seen her surrounded
by men, all anxious to secure a smile from her; he
had seen her play the great lady in her own house,
and she played it very well. She knew that she was
a past mistress in the arts which fascinate his sex, she
understood the quiet speeches, the moods, every trick
of the gamester in emotions, from the fluttering of
eyelids to the unchaining of the passions. And he
had loved her. Underneath it all, he must love her
now. She was determined that he should tell her so.
It was genuine excitement which throbbed in her
pulses, a genuine colour which burned in her cheeks.
“The conditions ?” he repeated. “You believe,
then, that I mean to make conditions ?"
She raised her eyes to his, eloquent eyes she knew,
and looked at him. The mask was still there - but
he had moved a little nearer to her. .
“I do not know,” she said softly. “ You must
tell me."


THE MALEFACTOR
199
There was a moment's silence. She had scarcely
given herself credit for such capacity for emotion.
He was on his feet. Surely the mask must go now!
And then - she felt that it must be a nightmare.
It was incredible! He had struck a match and was
calmly lighting a cigarette.
“One," he said coolly," is that Mademoiselle Violet
employs no more amateur assassins to make clumsy
attempts upon my life.”
She sat in her place rigid — half frozen with a cold,
numbing fear. He had sent for her, then, only to
mock her. She had failed! They were not even to
have the money! Speech was quite impossible. Then
he continued.
“I will take your assent for granted,” he said.
“Do you know how much you require to free your-
self ?”
“About eight thousand pounds!” she answered
mechanically.
He sat down and wrote a cheque, which he laid
before her.
“ You will have to endorse that," he remarked in
a matter-of-fact tone. “Your name at the back will
do instead of a receipt.”
She sprang to her feet.
“Keep your money,” she cried. “I will not touch
it. Please open the door for me! I am going."
! “By all means — if you wish it,” he answered un-
disturbed. “At the same time, I am curious to know
I why you came here at all, if you did not intend to
accept it.”
She faced him, hot and angry.
“I did intend to accept it,” she declared. “It is


200
THE MALEFACTOR
that or ruin. But you are too cruel! You make it
- impossible.”
“You surprise me,” he answered. “I suppose you
know best.”
“For heaven's sake tell me," she cried passion-
ately, “what has come to you, what manner of a man
are you? You loved me once! Now, even, after all
these years, you cannot deny it. You have gone out of
your way to be with me, to be my companion wher-
ever we are. People are beginning to smile when they
see us together. I don't mind. I — for God's sake
tell me, Wingrave! Why do you do it? Why do you
lend me this money? What can I do for you? What
do you want me to be? Are you as cold as a stone ?
Have you no heart — no heart even for friendship!"
“I would not seek,” he answered, “to buy — your
friendship with a cheque!”
“But it is yours already," she cried, holding out
her hands. “Give me a little kindness, Wingrave!
You make me feel and seem a perfect idiot. Why,
I'd rather you asked me anything than treated me
like this."
“I was under the impression,” Wingrave remarked,
" that I was behaving rather well. I wonder what
would really satisfy you!”
“To have you behave as you are doing, and want
to behave differently," she cried. “You are mag-
nificent - but it is because you are indifferent. Will
you kiss me, Wingrave ?”
“ With pleasure!” he answered.
She drew away from him quickly.
“Is it - another woman?” she asked. “The
Marchioness ?”
you kiss meout it is beca she cried."


THE MALEFACTOR
201
Her eagerness was almost painful. He did not
answer her at once. She caught hold of his wrist and
drew him towards her. Her eyes searched his face.
“ The Marchioness," he said, “is a very beautiful
woman. She does not, however, affect the situation
as between you and me."
“If she dared !” Lady Ruth murmured. “Win-
grave, won't you try and be friends with me?”
“I will try - certainly," he answered. “You
would be surprised, however, if you could realise the
effect of a long period of enforced seclusion upon a
man of my -
“Don't!” she shrieked; " stop!”
“My temperament, I was about to say," he con-
cluded. “There was a time when I am afraid I
might have been tempted, under such circumstances
as these, to forget that you were no longer free, to
forget everything that except we were alone, and that
you — are as beautiful as ever you were!”
“Yes!” she murmured, moving imperceptibly a
little nearer towards him.
He picked up the cheque and gave it to her.
“I am no actor," he said, looking at her steadily.
“At present, I make no conditions. But "
She leaned towards him. He took her face between
his hands and kissed her on the lips.
“I may make them later," he said. “I reserve
my right."
She looked at him for a moment, and dropped her
veil.
“ Please take me down to my carriage," she asked.


204
THE MALEFACTOR
dozed again ---and on her left Aynesworth himself,
a little affected by the music, still found time to glance
continually at his companion, so radiant with life
and so fervently intent upon realising to the full this,
the first of its unknown joys. So with crashing of
chords and thunder of melody the act went on. And
when it was over, Juliet thought no more of the Cor-
nish sea and the lullaby of the waves. A new music
was stirring in her young blood.
They were in the front row of the gallery, and pres-
ently she leaned over to gaze down at the panorama
below, the women in the boxes and stalls, whose bare
shoulders and skilfully coiffured hair flashed with
jewels. Suddenly her hand fell upon Aynesworth's
arm.
“Look!” she cried in some excitement, “ do you
see who that is in the box there — the one almost next
to the stage ?”
Aynesworth, too, uttered a little exclamation. The
lights from beneath were falling full upon the still,
cold face of the man who had just taken a vacant chair
in one of the boxes.
“Wingrave!” he exclaimed, and glanced at once
at his watch.
“Sir Wingrave Seton,” she murmured. “Is n't it
strange that I should see him here to-night?”
“He comes often," Aynesworth answered. “Mu-
sic is one of his few weaknesses.”
There was a movement in the box, and a woman's
head and shoulders appeared from behind the curtain.
Juliet gave a little gasp.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” she exclaimed, “ did you ever
see such a beautiful woman? Do tell me who she is ! ”
Aynesworth, too,
ore falling full upon ont chair


THE MALEFACTOR
205
“A very great lady in London society," Aynos-
worth answered. “That is Emily, Marchioness of
Westchester.”
· Juliet's eyes never moved from her until the
beautiful neck and shoulders were turned away. She
leaned over towards her companion, and she did not
again, for some few minutes, face the house.
“She is the loveliest woman I ever saw in my life,"
Juliet said with a little sigh. “Is she a great friend
of Sir Wingrave Seton, Mr. Aynesworth ?”
“He has no friends," Aynesworth answered. “I
believe that they are very well acquainted.”
“ Poor Sir Wingrave!” Juliet murmured softly.
Aynesworth looked at her in some surprise.
“ It is odd that you should have recognised him
from up here," he remarked thoughtfully. “ He has
changed so much during the last few years.”
Juliet smiled, but she did not explain. She felt
that she was obeying Wingrave's wishes.
“I should have recognised him anywhere," she
answered simply. “I wonder what they are talk-
ing about. She seems so interested, and he looks so
bored."
Aynesworth looked at his watch. It was barely ten
o'clock.
“I am very glad to see him here this evening,” he
remarked.
“I should like so much," she said, still gazing at
them earnestly, “ to know what they are talking about."
“So you will not tell me," the Marchioness mur-
mured, ceasing for a moment the graceful movements
of her fan, and looking at him steadily. “You refuse


206
THE MALEFACTOR
me this — almost the first thing I have ever asked
you?”
“It is scarcely,” Wingrave objected, “ a reasonable
question."
“ Between you and me,” she murmured, “such
punctiliousness is scarcely necessary — is it?”
He withstood the attack of those wonderful eyes
lifted swiftly to his, and answered her gravely.
“ You are Lady Ruth's friend,” he remarked.
“Probably, therefore, she will tell you all about it.”
The Marchioness laughed softly, yet with something
less than mirth.
“Friends,” she exclaimed, “Lady Ruth and I?
There was never a woman in this world who was less
my friend — especially now!”
He asked for no explanation of her last words, but
in a moment or two she vouchsafed it. She leaned
a little forward, her eyes flashed softly through the
semi-darkness.
“ Lady Ruth is afraid,” she said quietly, “ that I
might take you away from her.”
“My dear lady,” he protested, “ the slight friend-
ship between Lady Ruth and myself is not of the
nature to engender such a fear."
She shrugged her beautiful shoulders. Her hands
were toying with the rope of pearls which hung from
her neck. She bent over them, as though examining
the colour of the stones.
“How long have you known Ruth ?” she asked
quietly.
He looked at her steadfastly. He could not be sure
whether it was his fancy, or whether indeed there was
some hidden meaning in her question.
whe shrugged her such a fear..myself is not o


208
THE MALEFACTOR
answered simply. “I can understand why you have
succeeded where so many others have failed. You
are strong. You have nerves of steel — and very
little heart. But now - what are you going to do
with your life, now that wealth must even have lost
its meaning to you? I should like to know that. Will
you tell me ?”
“ What is there to do?” he asked. “ Eat and drink,
and juggle a little with the ball of fate.”
“You are not ambitious ?”
“ Not in the least."
“ Pleasure, for itself, does not attract you. No!
I know that it does not. What are you going to do,
then?”
“I have no idea,” he answered. “Won't you direct
me?"
“Yes, I will,” she answered, “ if you will pay my
price.”
He looked at her more intently. He himself had
been attaching no particular importance to this con-
versation, but he was suddenly conscious that it was
not so with the woman at his side. Her eyes were
shining at him, soft and full and sweet; her beauti-
ful bosom was rising and falling quickly; there had
come to her something which even he was forced to
recognise, that curious and voluptuous abandonment
which a woman rarely permits herself, and can never
assume. He was a little bewildered. His speech
· lost for a moment its cold precision.
! “Your price?” he repeated. “I- I am stupid.
I'm afraid I don't understand.”
“Marry me,” she whispered in his ear," and I will
take you a little further into life than you could ever


THE MALEFACTOR
209
go alone. You don't care for me, of course — but you
shall. You don't understand this world, Wingrave,
or how to make the best of it. I do! Let me be your
guide!”
Wingrave looked at her in grave astonishment
“ You are not by any chance — in earnest ?” he
asked.
“You know very well that I am," she answered
swiftly. “And yet you hesitate! What is it that
you are afraid of ? Don't you like to give up your
liberty? We need not marry unless you choose.
That is only a matter of form nowadays at any rate.
I have a hundred chaperons to choose from. Society
expects strange things from me. It is your com-
panionship I want. Your money is fascinating, of
course. I should like to see you spend it, to spend
it with both hands. Don't be afraid that we should
be talked about. I am not Lady Ruth! I am Emily,
Marchioness of Westchester, and I live and choose my
friends as I please; will you be chief amongst them?
Hush!”
For Wingrave it was providential. The loud chorus
which had heralded the upraising of the curtain died
away. Melba's first few notes were floating through
the house. Silence was a necessity. The low passion
of the music rippled from the stage, through the senses
and into the hearts of many of the listeners. But
Wingrave listened silent and unmoved. He was even
unconscious that the woman by his side was watching
him half anxiously every now and then.
The curtain descended amidst a thunder of applause.
Wingrave turned slowly towards his companion. And
then there came a respite — a knock at the door.
14


210
THE MALEFACTOR
The Marchioness frowned, but Wingrave was al-
ready holding it open. Lady Ruth, followed by an
immaculate young guardsman, a relative of her hus-
band, was standing there.
“Mr. Wingrave!” she exclaimed softly, with up-
raised eyebrows, “ why have you contrived to render
yourself invisible? We thought you were alone,
Emily," she continued, “and took pity on you. And
all the time you had a prize.”
The Marchioness looked at Lady Ruth, and Lady
Ruth looked at the Marchioness. The young guards-
man was a little sorry that he had come, but Lady
Ruth never turned a hair.
“You must really have your eyes seen to, dear,"
the Marchioness remarked in a tone of tender con-
cern. “When you can't see such an old friend as
Mr. Wingrave from a few yards away, they must be
very bad indeed. How are you, Captain Kendrick ?
Come and tell me about the polo this afternoon. Sorry
I can't offer you all chairs. This is an absurd box -
it was only meant for two!”
“Come into ours," Lady Ruth said; “we have
chairs for six, I think.”
The Marchioness shook her head.
“I wish I had a millionaire in the family," she
murmured. “All the same, I hate large parties. I
am old-fashioned enough to think that two is a delight-
ful number.”
Lady Ruth laid her hand upon Wingrave's arm.
“A decided hint, Mr. Wingrave," she declared.
“ Come and let me introduce you to my sister. Our
box is only a few yards off.”


CHAPTER X
“I AM MISANTHROPOS, AND HATE MANKIND”
INGRAVE had just come in from an early
gallop. His pale cheeks were slightly
flushed, and his eyes were bright. He had
been riding hard to escape from disconcerting thoughts.
He looked in at the study, and found Aynesworth with
a mass of correspondence before him.
“Anything important ?” he asked.
“Not yet,” Aynesworth answered. “The letters
marked private I have sent up to your room. By
the bye, there was something I wanted to tell you.”
Wingrave closed the door.
“ Well ?” he said.
“I was up in the gallery of the Opera House last
night," Aynesworth said, “ with a — person who saw
you only once, soon after I first came to you — before
America. You were some distance away, and yet —
my friend recognised you.”
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
“ That, of course, is possible," he answered. “It
really does not matter so very much, unless they knew
me — as Wingrave Seton!”
“My friend,” Aynesworth said, “recognised you
as Sir Wingrave Seton.”
Wingrave frowned thoughtfully for a moment.
“ Who was it?” he asked.


214
THE MALEFACTOR
exceedingly uncomfortable few hours. For you, well
for you it was a respite, was n't it?”
“I don't know that I should call it exactly that,"
he answered thoughtfully.
She looked at him steadfastly, almost wistfully.
“Well,” she said, “I am not going to make ex-
cuses for myself. But the things which one says
naturally enough when the emotions provoke them,
sound crude enough in cold blood and colder day-
light. We women are creatures of mood, you know.
I was feeling a little lonely and a little tired last
night, and the music stole away my common-sense.”
“I understand,” he murmured. “ All that you
said shall be forgotten.”
“ Then you do not understand,” she answered, smil-
ing at him. “What I said I do not wish to be
forgotten. Only — just at that moment, it sounded
natural enough — and to-day — I think that I am a
little ashamed.”
He rose from his seat. Her eyes leaped up to his
expectantly, and the colour streamed into her cheeks.
But he only stood by her side. He did nothing to
meet the half-proffered embrace.
“Dear Lady Emily,” he said, “ all the kind things
that you said were spoken to a stranger. You did
not know me. I did not mean anyone to know me.
It is you who have commanded the truth. You must
have it. I am not the person I seem to be. I am not
the person to whom words such as yours should have
been spoken. Even my name is an assumed one. I
should prefer to leave it at that — if you are content.”
“I am not content," she answered quietly; “I must
hear more.”


216
THE MALEFACTOR
eyes were shining with sympathy, and it was so un-
expected. He had expected something in the nature
of a cold withdrawal; her silence was the only thing
he had counted upon. It was a fierce, but short battle.
His sudden grasp of her hands was relaxed. He stood
away from her.
“You are very kind," he said. “As you can
doubtless imagine, it is a little too late for sympathy.
The years have gone, and the better part of me, if
ever there was a better part, with them.”
“I am not so sure of that!” she whispered.
He looked at her coldly.
“Why not?”
“If you were absolutely heartless," she said, “if
you were perfectly consistent, why did you not make
me suffer? You had a great chance! A little feigned
affection, and then a few truths. You could have
dragged me down a little way into the pit of broken
hearts! Why did n't you?”
He frowned.
“ One is forced to neglect a few opportunities ! ”
She smiled at him — delightfully.
“ You foolish man!” she murmured. “Some day
or other, you will turn out to be a terrible impostor.
Do you know, I think I am going to ask you again —
what I asked you last night ? ”
“I scarcely think that you will be so ill-advised,"
he declared coldly. “Whether you believe it or not,
I can assure you that I am incapable of affection.”
She sighed.
“I am not so sure about that,” she said with
protesting eyebrows, “but you are terribly hard-
hearted!”


THE MALEFACTOR -
217
He was entirely dissatisfied with the impression he
had produced. He considered the attitude of the
Marchioness unjustifiably frivolous. He had an un-
easy conviction that she was not in the least inclined
to take him seriously.
“I don't think,” he said, glancing at the clock, “ that
I need detain you any longer.”
“ You are really going away, then?" she asked
him softly.
“ Yes."
“ To call on Lady Ruth, perhaps ?”
“ As it happens, no,” he answered.
Suddenly her face changed — she had remembered
something
“It was Lady Ruth!” she exclaimed.
“Exactly!” he interrupted.
“ What a triumph of inconsistency!” she declared
scornfully. “You are lending them money!”
“I am lending money to Lady Ruth,” he answered
slowly.
Their eyes met. She understood, at any rate, what
he intended to convey. Certainly his expression was
hard and merciless enough now!
“Poor Ruth,” she murmured.
"Some day,” he answered, “ you will probably say
that in earnest.”


CHAPTER XI
JULIET GAINS EXPERIENCE
F course," Juliet said, “after Tredowen it
seems very small, almost poky, but it is n't,
really, and Tredowen was not for me all
my days. It was quite time I got used to something
else."
Wingrave looked around him with expressionless
face. It was a tiny room, high up on the fifth floor
of a block of flats, prettily but inexpensively furnished.
Juliet herself, tall and slim, with all the fire of youth
and perfect health on her young face, was obviously
contented.
“And your work ?” he asked.
She made a little grimace.
“I have a good deal to unlearn,” she said, “but Mr.
Pleydell is very kind and encouraging.”
“You will go down to Cornwall for the hot weather,
I hope?” he said. “ London is unbearable in ,
August.”
“ The class are going for a sketching tour to Nor-
mandy,” she said, “and Mr. Pleydell thought that I :
might like to join them. It is very inexpensive, and
I should be able to go on with my work all the time."
He nodded thoughtfully.
“I hear,” he said, " that you have met Mr. Aynes-
worth again.”


THE MALEFACTOR
219
“ Was n't it delightful ?” she exclaimed. “He is
quite an old friend of Mr. Pleydell. I was so glad
to see him."
“I suppose,” he remarked, "you are a little lonely
sometimes ?”
“ Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I sha'n't be
when I get to know the girls in the class a little
better."
“I have some friends," he said thoughtfully,
“women, of course, who would come and see you with
pleasure. And yet,” he added, “I am not sure that
you would not be better off without knowing them."
“ They are fashionable ladies, perhaps ?” she said
simply.
He nodded.
“ They belong to the Juggernaut here which is
called society. They would probably try to draw you
a little way into its meshes. I think, yes, I am sure,"
he added, looking at her, “ that you are better off
outside."
“And I am quite sure of it,” she answered laugh-
ing. “I have n't the clothes or the time or the in-
clination for that sort of thing. Besides, I am going
to be much too happy ever to be lonely.”
“I myself,” he said, “ am not an impressionable
person. But they tell me that most people, especially
of your age, find London a terribly lonely place."
“I can understand that,” she answered, “ unless
they really had something definite to do. I have felt
a little of that myself. I think London frightens me a
little. It is so different from the country, and there
is a great deal that it is difficult to understand.”
“ For instance ?"


220
THE MALEFACTOR
“ The great number of poor people who find it 30
hard to live,” she answered. “Some of the small
houses round here are awful, and Mr. Malcolm -
he is the vicar of the church here, and he called
yesterday — tells me that they are nothing like so
bad as in some other parts of London. And then
you take a 'bus, it is such a short distance — and the
shops are full of wonderful things at such fabulous
prices, and the carriages and houses are so lovely,
and people seem to be showering money right and
left everywhere.”
“It is the same in all large cities,” he answered,
“ more or less. There must always be rich and poor,
when a great community are herded together. As a
rule, the extreme poor are a worthless lot.”
“There must be some of them, though,” she an-
swered, “ who deserve to have a better time. Of
course, I have never been outside Tredowen, where
everyone was contented and happy in their way, and
it seems terrible to me just at first. I can't bear to
think that everyone has n't at least a chance of
happiness."
“You are too young," he said, “ to bother your
head about these things yet. Wait until you have
gathered in a little philosophy with the years. Then
you will understand how helpless you are to alter by
ever so little the existing state of things, and it will
trouble you less."
“I,” she answered, “may, of course, be helpless,
but what about those people who have huge fortunes,
and still do nothing ?”
“Why should they ?” he answered coldly. “This
is a world for individual effort. No man is strong


CHAPTER XII
NEMESIS AT WORK
7 INGRAVE was present that evening at a
reception given by the Prime Minister to
some distinguished foreign guests. He
had scarcely exchanged the usual courtesies with his
host and hostess, before Lady Ruth, leaning over from
a little group, whispered in his ear.
“ Please take me away. I am bored. I want to
talk to you."
He paused at once. Lady Ruth godded to her
friends. Wingravo « See you
“Mr. Wingrave is going to take me to hear Melba
sing,” she said. "See you all again, I suppose, at
Hereford House ! ”
They made slow progress through the crowded
rooms. Once or twice Wingrave fancied that his com-
panion hung a little heavily upon his arm. She
showed no desire to talk. She even answered a remark
of his in a monosyllable. Only when they passed the
Marchioness, on the arm of one of the foreign guests
in whose honour the reception was given, she seemed
to shiver a little, and her grasp upon his arm was
tightened. Once, in a block, she was forced to speak
to some acquaintances, and during those few seconds,
Wingrave studied her curiously. She was absolutely
colourless, and her strange, brilliant eyes seemed to
have lost all their fire. Her gown was black, and the
16


226
THE MALEFACTOR
decorations of her hair were black, except for a single
diamond. There was something almost spectral about
her appearance. She walked stiffly — for the moment
she had lost the sinuous grace of movement which
had been one of her many fascinations. Her neck
and shoulders alone remained, as ever, dazzlingly
beautiful.
They reached a quiet corner at last. Lady Ruth
sank with a little gesture of relief into an easy chair.
Wingrave stood before her.
“ You are tired to-night,” he remarked.
“I am always tired," she answered wearily. “I
begin to think that I always shall be.”
He said nothing. Lady Ruth closed her eyes for
a moment, as though from sheer fatigue. Suddenly
she opened them again, and looked him full in the
face.
“ Who was she?” she asked.
“I do not understand," he replied.
“ The child you were with — the ingénue, you know
- with the pink cheeks and the wonderful eyes! Is
she from one of the theatres, or a genuine article ?"
“ The young lady to whom you refer,” he answered,
“is the daughter of an old friend of mine. I am
practically her guardian. She is in London studying
painting.”
“You are her guardian?” Lady Ruth repeated.
“ I am sorry for her.”
“ You need not be,” he answered. “I trust that
I shall be able to fulfil my duties in a perfectly satis-
factory manner.”
« Oh! I have no doubt of it,” she answered. “ Yet
I am sorry for her.”


THE MALEFACTOR
227
“You are certainly,” he remarked, “not in an
amiable mood.”
“I am in rather a desperate one, if that is any-
thing,” she said, looking at him with something of
the old light in her tired eyes.
“You made a little error, perhaps, in those cal-
culations ?” he suggested. “It can be amended.”
“Don't be a brute,” she answered fiercely.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“That sounds a little severe," he remarked.
“Don't take any notice of anything I say to-night,”
she murmured softly. “I am a little mad. I think
that everything is going against me! I know that you
have n't a grain of sympathy for me — that you would
rather see me suffer than not, and yet you see I give
myself away entirely. Why should n't I? Part of it
is through you in a way.”
“I rather fancied," he remarked, “ that up to
now - "
“Yes! of course!” she interrupted, “ you saved
us from ruin, staved it off at any rate. And you
held over the reckoning! I-I almost wish — "
She paused. Again her eyes were searching his.
“I am a little tired of it all, you see," she con-
tinued. “I don't suppose Lumley and I can ever be
the same again, since I brought him — that cheque.
He avoids being alone with me — I do the same with
him. One would think — to watch the people, that
the whole transaction was in the Morning Post. They
smile when they see us together, they grin when
they see you with anybody else. It's getting hateful,
Wingrave!”
“I am afraid," he said quietly, “ that you are in a


228
THE MALEFACTOR
nervous, hypersensitive state. No one else can pos-
sibly know of the little transaction between us, and,
so far as I am concerned, there has been nothing to
interfere with your relations with your husband.”
“ You are right,” she answered, “I am losing my
nerve. I am only afraid that I am losing something
else. I have n't an ounce of battle left in me. I feel
that I should like to close my eyes and wake up in a
new world, and start all over again.”
“It is nothing but a mood,” he assured her.
“ Those new worlds don't exist any longer. They
generally consist of foreign watering places, where
the sheep and the goats house together now and then.
I think I should play the game out, Lady Ruth,
until "
“Until what?”
“Perhaps to the end,” he answered. “Who can
tell ? Not I! By this time to-morrow it might be I
who would be reminding you "
“ Yes ?”
“That there are other worlds, and other lives to
live!”
“I should like,” she whispered very softly, “to
hear of them. But I fancy somehow that you will
never be my instructor. What of your ward ?”
“ Well! What of her?” he answered calmly.
She shivered a little.
“You were very frank with me once, Wingrave,”
she said. “You are a man whose life fate has wrecked,
fate and I! You have no heart left, no feeling. You
can create suffering and find it amusing. I am be
ginning to realise that."
He nodded.


THE MALEFACTOR
229
“ There is some truth,” he declared, “in what you
say."
“What of that child? Is she, too, to be a victim?"
“I trust,” he answered, “that you are not going
to be melodramatic.”
“I don't call it that. I really want to know. I
should like to warn her.”
“I am not at war with children," he answered.
“Her life and mine are as far apart as the poles.”
“I had an odd fancy, when I saw you with her,"
Lady Ruth said slowly. “She is very good-looking
- and not so absurdly young."
“The fancy was one,” he remarked coldly, " which
I think you had better get rid of.”
“In a way,” she continued thoughtfully, “I should
like to get rid of it, and yet -- how old are you, Win-
grave? Well, I know. You are very little over forty.
You are barely in the prime of life, you are strong,
you have the one thing which society to-day counts
almost divine — great, immeasurable wealth! Can't
“I loved a woman once," he answered. “It was
a long time ago, and it seems strange to me now."
Lady Ruth lifted her eyes to his, and their lambent
fires were suddenly rekindled.
“Love her again,” she murmured. “What is past
is past, but there are the days to come! Perhaps the
woman, too, is a little lonely."
“I think not,” he answered calmly. “The woman
is married, she has lived with her husband more or
less happily for a dozen years or so! She is a little
ambitious, a little fond of pleasure, but a leader of
society, and, I am sure, a very reputable member of


230
THE MALEFACTOR
it. To love her again would be as embarrassing to
her — as it would be difficult for me. You, my dear
Lady Ruth, I am convinced, would be the last to
approve of it.”
“You mock me," she murmured, bending her head.
“ Is forgiveness also an impossibility ?”
“I think,” he said, “that any sentiment whatever
between those two would be singularly misplaced. You
spoke of Melba, I think! She is singing in the fur-
ther room.”
Lady Ruth rose up, still and pale. There was fear
in her eyes when she looked at him.
“Is it to be always like this, then?” she said.
“Ah!” he answered, “I am no prophet. Who
can tell what the days may bring? In the mean-
time ..."
The Marchioness was very much in request that
evening, and she found time for only a few words
with Wingrave.
“What have you been doing to poor Ruth ?" she
asked. “I never saw her look so ill!”
“ Indeed!” he answered, “I had not noticed it.”
“If I did n't know her better,” she remarked, “I
might begin to suspect her of a conscience. Whose
baby were you driving about this afternoon? I did n't
know that your taste ran to ingénues to such an extent.
She's sweetly pretty, but I don't think it's nice of
you to flaunt her before us middle-aged people. It's
enough to drive us to the rouge box. Come to lunch
to-morrow!”
“I shall be delighted,” he answered, and passed on.
An hour or so later, on his way out, he came upon
Lady Ruth, sitting a little forlornly in the hall.


CHAPTER XIII
RICHARDSON TRIES AGAIN
YOU saw — who that was?”
Lady Ruth's voice seemed to come from
a greater distance. Wingrave turned and
looked at her with calm curiosity. She was leaning
back in the corner of the carriage, and she seemed
somehow to have shrunk into an unusual insignifi-
cance. Her eyes alone were clearly visible through
the semi-darkness — and the light which shone from
their depths was the light of fear.
“Yes,” he answered slowly, “I believe that I rec-
ognised him. It was the young man who persists in
some strange hallucination as to a certain Mademoi-
selle Violet.”
“It was no hallucination,” she answered. “You
know that! I was Mademoiselle Violet!”
He nodded.
“It amazes me," he said thoughtfully, “ that you
should have stooped to such folly. That my demise
would have been a relief to you I can, of course, easily
believe, but the means — they surely were not worthy
of your ingenuity.”
“Don't!” she cried sharply. “I must have been
utterly, miserably mad!”
“Even the greatest of schemers have their wild
moments," he remarked consolingly. “This was one
of yours. You paid me a very poor compliment, by


THE MALEFACTOR
233
the bye, to imagine that an insignificant creature like
that "
“Will you — leave off ?” she moaned.
“I daresay,” he continued after a moment's pause,
" that you find him now quite an inconvenient person
to deal with."
She shuddered.
“Oh, I am paying for my folly, if that is what you
mean,” she declared. “He knows. — who I am -- that
he was deceived. He follows me about — everywhere."
Wingrave glanced out of the carriage window.
“ Unless I am very much surprised,” he answered,
“he is following us now!”
She came a little closer to him.
“ You won't leave me? Promise! ”
“I will see you home," he answered.
“ You are coming on to Hereford House."
“I think not,” he answered; “I have had enough
of society for one evening."
“ Emily will be there later," she said quietly.
“Even Lady Emily,” he answered, “ will not tempt
me. I will see you safely inside. Afterwards, if your
persistent follower is hanging about, I will endeavour
to talk him into a more reasonable frame of mind.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she turned to
him abruptly.
“You are more kind to me sometimes than I
deserve, Wingrave," she remarked.
“ It is not kindness," he answered. “I dislike
absurd situations. Here we are! Permit me!”
Wingrave kept his word. He saw Lady Ruth to
her front door, and then turned back towards his car.
riage. Standing by the side of the footman, a little


234
THE MALEFACTOR
breathless, haggard and dishevelled-looking, was the
young man who had attempted to check their progress
a few minutes ago.
Wingrave took hold of his arm firmly.
“Get in there," he ordered, pointing to the
carriage.
The young man tried to escape, but he was held as
though in a vise. Before he well knew where he was,
he was in the carriage, and Wingrave was seated by
his side.
“ What do you want with me?” he asked hoarsely.
“I want to know what you mean by following that
lady about?” Wingrave asked.
The young man leaned forward. His hand was upon
the door.
“Let me get out,” he said sullenly.
“With pleasure — presently,” Wingrave answered.
“I can assure you that I am not anxious to detain
you longer than necessary. Only you must first answer
my question.”
“I want to speak to her! I shall follow her about
until I can!” the young man declared.
Wingrave glanced at him with a faint derisive smile.
His clothes were worn and shabby, he was badly in
need of a shave and a wash. He sat hunched up in
a corner of the carriage, the picture of mute discom-
fort and misery.
“Do you know who she is ? " Wingrave asked.
“Mademoiselle Violet!” the young man answered.
“ You are mistaken,” Wingrave answered. “She
is Lady Ruth Barrington, wife of Lumley Barrington
and daughter of the Earl of Haselton.”
The young man was unmoved.


THE MALEFACTOR
235
“She is Mademoiselle Violet,” he declared.
The coupé drew up before the great block of build-
ings in which was Wingrave's flat. The footman
threw open the door.
“ Come in with me,” Wingrave said. “I have
something more to say to you.”
“I would rather not,” the young man muttered, and
would have slouched off, but Wingrave caught him by
the arm.
“Come!” he said firmly, and the youth obeyed.
Wingrave led the way into his sitting-room, and
dismissed his servant, who was setting out a tray upon
the sideboard.
“Sit down,” he ordered, and his strange guest again
obeyed. Wingrave looked at him critically.
“It seems to me,” he said deliberately, “ that you
are another of those poor fools, who chuck away their
life and happiness and go to the dogs, because a woman
had chosen to make a little use of them. You 're out
of work, I suppose ? ”
“ Yes!”
“Hungry?”
“I suppose so."
Wingrave brought a plate of sandwiches from the
sideboard, and mixed a whisky and soda. He set
them down in front of his guest, and turned away
with the evening paper in his hand.
“I am going into the next room for some cigar-
ettes," he remarked.
He was gone scarcely two minutes. When he
returned, the room was in darkness. He moved sud-
denly towards the electric lights, but was pushed back
by an unseen hand. A man's hot breath fell upon


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THE MALEFACTOR
his cheek, a hoarse, rasping voice spoke to him out of
the black shadows.
“Don't touch the lights! Don't touch the lights,
I say!”
“What folly is this ? ” Wingrave asked angrily.
“ Are you mad ?”
“Not now," came the quick answer. “I have
been. It has come to me here, in the darkness. I
know why she is angry, I know why she will not speak
to me. It is — because I failed.”
Wingrave laughed, and moved towards the lights.
“We have had enough of this tomfoolery," he said
scornfully. “ If you won't listen to reason — "
He never finished his sentence. He had stumbled
suddenly against a soft body, he had a momentary
impression of a white, vicious face, of eyes blazing
with insane fury. Quick to act, he struck — but
before his hand descended, he had felt the tearing of
his shirt, the sharp, keen pain in his chest, the swim-
ming of his senses. Yet even then he struck again
with passionate anger, and his assailant went down
amongst the chairs with a dull, sickening crash!
Then there was silence in the room. Wingrave
made an effort to drag himself a yard or two towards
the bell, but collapsed hopelessly. Richardson, in a
few moments, staggered to his feet.
He groped his way to the side of the wall, and
found the knobs of the electric lights. He turned
two on and looked around him. Wingrave was lying
a few yards off, with a small red stain upon his shirt
front. His face was ghastly pale, and he was breath-
ing thickly. The young man looked at him for sey-
eral moments, and then made his way to the side


CHAPTER XIV
“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT”
The recot understand who are so was the
TADY RUTH took up the receiver. Some in-
stinct seemed to have prompted her to close
the door of the study.
“ Who is there?" she asked. “Who is it that wants
me?"
A thin, unfamiliar voice answered her.
“Is that Lady Ruth Barrington ?”
“ Yes!”
“Is it — Mademoiselle Violet ?”
The receiver nearly dropped from her hand.
“I don't understand you," she answered, “I am
Lady Ruth Barrington! Who are you?”
“ You are Mademoiselle Violet," was the answer,
“and you know who I am! Listen, I am in Mr.
Wingrave's rooms."
She would have liked to have rung off, and gone
away, but it seemed a sheer impossibility for her to
move! And all the time her knees were shaking, and
the fear of evil things was in her heart.
“What are you doing there ?” she asked.
“He brought me in himself,” the thin voice answered.
“ Can you hear me? I don't want to speak any louder,
for fear anyone else should be listening."
“Yes, I can hear," she answered. “But how dared
you ring me up? Say what you desire to quickly!
I am going away.”


242
THE MALEFACTOR
She raised her arm and struck him across the face,
so that, with a little moan, he staggered back against
the wall. Then she hastened forward into the room
towards which he had pointed, and the door of which
stood open. The commissionaire followed her. The
servants were beginning to appear.
The room was in darkness, save for one electric light.
A groan, however, directed them. She fell on her knees
by Wingrave's prostrate figure, and raised his head
slightly. His servant, too, was hurrying forward. She
looked up.
“Get me some brandy," she ordered. “ Send some-
one for a doctor. Don't let that young man escape.
The brandy, quick!”
She forced some between his lips. There was al-
ready a spot of blood upon the gown which, a few
minutes ago, had seemed so immaculate. One of the
ornaments fell from her hair. It lay unnoticed by
her side. Suddenly Wingrave opened his eyes. She
saw at once that he was conscious, and that he recog-
nised her.
“Don't move, please,” she begged. “It will be
better for you not to speak. The doctor will be here
directly."
He nodded.
“I don't think that I am much hurt,” he said
slowly. “Your young friend was a born bungler!”
She shuddered, but said nothing.
“How on earth,” he asked, “ did you get here?”
She whispered in his ear.
“ The brute - telephoned. Please don't talk.”
The doctor arrived. His examination was over in
a few moments.


THE MALEFACTOR
249
“Nothing serious," he declared. “The knife was
pretty blunt, fortunately. How did it happen? It
seems like a case for the police.”
“ It was an accident,” Wingrave declared coolly.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders. He was busy
making bandages. Lady Ruth rose to her feet. She
was white and giddy. The commissionaire and Mor-
rison were talking together at the door. The latter
turned to Lady Ruth.
“Do you think that we had better send for the
police, your ladyship?” he asked. “It was the young
man who came in with Mr. Wingrave who must have
done this! I thought he was a very wild-looking sort
of person.”
“You heard what Mr. Wingrave said," she an-
swered. “I don't think that I should disobey him,
if I were you. The doctor says that after all it is
not very serious.”
“He can't have got far," the hall-porter remarked.
“He only slipped out as we came in.”
“I should let him go for the present,” Lady Ruth
said. “If Mr. Wingrave wishes to prosecute after-
wards it will be easy for him to do so."
She stepped back to where Wingrave lay. He was
in a recumbent position now, and although a little
pale, he was obviously not seriously hurt.
“If there is nothing else that I can do," she said,
“I will go now! ”
"By all means," Wingrave answered. “I am
exceedingly obliged to you for your kindness," he
added a little stiffily. “Morrison, show Lady Bar-
rington to her carriage!"
She spoke a few conventional words of fare-


244
THE MALEFACTOR
well and departed. Outside, on the pavement, she
stood for a moment, looking carefully around.
There was no sign of Richardson anywhere! She
stepped into the carriage and leaned back in the
corner.


AYNESWORTH PLANS A LOVE STORY
TINGRAVE disappeared suddenly from
London. Aynesworth alone knew where
he was gone, and he was pledged to secrecy.
Two people received letters from him. Lady Ruth
was one of them.
“This," she remarked quietly, handing it over to
her husband, “may interest you.”
He adjusted his eye-glasses and read it aloud:-
“ Thursday Morning.
for several weeks. With the usual inconsistency of the
person to whom life is by no means a valuable asset, I
am obeying the orders of my physician. I regret, there-
fore, that I cannot have the pleasure of entertaining
your husband and yourself during Cowes week. The
yacht, however, is entirely at your disposal, and I have
written Captain Masterton to that effect. Pray extend
your cruise, if you feel inclined to. — I remain, yours
sincerely, W.”
Mr. Barrington looked at his wife enquiringly.
“ That seems to me entirely satisfactory, Ruth,"
he said. “I think that he might have added a word
or two of acknowledgment for what you did for him.
There is no doubt that, but for your promptness,
things might have gone much worse.”


250
THE MALEFACTOR
She turned and walked by his side willingly
enough.
“Have you been in to see me?" she asked.
“ Yes ! " he answered. “I have some tickets for
the Haymarket for to-night. Do you think we could
persuade Mrs. Tresfarwin to come?”
“I'm sure we could," she answered, laughing.
“ Hannah never wants any persuading. How nice of
you to think of us ! ”
“I am afraid," he answered, “that I think of you
a good deal.”
“ Then I think that that also is very nice of you!”
she declared.
“ You like to be thought of ?”
“ Who does n't? What is the play to-night?"
“I'll tell you about it afterwards," he said. “There
is something else I want to say to you first.”
She nodded. She scarcely showed so much interest
as he would have liked.
“It is about Berneval,” he said, keeping his eyes
fixed upon her face. “I saw Mr. Pleydell to-day, and
he told me that you were all going there. He sug-
gested that I should come too!”
“How delightful!” she exclaimed. “ Can you
really get off ?”
“Yes. Sir Wingrave is going away, and does n't
want me. I must go somewhere, and I thought that
I might go over and take rooms near you all. Would
you care to have me?”
..“ Of course I would," she answered frankly.
“Oh!” she exclaimed suddenly, her face clouding
over —“I forgot!"
“ Well ? "


THE MALEFACTOR
251
“I am not sure,” she said, “ that I am going."
“Not going ?” he repeated incredulously. “Mr.
Pleydell told me that it was all arranged.”
“It was — until to-day,” she said. “I am a little
uncertain now." .
He looked at her perplexed.
“May I know why?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows slightly.
“You are rather an inquisitive person," she re-
marked. “The fact is, I may need the money I
have saved for Berneval for somewhere else.”
“Of course,” he said slowly, “ if you don't go - I
don't. But you can't stay in London all through the
hot weather!”
“Miss Pengarth has asked me to go down there,”
she said.
He laid his hand suddenly upon hers.
“ Juliet,” he said.
She shook her head.
“ Miss Lundy, please!”
“Well, Miss Lundy, then! May I talk to you
seriously?”
“I prefer you frivolous," she murmured. “I like
to be amused.”
“I'll be frivolous enough later on this evening.
I've been wondering if you'd think it impertinent
if I asked you to tell me about your guardian.”
“What do you want to know ?” she asked.
“ Just who he is, and why he is content to let you
live with only an old woman to look after you. It
is n't the best thing in the world for you, is it? I
should like to know him, Juliet."
She shook her head.


CHAPTER XVI
A DEED OF GIFT
TINGRAVE threw the paper aside with an
impatient exclamation. A small notice
in an obscure corner had attracted his
attention; the young man, Richardson, had been fished
out of the river half drowned, and in view of his
tearful and abject penitence, had been allowed to go
his way by a lenient magistrate. He had been ill, he
pleaded, and disappointed. His former employer, in
an Islington emporium, gave him a good character,
and offered to take him back. So that was an end of
· Mr. Richardson, and the romance of his days!
A worm like that to have brought him — the strong
man, low! Wingrave thought with sullen anger, as he
leaned back in his chair with half-closed eyes. Here
was an undignified hiatus, if not a finale, to all his
schemes, to the even tenor of his self-restrained, pur-
poseful life! The west wind was rippling through
the orchards which bordered the garden. The muffled
roar of the Atlantic was in his ears, a strange ever-
lasting background to all the slighter summer sounds, á
the murmuring of insects, the calling of birds, the
melodious swish of the whirling knives in the distant
hay-field. Wingrave was alone with his thoughts, and
he hated them!
Even Mr. Pengarth was welcome, Mr. Pengarth
very warm from his ride, carrying his hat and a


254
THE MALEFACTOR
small black bag in his hand. As he drew nearer,
he became hotter, and was obliged to rest his bag upon
the path and mop his forehead. He was more afraid
of his client than of anything else in the world.
“Good afternoon, Sir Wingrave," he said. “I
trust that you are feeling better to-day.”
Wingrave eyed him coldly. He did not reply to the
enquiry as to his health.
You have brought the deed ?” he asked.
“ Certainly, Sir Wingrave.”
The lawyer produced a roll of parchment from his
bag. In response to Wingrave's gesture, he seated
himself on the extreme edge of an adjacent seat.
“I do not propose to read all that stuff through,”
Wingrave remarked. “I take it for granted that the
deed is made out according to my instructions.”
“ Certainly, Sir Wingrave!”
“ Then we will go into the house, and I will sign
it.”
Mr. Pengarth mopped his forehead once more. It
was a terrible thing to have a conscience.
“ Sir Wingrave,” he said, “I apologise most humbly
for what I am about to say, but as the agent of your
estates in this county, and your - er — legal adviser
with regard to them, I am forced to ask you whether
you are quite determined upon this — most unex-
ampled piece of generosity. Tredowen has been in
your mother's family for a great many years, and,
although I must say that I have a great affection
for this young lady, I have, also, an old-fashioned
dislike to seeing — er — family property pass into
the hands of strangers. You might, forgive me
marry!”


256
THE MALEFACTOR
lawyer answered. “I had an idea that you preferred
solitude."
“ Then you were wrong,” Wingrave answered. “I
hate being alone.”
They moved out together towards the garden. Tea
was set out in a shady corner of the lawn.
“ If you will forgive my remarking it,” Mr. Pen-
garth said, “ this seems rather an extraordinary place
for you to come to, if you really dislike solitude.”
“I came to escape from an intolerable situation,
and because I was ill,” Wingrave said.
“ You might have brought friends," the lawyer
suggested.
“I have no friends,” Wingrave answered.
“ Some of the people in the neighbourhood would
be very glad "Mr. Pengarth began.
“I do not wish to see them,” Wingrave an-
swered.
Mr. Pengarth took a peach, and held his tongue.
Wingrave broke the silence which followed a little
abruptly.
“Tell me, Mr. Pengarth," he said, “ do I look
like a man likely to fail in anything he sets out to
accomplish ? "
The lawyer shook his head vigorously.
“ You do not,” he declared.
“Nor do I feel like one,” Wingrave said, “and
yet my record, since I commenced, shall I call it my
second life, is one of complete failure! Nothing that
I planned have I been able to accomplish. I look
back through the months and through the years, and
I see not a single purpose carried out, not a single
scheme successful.”


THE MALEFACTOR
257
“Not quite so bad as that, I trust, Sir Wingrave,"
the lawyer protested.
“It is the precise truth,” Wingrave affirmed drily.
“I am losing confidence in myself.”
“At least,” the lawyer declared, “ you have been
the salvation of our dear Miss Juliet, if I may call
her so. But for you, her life would have been
ruined.”
« Precisely," Wingrave agreed. “But I forgot!
You don't understand! You are not likely to un-
derstand! I have saved her from heaven knows
what! I am going to give her the home she loves!
Benevolence, is n't it? And yet, if I had only the
pluck, I might succeed even now -- so far as she is
concerned.”
The lawyer took off his spectacles and rubbed
them with his handkerchief. He was thoroughly
bewildered.
“I might succeed,” Wingrave repeated, leaning back
in his chair, “if only "
His face darkened. It seemed to Mr. Pengarth
as he sipped his tea under the cool cedars, drawing
in all their wonderful perfume with every puff of
breeze, that he saw two men in the low invalid's
chair before him. He saw the breath and desire of
evil things struggling with some wonderful dream
vainly seeking to realise itself.
“Some of us,” the lawyer said timidly,“ build our
ideals too high up in the clouds, so that to reach them
is very difficult. Nevertheless, the effort counts."
Wingrave laughed mockingly.
“It is not like that with me,” he declared. “My
plans were made down in hell.”
17


258
THE MALEFACTOR
“God bless my soul!” the lawyer murmured. “But
you are not serious, Sir Wingrave ?”
“Ay! I'm serious enough,” Wingrave answered.
“Do you suppose a man, with the best pages of his
life rooted out, is likely to look out upon his fellows
from the point of view of a philanthropist? Do you
suppose that the man into whose soul the irons of
bitterness have gnawed and eaten their way, is likely
to come out with a smirk, and look around him for
the opportunity of doing good ? Rubbish! My aim
is to encourage suffering wherever I see it, to create
it where I can, to make sinners and thieves of honest
people."
“God bless my soul!” the lawyer gasped again. “I
don't think you can be — as bad as you think you are.
What about Juliet Lundy?”
Fire flashed in Wingrave's eyes. Again, at the men-
tion of her name, he seemed almost to lose control of
himself. It was several moments before he spoke. He
looked Mr. Pengarth in the face, and his tone was
unusually deliberate.
“ Gifts,” he said, “ are not always given in friend-
ship. Life may easily become a more complicated
affair for that child, with the Tredowen estates hang-
ing round her neck. And anyhow, I disappoint my
next of kin.”
Morrison, smooth-footed and silent, appeared upon
the lawn. He addressed Wingrave.
“A lady has arrived in a cab from Truro, sir," he
announced. “She wishes to see you, as soon as
convenient.”
A sudden light flashed across Wingrave's face, dying
out again almost immediately.


THE MALEFACTOR
261
lot
recesita
one
remember that you are a man, and I a woman plead-
ing for a little mercy — a little kindness ? "
Wingrave moved a step further back.
“ Permit me,” he said, “ to offer you a chair."
She sank into it — speechless for a moment. Win-
grave stood over her, leaning slightly against the corner
of the bookcase.
“I trust,” he said, “ that you will explain what all
this means. If it is my help which you require "
Her hands flashed out towards him — a gesture
almost of horror.
“Don't,” she begged, “ you know that it is not that!
You know very well that it is not. Why do you
torture me?"
“I can only ask you,” he said, “ to explain.”
She commenced talking quickly. Her sentences
came in little gasps.
“ You wanted revenge — not in the ordinary way.
You had brooded over it too long. You understood
too well. Once it was I who sought to revenge myself
on you, because you would not listen to me! You
hurt my pride. Everything that was evil in me
rebelled "
“Is this necessary ?” he interrupted coldly. “I
have never reproached you. You chose the path of
safety for yourself. Many another woman in your
place would doubtless have done the same thing!
What I desire to know is why you are here in Corn-
wall. What has happened to make this journey seem
necessary to you ? ”
"Listen!” she continued. “I want you to know
how thoroughly you have succeeded. Before you came
Lumley and I were living together decently enough,
US


262
THE MALEFACTOR
and, as hundreds of others live, with outside interests
for our chief distraction. You came, a friend! You
were very subtle, very skilful! You never spoke a
word of affection to me, but you managed things so
that people talked. You encouraged Lumley to
speculate — not in actual words, perhaps, but by sug-
gestion. Then you lent me money. Lumley, my
husband, let me borrow from you. Everyone knew
that we were ruined; everyone knew where the money
came from that set us right. So misery has been piled
upon misery. Lumley has lost his self-respect, he is
losing his ambition, he is deteriorating every day. I
- how can I do anything else but despise him? He
let me, his wife, come to your rooms to borrow money
from you. Do you think I can ever forget that ? Do
you think that he can? Don't you know that the
memory of it is dragging us apart, must keep us apart
always — always ?”
Wingrave leaned a little forward. His hands were
clasped upon the handle of his stick.
“ All that you tell me,” he remarked coldly, "might
equally well have been said in London! I do not
wish to seem inhospitable, but I am still waiting to
know why you have taken an eight hours' journey to
recite a few fairly obvious truths. Your relations
with your husband, frankly, do not interest me. The
deductions which society may have drawn concerning
our friendship need scarcely trouble you, under the
circumstances.”
Then again the light was blazing in her eyes.
“ Under the circumstances !” she repeated. “I
know what you mean. It is true that you have asked
for nothing. It is true that all this time you have


THE MALEFACTOR
263
never spoken a single word which all the world might
not hear, you have never even touched my fingers,
except as a matter of formality. Once I was the
woman you loved — and I — well you know! Is
this part of your scheme of torture, to play with me
as though we were marionettes, you and I, with
sawdust in our veins, dull, lifeless puppets! Well,
it is finished — your vengeance! You may reap the
harvest when you will! Publish my letters, prove
yourself an injured man. Take a whip in your
hand if you like, and I will never flinch. But, for
heaven's sake, remember that I am a woman! I
am willing to be your slave, nurse you, wait upon
you, follow you about! What more can your ven-
geance need? You have made me despise my hus-
band, you have made me hate my life with him!
You have forced me into a remembrance of what I
have never really forgotten — and oh! Wingrave,"
she added, opening her arms to him with a little
sob, “if you send me away, I think that I shall kill
myself. Wingrave!”
There was a note of despair in her last cry. Her
arms fell to her side. Wingrave was on his way to
the further end of the room. He rang the bell and
turned towards her.
“Listen," he said calmly, “ you will return to
London to-night. If ever I require you, I shall send
for you — and you will come. At present I do not.
You will return to your husband. Understand ! ”
“ Yes,” she gasped, “but — "
He held out his hand. Morrison was at the door.
“Morrison," he said, “you will order the motor
to be round in balf an hour, to take Lady Ruth to


264
THE MALEFACTOR
Truro. She has to catch the London express. You
will go with her yourself, and see that she has a re-
served carriage. If, by any chance, you should miss
the train, order a special.”
“ Very good, sir.”
“And tell the cook to send in tea and wine, and
some sandwiches, in ten minutes.”
Once more they were alone. Lady Ruth rose slowly
to her feet, and, trembling in every limb, she
walked down the room, and fell on her knees before
Wingrave.
“ Wingrave," she said, “I will go away. I will
do all that you tell me; I will wear my chains
bravely, and hold my peace. But before I go, for
heaven's sake, say a kind word, look at me kindly,
kiss me, hold my hands; anything, anything, any-
thing, to prove to me that you are not a dead man.
I could bear unkindness, reproaches, abuse. I can
bear anything but this deadly coldness. It is becom-
ing a horror to me! Do, Wingrave - do!”
She clasped his hand — he drew it calmly away.
“Lady Ruth,” he said, “ you have spoken the truth.
I am a dead man. I have no affections; I care neither
for you nor for any living being. All that goes to
the glory and joy of life perished in that uncountable
roll of days, when the sun went out, and inch by inch
the wall rose which will divide me for ever from you
and all the world. Frankly, it was not I who once
loved you. It was the man who died in prison. His
flesh and bones may have survived — nothing else!”
She rose slowly to her feet. Her eyes seemed to be
dilating
“ There is another woman!” she exclaimed softly,


THE MALEFACTOR
265
Her voice was like velvet, but the agony in her face
was unmistakable.
“ There is no other woman,” he answered...
She stood quite still.
“She is here with you now," she cried. “Who
is it, Wingrave? Tell me the truth!”
“The truth is already told,” he answered. “Ex-
cept my cook and her assistants, there is not a woman
| in the house! ”
Again she listened. She gave a little hoarse cry,
and Wingrave started. Out in the hall a girl's clear
laugh rang like a note of music to their ears.
“You lie!” she cried fiercely. “ You lie! I will
know who she is.”
Suddenly the door was thrown open! Juliet stood
there, her hands full of roses, her face flushed and
brilliant with smiles.
“How delightful to find you here!” she exclaimed,
coming swiftly across to Wingrave. “I do hope you
won't mind my coming. Normandy is off, and I have
nowhere else to go."
She saw Lady Ruth and stopped.
“Oh! I beg your pardon!” she exclaimed. “I
did not know.”
“This is Lady Ruth Barrington,” Wingrave said;
“my ward Miss Juliet Lundy."
"Your - ward ?” Lady Ruth said, gazing at her
intently.
Juliet nodded.
“Sir Wingrave has been very kind to me since I
was a child,” she said softly. “He has let me live
here with Mrs. Tresfarwin, and I am afraid I some-
times forget that it is not really my home. Am I


266
THE MALEFACTOR
in the way?” she asked, looking wistfully towards
Wingrave.
“By no means!” he exclaimed. “ Lady Ruth is
just going. Will you see that she has some tea or
something ?”
Lady Ruth laughed quietly.
“I think,” she said, “that it is I who am in the
way! I should love some tea, if there is time, but
whatever happens, I must not miss that train."


CHAPTER XVIII
A DREAM OF PARADISE
T seemed to Wingrave that the days which fol-
lowed formed a sort of hiatus in his life — an
interlude during which some other man in his
place, and in his image, played the game of life to
a long-forgotten tune. He moved through the hours
as a man in a maze, unrecognisable to himself, half
unconscious, half heedless of the fact that the gar-
ments of his carefully cultivated antagonism to the
world and to his fellows had slipped very easily from
his unresisting shoulders. The glory of a perfect
English midsummer lay like a golden spell upon the
land. The moors were purple with heather, touched
here and there with the fire of the flaming gorse, the
wind blew always from the west, the gardens were
ablaze with slowly bursting rhododendrons. Every
gleam of colouring, every breath of perfume, seemed
to carry him unresistingly back to the days of his
boyhood. He fished once more in the trout streams;
he threw away his stick, and tramped or rode with
Juliet across the moors. At night time she sang or
played with the windows open, Wingrave himself out
of sight under the cedar trees, whose perfume filled
with aromatic sweetness the still night air. Piles of
letters came every day, which he left unopened upon
his study table. Telegrams followed, which he threw


268
THE MALEFACTOR
into the wastepaper basket. Juliet watched the ac-
cumulating heap with amazement.
“Whatever do people write to you so much for?”
she asked one morning, watching the stream of let-
ters flow out of the post-bag.
Wingrave was silent for a moment. Her ques-
tion brought a sudden and sharp sting of remem-
• brance. Juliet knew him only as Sir Wingrave Seton.
She knew nothing of Mr. Wingrave, millionaire.
“ Advertisements, a good many of them,” he said.
“I must send for Aynesworth some day, to go through
thern all.”
“What fun!” she exclaimed. “Do send for him!
He thinks that I am staying with Miss Pengarth, and
I have n't written once since I got here!”.
To Wingrave, it seemed that a chill had somehow
stolen into the hot summer morning. His feet were
very nearly upon the earth again.
“I forgot,” he said, “that Aynesworth was — a
friend of yours. He came and saw you often in
London?”
She smiled reflectively.
“He has been very, very kind,” she answered. “He
was always that, from the first time I saw you both.
Do you remember? It was down in the lower
gardens."
“ Yes!” he answered, “I remember quite well.”
“He was very kind to me then," she continned,
“ and you - well, I was frightened of you." She
stopped for a moment and laughed. Her eyes were
full of amazed reminiscence. “You were so cold
and severe! I never could have dreamed that, after
all, it was you who were going to be the dearest,
rs.
came


THE MALEFACTOR : 273
“A good deal,” Aynesworth answered passionately.
“ Juliet, please go away. I must speak to your
guardian — alone!”
Again she looked at Wingrave. He pointed to the
house.
“I think,” he said, “ that you had better go.”
She hesitated. Something of the impending storm
was already manifest. Aynesworth turned suddenly
towards her.
“ You shall not enter that house again, Juliet,” he
declared. “Stay in the gardens there, and presently
you shall know why."


CHAPTER XIX
THE AWAKENING
TINGRAVE had risen to his feet. He was
perfectly calm, but there was a look on his
face which Juliet had never seen there
before. Instinctively she drew a little away, and
Aynesworth took his place between them.
“ Are you mad, Aynesworth ?” Wingrave asked
coolly.
“Not now,” Aynesworth answered. “I have been
mad to stay with you for four years, to look on,
however passively, at all the evil you have done.
I've had enough of it now, and of you! I came here
to tell you so."
“A letter,” Wingrave answered, “would have been
equally efficacious. However, since you have told
me "
“I'll go when I'm ready," Aynesworth answered,
" and I've more to say. When I first entered your
service, and you told me what your outlook upon life
was, I never dreamed but that the years would make
a man of you again, I never believed that you could
be such a brute as to carry out your threats. I saw
you do your best to corrupt a poor, silly little woman,
who only escaped ruin by a miracle; I saw you deal
out what might have been irretrievable disaster to a
young man just starting in life. Since your return


THE MALEFACTOR
275
to London, you have done as little good, and as much
harm, with your millions as any man could."
Wingrave was beginning to look bored.
“This is getting,” he remarked, “ a little like melo-
drama. I have no objection to being abused, even
in my own garden, but there are limits to my pa-
tience. Come to the point, if you have one."
.“ Willingly," Aynesworth answered. “I want you
to understand this. I have never tried to interfere
in any of your malicious schemes, although I am
ashamed to think I have watched them without pro-
test. But this one is different. If you have harmed,
if you should ever dare to harm this child, as sure as
there is a God above us, I will kill you!”
“ What is she to you?” Wingrave asked calmly.
“She - I love her," Aynesworth answered. “I
mean her to be my wife.”
“ And she ?”
“She looks upon me as her greatest friend, her
natural protector,' and protect her I will — even
against you.”
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
“ It seems to me,” he said, “ that the young lady
is very well off as she is. She has lived in my house,
and been taken care of by my servants. She has been
relieved of all the material cares of life, and she has
been her own mistress. I scarcely see how you, my
young friend, could do better for her.”
Aynesworth moved a step nearer to him. The veins
on his forehead were swollen. His voice was hoarse
with passion.
“Why have you done this for her ?” he demanded,
“secretly, too, you, a man to whom a good action is


THE MALEFACTOR
277
She looked towards Wingrave. He was sitting upon
the garden seat, and his face was absolutely expres-
sionless. He spoke to her, and his cold, precise tone
betrayed not the slightest sign of any emotion.
“Aynesworth,” he remarked, “is going to tell you
some interesting facts about myself. Please listen
attentively, as afterwards you will be called upon to
make a somewhat important decision.”
She looked at him a little wistfully, and sighed.
There was no trace any longer of her companion of
the last few weeks. It was the stern and gloomy
stranger of her earlier recollections, who sat there with
folded arms.
“Is it really necessary?" she asked.
“ Absolutely," Aynesworth answered hurriedly.
“ It won't take long, but there are things which you
must know."
“ Very well,” she answered, “I am listening."
Aynesworth inclined his head towards the place
where Wingrave sat.
“I will admit,” he said, " that the man there, whom
I have served for the last four years and more, never
deceived me as to his real character and intentions.
He had been badly treated by a woman, and he told me
plainly that he entered into life again at war with his
fellows. Where he could see an opportunity of doing
evil, he meant to do it; where he could bring misery
and suffering upon anyone with whom he came into
contact, he meant to grasp the opportunity. I listened
to him, but I never believed. I told myself that it
would be interesting to watch his life, and to see the
gradual, inevitable humanising of the man. So I en-
tered his service, and have remained in it until to-day.”


278
THE MALEFACTOR
He turned more directly towards Juliet. She was
listening breathlessly to every word.
“ Juliet,” he said, “ he has kept his word. I have
been by his side, and I speak of the things I know.
He has sought no one's friendship who has not suf-
fered for it, there is not a man or woman living who
owes him the acknowledgment of a single act of kind-
ness. I have seen him deliberately scheme to bring
about the ruin of a harmless little woman. I have
seen him exact his pound of flesh, even at the cost of
ruin, from a boy. I tell you, Juliet, of my own
knowledge, that he has neither heart nor conscience,
and that he glories in the evil that his hand finds to
do. Even you must know something of his reputation
— have heard something of his doings, under the name
he is best known by in London – Mr. Wingrave,
millionaire."
She started back as though in terror. Then she
turned to Wingrave, who sat stonily silent.
“ It is n't true," she cried. “You are not that
man?”
He raised his eyes and looked at her. It seemed
to her that there was something almost satanic in
the smile which alone disturbed the serenity of his
face.
“ Certainly I am," he answered; “ when I returned
from America, it suited me to change my identity.
You must not doubt anything that Mr. Aynesworth
says. I can assure you that he is a most truthful and
conscientious young man. I shall be able to give him
a testimonial with a perfectly clear conscience.”
Juliet shuddered as she turned away. All the joy
of life seemed to have gone from her face.


THE MALEFACTOR
279
“You are Mr. Wingrave — the Mr. Wingrave. Oh!
I can't believe it,” she broke off suddenly. “No one
could have been so kind, so generous, as you have been
to me."
She looked from one to the other of the two men.
Both were silent, but whereas Aynesworth had turned
his head away, Wingrave's position and attitude were
unchanged. She moved suddenly over towards him.
One hand fell almost caressingly upon his shoulder.
She looked eagerly into his face.
“ Tell me — that it is n't all true," she begged.
“ Tell me that your kindness to me, at least, was
real — that you did not mean it to be for my unhappi-
ness afterwards. Please tell me that. I think if you
asked me, if you cared to ask me, that I could forgive
everything else.”
“Every vice, save one,” Wingrave murmured,
“Nature has lavished upon me. I am a poor liar.
It is perfectly true that my object in life has been
exactly as Aynesworth has stated it. I may have
been more or less successful — Aynesworth can tell
you that, too. As regards yourself "
“Yes ?” she exclaimed.
“I congratulate you upon your escape,” Wingrave
said. “Aynesworth is right. Association of any sort
with me is for your evil!”
She covered her face with her hands. Even his
tone was different. She felt that this man was a
stranger, and a stranger to be feared. Aynesworth
came over to her side and drew her away.
“I have a cart outside," he said. “I am going to
take you to Truro - "
Wingrave heard the gate close after them — he


CHAPTER XX
REVENGE IS — BITTER
AI no time during his career did Wingrave appear
A before the public more prominently than dur-
1 ing the next few months. As London began
to fill up again, during the early part of October, he
gave many and magnificent entertainments, his name
figured in all the great social events, he bought a
mansion in Park Lane which had been built for
Royalty, and the account of the treasures with which
he filled it read like a chapter from some modern
Arabian Nights. In the city, he was more hated and
dreaded than ever. His transactions, huge and care-
fully thought out, were for his own aggrandisement
only, and left always in their wake ruin and disaster
for the less fortunate and weaker speculators. He
played for his own hand only, the camaraderie of
finance he ignored altogether. In one other respect,
too, he occupied a unique position amongst the finan-
cial magnates of the moment. All appeals on behalf
of charity he steadily ignored. He gave nothing away.
His name never figured amongst the hospital lists;
suffering and disaster, which drew their humble con-
tributions from the struggling poor and middle classes,
left him unmoved and his cheque book unopened. In
an age when huge gifts on behalf of charity was the
fashionable road to the peerage, his attitude was all
the more noticeable. He would give a thousand pounds


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THE MALEFACTOR
for a piece of Sèvres china which took his fancy; he
would not give a thousand farthings to ease the suf-
ferings of his fellows. Yet there were few found to
criticise him. He was called original, a crank; there
were even some who professed to see merit in his
attitude. To both criticism and praise he was alike
indifferent. With a cynicism which seemed only to
become more bitter be pursued his undeviating and
deliberate way.
One morning he met Lady Ruth on the pavement
in Bond Street. She pointed to the vacant seat in
her landau.
“Get in, please, for a few minutes,” she said. “I
want to talk to you. I will take you where you like."
They drove off in silence.
“ You were not at the Wavertons last night," he
remarked.
“No!” she answered quietly. “I was not asked.”
He glanced at her questioningly.
“I thought that you were so friendly," he
said.
“I was,” she answered. “Lady Waverton scarcely
knows me now! It is the beginning of the end, I
suppose.”
“You are a little enigmatical this morning," he
declared.
“ Oh, no! You understand me very well,” she
answered. “Everybody knows that it is you who
keep us going. Lumley has not got quite used to
taking your money. He has lost nearly all his am-
bition. Soon his day will have gone by. People
shrug their shoulders when they speak of us. Two
years ago the Wavertons were delighted to know me.


284
THE MALEFACTOR
I was fool enough to keep the flame flickering — that
I have cared always and for no one else! ”
He stopped the carriage.
“You are the most original woman I ever met,"
he said quietly. “I neither wish to care nor be cared
for by anyone. Go home to your husband, and tell
him to buy Treadwells up to six.”
That same afternoon Wingrave met Aynesworth
and cut him dead. Something in the younger man's
appearance, though, perplexed him. Aynesworth
certainly had not the air of a successful man. He
was pale, carelessly dressed, and apparently in ill-
health. Wingrave, after an amount of hesitation,
which was rare with him, turned his car towards
Battersea, and found himself, a few minutes later,
mounting the five flights of stone steps. Juliet her-
self opened the door to him. She gave a little gasp
when she saw who it was, and did not immediately
invite him to enter.
“I am sorry,” Wingrave said coldly, “ to inflict
this visit upon you. If you are alone, and afraid to
ask me in, we can talk here."
Her cheeks became as flushed as a moment before
they had been pale. She looked at him reproachfully,
and, standing on one side to let him pass, closed the
door behind him. Then she led the way into her
sitting-room.
“I am glad that you have come to see me," she said.
“Won't you sit down?”
He ignored her invitation, and stood looking around
him. There was a noticeable change in the little room.
There were no flowers, some of the ornaments and the
silver trifles from her table were missing. The place


THE MALEFACTOR
285
seemed to have been swept bare of everything, except
the necessary furniture. Then he looked at her. She
was perceptibly thinner, and there were black rings
under her eyes.
“ Where is Mrs. Tresfarwin?” he asked.
“In Cornwall,” she answered.
“ Why?”
“I could not afford to keep her here any longer.".
“What are you doing for a living — painting
still ?"
She shook her head a little piteously.
“ They can't sell any more of my pictures,” she
said. “I am trying to get a situation as governess
or companion or — anything.”
“When did you have anything to eat last ?” he
asked.
“ Yesterday,” she answered, and he was just in
time to catch her. She had fainted.
He laid her upon the sofa, poured some water over
her face, and fanned her with a newspaper. His
expression of cold indifference remained unmoved.
It was there in his face when she opened her eyes.
“Are you well enough to walk ?” he asked.
“Quite, thank you," she answered. “I am so
sorry!”
“Put on your hat,” he ordered.
She disappeared for a few minutes, and returned
dressed for the street. He drove her to a restaurant
and ordered some dinner. He made her drink some
wine, and while they waited he buried himself in a
newspaper. They ate their meal almost in silence.
Afterwards, Wingrave asked her a question.
“ Where is Aynesworth ? "


THE MALEFACTOR
287
not that; but I have been dependent long enough. I
will keep myself — or starve.”
He shrugged his shoulders and paid the bill.
“My man,” he said, “ will take you wherever you
like. I have a call to make close here.”
They stood upon the pavement. She held out her
hand a little timidly. Her eyes were soft and wistful.
“Good-bye, guardian,” she said. “ Thank you very
much for my lunch.”
“Ah!” he said gravely, “if you would let me
always call myself that!”
She got into the car without a word. Wingrave
walked straight back to his own house. Several people
were waiting in the entrance hall, and the visitors'
book was open upon the porter's desk. He walked
through, looking neither to the right nor the left,
crossed the great library, with its curved roof, its floor
of cedar wood, and its wonderful stained-glass win-
dows, and entered a smaller room beyond — his abso-
lute and impenetrable sanctum. He rang the bell for
his servant.
“ Morrison,” he said, “if you allow me to be dis-
turbed by any living person, on any pretence what-
ever, until I ring, you lose your place. Do you
understand ?”
“ Perfectly, sir."
Wingrave locked the door. The next hour belonged
to himself alone. ..
When at last he rang the bell, he gave Morrison
a note.
“ This is to be delivered at once," he said.
The man bowed and withdrew. Wingrave, with
his hands behind him, strolled out into the library.


288
THE MALEFACTOR
In a remote corner, a small spectacled person was
busy writing at a table. Wingrave crossed the room
and stood before him.
“ Are you my librarian?” he asked.
The man rose at once.
“ Certainly, sir,” he answered. “My name is
Woodall. You may have forgotten it. I am at work
now upon a new catalogue.”
Wingrave nodded.
“I have a quarto Shakespeare, I think,” he said,
“ that I marked at Sotheby's; also a manuscript
Thomas à-Kempis, and a first edition of Herrick. I
should like to see them.”
“By all means,” the man answered, hurrying to
the shelves. “You have, also, a wonderful rare
collection of manuscripts, purchased from the Abbey
St. Jouvain, and a unique Horace. If you will
permit me."
Wingrave spent half an hour examining his treas-
ures, leaving his attendant astonished.
“A millionaire who understands !” he exclaimed
softly as he resumed his seat. “Miraculous ! "
Wingrave passed into the hall, and summoned his
major domo.
“ Show me the ballroom," he ordered, “and the
winter garden."
The little man in quiet black clothes — Wingrave
abhorred liveries — led him respectfully through
rooms probably unequalled for magnificence in Eng-
land. He spoke of the exquisite work of French
and Italian artists; with a gesture almost of rever-
ence he pointed out the carving in the wonderful
white ballroom.
--
--
----
-----
-
-
--
-


THE MALEFACTOR
291
presented the same cold, impenetrable appearance;
Lady Ruth, with quicker perceptions, noticed at once
the change. She sat up in her chair eagerly. It was
what she had prayed for, this — but was it for good or
evil ? Her eyes sought his eagerly. So much depended
upon his first few words.
Wingrave closed the door behind him. His
greetings were laconic as usual. He addressed Lady
Ruth.
“I find myself obliged,” he said, “ to take a jour-
ney which may possibly be a somewhat protracted one.
I wished, before I left, to see you and your husband.
I sent for you together, but I wish to speak to you
separately -- to your husband first. You have often
expressed a desire to see over my house, Lady Ruth.
My major domo is outside. Will you forgive me if
I send you away for a few minutes ?”
Lady Ruth rose slowly to her feet.
“ How long do you wish me to keep away?” she
asked calmly.
“A few minutes only,” he answered. “You will
find me here when Parkinson has shown you round.”
He held the door open and she passed out, with a
single upward and wondering glance. Wingrave closed
the door, and seated himself close to where Barring-
ton was standing.
“Barrington,” he said, “twenty years ago we were
friends. Since then we have been enemies. To-day,
so far as I am concerned, we are neither."
Barrington started a little. His lips twitched ner-
vously. He did not quite understand.
“I am sure, Wingrave — ” he began.
Wingrave interrupted him ruthlessly.


292
THE MALEFACTOR
“I give you credit," he continued, “for under-
standing that my attitude towards you since I - er
- reappeared, has been inimical. I intended you to
speculate, and you did speculate. I meant you to
lose, and you have lost. The money I lent to your
wife was meant to remain a rope around your neck.
The fact that I lent it to her was intended to hu-
miliate you, the attentions which I purposely paid
to her in public were intended to convey a false
impression to society — and in this, too, I fancy that
I have been successful.”
Barrington drew a thick breath — the dull colour
was mounting to his cheeks.
Wingrave continued calmly -
“I had possibly in my mind, at one time,” he said,
“ the idea of drawing things on to a climax - of wit-
nessing the final disappearance of yourself and your
wife from the world — such as we know it. I have,
however, ceased to derive amusement or satisfac-
tion from pursuing what we may call my vengeance.
Consequently, it is finished."
The light of hope leaped into Barrington's dull
eyes, but he recognised Wingrave's desire for silence.
.“ A few feet to your left, upon my writing table,"
Wingrave continued, “ you will find an envelope ad-
dressed to yourself. It contains a discharge, in full,
for the money I have lent you. I have also ventured
to place to your credit, at your own bank, a sum suffi-
cient to give you a fresh start. When you return to
Cadogan Square, or, at least, this evening, you will
receive a communication from the Prime Minister,
inviting you to become one of the International Board
of Arbitration on the Alaskan question. The position,


294
THE MALEFACTOR
“ There are only three I want to hear from you,"
she murmured, and her eyes were pleading with him
passionately all the time. “It seems to me that I
have been waiting to hear them all my life. Win-
grave, I am so tired — and I am losing — I want to
leave it all!”
“Exactly,” he answered cheerfully, “what you are
going to do. You are going to America with your
husband.”
“What do you mean?” she asked sharply.
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I am rather tired of the game," he said, “ that
is all. I am like the child who likes to build up again
the house of bricks which he has thrown down. I
have procured for your husband a seat on the Alaskan
Board. It is a very distinguished position, and you
will find that it will entail considerable social obliga-
tions in America. When you return, he will be able
to claim a judgeship, or a place in the Government.
You will find things go smoothly enough then.”
“But you!” she cried; “I want you!”
He looked at her gravely.
“Dear Lady Ruth,” he said, “you may think so,
at this moment, but you are very much mistaken.
What you really desire is a complete reconciliation
with your husband, and a place in the great world
which no one shall be able to question. These things
are arranged for you; also — these."
He handed her a little packet. She dropped it idly
into her lap. She was looking steadfastly away from
them.
“You are free from me now," he continued. “You
will find life run quite smoothly, and I do not think


CHAPTER XXII
“ LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW"
R. PENGARTH was loth to depart. He
felt that all pretext for lingering was gone,
that he had outstayed his welcome. Yet
he found himself desperately striving for some excuse
to prolong an interview which was to all effects and
purposes concluded.
“I will do my best, Sir Wingrave," he said, revert-
ing to the subject of their interview, “ to study Miss
Lundy's interests in every way. I will also see that
she has the letter you have left for her, within eight
days from now. But if you could see your way to
leave some sort of address, so that I should have
a chance of communicating with you, if necessary,
I should assume my responsibilities with a lighter
heart."
Wingrave gave vent to a little gesture of annoy-
ance.
“My dear sir,” he said, “surely I have been ex-
plicit enough. I have told you that, within a week
from now, I shall be practically dead. I shall never
return to England — you will never see me again.
I have given life here a fair trial, and found it a
failure. I am going to make a new experiment -
and it is going to be in an unexplored country. You
could not reach me there through the post. You, I


298
THE MALEFACTOR
think, would scarcely care to follow me. Let it go
at that.”
Mr. Pengarth took up his bag with a sigh.
“Sir Wingrave,” he said, “I am a simple man,
and life with me has always been a very simple affair.
I recognise the fact, of course, that I am not in a
position to judge or to understand the mental atti-
tude of one, who, like yourself, has suffered and
passed through great crises. But I cannot help wish-
ing that you could find it possible to try, for a time,
the quiet life of a countryman, in this beautiful home
of yours.”
Wingrave shrugged his shoulders.
“Mr. Pengarth,” he said, “no two men are born
alike into this world. Some are blessed with a con-
tented mind, some are wanderers by destiny. You
will forgive me if I do not discuss the matter with
you more fully. My journey, wherever and what-
ever it is, is inevitable.”
Mr. Pengarth was braver than he had ever been
in his life.
“Sir Wingrave," he said, “ there is one journey
which we must all take in God's good time. But the
man who starts before he is called finds no welcome
at the end. The greatest in life are those who are
content to wait!”
“I am not in the least disposed to doubt it, Mr.
Pengarth,” Wingrave said calmly. “Now I must
really send you away.”
So Mr. Pengarth went, but Wingrave was not long
destined to remain in solitude. There was a sound
of voices in the hall, Morrison's protesting, another
insistent. Then the door was opened, and Wingrave