The Unspeakable Gentleman Part 11
"Sir," I said, "You astound me."
"Astound you?" He left his neckcloth half undone, and stepped toward me, alertly courteous. "You mean you take exception to what I have just said?"
"Indeed not," I replied, with another bow. "I find you changed this morning--into a good example instead of a bad one."
And then before he could reply, I leaned over the chair he had quitted.
Lying in the corner of the faded upholstery was an oval of gold. Before he perceived my intention, I had picked it up, and almost at the same moment his hand fell on my arm. I looked up quickly. His face was close to mine, closer than I had ever seen it, placid still, but somehow changed, somehow so subtly different that I wrenched myself free, and stepped a pace away. Brutus dropped the coat he was folding, and shuffled forward hastily.
"How careless of me to have left it there," said my father gently. "Hand me the locket, if you please, my son, and many thanks for picking it up."
The jewelled clasp was under my thumb I pressed it, and the gold locket I was holding flew open, but before I could look further, he had struck a sharp blow at my wrist, and the locket fell from my hand.
"Pick it up, Brutus," he said, his eyes never leaving mine, and we watched each other for a second in silence.
"Come," he said, "let us go down stairs. You may find it instructive to see how I treat my enemies."
"I am afraid," I said slowly, "that you will do better without me."
Slowly the thin line of his lips relaxed, and he raised his hands to adjust his neckcloth.
"Your episode with Mr. Lawton makes me quite sure of it," he answered, in a tone he might have used to an ambitious school boy. "But you forget.
You are still pursuing part of your education. Never, never neglect an opportunity to learn, my son. Something tells me even now you will be repaid for your trouble. Come, we are late already."
So I followed him down the, creaking stairs to the morning room. I could not suppress a start as I pa.s.sed over the threshold. In front of our heavy mahogany table, attentively examining some maps and charts that had been scattered there, was my Uncle Jason.
VIII
Of all the people I had expected to see that morning he was the last.
Almost unconsciously I recalled the little kindnesses he had rendered me.
Busy as he had been with commercial ventures, there was never a time when he had not stood ready with his help. And even my father's name--he had never recalled it, except with regretful affection in his sad little reminiscences of older, pleasanter days.
I thought I detected a trace of that affection, a trace of appeal, almost, in the look he gave us as we entered. They made a strange contrast, my uncle, and my father, in his gay coat and laces, his slender, upright figure, and his face, almost youthful beneath his powdered hair. For my uncle was an older man, and years and care had slightly bowed him. The wrinkles were deep about his mouth and eyes. His brown hair, simply dressed, was gray already at the temples. His plain black coat and knee breeches were wrinkled from travel. As he often put it, he had no time to care for clothes. Yet his cheeks glowed from quiet living, and there was a sly, good humored twinkle in his brown eyes which went well with his broad shoulders and his strongly knit body. His reputation for genial good nature was with him still.
He stretched forth a hand, but the moment was inopportune. My father had given his undivided attention to the shutters on the east windows. He walked swiftly over and drew them to, snapping a bolt to hold them in place. Then he turned and rubbed his hands together slowly, examining my uncle the while with a cool, judicial glance, and then he bowed.
"You are growing old, Jason," he said, by way of greeting.
"Ah, George," said my uncle, in his deep, pleasant voice. "It does me good to see the father and the son together."
My father joined the tips of his fingers and regarded him solemnly.
"Now heaven be praised for that!" he exclaimed with a jovial fervor, "though it is hard to believe, Jason, that anything could make you better than you are. It was kind of you not to keep my son and me apart."
My father came a pace nearer, his eyes never for a moment leaving the man opposite. His last words seemed to make a doubtful impression on my uncle. He looked quickly across at me, but what he saw must have relieved him.
"Ah, that wit!" he laughed. "It has been too long, George, too long since I have tasted of it. It quite reminds me of the old days, George--with the dances, and the races and the ladies. Ah, George, how they would smile on you--and even today, I'll warrant! Ah, if I only had the receipt that keeps you young."
"Indeed? You care to know it?" My father quite suddenly leaned forward and tapped him on the shoulder. As though the abruptness of the gesture startled him, my uncle drew hastily back. And still my father watched him. Between them was pa.s.sing something which I did not understand. The silence in the room had become oppressive before my father spoke again.
"Lead a life of disrepute," he said gravely. "I cannot think of a better cosmetic."
"George!" cried my uncle in quick remonstrance. "Remember your son is with you?"
"And seems amply able to look out for himself--surprisingly able, Jason.
Have you not found it so?"
"Thank heaven, yes!" he laughed, and glanced hastily at me again.
My father's coat lapel was bothering him. He straightened it thoughtfully, patted it gently into place, and then said:
"Surely, Jason, you did not come here to discuss the past."
"Perhaps not," Uncle Jason replied with another laugh, which seemed slightly out of tune in the silence that surrounded him, "but how can I not be reminded of it? This room and you--indeed Henry here is all that brings me back. He is like you, George, and yet--" he paused to favor me with another glance--"he has his mother's eyes."
My father flicked a speck of dust from his sleeve.
"Suppose," he suggested, "we leave your sister out of the discussion. Let us come down to practical matters and leave the dead alone."
It was the first time he had mentioned her. His voice was coldly aloof, but his hand began moving restlessly again over his coat in search of an imaginary wrinkle.
"You understand me?" he inquired gently after a second's pause. "Pray remember, Jason, I have only two cheeks, and I can recall no biblical law to follow if you should strike again."
"G.o.d bless me!" gasped my uncle in blank amazement. "I did not come here to quarrel. I came because you are in trouble. I came as soon as I had heard of it, because you need my help--because--" he had regained his cordial eloquence from the very cadence of his words. He paused, and I thought his eye moistened and his voice quavered, "because blood is thicker than water, George."
At the last words my father inclined his head gravely, and was momentarily silent, as though seeking an adequate reply.
"I thought you would come," he said slowly. "In fact, I depended upon it before I set sail from France. Ha! That relieves you, does it not, Jason?"
Yet for some reason the statement seemed to have an opposite effect. My uncle's heavy brows knitted together, and his mouth moved uneasily.
"See, my son, how the plot thickens," said my father, turning to me with a pleasant smile. "And all we needed was a hero. Who will it be. I wonder, you or your uncle?"
But my uncle did not laugh again. Instead, he squared his shoulders and his manner became serious.
"It is not a time to jest, George," he said ominously. "Don't you understand what you have done? But you cannot know, or else you would not be here. You cannot know that the house is watched!"
If he had expected to surprise my father, he must have felt a poignant disappointment; but perhaps he knew that surprise was a sentiment he seldom permitted.
"I know," replied my father, "that since my arrival here I have been the object of many flattering attentions. But why are you concerned, Jason? I have broken no law of the land. I have merely mixed myself up in French politics."
Uncle Jason made an impatient gesture.
"You have mixed yourself up in such an important affair, in such a ridiculous way, that every secret agent that France has in this country will be in this town in the next twelve hours. That's all you have done, George."