Devil's Tor (44 page)

"Have you the second with you?" asked Arsinal quickly.

"No, Miss Fleming has it somewhere. It will be sent round during the day."

"Why are we not to meet her?"

"Her mother thinks she has had nearly enough," replied Peter drily. "She is on the hypersensitive side, and this business threatens to drag on indefinitely."

"What feature of the business is principally appealing to Miss Fleming?"

"I cannot discuss it with you."

"Cannot, or do not wish to?"

"I neither wish to, nor do I know her whole mind."

Saltfleet spoke. "And if we don't care to go behind Miss Fleming's back in cancelling the meeting, Mr. Copping?"

"You haven't cancelled it—we have cancelled it. And there is no need for you to worry about Miss Fleming. The situation will be explained to her on her return."

"I am rather thinking of my own name for reliability. Mr. Arsinal personally has given no undertaking, but I have, after a fashion."

"Then it is regrettable, but I cannot debate it. This is Mrs. Fleming's offer. As having, by law, the disposal of Drapier's property, it is for her to say what she will do with it; and she is prepared to let you take both these stones, on the express condition that you promise to refrain from further communicating with her daughter. The proviso cannot hurt you, it is quite unnecessary to regard it as an insult, and I have sufficiently made clear what it does mean."

"What is to be the alternative?"

"If you turn the offer down, it will be withdrawn; and then Mrs. Fleming may decide to put in a claim to the thing you took from Drapier on Devil's Tor, besides reserving to herself the right to deal with the other as her lawyers may advise."

Arsinal drew his friend apart into a corner, to whisper:

'We had better accept this, Saltfleet. I must give up meeting the girl, rather than such a last chance."

"Wait!" returned the other. "First let us see what is behind it all."

He disliked the
taste
of this hasty negotiation. Evidently, the mother and (he supposed) lover had taken unfair advantage of the child's temporary absence to try to rush through an arrangement that they knew she would prevent if possible. The reason for it might be what young Copping said, yet Saltfleet felt also that
he
was being aimed at. They should be afraid of him, in some vague way. Perhaps Mrs. Fleming, remembering his threats beforehand, was imagining follies; and had infected her son-in-law to be, whose behaviour otherwise, indeed, was unaccountable. He had been on the verge of rudeness throughout both interviews. His cold eye, when he thought Saltfleet not to be observing him, had rested on him far too often in an involuntary distaste, curiosity and perplexity. … He chose not to be so branded. Neither would he rob Miss Fleming of her opportunity to discuss the matters she wished to discuss. He preferred to play a little with Arsinal's chances. …

Escaping from him, he asked Peter:

"How long do you give us to decide?"

"I must know now."

"Pray let me return the answer, Arsinal. It is this, Mr. Copping. Whatever happens, you have to wait for Miss Fleming's coming back before you can fulfil your side of the contract. Then do you at the same time procure a couple of lines over her signature, to the effect that she is agreeable to the proposed course. That we will regard as sufficient in the matter of a discharge; and having it, we will proceed to leave Miss Fleming rigidly alone."

"Miss Fleming is in an excited condition, and her mother wishes not to leave anything to her decision."

"But then she may not give up the stone to you."

"She can scarcely oppose her mother's executorship."

"How soon is she expected back?"

"She may be back already."

"Please give Mrs. Fleming that answer. Mr. Arsinal, who has not the honour of her acquaintance, will be extremely happy to accept her offer of these token-stones, which are probably of value to himself alone, and which he has long been seeking. The condition accompanying the offer, both he and I will willingly adhere to, so far as we honourably may. I, however, have passed some kind of a promise to Miss Fleming, who, accordingly, must first release me. One or both of us will make a point of remaining in during the rest of the morning, to receive your further communication."

"This, you realise, may decide Mrs. Fleming to reconsider the offer?"

"Our request is so reasonable, that I am sure that Mrs. Fleming will not regard it as a ground for changing her mind."

"You may think so; but I not. Her sole motive in this is to spare her daughter, while you are demanding the reverse."

"On the contrary, I have too much regard for Miss Fleming to wish to go against her best interests."

"
That
her mother might consider nearly an impertinence!" growled the artist.

He turned his shoulder, stood undetermined for a moment, but then bowed, very casually and almost with a scowl, to Arsinal, ignored Saltfleet, and at once left the room. It was nearing eleven o'clock.

"Why did you do this thing, Saltfleet?" asked his associate, coming closer to him. "I too might have liked to talk to that girl, but surely not at such a price. What is in your mind?"

Saltfleet laughed.

"You had better not take them at their own serious valuation, or you may find yourself disappointed of your bone, like Æsop's dog. The affair is hers, not theirs. This is a conspiracy of two against—her higher soul, perhaps. Very little has been needed to make it a conspiracy of four; and yet we might not—all the four of us—have succeeded in vanquishing her. Such, Arsinal, is my opinion of Miss Fleming."

"Then what is next to happen?"

"We must not go upon what has been said just now, but upon what was said yesterday. I have no doubt she will still insist on her meeting; and not much doubt that she will refuse to make over your prize to her mother till she has discovered more about it."

"Will she look in here?"

Saltfleet shook his head. "I've rather been wondering if she has gone out to Devil's Tor."

Reaching Whitestone about ten o'clock, Peter had learnt at the door that Ingrid was already out. Her mother should be in her room. He went along, and was admitted.

It was a dark, foggy day, quite unlike August, yet Helga thought that her daughter had gone for a walk. Her ankle was much better. She was no doubt feeling the need to escape from the house's atmosphere of depression.

A flush came unreasonably to Peter's cheeks.

"Surely she hasn't gone to Devil's Tor?"

"It would be rather far for her," replied Helga.

Nevertheless he was convinced that the guess was right. Only her ankle had stopped her from making the trip before, drawn by her superstitious inquisitiveness. But had her loyalty and affection been as strong as that fancifulness, she would have
required
him to accompany her, for such a walk, on such a morning. Instead, she had not so much as troubled to conceal that she wished to go without him. Her hurrying off so soon after breakfast could only mean that.

Helga saw what he felt.

"She didn't say she was going there, Peter; but if she has, she probably didn't care to run the gauntlet of the village street to beg your society. … Wait with me a little. Sit down."

He did so reluctantly.

"I have to tell you of the arrangements," said Helga, "so it's as well you came. The inquest is to be held at the Institute here, at eleven, to-morrow. I would like you to be present."

"Shall I call here, or meet you there?"

"Here, please. My uncle and I must attend, but Ingrid, of course, need not and won't. Then there is the funeral. No postponement is likely, and so I have arranged for the interment to be at Plymouth, next Tuesday afternoon. We shall leave here at two o'clock. No one knew him, so there will be nobody except ourselves; and you must come."

"I will, of course."

"I think that is all. Shall I have coffee made?"

"I've only just breakfasted, thanks."

He accepted and lit a cigarette from her offered box.

"What is troubling you, my dear?"

Peter had the impulse to show her Saltfleet's note that he had brought round in his pocket, and to confess the plans of meeting which had been come to at the 'Bell' last evening. His anger with Ingrid had fetched him so far; and still it was a treachery from which his honesty and sense of oneness with her recoiled. He held his peace, smoking and looking away.

"You are not really annoyed with Ingrid for not waiting in?"

"A little—not much."... Then he found that his confession had already begun, and must have an even wider range than he had guessed.

"To be quite candid, less annoyed with her than rather unhappy about her present condition of soul."

"What is wrong, Peter?"

"I have been down now some eight-and-forty hours. Have you observed any noticeable difference in her manner during that time?"

"She is well, Peter," said Helga quickly.

"I don't know. Perhaps she isn't so well. … Do you remember, yesterday..." He stopped short.

"What was that?"

"In the morning, in this room. I had mentioned having run into a stranger at the cross-roads, who then turned out to be your friend Saltfleet. I made sundry remarks in his connection, and alluded to an intuition of mine, but refrained from illustrating it fully. Do you remember that?"

"Yes, I do. I understand you were reticent on account of Ingrid's being in the room. It concerned her?"

"Yes."

"But how could it concern her?"

"I will tell you. My intuition was—it is—that this Saltfleet might become a very strong attraction for your daughter. … Though not, perhaps, in the soft sense. In a sinister sense. … Just as a 'rogue' star might pull out of its course the outermost planet of the sun it properly belonged to."

Helga's eyes watched him actively and seriously.

"There would not be time for that to become a danger, Peter, for after to-morrow he is bound to go away."

"I know. But you are scarcely acquainted with the whole story, and he has made such very good foothold since his first appearance yesterday. How many times has she met him? Twice, I fancy. Well, at the 'Bell' yesterday, I assure you I was nearly
de trop.
They have this miserable business of Devil's Tor between them. These extraordinary counterpart wonder stones, the series of catastrophes on the Tor, and quite a succession of other phenomena, not all of them even minor—cumulated, they are already setting her thoughts whirling in a sort of devil's dance... and now he has a trump-card ready, in the shape of his confederate, Arsinal—who has just arrived. … I must tell you, Mrs. Fleming. It is violating an understanding; but a meeting has been arranged—without you—for his coming. It's to be to-day, at my studio. She insists on a conversation with Arsinal. Saltfleet more than humoured her, and I, very weakly, gave my consent to it. Here is Saltfleet's note, just received."

He passed it to her, and she read, then slowly and musingly handed it back. Peter returned it to his pocket.

"I won't reproach you, Peter, if this was your only way of keeping on terms with her in an hour of wilfulness. But what does Ingrid want? What is she aiming at?"

"On the face, the meeting is to be for the purpose of thrashing out the ownership of these two stones. She tells Saltfleet that Arsinal can have one already; and the second, if he can show his occult right to it.
Occult
is the word she used.''

"And what is underneath these surface arrangements?"

"Her psychic storm—that is gathering force, and is presently going to tear her to bits, if someone doesn't interfere. She can't rest. Off she has gone to the Tor this morning—I know it. And I would follow her there, if I didn't also know that my reception at her hands would be that of an interloper."

"But she hasn't gone with
him.
"

"No, not with Saltfleet. … I want you to understand, Mrs. Fleming, that my intuition says nothing about an infatuation. … For years and years I have felt that there was always this danger of a particular type of man coming into her life, to draw her, not towards her happiness, but away from it. I must have felt that I should recognise the type when it should turn up. I got the recognition yesterday, when I first saw the man..."

Helga gave him a queer long look.

"What is your true opinion of him, then, Peter"

"I find him repellent; yet I will give you a fair answer to the question. With his darkness, and pride, and beauty—and a kind of hellish generosity in him, too—he might be able to exercise an enormous sway over the mind of an imaginative girl. And Ingrid has certainly never seen anybody like him before. There is nobody like him. But all this is only the romantic shadow of a great solid fact that resembles a lump of lead in my heart, and won't take shape. It is not what he might be to any girl, but what he
must
be to Ingrid. … I will talk of it no more."

"She has said nothing, Peter?"

"What could she say? What could she know? She is on a blindfold journey."

"I do not like him, either."

"And, in one way, you go further than I, for, in your secret soul, you accuse him of a very shocking crime—or you would, if such a charge could find foothold in your innocence of the bad world."

"No, no! ..."

"Oh, I am not a fool! But he never did it. There would be no need for him to do it—neither is it in his nature. To
kill,
you must have the hating temperament; but that man is too satanically remote—too aloof. Trust me! Ingrid sees him the most clearly. For her, he is in most excellent contrast to all other men—only his danger for her she cannot see."

"Peter, I have never whispered that he could have—"

"And there is another point," he interrupted her. "I need not have brought him personally in at all, but your daughter's present excited state of mind might have been enough to show you the necessity for some prompt action. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to demonstrate to you, that as long as this business of the proprietorship of your cousin's stones drags on, her state will get, not better, but worse. Yet I
have
brought him in. Why? Because I want to pass the whole of my own serious uneasiness on to you, Mrs. Fleming; and not to have you believe it is a simple medical case of young-womanly nerves. But the trouble is, I can't prove any connection of sense or likelihood. You would have to be able to read my spirit, and that I can barely do myself. Here is a strange man, down for twenty-four hours; and here is your daughter, who has spoken civil words to him on a couple of brief necessary occasions. And I am assuring you, as a sober truth, that he constitutes a possible dark factor in her life, that may not be ignored. You have every right to laugh at me. I wonder at myself—I feel at this minute as remote from practical life as if I were not a member of society, but a disembodied ghost. But I have the ghastly
knowledge.
This Saltfleet, unless prevented, is to act as a disintegrant to our little circle."