The Five Knots

"Oh, you needn't be afraid," Wilfrid said contemptuously. "I am not going to do you any harm, but I came here for certain information and I mean to have it. Is my credit so good that you could afford to speculate in a bill of mine? But perhaps I had better come to the point. Where is the security?"

Mr. Fowler laughed somewhat unpleasantly. He was more at his ease. He pointed over his shoulder to a safe in the wall.

"The security is all right, sir," he said. "The point is, do you want to take it up? If you have the money with you the thing could be arranged quite amicably."

There was a sneer underlying these words which brought the blood into Wilfrid's face. The man was laughing at him. Here was a chance to test the truth of what Fowler was saying. Wilfrid took a bulky packet of letters from his pocket and laid them on the table before him.

"I didn't come here to offer you a cheque," he said, "because it occurred to me you might refuse it. But I suppose you have no objection to banknotes."

Fowler was taken aback. The grin died away from his cunning features.

"Oh, certainly," he muttered, "certainly."

"Then produce the security and let us have done with it."

Fowler arose reluctantly to his feet and rummaged among a mass of papers in the safe. But the security was not forthcoming, which was exactly what Wilfrid had foreseen. With some show of disappointment Fowler returned to his desk muttering that he had left the security at home. Wilfrid gravely restored the bundle of papers to his pocket. He was not displeased at having forced the money-lender to show his hand. His suspicions had become certainties. Cotter had come down on purpose to take the security away. He rose carelessly from his seat.

"Very well," he said, "it doesn't in the least matter, but you must understand I can't call again. You know my address in Oldborough. I shall be there to-morrow morning, and if you send a representative to meet me I shall be prepared to pay you off. I don't think I need detain you longer."

With a curt nod Wilfrid left the office and made his way to Uzali's flat. He was informed that the Malay was in bed, but had left instructions that if Dr. Mercer called he was to be shown up at once. He found Uzali propped up by the bedclothes and looking not much the worse for his adventure.

"Oh, I shall be right enough to-morrow," he said cheerfully. "It is very unfortunate that I should have got into trouble last night. I daresay you wonder what it is all about?"

"My dear sir, I am consumed with curiosity," Wilfrid said. "And when you have told me all your adventures I will tell you mine, which were thrilling enough in all conscience."

"That is a bargain," Uzali smiled. "But there is one thing you must tell me first. Is our friend Samuel Flower still alive? Did anything happen to him last night?"

"Oh, he is still alive," Wilfrid said dubiously. "But how long he is likely to last is another matter. And now, if you will promise not to get unduly excited, I will tell you everything that has happened since I put you in the cab. You will be interested."

Uzali listened with rapt attention to what Wilfrid had to say. He even expressed his satisfaction at the knowledge that things were no worse with Samuel Flower.

"So far, so good," he said. "And now, perhaps, I had better tell you my story. It is shorter than yours and not so dramatic. In the square I fell foul of those countrymen of mine, never doubting for a moment but that they would recognize me and my authority. Perhaps they took me for some imposter, perhaps they lost their heads in the darkness. Anyway, they attacked me in a most murderous fashion before I had the slightest chance of explaining; hence the fact that you found me in the square nearly done for. Mind you, if this had happened a week ago I would not have interfered, but have allowed matters to take their own course. But now things are different. They have changed altogether."

It was a long time before Uzali spoke again. He lay there with his eyes closed as if asleep or dreaming.

CHAPTER XXX

A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING

Wilfrid walked slowly back to Bloomsbury, his own affairs uppermost in his mind. His morning had not been wasted. He had found out several things likely to be of use to him, but, on the other hand, the time was so short that it seemed almost impossible to save the situation. There was an outside chance that his friend Vardon might have been able to raise the money, but no information had come from him, and in such cases no news is bad news. The security had undoubtedly found its way into Cotter's hands and no time would be lost in making use of the weapon. The mere thought was maddening. Here was a man lying on his death-bed, yet ready to strike at another man, who, on two occasions had risked his life for him. It would have been better to allow those poisonous little Easterns to have their own way and remove a scoundrel like Flower altogether. Still, there was a chance yet, and Wilfrid meant to take advantage of it if he had the opportunity. He was not beaten.

Beatrice's pale white face glancing wearily through the drawing-room window recalled him to himself. There was better news, on the whole, than Wilfrid had expected. Shelton's operation had been partially successful, and he and his colleague were waiting for Wilfrid's return.

"You haven't very much to do," Shelton explained. "The nurse I have chosen will be here at any moment and she will take your place. You will find certain medicines upstairs which you will know what to do with."

Shelton departed hurriedly, after the manner of his kind, and Wilfrid made his way to the sick room. Beatrice followed him fearfully with a whispered request to be permitted to see how the injured man was, and Wilfrid had not the heart to refuse.

"It must be only a moment, then," he said. "I have no right to have stayed here so long. I ought to have been back in Oldborough hours ago. You must promise to be quiet and not speak a single word if I admit you into the sick room."

Beatrice gave the assurance and they crept into the bedroom silently together. Flower lay with his eyes wide open, gazing about the room in a strange, lack-lustre fashion. Evidently he had not the remotest notion where he was or what was taking place around him. He murmured from time to time a medley of things in which the shrewdness of a man and the innocence of a child were curiously mingled. Wilfrid seemed to hear sounds of some one moving in the dressing-room beyond, and he looked into the room, where he saw Cotter in the act of placing some papers in a desk. Flower's confidential clerk looked up guiltily as his glance met Wilfrid's eye.

"What are you doing here?" Wilfrid asked sternly. "Don't you know that nobody but the doctor and the nurse are allowed here? And why are you tampering with those papers?"

"I am not," Cotter stammered. "I swear I am not. I am only putting away a few documents which my master told me to fetch from the City this morning. I am very sorry, sir, but I won't come back again. Is he better?"

Wilfrid turned on his heel without reply. No sooner had Cotter left the dressing-room than Wilfrid was back in the bedroom intent on getting rid of Beatrice also. It was useless for the girl to stay, for she could do nothing except stand there with eyes full of tears of pity and sorrow. Wilfrid led her out to the landing.

"You must not come here again," he said. "I will leave directly the nurse arrives. I have to call upon a friend and then I must get back to Oldborough without delay."

"Is there any hope?" Beatrice asked.

"I cannot say," Wilfrid replied. "It may be days before we are sure of that, and whatever happens, remember that you are safe. These people who come and go in this mysterious fashion have no feeling against you. It is only your uncle who is the object of their vengeance."

"But, surely, the police ought to know," Beatrice protested.

"I am not sure of that," Wilfrid said. "If your uncle were well and we suggested calling the police, I am certain that he would oppose the idea strongly."

A little colour crept into Beatrice's face.

"You speak so strangely," she said. "You hint at such dark things. Do you know that all the years I have lived with my uncle I have never found him anything but the best of men? It is only latterly that this cloud has come between us. There was none of it until you came into my life again."

The words were quietly spoken, yet they stung Wilfrid to the core.

"That is easily remedied," he said bitterly. "I can take myself out of your life as I brought myself into it. I could school myself to forget you in time. But do not forget that I have saved your uncle's life twice, though, in so doing, I have rendered a very doubtful service to humanity."

"What do you mean?" Beatrice asked hotly.

Wilfrid advanced a step or two closer and took the girl's hands in his. His face was grave and set.

"Then I will tell you," he said. "Samuel Flower might have been even more to you than you say he has, but that does not prevent him from being a great scoundrel. You may bridle and colour, but I ask you to hear me to the finish. You may say, quite sincerely, you have never heard anything of this before. But if you could go amongst business men who knew nothing of your relationship to Samuel Flower, and ask them what they thought of him and his methods, you would learn some startling things. Do you know that for over two years I was a servant of your uncle's on board one of his ships? Have you ever heard him mention a boat called the Guelder Rose?"

"I have heard of it," Beatrice murmured. "There was a mutiny on board and a great loss of life. It was a shameful thing altogether, and if my uncle had cared to bring the mutineers to justice most of them would have suffered long terms of imprisonment, but he refrained from doing so – "

"Because he was afraid," Wilfrid said sternly. "He dared not face the ordeal of a court of justice. I was the doctor on board that ill-fated boat and could tell you all about it. If I could only put my hand upon one other survivor, poor and friendless as I am, I would fight your uncle to the last gasp. I hesitated to come to Maldon Grange the day I was sent for, because I was afraid I might be recognized and have to pay the penalty of my interference in that mutiny. And I was recognized – I realized that almost as soon as I entered the house."

"My uncle said nothing to me," Beatrice protested.

"Oh, no, he would not," Wilfrid said bitterly. "That is not the way in which he works, but he has lost no time in trying to ruin me. He lost no time in getting into communication with the people from whom I borrowed money to buy my practice. He bought the security I gave, and if the money is not forthcoming to-morrow, I shall be a ruined man without a house over my head. I daresay you wonder why I tell you this, but sooner or later you are bound to know, and if it happens that somebody else – "

What more Wilfrid might have said was cut short by a sudden moan from the bedroom. Without another word Wilfrid turned and Beatrice crept silently down the stairs.

It was only for a moment or two, however, and the patient lapsed into the absent stage again. The minutes were creeping along; the nurse would be here soon and Wilfrid would be glad to turn his back upon that house of mystery. His mind was full of his own troubles; he found his thoughts wandering to the desk in the dressing-room where he had seen Cotter arranging those papers. Then it suddenly struck him that the security he was in search of was actually within his grasp. As far as he could see, Cotter had not even turned the key in the desk. Overwhelming curiosity drew Wilfrid from his seat and impelled his lingering footsteps towards the dressing-room.

Here was the desk with the key still in it. There was the heap of papers in the top drawer. A long, pale blue slip with a red stamp in the corner caught his eye. There was no occasion for him to ask what it was. He could see his own bold handwriting across it. Here was the precious document that meant so much to him, so little for the man in the next room. He had only to tear it in two and throw the fragments in the fire and he would be free from all anxiety for ever. It was only for a moment, but that moment was long enough, for the dressing-room door stood open and the shadow of Beatrice blocked the light.

"The nurse is here," she said coldly. Her eyes were fixed upon the paper which Wilfrid held in his hand. "I thought I would bring her this way. And now, Dr. Mercer, don't you think that we shall be able to dispense with your services?"

CHAPTER XXXI

A QUESTION OF HONOUR

The thing was done beyond recall. Wilfrid had only to look into the face of his companion to see that everything seemed plain to her as an open book. He had been rummaging amongst her uncle's papers for the compromising document. He had it in his hand at that moment.

What would he have done with it had Beatrice not appeared? Would he have yielded to temptation or not? For the life of him Wilfrid could not say. He tried to think that he would have put the matter behind him. But he had not done so; he had not even attempted to do so. For a second or two he had even tried to justify himself in a course of action which would have been distinctly dishonourable. If he had gone down on his knees and made a full confession to Beatrice he could have told her no more than she already knew.

He glanced into her face, eager to see if there was any sympathy in her eyes. But Beatrice's face was stern and set. There was a compression of her lips that he had not noticed before. He could not know how deeply wounded and disappointed she was. She could not add anything to the humiliation which he was then suffering.

"You wish me to go?" he stammered.

"Would it not be better?" she said scornfully. "Is it not a pity you ever came at all?"

"Perhaps it was," Wilfrid said, stung to retort. "But if fortune had never brought us together again Samuel Flower would have been in his grave by now. Had we not met once more I should have been spared an enemy whose sole desire it is to ruin me. Then, at the appointed time, I might have sought you out and, in the language of the fairy stories – "

Wilfrid paused, conscious that he was going a little too far. He saw the vivid colour creep into Beatrice's cheeks, but there was no relaxation of her lips.

"Go on," she said. "You might as well finish."

"And live happily ever afterwards," Wilfrid said defiantly. "You think I have done a wrong thing to-day, and possibly I have. May you be ever spared such a temptation as has been placed in my way during the last half-hour! You cannot understand these things. Brought up as you have been how could you make allowance for people in dire trouble? Oh, never mind the nurse; she can wait a few minutes. Since I have gone so far I must finish. Whether you like it or not, you shall hear all that I have to say. It is only due to me that you should."

Beatrice hesitated. Wilfrid's voice thrilled with passion, his words rang with sincerity. It was almost impossible to believe that a man distinguished for bravery should stoop to common theft. The hesitancy passed and Beatrice turned away.

"What is the good of it?" she cried. "What do I gain by hearing you? And, surely, this is a wrong time and place for a confession – "

"A confession!" Wilfrid echoed scornfully. "I was going to make no confession. But bring in the nurse, so that I may explain what she has to do; after that I will detain you very little longer. Perhaps you are right."

There was no sign of heat or passion on Wilfrid's face as he shook hands with the nurse. She looked white and fragile for so difficult a task, but that was no business of his. Perhaps the nurse guessed what was passing through his mind, for she smiled at him unsteadily.

"I shall be all right," she said. "Dr. Shelton is a very good friend of mine. He knows that I have been ill for some time, and I am sure he would not send me a troublesome case. I know exactly what to do, thank you."

Wilfrid had only to take his departure. He had received his dismissal. He was not likely to see Beatrice again, therefore he could devote all his energies to the great fight before him. Nevertheless, he lingered in the hall on the off-chance of a last word with Beatrice, nor was he disappointed. The dining-room door opened in hesitating fashion and she stood before him. The hard, proud look had left her face now; her lips inclined to quiver.

"I cannot part with you like this," she murmured. "I have been thinking of what you said just now, and perhaps I am disposed to judge other people harshly."

"Did you ever know any prosperous man or woman who didn't?" Wilfred said with a bitter smile. "Oh, it maddens me to hear people prating their honesty when they have everything to make the path of existence smooth. Does it never strike these smug Pharisees that they would be born fools to be anything but honest? Why, there are thousands of criminals who die honourable and respected, either because they have never been found out or because they have never been under the necessity of knowing temptation. Take your case. What has your life been – one constant round of pleasure, a succession of years during which you have had everything you wanted and have been denied nothing? Do you suppose that you are any better than I am? Suppose you had somebody wholly dependent upon you for the mere necessaries of life, would you pry too minutely into things? But I am forgetting myself."

"Is it as bad as that?" Beatrice whispered.

"I can see no difference," Wilfrid said wearily. "If it were myself alone it would not matter. My household might be wrecked and everything taken away from me with impunity, because I have health and strength and would smile at the scandals of a place like Oldborough. But for the last four or five years I have promised my mother that I would settle down on shore and be near her in her old age. But why worry you with all this? Why should I picture her delight and pleasure in the new home she has to look after, which she regards merely as the beginning of my prosperity? And now I must go home to-night and tell her the bitter truth. I shall have to let her know that I have been deceiving her from the first, and that my so-called home is really the property of strangers. A few moments ago I had it in my power to secure that home. I had only to take a certain piece of paper and drop it in the fire and there would have been an end of the matter."

"That was when I came in," Beatrice whispered.

She was interested in spite of herself. She began to see there might be something in Wilfrid's point of view, and it was really dreadful that a rich man like Samuel Flower should stoop to crush another who was powerless to help himself. Indignation was warming Beatrice's blood. To her it almost seemed that Wilfrid would have been justified in his action. She turned towards him eagerly.

"But, surely, something can be done," she said. "I blame myself for not having seen your mother. If you will remember I promised to call upon her, but, really, there has been very little opportunity. Perhaps when we get back to Oldborough – "

"You forget that there will be no Oldborough for me after to-day," Wilfrid said quietly. "I am going to see this thing through to the bitter end, and your uncle and his tool, Cotter, can do what they please. Well, what is it?"

Wilfrid turned impatiently as a maid-servant came into the dining-room. The girl seemed to be distressed.

"Please, sir, it's the nurse," she said. "She doesn't seem at all well. She asked me to see if you had gone. Perhaps you wouldn't mind going upstairs again."

Though unwillingly, Wilfrid went back to the bedroom where Flower was lying. A regular conspiracy of circumstances had combined to keep him in that dreadful house. He found the nurse standing at the foot of the bed gazing at her patient with a white face and tearful eyes. Flower was sitting up now glaring about him and muttering strange things.

"Oh, I am so glad you have come," the nurse said. "I am afraid I shall not be able to manage this case. I am not as strong as I thought I was. I don't know what to make of the patient. He has been violent more than once since you went downstairs. I dare not be left alone."

Wilfrid's ill-nature vanished as he glanced at the pathetic face of the speaker. He forgot his own pressing affairs. He only knew that a fellow-creature in trouble was appealing to him for sympathy and help.

"Very well," he said, "I will do what I can. Go downstairs to the dining-room and tell Miss Galloway I sent you. Ask her to give you a glass of wine, and then go and telephone at once to Dr. Shelton, letting him know what has happened. Don't worry. I will see that no harm comes to the patient till some one more suitable takes your place."

The nurse stole thankfully away, and once again Wilfrid was alone with his deadliest enemy.

CHAPTER XXXII

NO PLACE LIKE HOME

Samuel Flower had taken a turn for the worse and, as Wilfrid's practised eye could tell, this was no case for the average woman nurse. Flower was sitting up with his hands round his knees glaring at Wilfrid, though there was no recognition in his eyes.

"Send for Cotter," he muttered. "Why isn't Cotter here? Don't tell me that that rascal has betrayed me like the rest of them! Not that I trust him, not that I trust any of them for that matter. But he ought to have been here an hour ago. Who are you?"

The question was asked with an abruptness that almost startled Wilfrid. For a moment the cloud hanging over Flower's brain had cleared away and he knew where he was and in whose presence he was lying.

"I am Mercer," Wilfrid said soothingly. "Don't you know me?"

"Oh, I know you," Flower whispered. "I recognize you. Keep those fellows away, will you? Don't let them come here again. I tell you it is terrible. I lie fast asleep and then dream, and dream, and dream, and yet my brain is clear and I know everything that is going on around you. But that is nothing to what has to come, Mercer. It is pleasure compared with the awful sensation when they wind that dreadful thing about the head and you lie helpless, watching those knots coming closer and closer till the brain sets fire – "

The words trailed off incoherently and Flower closed his eyes for a moment. The brief interval of sense vanished and he began again to fume and threaten.

"Keep them away from me!" he cried. "Keep them away from me! What did you say your name was? It wasn't Cotter. Oh, I remember, it was Mercer – Mercer, the dog that I am going to crush when the time comes as if he were an empty eggshell. He saved my life once, but what of that? The fellow is in the way and he must go. But that isn't what I want you for. I want you to send for that doctor. Telephone for him at once. Find him at any cost. I can't stay here. I dare not stay here. Whatever happens I must get back to Maldon Grange. Now go and find him."

The last words came in a harsh tone of command, then Flower's sudden access of strength failed him and he collapsed upon the bed an inert mass, scarcely moving and hardly breathing. Wilfrid hurried downstairs into the dining-room. The nurse was seated by the fire sipping at a glass of port-wine and Beatrice was trying to soothe her.

"It is all right," Beatrice explained. "I have managed to get Dr. Shelton on the telephone and he may be here at any moment. I suppose he will tell us what to do."

In a minute or two Shelton's car drove up to the door and the doctor alighted. He listened gravely to all that Wilfrid had to say and found time to address a few words to the distressed nurse.

"You are not to blame," he said. "I did not expect complications like this. I shall have to trespass still farther upon Dr. Mercer's time. It will take me an hour to find a competent male nurse."

Beatrice glanced imploringly at Wilfrid. In as many words she was asking him to stay and see her through her trouble. He shrugged his shoulders more or less carelessly. What did it matter? It was only a question of a few hours till his house of cards fell about his ears. It would only mean postponing his explanation to his mother till the following day.

"I am in your hands," he said. "As Miss Galloway knows, there is nothing I would not do for her. So long as I get back to Oldborough some time to-night I shall be satisfied."