The Dinner Club Page 5

  “However, at that stage of the proceedings my thoughts were my own, and I answered him in the same vein. And while he was taking off his coat and shirt we talked casually on various topics. Then I started my examination. And within half a minute I knew that something was very, very wrong.

  “‘I would like you to take off your vest, please, Mr Digby,’ I said, and for a moment he stared at me in silence. I was watching him quietly, and it was then I knew that my first surmise was correct. In his eyes there was a look of dreadful fear.

  “He stripped his vest off, and I continued my examination. And after I’d finished I walked over to my desk.

  “‘You can put on your clothes again,’ I said gravely, to swing round as I felt his hand like a vice on my shoulder.

  “‘What is it?’ he muttered. ‘Tell me.’

  “‘It was not altogether a matter of form with you, was it, Mr Digby?’ I answered. ‘Put on your clothes; I want to ask you a few questions.’

  “‘Hang it, man!’ he cried. ‘I can’t wait. What have you found?’

  “‘I would like to have another opinion before telling you.’ I was fencing for time, but he was insistent.

  “‘You can have another opinion – you can have fifty other opinions,’ he cried, still gripping me by the shoulder – ‘but I want to know what you think now. Can I marry?’

  “‘You cannot,’ I said gravely, and his hand fell to his side. Then he slowly walked across the room and stood with his back to me, staring out of the window. Once his shoulders shook a little, but except for that he stood quite motionless. And after a while he picked up his clothes and started to dress.

  “I said nothing until he had finished; with a man of his type talking is a mistake. It was not until he again sat down in the chair opposite me that I broke the silence.

  “‘You asked me a specific question, Mr Digby,’ I said quietly, ‘and I answered as a man of your type would like to be answered. But I now want to modify my reply slightly. And I will put it this way. If I had a daughter, I would not allow a man whose heart was in the condition that yours is to marry her. It would not be fair to her; it would certainly not be fair to any possible children.’

  “He nodded gravely, though he didn’t speak.

  “‘You feared something of this sort when you came to me?’ I asked.

  “‘My mother died of it,’ he answered quietly. ‘And once or twice lately, after exercise, I’ve had an agonising twinge of pain.’ And then, under his breath, he added: ‘Thank God, she doesn’t know!’

  “‘But I would like another opinion,’ I continued. ‘There are men, as you know, who are entirely heart specialists, and I will give you the address of one.’

  “‘Confirmation of the death sentence,’ he laughed grimly. ‘No saddling up for me – eh, Doctor?’

  “‘Not as you are at present, Mr Digby.’ I was writing the address of the biggest heart man on a piece of paper, though I felt it was useless. It didn’t require an expert to diagnose this trouble.

  “‘Is there any chance of getting better?’ he cried eagerly, and I stopped writing and looked at him. There was hope – a dawning hope in his eyes – and for a moment I hesitated.

  “My own opinion was that there was no chance: that he might, with care and luck, live for two or three years – perhaps more – but that he might equally well drop dead at any moment. It was enough – that momentary hesitation; the eager look in his eyes faded, and he sat back wearily in his chair.

  “‘Don’t bother,’ he said slowly; ‘I see how it is.’

  “‘No, you don’t, Mr Digby,’ I answered. ‘You see how I think it is. Which is an altogether different matter. There is always a chance.’

  “‘That’s juggling with words,’ he said, with a twisted little smile. ‘The great point is that I’m not in a position to ask this girl to marry me.’

  “He glanced at the slip of paper I handed to him, then he rose.

  “‘I would like you to go and see him,’ I said quietly. ‘You see I feel the gravity of what I’ve had to tell you this morning very much, and in fairness to myself as well as to you, my dear fellow, I’d like you to go to Sir John.’

  “For a few seconds he stood there facing me, then he grinned as he had done at the beginning of the interview.

  “‘All right, Doctor,’ he cried. ‘I’ll go, and Sir John shall drive the nail right in.’

  “‘I’m sorry,’ I said – ‘infernally sorry. You’ve taken it, if I may say so, like a very brave man.’

  “He turned away abruptly. ‘What the deuce is the good of whining?’ he cried. ‘If it’s the same as in my mother’s case, the end will be very abrupt.’

  “The next moment he was gone – a man under sentence of death. And the pitiful tragedy of it hit one like a blow. He was so essentially the type of man who should have married some charming girl and have children. He was just a first-class specimen of the sporting Englishman, but–” The Doctor paused and looked at the Soldier. “The type that makes a first-class squadron leader,” and the Soldier nodded.

  “It was in the afternoon,” continued the Doctor after a while, “that Sir John Longworth rang me up. Digby had been to him, and the result was as I expected. Two years, or possibly two days, and as for marriage, out of the question entirely. He had merely confirmed my own diagnosis of the case, and there for a time the matter rested. In the stress of work Jack Digby passed from my mind, until Fate decreed that we should meet again in what were to prove most dramatic circumstances.

  “It was two months later – about the beginning of July – that I decided to take a short holiday. I couldn’t really spare the time, but I knew that I ought to take one. So I ran down for a long weekend to stop with some people I knew fairly well in Dorsetshire. They had just taken a big house a few miles from Weymouth, and I will call them the Maitlands. There were Mr and Mrs Maitland, and a son, Tom, up at the ’Varsity, and a daughter, Sybil. When I arrived I found they had a bit of a house party, perhaps a dozen in all, and after tea the girl, whom I’d met once or twice before, took me round the place.

  “She was a charming girl, very, very pretty, of about twenty-two or three, and we chattered on aimlessly as we strolled through the gardens.

  “‘You’re quite a big party,’ I laughed, ‘and I thought I was coming for a quiet weekend.’

  “‘We’ve got two or three more arriving tonight,’ she said. ‘At least I think so. One of them is a most elusive person.’ She was staring straight in front of her as she spoke, and for the moment she seemed to have forgotten my existence.

  “‘Male or female – the elusive one?’ I asked lightly.

  “‘A man,’ she answered abruptly, and changed the con-versation.

  “But being an old and wary bird, I read into her harmless remark a somewhat deeper significance than was perhaps justified, and it struck me very forcibly that if I were the man I would not be elusive in the circumstances. She surely was most amazingly pretty.”

  “With great deductive ability,” murmured the Actor, as the Doctor paused to refill his pipe, “we place the elusive man as Jack Digby.”

  “You go to blazes!” laughed the teller of the story. “I haven’t got to that yet. Of course you’re quite right – he was; though when I found it out a little later it came as a complete surprise to me. I’d almost forgotten his existence.

  “It was her father who first mentioned his name. I was having a sherry and bitters with him in his study before going up to dress for dinner, and the conversation turned on the girl. I think I said how extraordinarily pretty I thought she was, and remarked that I supposed somebody would soon be walking off with her.

  “Joe Maitland’s face clouded a little.

  “‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘both her mother and I have been expecting it for some time. A most charming
man, and Sybil is in love with him, I’m sure. We all thought that he was in love with her,’ and then he exploded – ‘damn it, it isn’t a question of thinking, I know he’s in love with her! And for some extraordinary reason he won’t tell her so. He’s kept away from her for the last two months, after having lived in her pocket. And he’s not the type that monkeys round and makes a girl fond of him for no reason. He’s coming here tonight, and–’

  “My host, still frowning slightly, lit a cigarette. So evidently this was the elusive man, I thought, putting down my glass. It was no business of mine, and then suddenly I stood very still as I heard him speak again.

  “‘Jack Digby is as white as they’re made,’ he was saying, but I didn’t hear any more. Luckily my back was towards him, so he couldn’t see my face. Jack Digby! Poor devil! With Sybil Maitland, the girl, in his mind, the blow I’d given him must have been even crueller than I’d thought. And what a strange coincidence that I should be going to meet him again in such circumstances. Maitland was still rambling on, but I was paying no attention to him. I could, of course, say nothing unless Digby gave me permission; but it struck me that if I told him how the land lay – if I told him that not only was his silence being completely misconstrued, but that it was making the girl unhappy, he might allow me to tell her father the truth. After all, the truth was far better; there was nothing to be ashamed of in having a rotten heart.

  “And it was just as I had made up my mind to see Digby that night that the door opened and Tom, the boy, came in. I hadn’t seen him since he was quite a child, and the first thing that struck me about him was that he was almost as good-looking as his sister. He’d got the same eyes, the same colouring, but – there was the devil of a but. Whereas his sister gave one the impression of being utterly frank and fearless, the boy struck me immediately as being the very reverse. That he was the apple of his mother’s eye, I knew – but that signifies nothing. Thank God! mothers are made that way. And as I stood watching him talking to his father I recalled certain vague rumours that I’d heard recently and had paid scant attention to at the time. Rumours of wild extravagance up at Oxford – debts well into the four figures… They came back to my mind, those idle bits of gossip, and they assumed a definite significance as I studied the boy’s face. It was weak – utterly weak; he gave one the impression of having no mental or moral stamina whatever. He poured himself out a glass of sherry, and his hand wasn’t quite steady, which is a bad sign in a boy of under twenty-one. And he was a little frightened of his father, which is bad in a boy of any age when the father is a man like Joe Maitland. And that wasn’t all, either. There was something more – something much bigger on his mind: I was sure of it. There was fear in his heart; you could see it lurking round his eyes – round his mouth. I glanced at Joe, but he seemed quite oblivious of it, and then I left them and went up to dress for dinner. I remember wondering as I turned into my room whether the boy had got into another scrape – then I dismissed him from my mind. Jack Digby was a more interesting and more pressing problem.

  “I met him in the hall as I came down, and he gave a sudden start of astonishment.

  “‘Why, Doctor,’ he said quietly as we shook hands, ‘this is a surprise. I’d no idea you were to be here.’

  “‘Nor I that you were coming,’ I answered ‘until Mr Maitland happened to mention it a little while ago.’

  “‘You haven’t said anything to him, have you?’ he cried anxiously.

  “‘My dear fellow,’ I said, ‘you ought to know that doctors don’t.’ He muttered an apology, and I went on: ‘You know, Digby, I can’t help thinking you’re making a mistake in not telling the truth.’

  “He shook his head vigorously. ‘I’m sure I’m not,’ he answered. ‘The mistake I’ve made has been in coming here at all. I haven’t seen her since the day – when you told me. And I oughtn’t to have come now. It’s the last – I swear that. I couldn’t help it; I had to see her once again. I’m going to Africa in August – big game shooting.’

  “I stared at him gravely, and after a while he went on: “‘No one knows better than you,’ he said gravely, ‘my chance of returning. And when I don’t come back – she’ll forget me.’ I saw his hands clench at his side. ‘But if I tell her now – why, she’ll want me to stop in England – to go to specialists – to eke out life to the full two or three years. It’ll be hell – hell! Hell for both of us. Every day she’ll be wondering if she is going to hear I’m dead; it’ll ruin her life. Whereas Africa, if she doesn’t know about my heart, will be sudden. You see, Doctor, she is the only one to be considered – the only one.’

  “I drew a deep breath; truly Joe Maitland had been right. This man was white clean through. And then he gave a little choking gasp, and, turning round, I saw the girl coming towards us across the hall.

  “‘I didn’t know you’d come, old man,’ I heard her say, and then I moved away and left them. It was one of those occasions when you say it’s the smoke that has got into your eyes – and you lie.”

  For a while the Doctor was silent; then he gave a short laugh.

  “They sat next to one another at dinner, opposite me, and I’m afraid my partner must have thought I was a little wanting in intellect. They were such a perfectly ideal couple; and I noticed old Joe Maitland watching them every now and then. But gradually, as the meal progressed, a puzzled look began to creep into the girl’s eyes, and once she bit her lip suddenly and turned abruptly to the man on her other side. It was then that Digby looked across the table at me, and in that moment I realised that he was right. For him to remain in England would be impossible for both of them; the end, quick and sudden in an African jungle – if he ever got as far – was the only way out.

  “‘My God! Doctor,’ he said as he came round and sat down next to me after the ladies had gone, ‘I knew I was a fool to come, but I didn’t think it was going to be as bad as this.’

  “‘When are you going to start?’ I asked.

  “‘As soon as I can get things fixed up at home, here, and make some sort of arrangement for carriers and people the other end. One must act, I suppose, even though it’s the last appearance.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I’ve always wanted to go south from Khartoum – I wonder how far I’ll get.’ Then he began to drum on the table with his fingers. ‘And what I wonder still more,’ he went on slowly, ‘is how in Heaven’s name I’ll get through this evening. You see, though I didn’t actually propose in so many words before I came to see you, I’d – I’d let things drift to such a position that a proposal was hardly necessary. That’s the devil of it… She knows I worship the ground she walks on – and I know she cares too.’

  “‘How long are you going to stop here?’ I asked.

  “‘I accepted for the weekend,’ he said abruptly. ‘I shall go first thing tomorrow. I can’t stand it.’

  “At that we left it, and I didn’t speak to him again until the thing occurred which even now – though seven years have slipped by – is as clearly imprinted on my brain as if it had happened last night.

  “I couldn’t sleep very well that night, and at about two I switched on my light, with the idea of reading. I was just reaching out for a book when I heard the sound of voices from a room almost opposite. I listened for a moment, then I got up and went to the door. For the voices were excited and angry; something unusual was evidently happening. For a moment or two I hesitated; then I slipped on a dressing gown and looked out. Across the passage the door of a room was open, and through it the light was streaming out. And then I heard Joe Maitland speak, and his words literally rooted me to the ground with amazement.

  “‘So, Mr Digby, you’re just a common damned thief. The gentleman crook – what? The amateur cracksman. That’s what they call them on the stage, I believe. Sounds better. But I prefer the more homely name of thief.’

  “It was then that I appeared in the door, and Maitland swung r
ound.

  “‘Oh, it’s you, is it, Tranton?’ He had a revolver in his hand, and he lowered it when he saw who it was. ‘A pretty tableau, isn’t it? It appears that a second edition of – what was the gentleman’s name – Raffles, wasn’t it? – has been honouring me with his presence. Unfortunately, Tom and I both happened to hear him.’

  “But I was paying no attention to what he was saying; my eyes were fixed on Digby and – Tom. Digby, with a quiet smile on his face and his hands in his pockets, was standing beside an open safe. He was still in evening clothes, and once he glanced my way. Then he looked back again at his host, and I looked at Tom. He was in his dressing gown, and he was shivering as if he had the ague. He was standing close to his father, and a little behind him – and Joe Maitland was too engrossed with Digby to notice the condition he was in.

  “‘Can you advance any reason, Mr Digby,’ he demanded, ‘why I shouldn’t call up the local police?’

  “‘None whatever, Mr Maitland,’ he answered gravely. ‘Your son caught me fair and square.’

  “And it seemed to me that Tom made an effort to speak, though no words came from his lips.

  “‘You damned scoundrel!’ cried Maitland. ‘You come to my house – you make love to my daughter – and then you abuse my hospitality by trying to steal my wife’s jewellery!”

  “It was at that moment that the girl came in. I saw Digby catch his breath and lean against the wall for support; then he straightened up and faced his host again. Just once had he glanced at her, with her glorious hair falling over her shoulders and a startled look of wonder in her great eyes. Then resolutely he looked away.

  “‘What’s happened, Daddy?’ she whispered. ‘I heard your voice and–’