Antony Gray-Gardener Part 25

"Why did you let them?" asked Trix.

Again the man shrugged his shoulders.

"I have no responsibility in the matter."

"Doctor Hilary has, then," she flashed out.

"Has he?" was the quiet response.

"He has told people you were dead."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Well, he's let them think so anyway. Why has he?" demanded Trix.

"You ask a good many questions for an--er--an intruder," remarked the man.

Trix's chin went up. "I'm sorry. I apologize. I'll go."

"No, don't," said the man. "Sit down."

Trix sat down near a table. She looked straight at him.

"Well," she asked, "what do you want to say to me?"

"I am Nicholas Danver," he said.

"I was quite sure of that," nodded Trix. She was recovering her self-possession.

"I had an excellent reason for allowing people to imagine I was dead," he remarked, "as excellent a one, perhaps, as yours for your--your unexpected appearance."

"I'm glad you didn't say 'intrusion' again," said Trix thoughtfully.

Nicholas gave a short laugh.

There was a little silence.

"Doctor Hilary must have told a dreadful lot of lies," said Trix slowly and not a little regretfully.

"On the contrary," said Nicholas, "he told none."

Trix looked up quickly.

"Listen," said Nicholas, "it's quite an interesting little history in its way. You can stop me if I bore you.... Doctor Hilary says, in the hearing of a housemaid, that it might be a good plan to consult a specialist. It is announced in the village that the Squire is going to consult a specialist. Doctor Hilary travels up to town with an empty litter. The village announces that he has taken the Squire to the specialist. He returns alone. The station-master asks him when the Squire will return from London. He is briefly told, never. The village announces the Squire's demise. I don't say that certain little further incidents did not lend colour to the idea, such as the Squire confining himself entirely to two rooms, and allowing the butler alone of the servants to see him; Doctor Hilary's dismissal of the other indoor servants on his return to town; the deserted appearance of the house. But from first to last there was less actual direct lying in the matter, than in--shall I say, than in a simple sneeze."

A third time the colour mounted in Trix's cheeks.

"You'll not let me forget _that_," she said pathetically. "But why ever did you want everyone to think you were dead?"

Nicholas looked towards the window thoughtfully, ruminatively.

"That, my dear young lady, is my own affair."

"I beg your pardon," said Trix quickly. She lapsed into silence. Suddenly she looked up, an elfin smile of pure mischief dancing in her eyes. "And now I know you're not dead," she remarked. "Exactly," said Nicholas. "You know I'm not dead."

"Well?" demanded Trix.

"Well, of course you can go and publish the news to the world," he remarked smoothly.

"And equally of course," retorted Trix, "I shall do nothing of the kind.

Quite possibly you mayn't trust me, because--because I _did_ sneeze. But honestly I didn't have time to think properly then, at least, only time to think how to get out of the difficulty, and not time to think about fairness or anything. I truly don't tell lies generally. And to tell about you would be like telling what was in a private letter if you'd read it by accident, so _of course_ I shan't say a word."

Nicholas held out his hand without speaking. Trix got up from her chair, and put her own warm hand into his cold one.

"All right," he said in an oddly gentle voice. "And you can speak to Doctor Hilary about it if you like. You'll no doubt need a safety valve."

He looked again at her, still holding her hand. "Haven't I seen you before?" he asked.

Trix nodded. "When I was a tiny child. My name is Trix Devereux. I used to come here with my father."

"What!" exclaimed Nicholas, "Jack Devereux's daughter! How is the old fellow?"

"He died five years ago," said Trix softly.

Nicholas dropped her hand.

"And I live on," he said grimly. "It's a queer world." He looked down at the black dressing gown which hid his useless legs. "Bah, where's the use of sentiment at this time of day. Anyhow it's a pleasure to meet you, even though your entrance was a bit of----"

"An intrusion," smiled Trix.

"I was going to say a surprise," said Nicholas courteously. "And now you must allow me to give you some tea."

Trix hesitated.

"Oh, but," she demurred, "the butler will see me."

"And a very pleasant sight for him," responded Nicholas, "if you will permit an old man to pay you a compliment. Besides Jessop is used to holding his tongue."

Trix laughed.

"That," she said, "I can quite well imagine."

Nicholas pressed the electric b.u.t.ton attached to the arm of his chair. He watched the door, a curious amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes.

Trix attempted an appearance of utter unconcern, nevertheless she could not avoid a reflection or two regarding the butler's possible views on her presence.

During the few seconds of waiting, she surveyed the room. It was extraordinarily familiar. Nothing was altered from her childish days. The very position of the furniture was the same. There were the same heavy brocaded curtains to the windows, the same morocco-covered chairs, the same thick Aubusson carpet, the same book-cases lined with rather fusty books, the same great dogs in the fireplace.

Nicholas looked at her, observing her survey.