Bones in London

When the train had left the station, he drove straightaway toDevonshire Street. Bones was in his study, reading, or pretending toread, and the last person he expected to see that evening was Mr.Jackson Hyane. But the welcome he gave to that most unwelcome visitorbetrayed neither his distrust nor his frank dislike of the youngwell-groomed man in evening-dress who offered him his hand with such agesture of good fellowship.

"Sit down, Mr. – er – " said Bones.

There was a cold, cold feeling at his heart, a sense of comingdisaster, but Bones facing the real shocks and terrors of life was adifferent young man from the Bones who fussed and fumed over itstrifles.

"I suppose you wonder why I have come to see you, Mr. Tibbetts," saidHyane, taking a cigarette from the silver box on the table. "I ratherwonder why I have the nerve to see you myself. I've come on a verydelicate matter."

There was a silence.

"Indeed?" said Bones a little huskily, and he knew instinctively whatthat delicate matter was.

"It is about Marguerite," said Mr. Hyane.

Bones inclined his head.

"You see, we have been great pals all our lives," went on Jackson

Hyane, pulling steadily at the cigarette – "in fact, sweethearts."

His keen eyes never left the other's face, and he read all he wanted toknow.

"I am tremendously fond of Marguerite," he went on, "and I think I amnot flattering myself when I say that Marguerite is tremendously fondof me. I haven't been especially fortunate, and I have never had themoney which would enable me to offer Marguerite the kind of life whicha girl so delicately nurtured should have."

"Very admirable," said Bones, and his voice came to his own ears as thevoice of a stranger.

"A few days ago," Mr. Hyane went on, "I was offered a tea plantationfor fourteen thousand pounds. The prospects were so splendid that Iwent to a financier who is a friend of mine, and he undertook toprovide the money, on which, of course, I agreed to pay an interest.The whole future, which had been so black, suddenly became as bright asday. I came to Marguerite, as you saw, with the news of my good luck, and asked her if she would be my wife."

Bones said nothing; his face was a mask.

"And now I come to my difficulty, Mr. Tibbetts," said Hyane. "Thisafternoon Marguerite and I played upon you a little deception which Ihope you will forgive."

"Certainly, certainly" mumbled Bones, and gripped the arms of his chairthe tighter.

"When I took Marguerite to lunch to-day," said Hyane, "it was tobe – married."

"Married!" repeated Bones dully, and Mr. Hyane nodded.

"Yes, we were married at half-past one o'clock to-day at the MaryleboneRegistry Office, and I was hoping that Marguerite would be able to tellyou her good news herself. Perhaps" – he smiled – "it isn't as good newsto her as it is to me. But this afternoon a most tragic thinghappened."

He threw away his cigarette, rose, and paced the room with agitatedstrides. He had practised those very strides all that morning, for heleft nothing to chance.

"At three o'clock this afternoon I called upon my financier friend, anddiscovered that, owing to heavy losses which he had incurred on theStock Exchange, he was unable to keep his promise. I feel terrible,Mr. Tibbetts! I feel that I have induced Marguerite to marry me underfalse pretences. I had hoped to-morrow morning to have gone to theagents of the estate and placed in their hands the cheque for fourteenthousand pounds, and to have left by the next mail boat for India."

He sank into the chair, his head upon his hands, and Bones watched himcuriously.

Presently, and after an effort, Bones found his voice.

"Does your – your – wife know?" he asked.

Jackson shook his head.

"No," he groaned, "that's the terrible thing about it. She hasn't theslightest idea. What shall I tell her? What shall I tell her?"

"It's pretty rotten, old – Mr. Hyane." Bones found his voice after awhile. "Deuced rotten for the young miss – for Mrs. – for her."

He did not move from his chair, nor relax his stiff expression. He washurt beyond his own understanding, frantically anxious to end theinterview, but at a loss to find an excuse until his eyes fell upon theclock over the mantelpiece.

"Come back at ten – no, half-past ten, young Mr. … awfully busy now… see you at half-past ten, eh?"

Mr. Hyane made a graceful exit, and left Bones alone with the shatteredfragments of great romance.

So that was why she had gone off in such a hurry, and she had not daredto tell him. But why not? He was nothing to her … he would neversee her again! The thought made him cold. Never again! Never again!He tried to summon that business fortitude of his, of which he was soproud. He wanted some support, some moral support in this moment ofacute anguish. Incidentally he wanted to cry, but didn't.

She ought to have given him a week's notice, he told himself fiercely, than laughed hysterically at the thought. He considered the matterfrom all its aspects and every angle, and was no nearer to peace ofmind when, at half-past ten to the second, Mr. Jackson Hyane returned.

But Bones had formed one definite conclusion, and had settled upon theaction he intended taking. Mr. Hyane, entering the study, saw thecheque book on the desk, and was cheered. Bones had to clear his voiceseveral times before he could articulate.

"Mr. Hyane," he said huskily, "I have been thinking matters out. I ama great admirer of yours – of your – of yours – a tremendous admirer ofyours, Mr. Hyane. Anything that made her happy, old Mr. Hyane, wouldmake me happy. You see?"

"I see," said Mr. Hyane, and he had the satisfaction of knowing thathe, a student of men, had not misread his victim.

"Fourteen thousand pounds," said Bones, turning abruptly to the deskand seizing his pen. "Make it payable to you?"

"You're too kind," murmured Hyane. "Make it an open cheque, Mr.Tibbetts – I have to pay the agents in cash. These Indian merchants areso suspicious."

Bones wrote the cheque rapidly, marked it "Pay Cash," and initialledthe corrections, then tore the slip from the book and handed it to theother.

"Of course, Mr. Tibbetts," said Hyane reverentially, "I regard halfthis as a loan to me and half as a loan to my dear wife. We shallnever forget your kindness."

"Rot!" said Bones. "Nonsense! I hope you'll be happy, and will youtell her – " He swallowed something.

There was a faint tinkle of a bell in the hall, and Ali, his servant, poked an ebony face round the corner of the door.

"Sir," he said, "the telephonic apparatus demands conversation."

Bones was glad of the interruption, and, with a muttered apology to hisgratified guest, he strode out into the hall. Ali had accustomedhimself to answering the telephone, but this time he had not understoodthe preliminary inquiry from exchange.

"Hello!" said Bones into the transmitter.

"Who's that?"

At the sound of the voice which answered him he nearly dropped thereceiver.

"Is that Mr. Tibbetts?"

"Yes," said Bones hoarsely, and his heart beat a wild rataplan.

"I'm speaking from York, Mr. Tibbetts. I wanted to tell you that thekey of the safe is in the drawer of my desk – the top drawer."