The Mynns' Mystery

“You, old fellow. I’m going to Paris, and then on to Switzerland, and back by the Rhine and Amsterdam. Come with me.”

“What, and do all the paying?”

Saul flushed up, snatched his pocket-book from his breast and tore it open.

“Well, I shan’t ask you to pay for my circular ticket anyhow,” he said, taking out a tiny book; “and here are my hotel coupons. Hang it all! how fond you men with coin are of insulting those without.”

“Well, we’re cousins,” said the other, with a sneering laugh. “All right, little one; I’ll apologise before he goes,” he continued, as Gertrude looked at him appealingly; and Saul winced as if it was painful to him to have Gertrude interfere on his behalf.

“Then you will not come?” said Saul, leaning forward to show Gertrude the tickets.

“No, thanks; I’m going to spend my last bachelor fortnight here.”

“Just as you like. Better have spent it with me. I’m sure Gertie does not want you with all her dresses to see to – what do you call it, Mrs Hampton – a trousseau?”

“I believe so, Mr Saul,” said the old lady dryly; “but when I was married, I had to do without.”

“You will not come, then,” said Saul, at last, rising.

“No, thanks; but you’ll stop to dinner.”

“No; too many little preparations to make; letters to write, and that sort of thing. If I stay, will you alter your mind?”

“No, no. In me behold a converted reprobate. I’m in training for a married man.”

“Oh, very well, then; I must be off. I’ll write to you from Paris and let you know how I’m getting on, and where I stay in case you would like to join me.”

“No fear.”

“You may alter your mind, my lad. Good-bye, Gertie. Be an obedient girl. Good-bye, Mrs Hampton. Hang it all, George! you might ask a fellow to have a drink.”

“Oh, of course. Beg pardon. I’m such a teetotaller now, that I forget other people’s wants. Eh, Gertie?”

“I am sure you have been much better lately.”

“Oh, certainly! I shall not dispute it. Come along, Saul; you are case-hardened.”

He led the way to the study, and opened the closet where he kept spirit-stand and a syphon. These and glasses he placed upon the table, while Saul watched him keenly.

“There, poison yourself, my lad,” he said laughingly.

“Oh, thanks! Pleasant way of poisoning oneself though. You’ll have a drop?”

“I? No. I’ll stick to my faith now, for Gertie’s sake.”

“Just as you like,” said Saul, pouring out a portion of whiskey, and holding the glass beneath the syphon tap, to press the handle and send a bubbling stream of mineral water into the spirit.

“Your health, old fellow!” cried Saul.

“Thanks.”

Then there was a long draught, and, as he drank, Saul stood with his right hand in his pocket.

“Splendid drink. Hah! Feel all the better for it. I say, you might give me a cigar.”

“To be sure.”

Saul watched his host as he turned toward the cabinet, and quick as thought his hand was drawn from his pocket, and what seemed to be a tiny white lozenge was dropped into the whiskey decanter.

“Ah, that looks a good weed,” said Saul, taking the cigar offered to him.

“Have any more whiskey?”

“Thanks, no,” said Saul; and he proceeded to cut off the end of the cigar, while his companion took up and replaced the decanter stopper.

“Smell gets into my nose,” he said. “Tempts one.”

Saul laughed, lit his cigar, shook hands very warmly, as he raised his eyes from the decanter, after seeing that the lozenge had melted. Then looking his companion full in the eyes, he bade him “good-bye” and was gone.

The party at dinner that night was quiet and pleasant, for the host was in his best form. Doctor Lawrence came down and exchanged glances with Hampton consequent upon the alteration they perceived; and when at last the ladies left the table there was very little drinking, the host turning from the table as if in disgust.

“A good sign, Hampton,” Doctor Lawrence whispered, as he took his leave about ten. “Patience, and all may be right yet.”

“Doubt it,” muttered the lawyer, as he returned to the drawing-room, to stand chattering till the ladies said “good-night” to him, and Gertrude crossed to where her betrothed stood with his back to the fireplace.

“Going?” he said. “Good-night, little woman – good-night.”

He bent down smiling and kissed her, and this time she did not dash upstairs to her bedroom to bathe her cheek, but walked up slowly and thoughtfully, oppressed as it were by a strange sadness which made her look hurriedly round as if in search of some trouble or danger hovering near, and in place of sobbing wildly with horror and disgust, she sank upon her knees at her bedside to pray that strength might be given her to carry out her desires, and in that attitude she unwittingly dropped asleep.

Chapter Nineteen

A Business Interview

As the ladies left, the old lawyer glanced at his companion, and then drew his watch from his pocket and began to wind it up.

“Example is better than precept,” said his companion, drawing the handsome gold presentation-watch from his pocket, and winding it in turn.

“Don’t you ever feel afraid of being robbed of that watch, Mr Harrington?” said the old lawyer. “It must have cost a hundred.”

“The sum exactly with the nugget chain,” said the young man sharply. “No, I never feel afraid of being robbed. I could afford it, though, if I were.”

“Yes, yes; of course – of course.”

“Come into the study. I want a chat with you.”

“About more money,” muttered the lawyer, as he followed the young man down the passage to the library-like room opening upon the garden.

Here the first thing the host did was to open the window, look out for a few moments at the soft dark night, and then draw to and fasten the outer shutters, after which he closed the window.