The Dinner Club Page 6

  “‘This has happened, my dear,’ said Maitland grimly. ‘We have been privileged to discover Mr Digby’s method of earning a livelihood.’ He pointed to the open safe. ‘He apparently ingratiates himself with people for the express purpose of stealing their valuables. In other words, a common thief.’

  “‘I don’t believe it!’ she flashed out imperiously. ‘Jack – a thief! How can you say such a thing?’

  “‘Then may I ask what he was doing when your brother discovered him by the open safe? Besides, he admits it himself.’

  “‘Jack!’ The cry seemed to come from the very depths of her soul. ‘Say it’s a lie!’

  “For one second he hesitated; then he spoke quite steadily, though he didn’t look at her.

  “‘I am afraid, Miss Maitland – that I can’t say it’s untrue.’

  And then there fell one of those silences that can be felt. She was staring at Jack Digby, was the girl – staring at him with a great amazement dawning on her face.

  “‘Jack,’ she whispered, ‘look at me!’

  “He raised his eyes and looked at her, and a little pulse was beating just above his jaw. Then, after what seemed an interminable time, she gave a little laugh that was half a sob and turned away.

  “‘I see,’ she said below her breath. ‘I see.’

  “But what it was she saw, I didn’t at the moment realise. It was to be made clear a little later.”

  The Doctor paused and threw a log on the fire.

  “Yes, I found out later what she thought,” he went on after a while, “and for the first and probably the last time in my life I was guilty of a breach of professional confidence. It was about half an hour later that I went round to Jack Digby’s room. Maitland, after thinking it over – and it is possible that I had something to do with his decision – had dismissed the idea of sending for the police. Digby was to clear out by the first train next morning, and was never to make an attempt to com-municate with the girl again. And Jack Digby had bowed in silence and gone to his own room. He wouldn’t look at me as he passed; I think he knew that he hadn’t deceived me.

  “He was sitting by the open window when I went in, still in his evening clothes, and he looked round with a start as I entered. His face was drawn and grey.

  “‘My dear chap,’ I said, before he could speak, ‘is it worth while?’

  “‘I don’t understand what you mean, Doctor,’ he said slowly.

  “‘Oh, yes, you do!’ I answered. ‘You deceived Mr Maitland all right – you didn’t deceive me. It was Tom who opened the safe – not you.’

  “For a moment I thought he was going to deny it; then he gave a little mirthless laugh.

  “‘Perfectly correct,’ he said. ‘As you say, it was Tom who opened the safe. I caught him absolutely in the act. And then Mr Maitland came.’

  “‘But – good God!’ I cried, ‘what an unutterable young waster he must be to let you shoulder the blame!’

  “Digby faced me steadily. ‘I made him. You see, I saw it was the chance I had been looking for.’

  “‘You mean you told him about your heart?’

  “‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘But I told him I was entangled with another woman, and that the best way of saving his sister’s feelings was to let her think–’

  “And then the boy broke down utterly. With his hands on my shoulders he stood there facing me, and he made me swear I wouldn’t tell the girl.

  “‘She must never know, Doctor. I’ve done it for her. She must never know.’

  “And even as he spoke, the words died away on his lips, and he stood motionless, staring past me at the door. Without looking round I knew what had happened – I could smell the faint scent she used.

  “‘What have you done for me, Jack, and why must I never know?’

  “She came steadily up to him, and his hands fell to his side.

  “‘Why, you’ve been crying, dear,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  “True to his purpose, he started some fantastic story about sorrow at having been found out, but she cut him short.

  “‘Don’t lie, Jack – not now,’ she whispered. ‘I know it wasn’t you who opened the safe. I know it was Tom. But what I want to know is why you said you did it.’

  “It was then I made up my mind.

  “‘I’m going to tell her, Digby, whether you like it or not,’ and she looked at me quickly. He didn’t say anything; things had got beyond him. And very briefly I told her the truth about his heart.

  “She listened to me in absolute silence, and when I’d finished she just turned round to him and held out both her arms.

  “‘Thank God! I know, my darling,’ she whispered. ‘I thought it was because you’d got fond of another woman. I thought – oh! Heaven knows what I thought! But now – oh! you stupid, wonderful boy!’

  “I went to the window and looked out! It must have been five minutes later that I found the girl at my side.

  “‘Is it absolutely hopeless?’ she asked.

  “‘Humanly speaking,’ I answered, ‘yes.’

  “‘How long?’ and she put her hand on my arm.

  “‘Two days; two months; at the utmost, two years,’ I said gravely.

  “‘And why shouldn’t I look after him for those two years?’ she demanded fiercely.

  “‘I’m thinking of a possible child,’ I said quietly, and she began to tremble a little.

  “‘That’s ridiculous,’ she cried – ‘quite ridiculous.’

  The Doctor was carefully cleaning out the bowl of his pipe. “In the morning Jack Digby had gone, leaving behind him a note for her. She showed it to me later.

  “‘The Doctor is right, my darling,’ it ran. ‘It’s just Fate, and there’s not much use kicking. I’m glad though that you know the truth – it helps. Goodbye, dear heart. God bless you.’”

  The Doctor paused.

  “Is that all?” said the Ordinary Man.

  “Very nearly,” answered the Doctor. “I had been right when I said two months, only the cause of death was not what I expected. How he got across the water so soon I don’t know. But he did – in a cavalry regiment. And he stopped one – somewhere up Ypres way.”

  “And the girl?” asked the Soldier.

  “Has not got over it yet,” said the Doctor.

  “And did she ever hear from him again?” demanded the Barrister.

  “Once, from France. Written just before – the end. She didn’t show me that one. Pass the whisky, Actor-man. Talking makes one’s throat infernally dry.”

  Chapter 4

  The Ordinary Man’s Story, being the Pipes of Death

  “Any of you know Burma?” asked the Ordinary Man, putting out his hand for the tobacco jar.

  “I’ve been there,” grunted the Soldier. “Shooting. Years ago. West of the Irawadi from Rangoon.”

  “It’s years since I was there, too,” said the Ordinary Man. “More than a score. And if I wasn’t so beastly fat and lazy I’d like to go back for a visit. Only a visit, mind you. I’ve got to the time of life when I find that London is quite good enough for my needs. But the story which I propose to inflict on you fellows tonight concerns Burma, and delving into the past to get the details right has brought the fascination of the place back to me.

  “I was about thirty-five at the time – and my benevolent Aunt Jane had not then expired and endowed me with all her worldly goods. I was working for a City firm who had considerable interests out there – chiefly teak, with a strong sideline in rubies.

  “At that time, as you may know, the ruby mines in the Mandalay area were second to none, and it was principally to give my employers a report on the many clashing interests in those mines that I went back to England after a few months in the country. And it was in their office that
I met a youngster, who had just joined the firm, and who, it turned out, was going out to Burma on the same boat as myself. Jack Manderby was his name, and I suppose he must have been ten or eleven years younger than I. He was coming to my district, and somewhat naturally I was a bit curious to see what sort of a fellow he was.

  “I took to him from the very first moment, and after we’d lunched together a couple of times my first impression was strengthened. He was a real good fellow – extraordinarily good-looking and straight as a die, without being in the least degree a prig.

  “We ran into a good south-westerly gale the instant we were clear of the Isle of Wight, which necessitated a period of seclusion on my part. In fact, my next appearance in public was at Gibraltar.

  “And the first person I saw as I came on deck was Jack Manderby. He was leaning over the side bargaining with some infernal robber below, and at his side was a girl. In the intervals of haggling he turned to her, and they both laughed; and as I stood for a few minutes watching them, it struck me that Master Jack had made good use of the four days since we left England. Then I strolled over and joined them.

  “‘Hullo, old man!’ he cried, with a twinkle in his eyes. ‘Is the rumour correct that you’ve been engaged in research work below, and had given orders not to be disturbed?’

  “‘Your vulgar jests leave me unmoved,’ I answered with dignity. ‘At any rate, I appear to have arrived in time to save you being robbed. That man is a thief and the son of a thief, and all his children are thieves.’

  “Jack laughed; then he swung round to the girl.

  “‘By the way, you haven’t met Mr Walton, have you? This is Miss Felsted, old boy, who is going out to Rangoon.’

  “We shook hands, and no more was said at the time. But one thing was definitely certain. Whatever the girl was going to Rangoon for, the gain was Rangoon’s. She was an absolute fizzer – looked you straight in the face with the bluest of eyes that seemed to have a permanent smile lurking in them. And then, suddenly, I noticed her left hand. On the third finger was a diamond ring. It couldn’t be Jack she was engaged to, and I wondered idly who the lucky man was. Because he was lucky – infernally lucky.

  “I think,” continued the Ordinary Man, pulling thoughtfully at his pipe, “that I first began to scent complications at Malta. We landed there for a few hours, and the idea was that Miss Felsted, Jack, and I should explore Valetta. Now, I don’t quite know how, but we got separated. I spent a pleasant two hours with a naval pal in the Union Club, while Jack and the girl apparently went up by the narrow-gauge railway to Citta Vecchia, in the centre of the island. And since no one in the full possession of their senses would go on that line for fun, I wondered. I wondered still more when they came back to the ship. Jack was far too open and above-board to be very skilful at hiding his feelings. And something had happened that day.

  “Of course, it was no concern of mine. Jack’s affairs were entirely his own; so were the girl’s. But a ship is a dangerous place sometimes – it affords unequalled and unending opportunities for what in those days were known as flirtations, and today, I believe, are known as ‘pashes’. And to get monkeying round with another fellow’s fiancée – well, it leads to complications generally. However, as I said, it was no concern of mine, until it suddenly became so the evening before we reached Port Said.

  “I was talking to Jack on deck just before turning in. We were strolling up and down – the sea like a millpond, and almost dazzling with its phosphorescence.

  “‘Is Miss Felsted going out to get married?’ I asked him casually.

  “‘Yes,’ he answered abruptly. ‘She’s engaged to a man called Morrison.’

  “‘Morrison,’ I repeated, stopping and staring at him. ‘Not Rupert Morrison, by any chance?’

  “‘Yes. Rupert is his name. Do you know him?’

  “I’d pulled myself together by this time, and we resumed our stroll.

  “‘I know Rupert Morrison quite well,’ I answered. ‘As distance goes in that country, Jack, he’s a near neighbour of ours’; and I heard him catch his breath a little quickly.

  “‘What sort of a fellow is he?’ asked Jack quietly, and then he went on, which saved me the trouble of a reply: ‘She hasn’t seen him for four years. They got engaged before he left England, and now she’s going out to marry him.’

  “‘I see,’ I murmured non-committally, and shortly afterwards I made my excuse and left him.

  “I didn’t turn in at once when I got to my cabin, I wanted to try and get things sorted out in my mind. The first point, which was as obvious as the electric light over the bunk, was that if Jack Manderby was not in love with Molly Felsted he was as near to it as made no odds. The second and far more important point was one on which I was in the dark – was the girl in love with him? If so, it simplified matters considerably; but if not, if she was only playing the fool, there was going to be trouble when we got to Burma. And the trouble would take the form of Rupert Morrison. For the more I thought of it the more amazed did I become that such a girl could ever have become engaged to such a man.

  “Of course, four years is a long time, especially when they are passed in comparative solitude. I had no idea what sort of fellow Morrison had been when first he arrived in the country, but I had a very shrewd idea what manner of man he was now. Perhaps it had been the loneliness – loneliness takes some men worse than others – but, whatever the cause, Morrison, after four years in Burma, was no fit mate for such a girl as Molly Felsted. A brooding, sullen man, given to fierce fits of almost animal rage, a heavy drinker of the type who is never drunk, and–”

  The Ordinary Man paused and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, it’s unfair to mention the last point. After all, most of us did that without thinking; but the actual arrival of an English girl – a wife – who was to step, blindly ignorant, into her predecessor’s shoes, so to speak, made one pause to think. Anyway, that was neither here nor there. What frightened me was the prospect of the girl marrying the Morrison of her imagination and discovering, too late, the Morrison of reality. When that happened, with Jack Manderby not five miles away, the fat was going to be in the fire with a vengeance.

  “It was after Colombo that matters came to a head. We left the P & O there, and got into another boat going direct to Rangoon. The weather was glorious – hot as blazes by day, and just right at night. And it was after dinner one evening a couple of days before we were due in, that quite inadvertently I butted into the pair of them in a secluded spot on deck. His arms were round her, and they both sounded a bit incoherent. Of course, there was no use pretending I hadn’t seen – they both looked up at me. I could only mutter my apology and withdraw. But I determined, even at the risk of being told to go to hell, to have a word with young Jack that night.

  “‘Look here, old man,’ I said to him a bit later, ‘you’ve got a perfect right to request me to mind my own business, but I’m going to risk that. I saw you two tonight, kissing to beat the band – confound it all, there wasn’t a dog’s earthly of not seeing you – and what I want to know is where Morrison comes in, or if he’s gone out?”

  “He looked at me a bit shamefacedly, then he lit a cigarette.

  “‘Hugh,’ he said, with a twisted sort of smile, ‘I just worship the ground that girl walks on.’

  “‘Maybe you do, Jack,’ I answered. ‘But the point is, what are her feelings on the matter?’

  “He didn’t answer, and after a while I went on.

  “‘This show is not my palaver,’ I said ordering two whisky pegs from the bartender. ‘It’s nothing to do with me, except that you and I are going to share the same bungalow, which is within easy calling distance of Morrison’s. Now, Morrison is a funny-tempered fellow, but, apart from that altogether, the situation seems strained to me. If she breaks off her engagement with him and marries you, well and good. But if she
isn’t going to do that, if she still intends to marry Morrison – well, then, old man, although I hold no brief for him, you’re not playing the game. I’m no sky pilot, but do one thing or the other. Things are apt to happen, you know, Jack, when one’s at the back of beyond and a fellow gets playing around with another fellow’s wife – things which might make an English court of justice sit up and scratch its head.’

  “He heard me out in silence, then he nodded his head.

  “‘I know it must seem to you that I wasn’t playing the game,’ he said quietly. ‘But, believe me, it’s not for want of asking on my part that Molly won’t marry me. And I believe that she’s as fond of me – almost – as I am of her.’

  “‘Then why the – ?’ I began, but he stopped me with a weary little gesture of his hand.

  “‘She feels that she’s bound to him in honour,’ he went on. ‘I’ve told her that there can’t be much question of honour if she doesn’t love him any more, but she seems to think that, as he has waited four years for her, she can’t break her bargain. And she’s very fond of him; if it hadn’t been for fate chucking us together she would never have thought of not marrying him. Tonight we both forgot ourselves, I suppose; it won’t occur again.’

  “He sat back staring out of the porthole. The smoke room was empty, and I fairly let myself go.

  “‘You very silly idiot,’ I exploded, ‘do you imagine I’ve been delivering a homily on the sins of kissing another man’s fiancée. What I want to get into your fat head is this. You’re going to a place where the only white woman you’ll see from year’s end to year’s end is that girl, if she marries Morrison. You can prattle about honour, and forgetting yourselves, and not letting it occur again, and it’s worth the value of that used match. Sooner or later it will occur again, and it won’t stop at kissing next time. And then Morrison will probably kill you, or you’ll kill him, and there’ll be the devil to pay. For Heaven’s sake, man, look the thing square in the face. Either marry the girl, or cut her right out of your life. And you can only do that by cabling the firm – or I’ll cable them for you from Rangoon – asking to be posted to another district. I shall be sorry, but I’d far rather lose you than sit on the edge of a young volcano.’