Mysterious Mr. Sabin - E. Phillips Oppenheim (best free ebook reader for android .TXT) 📗

his shoulder. Mr. Sabin, apparently tired of practising, was standing directly facing them, leaning upon his putter. He was looking steadfastly at Lady Deringham, not in the least rudely, but with a faint show of curiosity and a smile which in no way improved his appearance slightly parting his lips. Meeting his gaze, Wolfenden looked away with an odd feeling of uneasiness.

“You are right,” he said. “His face is really a handsome one in a way, but he certainly is not prepossessing-looking!”

Lady Deringham had recovered herself. She leaned back amongst the cushions.

“Didn’t you ask me,” she said, “whether I had ever met the man? I cannot remember—certainly I was at Alexandria with your father, so perhaps I did. You will be home to dinner?”

He nodded.

“Of course. How is the Admiral to-day?”

“Remarkably well. He asked for you just before I came out.”

“I shall see him at dinner,” Wolfenden said “Perhaps he will let me smoke a cigar with him afterwards.”

He stood away from the carriage and lifted his cap with a smile. The coachman touched his horses and the barouche rolled on. Wolfenden walked slowly back to his companion.

“You will excuse my leaving you,” he said. “I was afraid that my mother might have been looking for me.”

“By all means,” Mr. Sabin answered. “I hope that you did not hurry on my account. I am trying,” he added, “to recollect if ever I met Lady Deringham. At my time of life one’s reminiscences become so chaotic.”

He looked keenly at Wolfenden, who answered him after a moment’s hesitation.

“Lady Deringham was at Alexandria with my father, so it is just possible,” he said.

CHAPTER XXI HARCUTT’S INSPIRATION

Wolfenden lost his match upon the last hole; nevertheless it was a finely contested game, and when Mr. Sabin proposed a round on the following day, he accepted without hesitation. He did not like Mr. Sabin any the better—in fact he was beginning to acquire a deliberate distrust of him. Something of that fear with which other people regarded him had already communicated itself to Wolfenden. Without having the shadow of a definite suspicion with regard to the man or his character, he was inclined to resent that interest in the state of affairs at Deringham Hall which Mr. Sabin had undoubtedly manifested. At the same time he was Helène’s guardian, and so long as he occupied that position Wolfenden was not inclined to give up his acquaintance.

They parted in the pavilion, Wolfenden lingering for a few minutes, half hoping that he might receive some sort of invitation to call at Mr. Sabin’s temporary abode. Perhaps, under the circumstances, it was scarcely possible that any such invitation could be given, although had it been Wolfenden would certainly have accepted it. For he had no idea of at once relinquishing all hope as regards Helène. He was naturally sanguine, and he was very much in love. There was something mysterious about that other engagement of which he had been told. He had an idea that, but for Mr. Sabin’s unexpected appearance, Helène would have offered him a larger share of her confidence. He was content to wait for it.

Wolfenden had ridden over from home, and left his horse in the hotel stables. As he passed the hall a familiar figure standing in the open doorway hailed him. He glanced quickly up, and stopped short. It was Harcutt who was standing there, in a Norfolk tweed suit and thick boots.

“Of all men in the world!” he exclaimed in blank surprise. “What, in the name of all that’s wonderful, are you doing here?”

Harcutt answered with a certain doggedness, almost as though he resented Wolfenden’s astonishment.

“I don’t know why you should look at me as though I were a ghost,” he said. “If it comes to that, I might ask you the same question. What are you doing here?”

“Oh! I’m at home,” Wolfenden answered promptly. “I’m down to visit my people; it’s only a mile or two from here to Deringham Hall.”

Harcutt dropped his eyeglass and laughed shortly.

“You are wonderfully filial all of a sudden,” he remarked. “Of course you had no other reason for coming!”

“None at all,” Wolfenden answered firmly. “I came because I was sent for. It was a complete surprise to me to meet Mr. Sabin here—at least it would have been if I had not travelled down with his niece. Their coming was simply a stroke of luck for me.”

Harcutt assumed a more amiable expression.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “I thought that you were stealing a march on me, and there really was not any necessity, for our interests do not clash in the least. It was different between you and poor old Densham, but he’s given it up of his own accord and he sailed for India yesterday.”

“Poor old chap!” Wolfenden said softly. “He would not tell you, I suppose, even at the last, what it was that he had heard about—these people?”

“He would not tell me,” Harcutt answered; “but he sent a message to you. He wished me to remind you that you had been friends for fifteen years, and he was not likely to deceive you. He was leaving the country, he said, because he had certain and definite information concerning the girl, which made it absolutely hopeless for either you or he to think of her. His advice to you was to do the same.”

“I do not doubt Densham,” Wolfenden said slowly; “but I doubt his information. It came from a woman who has been Densham’s friend. Then, again, what may seem an insurmountable obstacle to him, may not be so to me. Nothing vague in the shape of warnings will deter me.”

“Well,” Harcutt said, “I have given you Densham’s message and my responsibility concerning it is ended. As you know, my own interests lie in a different direction. Now I want a few minutes’ conversation with you. The hotel rooms are a little too public. Are you in a hurry, or can you walk up and down the drive with me once or twice?”

“I can spare half an hour very well,” Wolfenden said; “but I should prefer to do no more walking just yet. Come and sit down here—it isn’t cold.”

They chose a seat looking over the sea. Harcutt glanced carefully all around. There was no possibility of their being overheard, nor indeed was there any one in sight.

“I am developing fresh instincts,” Harcutt said, as he crossed his legs and lit a cigarette. “I am here, I should like you to understand, purely in a professional capacity—and I want your help.”

“But my dear fellow,” Wolfenden said; “I don’t understand. If, when you say professionally, you mean as a journalist, why, what on earth in this place can there be worth the chronicling? There is scarcely a single person known to society in the neighbourhood.”

“Mr. Sabin is here!” Harcutt remarked quietly.

Wolfenden looked at him in surprise.

“That might have accounted for your presence here as a private individual,” he said; “but professionally, how on earth can he interest you?”

“He interests me professionally very much indeed,” Harcutt answered.

Wolfenden was getting puzzled.

“Mr. Sabin interests you professionally?” he repeated slowly. “Then you have learnt something. Mr. Sabin has an identity other than his own.”

“I suspect him to be,” Harcutt said slowly, “a most important and interesting personage. I have learnt a little concerning him. I am here to learn more; I am convinced that it is worth while.”

“Have you learnt anything,” Wolfenden asked, “concerning his niece?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Harcutt answered decidedly. “I may as well repeat that my interest is in the man alone. I am not a sentimental person at all. His niece is perhaps the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life, but it is with no thought of her that I have taken up this investigation. Having assured you of that, I want to know if you will help me?”

“You must speak a little more plainly,” Wolfenden said; “you are altogether too vague. What help do you want, and for what purpose?”

“Mr. Sabin,” Harcutt said; “is engaged in great political schemes. He is in constant and anxious communication with the ambassadors of two great Powers. He affects secrecy in all his movements, and the name by which he is known is without doubt an assumed one. This much I have learnt for certain. My own ideas are too vague yet for me to formulate. I cannot say any more, except that I believe him to be deep in some design which is certainly not for the welfare of this country. It is my assurance of this which justifies me in exercising a certain espionage upon his movements—which justifies me also, Wolfenden, in asking for your assistance.”

“My position,” Wolfenden remarked, “becomes a little difficult. Whoever this man Sabin may be, nothing would induce me to believe ill of his niece. I could take no part in anything likely to do her harm. You will understand this better, Harcutt, when I tell you that, a few hours ago, I asked her to be my wife.”

“You asked her—what?”

“To be my wife.”

“And she?”

“Refused me!”

Harcutt looked at him for a moment in blank amazement.

“Who refused you—Mr. Sabin or his niece?”

“Both!”

“Did she—did Mr. Sabin know your position, did he understand that you are the future Earl of Deringham?”

“Without a doubt,” Wolfenden answered drily; “in fact Mr. Sabin seems to be pretty well up in my genealogy. He had met my father once, he told me.”

Harcutt, with the natural selfishness of a man engaged upon his favourite pursuit, quite forgot to sympathise with his friend. He thought only of the bearing of this strange happening upon his quest.

“This,” he remarked, “disposes once and for all of the suggestion that these people are ordinary adventurers.”

“If any one,” Wolfenden said, “was ever idiotic enough to entertain the possibility of such a thing. I may add that from the first I have had almost to thrust my acquaintance upon them, especially so far as Mr. Sabin is concerned. He has never asked me to call upon them here, or in London; and this morning when he found me with his niece he was quietly but furiously angry.”

“It is never worth while,” Harcutt said, “to reject a possibility until you have tested and proved it. What you say, however, settles this one. They are not adventurers in any sense of the word. Now, will you answer me a few questions? It may be just as much to your advantage as to mine to go into this matter.”

Wolfenden nodded.

“You can ask the questions, at any rate,” he said; “I will answer them if I can.”

“The young lady—did she refuse you from personal reasons? A man can always tell, you know. Hadn’t you the impression, from her answer, that it was more the force of circumstances than any objection to you which prompted her negative? I’ve put it bluntly, but you know what I mean.”

Wolfenden did not answer for nearly a minute. He was gazing steadily seaward, recalling with a swift effort of his imagination every word which had passed between them—he could even hear her voice, and see her face with the soft, dark eyes so close to his. It was a luxury of recollection.

“I will admit,” he said, quietly, “that what you suggest has already occurred to me. If it had not, I should be much more unhappy than I am at this moment. To tell you the honest truth I was not content with her answer, or rather the manner of it. I should have had some hope of inducing her to, at any rate, modify it, but for Mr. Sabin’s unexpected appearance. About him, at least, there was no hesitation; he said no, and he meant it.”

“That is what I imagined might be the case,” Harcutt said thoughtfully. “I don’t want to have