The Secret of the Silver Car - Wyndham Martyn (red white royal blue txt) 📗

fire when Daphne entered. She walked to the table and picked up some letters without seeing him. At every mail she expected to hear from him and now was another of these continual disappointments. Invitations, letters from friends and relatives, but never a one from the man she loved.

Watching her Anthony Trent was a victim to many emotions. The rumor which he had confidently disputed that she was engaged to Rudolph Castoon now assumed a guise of probability. Why not? He had left her expecting never to see her again. He had convinced her of the unsurmountable barrier between them, a barrier which still existed. What a fool he had been to twist the earl’s statement about Arthur into something that spelled hope when none was intended.

That he was here was due to the feeling on Lord Rosecarrel’s part that he deserved courtesy at the hands of the Grenvils. Before leaving for Croatia he had assured the elder man that he would not claim a reward. And here he was within a few feet of Daphne. What he should have done was to call and greet her in a friendly fashion, a fashion which would have told her that he realized there could no longer be any pretence of intimacy between them. Instead he was hiding in a deep chair and must presently disclose himself.

He noticed anxiously that she was looking frail and tired. There was a sadness on her face which he had not seen there before. It was, he decided, a hopelessness, a lack of the vivacity which had always distinguished her.

It was when the butler had decided time enough had elapsed for greeting that Simpkins was allowed to bear in silver dishes of food.

It was the footman’s entrance which made the girl look up from her unopened collection of letters. She did not see Simpkins. She saw only the man in the chair, the tall, slim man who rose almost awkwardly when he met her wide-open eyes.

Ordinarily self possessed, never at a loss for a word or embarrassed, Anthony Trent stood there dumb and looked at her.

“Oh Tony, Tony!” she cried.

Immensely gratified, Simpkins beheld the American gather her to him. Honest Simpkins had tears in his eyes. He went from the room blindly, his mission unaccomplished. He had seen Love so near to him that he was dazzled.

It was in Daphne’s own sitting room facing St. James’ Park that they were able to talk coherently.

“Why do you suddenly look so grave on this morning of all mornings in my life?” she asked tenderly.

“Darling,” he said, “I can’t keep on living in this doubt any longer. You know what I said in Cornwall?”

“That’s so long ago. I forget. Exactly what did my wise Tony say? I only remember that he said he loved me.”

“I shall always say that,” he said softly. “Daphne, I must not go on deluding myself any longer. I ought not to have seen you. It was only because your father was courteous and I was weak that I came.”

“You have seen father?” she cried.

“Last night,” he told her. “I was with him for an hour. He was very kind.”

“Did he tell you about Arthur?”

“He said he was going to be married.”

She looked at her Tony with a smile he could not understand. There was certainty in it content, assurance. It was as though there were no barriers that kept him from her.

“My wise Tony,” she said, “there is much for you to learn. Let us leave Grosvenor Place and go to Australia in the first place.”

“Australia?” he cried uneasily. For the second time within a few hours the island continent had arisen to confound him.

“Yes, Australia,” she said. “You remember that my father bought a place there for Arthur?”

He had often heard of it. It was a magnificent property of a hundred thousand acres. Great flocks of sheep and cattle grazed on it and there were hundreds of horses. There were lakes on it where the rainbow trout grew to fifteen pounds in weight. He had seen photographs of the big house with its tennis courts, its outside swimming pool, its walled gardens. It was administered, he knew, by intelligent superintendents and capable of even greater development.

“A wonderful place,” he said. “Yes, I remember. Your father wanted to sell it.”

“He has given it away instead.”

“Given away a place like that?”

“Perhaps I ought not to say given away,” she smiled. “He has given it in exchange for what business people call collateral. He has given it to you, Tony, subject to certain conditions.”

“Me?” he cried, “Oh no! Impossible. I couldn’t take it.”

“But you haven’t even heard the conditions,” she said. “I go with it. It must be kept in the family.”

Anthony Trent had a vision of the future. He saw himself a clean man again, a man with hard work before him and great responsibilities. He remembered his country’s ambassador and the cryptic utterances which might mean so much. The new life in the new country where none knew him. The realization of those dreams of children who need never be ashamed of their parentage. And all this was offered him.

Daphne looking at him saw that the eyes which, she had sometimes thought were hard were softened now. None but she had ever seen tears in the eyes of Anthony Trent who had once been the Master Criminal.

“Oh Daphne,” he said brokenly. “Daphne.”

THE END