Mr. Marx's Secret by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  CHAPTER XXXII. FORESTALLED.

  For a full minute neither of us moved. Then de Cartienne rose slowly tohis feet and walked to the door.

  "Here, take this!" I said, holding out the envelope towards him. "Theprivate memoranda upon it may be useful to you."

  He snatched it from my fingers and tore it into atoms. Then he walkedquietly away, with an evil look upon his face.

  At luncheon Cecil appeared, white as a ghost, and looking anxious anddisturbed, as well he might. Dr. Randall was quite uneasy at hisappearance, and acquiesced at once when I asked for permission to takehim for a drive during the afternoon. De Cartienne sat silent throughoutthe meal, except for a few sympathising sentences to Cecil, and left theroom at the first opportunity.

  At three o'clock my dog cart was brought round and Cecil and I droveaway. We scarcely spoke until we were in the streets of Drayton, andthen, rousing myself, I bade him pluck his spirits up, and assured himvaguely that I would see him through it somehow. He thanked me, butseemed very despondent.

  We went to the "Bull," and inquired for Mr. Fothergill. He was in thecoffee-room, we were told, and there we found him lunching.

  "So good of you fellows to come and look me up!" he exclaimed, welcomingus cordially. "Waiter, a bottle of Pommery. Don't shake your head now,Lord Silchester. It'll do you good. I can see you're a bit seedy thismorning."

  Cecil smiled feebly.

  "I'm not quite up to the mark," he admitted, "Just a bit of aheadache--that's all. I say, Mr. Fothergill," he went on, plunging atonce _in medias res_, "I'm awfully sorry, but I shan't be able to settleup with you to-day."

  "Settle up with me!" repeated Mr. Fothergill, putting down his glassuntasted, and looking surprised. "I don't understand you. Settle whatup?"

  "Why, the money I lost last night," Cecil explained.

  Mr. Fothergill leaned back in his chair and looked into Cecil's white,anxious face with an astonishment which, if simulated, was certainlyadmirably done. Then he broke into a little laugh.

  "My dear Lord Silchester," he said energetically, "you can't for onemoment suppose that I expected anything of the sort. Why, I scarcely tookour play seriously at all, and I should very much prefer that we said nomore about it. Pray don't be offended," he added, hastily, for thesensitive colour had flushed into Cecil's cheeks. "I'll tell you howwe'll arrange it. You shall give me your I O U's and pay them just as itis convenient. Any time within the next five or six years will do. But asto taking a sum like that from a b--a man who is not of age--why, it'sabsurd! I feel rather ashamed of myself for having been so fortunate."

  A look of intense relief had stolen into Cecil's face, but the reactionwas a little too sudden. He left us abruptly and stood looking out of thewindow for a minute or two. Then he returned, smiling, and held out hishand to Mr. Fothergill.

  "Mr. Fothergill, you're a brick!" he declared emphatically.

  "Not another word, please!" Mr. Fothergill answered, smiling. "Now, lookhere, Lord Silchester," he added. "Drink this glass of wine."

  Cecil obeyed him promptly.

  "And now you'll be so good as to have some luncheon with me," Mr.Fothergill continued. "I don't care what you say. I don't believe you'veeaten anything to-day. Waiter, bring me those other cutlets I ordered andthe game-pie, and--yes, I think we might venture on another bottle ofwine."

  "Mr. Morton, you must join us. Clever animal of yours--that one outside,"he rattled on lightly; "but I'd have her taken out for an hour, if I wereyou. It's too cold for her to be standing about. Shall I ring theostler's bell and tell him? And then, if you will, you might drive medown to the station, when you're ready to go. My train leaves a littlebefore five."

  Whatever my former opinion of Mr. Fothergill had been, I felt bound tochange it now. He was showing tact, good-nature, and a decidedlygentlemanly spirit. I had, in truth, eaten very little lunch at BordenTower and Cecil none at all; and we proceeded to make good the omission.

  When, an hour or two later, we left Mr. Fothergill at the station, wewere both of one mind concerning him, and we had both promised to accepthis cordial invitation to run up to town and see him before long.

  On our way home Cecil stopped at the "Rose and Crown," and went in tomake his peace with Milly. I promised to call for him and went on to thephotographer's up the street. Mr. Lawrence appeared at once from aback-room, which, I presume, was the studio, wiping his hands upon a notparticularly clean-looking towel.

  I paid him in advance for a dozen photographs, promising to come in andhave them taken next time I was in the town. Then I explained what wasreally the purport of my visit: Had he preserved the negative of thephotograph which he had taken of Mr. Hart?

  Certainly he had, he assured me. I told him about the date and his headand shoulders disappeared into a cupboard. In a few minutes he withdrewthem and called out sharply for his assistant.

  "Fenton," he exclaimed angrily, "you've been at this cupboard!"

  Fenton, who was a tall, ungainly lad of most unprepossessing appearance,shook his head.

  "I haven't been near it, sir!" he declared.

  Mr. Lawrence looked incredulous.

  "There is a negative missing!" he said sharply; "No one else could havemeddled with it!"

  "I don't know anything about it," the boy answered doggedly. "Perhapsit's upstairs."

  Mr. Lawrence abandoned his search.

  "If you'll excuse me a moment, sir," he said, "I'll have a look among theold ones."

  I nodded and he closed the door and disappeared. Fenton would have gone,too, but I stopped him.

  "Look here!" I said quickly; "see this?"

  I held out a five-pound note.

  He opened his eyes wide and looked at it longingly.

  "Well, it's yours if you'll tell me what you've done with the negative ofMr. Hart's photograph. Quick!"

  He hesitated.

  "Should you split to the governor?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Well, then, I sold it for a sovereign to a young gentleman what inquiredfor it a few minutes ago. A thin, dark chap he is. I don't know his name,but I've seen him driving with you."

  I threw him the note and left the place. I had now no doubt about thematter at all. De Cartienne had stolen the photograph of Mr. Hart fromthe "Rose and Crown," and had bought the negative. Why?