on Leo Argyle’s face as he spoke, tapping the letter gently with a bloodless finger as he did so.
‘Mr Marshall writes that you have an important communication to make to us, though he doesn’t specify its nature.’ His smile deepened as he added: ‘Lawyers are always so careful not to commit themselves, aren’t they?’
It occurred to Calgary with a faint shock of surprise, that this man confronting him was a happy man. Not buoyantly or zestfully happy, as is the normal way of happiness–but happy in some shadowy but satisfactory retreat of his own. This was a man on whom the outer world did not impinge and who was contented that this should be so. He did not know why he should be surprised by this–but he was.
Calgary said:
‘It is very kind of you to see me.’ The words were a mere mechanical introduction. ‘I thought it better to come in person than to write.’ He paused–then said in a sudden rush of agitation, ‘It is difficult–very difficult…’
‘Do take your time.’
Leo Argyle was still polite and remote.
He leaned forward; in his gentle way he was obviously trying to help.
‘Since you bring this letter from Marshall, I presume that your visit has to do with my unfortunate son Jacko–Jack, I mean–Jacko was our own name for him.’
All Calgary’s carefully prepared words and phrases had deserted him. He sat here, faced with the appalling reality of what he had to tell. He stammered again.
‘It’s so terribly difficult…’
There was a moment’s silence, and then Leo said cautiously:
‘If it helps you–we’re quite aware that Jacko was–hardly a normal personality. Nothing that you have to tell us will be likely to surprise us. Terrible as the tragedy was, I have been fully convinced all along that Jacko was not really responsible for his actions.’
‘Of course he wasn’t.’ It was Hester, and Calgary started at the sound of her voice. He had momentarily forgotten about her. She had sat down on the arm of a chair just behind his left shoulder. As he turned his head, she leaned forward eagerly towards him.
‘Jacko was always awful,’ she said confidentially. ‘He was just the same as a little boy–when he lost his temper, I mean. Just caught up anything he could find and–and went for you…’
‘Hester–Hester–my dear.’ Argyle’s voice was distressed.
Startled, the girl’s hand flew to her lips. She flushed and spoke with the sudden awkwardness of youth.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean–I forgot–I–I oughtn’t to have said a thing like that–not now that he’s–I mean, now that it’s all over and…and…’
‘Over and done with,’ said Argyle. ‘All of this is in the past. I try–we all try–to feel that the boy must be regarded as an invalid. One of Nature’s misfits. That, I think, expresses it best.’ He looked at Calgary. ‘You agree?’
‘No,’ said Calgary.
There was a moment’s silence. The sharp negative had taken both his listeners aback. It had come out with almost explosive force. Trying to mitigate its effect, he said awkwardly:
‘I–I’m sorry. You see, you don’t understand yet.’
‘Oh!’ Argyle seemed to consider. Then he turned his head towards his daughter. ‘Hester, I think perhaps you’d better leave us–’
‘I’m not going away! I’ve got to hear–to know what it’s all about.’
‘It may be unpleasant–’
Hester cried out impatiently:
‘What does it matter what other awful things Jacko may have done? That’s all over.’
Calgary spoke quickly.
‘Please believe me–there is no question of anything that your brother has done–quite the opposite.’
‘I don’t see–’
The door at the far end of the room opened and the young woman whom Calgary had just glimpsed earlier came back into the room. She wore an outdoor coat now, and carried a small attaché-case.
She spoke to Argyle.
‘I’m going now. Is there anything else–’
There was a momentary hesitation on Argyle’s part (he would always hesitate, Calgary thought) and then he laid a hand on her arm and drew her forward.
‘Sit down, Gwenda,’ he said. ‘This is–er–Dr Calgary. This is Miss Vaughan, who is who is–’ Again he paused as though in doubt. ‘Who has been my secretary for some years now.’ He added: ‘Dr Calgary has come to tell us something–or–ask us something–about Jacko–’
‘To tell you something,’ Calgary interrupted. ‘And although you don’t realize it, every moment you are making it more difficult for me.’
They all looked at him in some surprise, but in Gwenda Vaughan’s eyes, he saw a flicker of something that looked like comprehension. It was as though he and she were momentarily in alliance, as though she had said: ‘Yes–I know how difficult the Argyles can be.’
She was an attractive young woman, he thought, though not so very young–perhaps thirty-seven or eight. A well-rounded figure, dark hair and eyes, a general air of vitality and good health. She gave the impression of being both competent and intelligent.
Argyle said with a frosty touch in his manner: ‘I am not at all aware of making things difficult for you, Dr Calgary. Such was certainly not my intention. If you will come to the point–’
‘Yes, I know. Forgive me for saying what I did. But it is the persistence with which you–and your daughter–are continually underlining that things are now over–done with–finished. They are not over. Who is it who said: “Nothing is ever settled until–”’
‘“Until it is settled right,”’ Miss Vaughan finished for him. ‘Kipling.’
She nodded at him encouragingly. He felt grateful to her.
‘But I’ll come to the point,’ Calgary went on. ‘When you’ve heard what I have to say, you’ll understand my–my reluctance. More, my distress. To begin with, I must mention a few things about myself. I am a geophysicist, and have recently formed part of an Antarctic expedition. I only returned to England a few weeks ago.’
‘The Hayes Bentley Expedition?’ asked Gwenda.
He turned towards her gratefully.
‘Yes. It was the Hayes Bentley Expedition. I tell you this to explain my background, and also to explain that I have been out of touch for about two years with–with current events.’
She went on helping him:
‘You mean–with
