The Knave of Diamonds by Ethel May Dell (inspirational books for students txt) 📕

looked at him sharply. "In pain again?"
"Sit down," Lucas reiterated. "You can't do anything more than that. Now will you take the trouble to make me understand what exactly are your present intentions, and why?"
"Doesn't that letter tell you?" said Nap.
"This letter," Lucas answered, "is the desperate appeal of a very unhappy woman who is in mortal dread of your murdering her husband."
"That all?" said Nap. The red glare of savagery flickered for an instant in his eyes. "She has no fears on her own account then?"
"Will you explain?"
"Oh, certainly, if you need explanation. I mean that the death of Sir Giles Carfax is no more than a stepping-stone, a means to an end. So long as he lives, he will stand in my way. Therefore Sir Giles will go. And mark me, any other man who attempts to come between us I will kill also. Heaven knows what there is in her that attracts me, but there is something--something I have never seen in any other woman--something that goes to my head. Oh, I'm not in love with her. I'm long past that stage. One can't be in love for ever, and she is as cold as the North Star anyway. But she has driven me mad, and I warn you--I warn you--you had better not interfere with me!"
He flung the words like a challenge. His lower jaw was thrust forward. He looked like a savage animal menacing his keeper.
But Lucas lay without moving a muscle, lay still and quiet, without tension and without emotion of any description, simply watching, as a disinterested spectator might watch, the fiery rebellion that had kindled against him.
At length very deliberately he held out the revolver.
"Well," he drawled, "my life isn't worth much, it's true. And you are quite welcome to take your gun and end it here and now if you feel so disposed. For I warn you, Nap Errol, that you'll find me considerably more in your way than Sir Giles Carfax or any other man. I stand between you already, and while I live you won't shunt me."
Nap's lips showed their scoffing smile. "Unfortunately--or otherwise--you are out of the reckoning," he said.
"Am I? And how long have I been that?"
Nap was silent. He looked suddenly stubborn.
Lucas waited. There was even a hint of humour in his steady eyes.
"And that's where you begin to make a mistake," he said presently. "You're a poor sort of blackguard at best, Boney, and that's why you can't break away. Take this thing! I've no use for it. But maybe in Arizona you'll find it advisable to carry arms. Come over here and read Cradock's letter."
But Nap swung away with a gesture of fierce unrest. He fell to prowling to and fro, stopping short of the bed at each turn, refusing doggedly to face the quiet eyes of the man who lay there.
Minutes passed. Lucas was still watching, but he was no longer at his ease. His brows were drawn heavily. He looked like a man undergoing torture. His hand was still fast closed upon Anne's letter.
He spoke at last, seeming to grind out the words through clenched teeth. "I guess there's no help for it, Boney. We've figured it out before, you and I. I'm no great swell at fighting, but--I can hold my own against you. And if it comes to a tug-of-war--you'll lose."
Nap came to his side at last and stood there, still not looking at him. "You seem almighty sure of that," he said.
"That's so," said Lucas simply. "And if you care to know why, I'll tell you. It's just because your heart isn't in it. One half of you is on my side. You're just not blackguard enough."
"And so you want to send me to Arizona to mature?" suggested Nap grimly.
"Or to find yourself," Lucas substituted. "Say, Boney, if you don't give in pretty soon I'll make you take me along."
"You!" Nap's eyes came down at last to the drawn face. He gave a slight start, and the next moment stooped to lift the tortured frame to another position. "If Capper were here he'd say I was killing you," he said. "For Heaven's sake, man, rest!"
"No," gasped Lucas. "No! I haven't finished--yet. Boney, you--you've got to listen. There's no quarrel between us. Only if you will be so damned headstrong, I must be headstrong too. I mean what I say. If you won't go to Arizona alone, you will go with me. And we'll start to-night."
Nap's thin lips twitched, but with no impulse to ridicule. He rearranged the pillows with his usual dexterous rapidity, then deliberately laid his hand upon the lined forehead and stood so in utter silence, staring unblinking straight before him.
For many seconds Lucas also lay passive. His eyelids drooped heavily, but he would not suffer them to close. He was yet watching, watching narrowly, the flame that still smouldered and might blaze afresh at any moment.
"Give it up, Boney!" he said at last. "I'll go with you to the ends of the earth sooner than let you do this thing, and you'll find me a very considerable encumbrance. Do you honestly believe yourself capable of shunting me at will?"
"I honestly believe you'll kill yourself if you don't rest," Nap said.
He looked down suddenly into the tired eyes. The fierce glare had gone utterly out of his own. His very pose had altered.
"Then I shall die in a good cause," Lucas murmured, with the ghost of a smile. "You needn't say any more, Boney. I guess I shall rest now."
"Because you think you've beaten me," Nap said curtly.
"Guess it's your victory, dear fellow, not mine," Lucas answered very gently.
A gleam that was not a smile crossed the harsh face, softening but not gladdening. "It's a mighty hollow one anyway. And I'm not going for nothing--not even to please you."
"Anything--to the half of my kingdom," Lucas said.
Nap sat down on the edge of the bed. The madness had passed, or he had thrust it back out of sight in the darkest recesses of his soul. He laid a hand upon his brother's arm and felt it speculatively.
"No sinew, no flesh, and scarcely any blood!" he said. "And yet"--his mouth twisted a little--"my master! Luke, you're a genius!"
"Oh, shucks, Boney! What's brute strength anyway?"
"Not much," Nap admitted. "But you--you haven't the force of a day-old puppy. Maybe, when I'm out of the way fighting my devils in the desert, you'll give Capper a free hand, and let him make of you what you were always intended to be--a human masterpiece. There won't be any obstacles when I'm out of the way."
Lucas's hand felt for and closed upon his. "If that's your condition, it's a bargain," he said simply.
"And you'll put up a fight for it, eh, Luke? You're rather apt to slack when I'm not by." Was there a hint of wistfulness in the words? It almost seemed so.
A very tender look came into the elder man's eyes. "With God's help, Boney," he said, "I'll pull through."
Nap rose as if that ended the interview. Yet, rising, he still gripped the weak hand of the man who was his master.
A moment he stood, then suddenly bent very low and touched it with his forehead.
"I leave to-night," he said, and turning went very quickly and noiselessly from the room.


CHAPTER XV
ON THE EDGE OF THE PIT

It was a very cheery Dot Waring who ran across the wet fields that afternoon to the Manor to acquaint Lady Carfax with the gratifying intelligence that the proceeds of the great entertainment at which she had so kindly assisted actually amounted to close upon thirty pounds. Baronford had done its humble best towards providing itself with a Town Hall, had in fact transcended all expectations, and Dot was in high spirits in consequence.
It was something of a disappointment to be met by old Dimsdale with the intelligence that her ladyship was very tired and resting. He added, seeing Dot's face fall, that Mrs. Errol was spending a few days at the Manor and would no doubt be very pleased to see her.
So Dot entered, and was presently embraced by Mrs. Errol and invited to take tea with her in the conservatory.
"Yes, dear Anne's in bed," she said. "She and Nap went for a motor ride yesterday, and broke down and were benighted. Nap always was sort of reckless. We had a message late last night telling us what had happened, and I went off at once in the big car and brought Anne back. Nap had to wait for his own car, but I guess he's back by this time. And poor Anne was so worn out when we got back that I persuaded her to go to bed right away. And I stopped to take care of her."
In view of the fact that Mrs. Errol was never happier than when she had someone to take care of, this seemed but natural, and Dot's straightforward mind found nothing unusual in the story.
She remained for nearly an hour, chattering gaily upon a thousand topics. She was always at her ease with Mrs. Errol.
At parting, the latter held her for a moment very closely. "Happy, dearie?" she asked.
"Oh, ever so happy," said Dot, with warm arms round her friend's neck.
Mrs. Errol sighed a little, smiled and kissed her. "God keep you so, child!" she said.
And Dot went forth again into the hazy summer sunshine with a vague wonder if dear Mrs. Errol were quite happy too. Somehow she had not liked to ask.
Her way lay over the shoulder of a hill, that same hill on which Sir Giles Carfax had once wreaked his mad vengeance upon his enemy.
A mist lay along the valley, and Dot kept on the ridge as long as she could. She was essentially a creature of sunshine.
She was obliged, however, at last to strike downwards, and with regret she left the sunshine behind.
The moment it was out of her eyes she caught sight of something she had not expected to see in the valley below her. It was not a hundred yards away, but the mist rising from the marshy ground partially obscured it. A dark object, curiously shapeless, that yet had the look of an animal, was lying in a hollow, and over it bent the figure of a man.
Dot's heart quickened a little. Had there been an accident, she asked herself? She hastened her steps and drew near.
As she did so, the man straightened himself suddenly, and turned round, and instantly a thrill of recognition and of horror went through the girl. It was Nap Errol, and the thing on the ground was his black mare.
She knew in a flash what had happened. Bertie had predicted disaster too often for her not to know. A great wave of repulsion surged through her. She was for the moment too horrified for speech.
Nap stood, erect, motionless, waiting for her. There was a terrible set smile on his face like the smile on a death-mask. He did not utter a word as she came up.
The mare was quite dead. The starting, bloodshot eyes were already glazing. She lay in a huddled heap, mud-stained, froth-splashed, with blood upon her flanks. White-faced and speechless, Dot stood and looked. It was the first time that tragedy had ever touched her gay young life.
She stooped at last, and with trembling, pitiful fingers touched the velvet muzzle. Then suddenly indignation, fierce, overwhelming, headlong, swept over her, crowding out even her horror. She stood up and faced Nap in such a tornado of fury as had never before shaken her.
"You brute!"