honour to carry out my wishes. In spite of my son’s shortcomings I love him for his mother’s sake, and it is my earnest desire that he should be a worthy representative of our line. If, however, you find that he is hopelessly going to the bad, I herewith place the documentary evidence in your hands by means of which you can turn him out in favour of yourself.’”
“What’s he mean?” exclaimed his cousin, half rising from his chair. “It’s forgery – it’s a trick or something!” His voice was unsteady.
Daniel, pipe in mouth, continued quietly to read: “‘I regret to say that, as these papers will show, my son was born out of wedlock. You are aware, no doubt, that I met my wife in South Africa, when I had a farm there, some years before I even expected to come into the title; but, except you and I, no living person knows that Charles was born six months before our marriage. I now leave the secret entirely in your discretion, knowing that you will only reveal it if you feel that I should wish you to do so.’”
“It’s a lie!” shouted Lord Barthampton. “It’s blackmail!”
“No,” said Daniel. “There’s no getting over it. The documents are all in order. You’re only Lord Barthampton on sufferance.”
His cousin sank back in his chair. His cigar had gone out, and he flung it on the ground. Then he leant forward and rested his head in his hands, scratching his red ear with one finger. In this attitude he appeared fat, unpleasant, and altogether devoid of dignity.
At length he looked up, sullenly, with a sort of cunning in his face. “How much do you want for those papers?” he asked.
Daniel sucked at his pipe for a few moments. “I want rather a stiff price,” he declared at length.
“What?” said his cousin, in a dull voice.
Daniel fixed his eyes upon him. “Your reformation,” he said.
“Oh, go to Hell!” was the reply, and Daniel rather liked him for it. He felt uncomfortable in a mentorial rôle.
“Look here,” he said, “let’s understand what your father meant.”
Charles Barthampton got up and mixed himself a whiskey-and-soda. “If that letter’s genuine,” he muttered, “there’s no understanding him.”
“Oh, yes, it’s simple enough,” replied Daniel. “You are his son, whether you’re legitimate or not; and he didn’t want to have your name, or his, or especially your mother’s, dragged through the mud by letting out his secret. So he wished you to inherit. But at the same time, he had a very Spartan sense of duty; and, as he was good enough to trust me, he thought I would act as a bit of a brake on you, if you knew that I could have you fired out if you didn’t behave yourself.”
“A dirty trick!” the other grunted, pacing up and down the room, his fists clenched, and much of the colour gone from his face. He swung round on his heel, and stared at Daniel with fierce, bloodshot eyes. “Oh, it’ll be easy enough for you to find a pretext for outing me. I can see already I’m done for. You’ve only got to say the word, but, by God! if you do turn me out” – he shook his fist in his cousin’s face – “I’ll send a bullet through you.”
Daniel put his hand to his hip-pocket, from which the butt of his revolver protruded. “I’m not a bad shot myself,” he replied.
“Oh, really!” Barthampton ejaculated, with an explosive splutter, and, darting to the table, he pulled open a drawer and dived his hand into it.
Instantly Daniel whipped out his revolver and covered him. “Stand back from that table!” he called out, and there was something very terrible in his voice.
His cousin’s hand fell to his side, and he took a pace back. Still covering him, and not taking his eyes from him, Daniel leaned over the table and felt for the revolver which lay there. Having found it, he slipped it into the pocket of his jacket.
“Now don’t behave like a damned fool,” he said. “Understand me: I am not going to turn you out. I haven’t the slightest wish to do so. I don’t want the beastly estates, and I much prefer to be plain Daniel Lane. By law I’m Lord Barthampton, not you; but by something that’s above law, I mean fair-play, you are your father’s son and the heir he wanted. And nothing short of your utter damn-foolery will ever make me turn you out. D’you understand? But, mind you,” and his voice resumed its gravity, “you’ve got to turn over a new leaf. You’ve got to give up your drink and your pig ways, and your gambling, and your tantrums, and your women. You’ve got to be a considerate landlord to your tenants, and a good citizen, and a credit to your country, and your regiment, and your family. And you’ve got to live within your income, and give generously to the poor. D’you hear me? – give generously to the poor. We shan’t see much of each other, but from time to time I’ll look you up, and I shall be surprised if I don’t find a great improvement in you.”
Lord Barthampton stood in front of him, staring at him as at a ghost. He was visibly trembling, and his face had lost its colour. Very nearly he had been a murderer. He appeared to be on the verge of collapse.
“D’you mean what you say?” he whispered. “How can I trust you?” His mouth was so dry that his tongue clicked as he spoke.
“Your father trusted me,” Daniel replied, and held out his hand.
Very slowly his cousin responded, and a cold, trembling, clammy hand was placed in his own.
“Very well, then, good-bye, Cousin Charles. I’m off to the desert now. I don’t know when we’ll meet again.”
He took his cousin’s revolver from his pocket and, putting it back in the place where he had found it, closed the drawer. “May I take one of your cigars?” he asked. His pipe had gone out.
“Y-yes, of course,” the wretched man replied, still standing like one in a dream.
Daniel took the cigar, lit it, and, turning round, walked out of the room.
In the blazing sunlight outside he paused and stared across the dazzling open space, which, towards the west, led down to the Nile. A scorching wind beat in his face, and blew the dust of his footsteps towards the building which he had left. “Phew!” he whispered. “Thus goes ten thousand pounds a year and a peerage!”
He gazed across the river to the shimmering line of the desert which could be seen in the distance between the palms, and held out his hands towards it.
CHAPTER VI – TOWARDS THE SUNSET
During the warm weather an afternoon siesta is habitual to the residents in Egypt, and Muriel at once lent her support to the custom with undisguised approval. This was but her third day in Cairo, yet, as soon as Daniel Lane had taken his departure, she went up to her room as though to the manner born, and slipped off her dress.
The bed looked cool and inviting, and a mass of white roses upon a table beside her pillow spread a gentle fragrance through the room; but this she thoughtlessly dissipated by lighting a Turkish cigarette. She did not particularly want to smoke, but she felt that the little gold-tipped cigarette was in keeping with her state of dainty semi-undress, with her somewhat exotic surroundings, and with the French novel which she had selected as an inducement to sleep.
Anybody peeping at her through the keyhole as she lay upon the rose-bud coverlet, bare arms and silk-stockinged legs asprawl, would have been hard put to it to decide whether here rested the girlish chastity of English tradition or the naughtiness of French
