Margaret drew a long, deep, shuddering breath, and he laughed again.
“Not any louder than that please.” It was Grey Mask speaking. “I don’t want to have to put an end to our little party just as we’re all really beginning to enjoy ourselves- but I’m forgetting you’re not aware that it is a party. They say three isn’t company; but it does so depend on the three. Doesn’t it? Now you and I and Charles-”
Margaret said “Oh!” It was a quick involuntary cry.
Freddy Pelham took her by the shoulder. She had not known that there could be so much strength in his fingers.
“You haven’t said how d’you do to Charles,” he said. “Come along and have a look at him. He’s been having a most entertaining time, and so have I. It’s time you had a share in the fun. Let go of that chair!” This last was a sharp command with a sort of snarling fury behind it that was quite sudden and very daunting.
Then in an instant, as Margaret’s rigid fingers still held on to the mahogany rail, he struck her across the knuckles with the little pistol. The blow cut the skin.
Charles heard her gasp and catch her breath. The next moment the sofa was pulled aside. Freddy was grinning at him, and Margaret looking, looking with her bruised hands at her breast and sheer heartbreak in her eyes. She said “Charles” and again “Charles” very faintly; and then “Is he-” and long, long pause before her failing voice said, “dead?”
“Not yet,” said Freddy.
Margaret cried out and wrenched away from him.
“Steady now-steady! If you make a noise, I shall have to shoot him here-and now. You can look, but you mustn’t touch. He’s a lovely sight-isn’t he? You needn’t be alarmed by the blood on the side of his head-it’s a mere scratch and won’t interfere in the least with his enjoyment of the next few days. I’m not going to hurt either of you, you know, unless you positively oblige me to-I’m only going to leave you in a comfortable dry cellar where you may, or may not, be found when the ninety-nine year lease of this house has fallen in, in-let me see, it is seventy or seventy-one years’ time from now-I’m really not quite sure.”
Margaret turned on him with a courage which stirred Charles Moray’s pride.
“Freddy, you’re not well. You-what are you saying? Freddy-think!”
Freddy Pelham let his amused gaze touch first one and then the other of them.
“My dear Margaret, it will save trouble if you will realize that you are not dealing with an amiable step-father who has suddenly gone mad, but with a man of intelligence who has built up a most successful business and is prepared to remove anyone who endangers it. Though I dislike you both acutely, I should never have lifted a finger against either of you if you had not foolishly threatened me with the police. I never mix business and pleasure. It will save time if you realize this. As an illustration, I may tell you that the cellar of which I spoke just now was the reason for my buying this house, and for my continuing to stay here all these years. It has often been-exceedingly useful. It was constructed by the eccentric Sir Joseph Tunney in 1795. I came across a reference in an old book of memoirs which caused me to buy this house when it came into the market. When I say that not even your mother has ever suspected the existence of this extra cellar, you will admit that Sir Joseph Tunney was a highly ingenious person. Why, Mark Dupre was there for a fortnight, with the police scouring the country for him, and not a soul ever suspected where he had been. He was wise enough to pay up, and when we had collected the money, he was found-as perhaps you remember-on the top of Hindhead in his pyjamas without the slightest idea of how he got there.”
Margaret had been falling slowly back step by step with her hands out before her as if to keep something away. As Freddy finished speaking, she sank down in the chair by the writing-table, flung her arms across the scattered papers, and bowed her head upon them.
“Well now, we’ll go down and look at the cellar-what?”
The reappearance of the old Freddy was the last touch of horror. Margaret cried out and lifted her head.
“Freddy-there’s one thing-Freddy-mother-will you tell me the truth? What happened? Is she-dead?”
He stiffened.
“That’s a very extraordinary thing to say. What makes you ask a thing like that?”
“An old friend-I met an old friend of hers. She said- she said-she’d seen her a fortnight ago in Vienna. I thought-” Her voice died as he looked at her.
“Who is this-friend?”
“I shant tell you. She only saw her for an instant. She didn’t speak to her. Freddy, tell me!” Her fingers clasped and unclasped themselves, tearing a piece of paper to shreds. “Freddy, tell me!”
“Who is this friend?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t know her. She doesn’t know anything. She thinks it was a likeness. Please, please tell me.”
“What does it matter to you now? On the other hand, it doesn’t really matter to me; so, as it happens, I don’t mind telling you. Esther is alive-or was three days ago when her last letter to me was posted.”
“Alive!” The word came with a rash.
“I’ve already told you that it makes no difference to you. It’s very irrational of you to feel any pleasure in a matter which won’t concern you in the least.”
Margaret said “Alive!” again. This time the word was only, a whisper.
Freddy Pelham began to walk up and down the room.
“Yes, she’s alive. If even the strongest of us hadn’t got his weakness, she wouldn’t be alive. She’s been my danger always-always.” He repeated the word with a certain fierce energy. “A man in my line of business should never allow himself a serious affair with a woman-it’s dangerous. You needn’t think of me as a fool who gave way to weakness. No, I always knew that she was my danger point, and I ran the risk deliberately, because she was the only woman I have ever met who was worth it, and because I felt myself strong enough to surmount the danger.”
Margaret’s eyes rested on him with a horrified surprise. Was this Freddy?
He went on talking all the time in a low, hard tone:
“I risked it, and I risked it successfully until six months ago. Then she discovered something. If she had been an ordinary woman, I could have put her off-you know how quick she is. Besides I was not altogether sorry. One gets a little tired of acting the poor fool whose only merit is his capacity for humble adoration. I welcomed the chance of showing myself to Esther as I really was.” He paused, stood in the middle of the room looking down at the pistol in his hand. “I ought to have ended it at once when I found how unreasonable she was. Instead, I went back to my acting-I played the penitent-and ye gods, how women do revel in forgiveness! She produced a plan she considered a stroke of genius-we would go abroad, making her health the excuse. I was to renounce my profession and any profits derived from it. A deliciously feminine piece of impracticability. Well, we went abroad. I allowed Esther to think that she was choosing our route. As a matter of fact, I had a plan of my own. I have for some years possessed a charming estate in eastern Europe. I took Esther there by car. She had no idea of where she was when we got there. Fortune played into my hands; she fell ill after a scene in which I explained my plan to her. Then, I must confess, I displayed weakness. I did not accept what chance offered me. I found myself unable to do so-I found that I could not contemplate life without her. It was a weakness. I temporised. I sent telegrams announcing her death. At one moment I hoped that she would die; at the next I drove three hundred miles to fetch a doctor. In the end she lived. I left her in trustworthy hands and came back. If I found that I could live without her, she could still be removed. If I was unable to conquer this foolish weakness of mine, she could remain in seclusion, and I could so arrange my affairs as to be able to go backwards and forwards. This morning”-He stopped, looked down at the pistol with a cold, furious stare, and then went on quickly: “This morning I heard from her- from Vienna. She had made her way there-how, I shall make it my business to find out. She could not have got away except by treachery-it was impossible. She writes that she is well-that there are things she does not understand- that she is waiting in Vienna for a personal explanation. I propose to give her one that will remove all further danger from my path.”