Henry Milner Rideout

“ George, polishing brier with the ball of his thumb, spoke as though to himself.
"She always laced that mead something chronic. Three parts brandy. Mr. Leonard knows, or ought to. It was the same old woman and the same old mead." He looked up at Laurence, his eyes burning with a somber fire. "You need more than one man for some stories. Too young and bewildered, rot! Your boy took disgrace, let his life be spoiled, to keep his word with a foolish old body who'd been stealing hens and trespassing. ”

“ ONE evening a week later, George was busy outside the front door. An upstart young elm, pushing its own affair in the absence of mankind, had spoiled a flower bed and darkened a dining-room window. George had felled it, dragged it bodily by main strength into the driveway, and now bent down to lop the branches. He was working at great speed, finishing his job before the dusk thickened into darkness. Barn swallows darted over the garden leaves, and slued off in frightened zigzags at every blow of his ax.
Leonard stood near him, talking with lowered voice. ”

“ George playing the fool in fancy dress?"
Laurence wore a quizzical smile.
"George without the brains. Just so," he agreed. "Curious, don't you think?—for that was my father's brother, really; his elder brother. The family runs fair and black by starts. He was black, you see; died young, cut off in the flower of his wild oats; fell from a horse. They say 'between the stirrup and the ground,' but one has uncharitable doubts. Not quick enough to seek pardon, that head."
"Strange," said Leonard. "The swordsman's portrait, too. Both so like George masquerading." ”

“ I'm no great believer in ghosts." The voice burrowed deeper into the blanket. "But, o' course, there are old ancient things that don't die and can't rest."
The friendly silence intervened again. Half awake, Leonard watched the fire and the jogging shadows. It amused him to see what litter they two men had already strewn about, like vagabonds camping in a lady's parlor—their clothes and boots, the loo table still half cleared, George's umbrella against the wall, as fat, shapeless and traditional as any apple woman's in the Chatterbox of childhood. ”

“ Laurence turned to his companion. "I've an apology for some bad temper, when we met under the bridge. Too long a story now. I'll tell it to you some day."
George suddenly rose again from the leaves. His black eyes were sparkling oddly.
"Could I be there to hear it?" he begged. "I've a reason for asking."
"Of course. To-night, say."
Nodding to himself, Grayland once more disappeared.
"Thank you." By his voice, he seemed content. "Some tales need more than one man to tell 'em." ”

“ Her eyes were black stars. In her hand was George's bloated umbrella, which gave an effect of Beauty and the Beast. "You are all too lazy to show me."
A moment later she had them dispersed about the room, three grown men playing like children. George shrank into himself by the door, enacted Kamsa the Locust hideously—a long-legged gargoyle trying to be fat—and croaked their stage directions. Laurence caught down the naked sword. Leonard received her umbrella with a bow, performed the grand salute, and bounced on guard like a rubber ball. ”

“ The workman straightened himself, knee deep among leaves. He smiled, and answered with a kind of envy.
"The boy's not dead in you by a long chalk. You're young in the world." Suddenly he raised his voice. "No, don't agree with you. The ax is a pretty tool in good hands, but the broadax beats it for cleverness, and the adz calls out genius. Now, I remember an old shipwright——"
Leonard, staring at this vagary, heard next moment what George's ears had caught a long way off. It was the footsteps of Rose Corsant. ”

“ Leonard glanced quickly at the speaker.
"You sound bloodthirsty, George."
"I only want to come to my hands with that jockey." Grayland threw his cigarette into the flame behind him, and thoughtfully examined his fists. "You leave it to me."
Both men had kept their voices lowered. George spoke in a casual undertone; but the words had a meaning so cold and deadly that his companion watched him closer than before.
"Why now, George, we——"
"I know the beast better than what you do. Go ask the natives whose women and babies he contrived to have slaughtered." Grayland rose. ”

“ George came from his nap surly, and when twilight drew near at last, went outdoors growling.
"'Tis neither fit for man nor beast," he quoted. "What's more, I don't believe they're coming—either kind."
He left behind the contagion of his doubt. Alone once more, Corsant paced the room up and down a mile or two, wished the time away, ruined his taste for tobacco, fidgeted, poked the fire, and grew convinced that he and George were a couple of idiots.
Long before dinnertime he lighted the candles in their silver bush. ”

“ Grayland's shadow stirred by the fire, rolled and lay on its back. His answer, withheld for a moment, sounded both unwilling and vindictive.
"Old maid, standard type," he grumbled. "Flat front, long neck, coiled round with pearls, like seized riggin'. Smokes and plays cards all night, and snaps your head off." He paused, then as if trying to be just added: "'But though she wears another's hair, she is an interestin' person.'"
"Well for us that she's not here now," said Leonard.
George chuckled.
"I believe you, my boy. Time we quit talking. Good night." ”

“ Laurence took up one of the black goblets, mechanically, with a dreaming air, and set it down. By chance it struck a black plate, and the intruders were surprised when they heard these dead utensils give out a living chink of silver.
"What do you make of it, George?" asked Laurence.
"Two men never eat their breakfast," replied Grayland promptly. "Wartime, it's like. They cleared out so quick, one of them upset his chair. I'll bet you"—he turned to Leonard—"your great-something dad galloped off without hat or weapons down to his ship. Westward ho for your life! ”

“ We'll risk it." Grayland bent once more, and chopped. "Now run play. Your Uncle George is busy, and the daylight's nigh gone." For an instant he rose, fondling his ax and grinning in the dusk. "Only, there's a condition. No mortal hand but mine shall ring those bells at your wedding. I'm the boy to make old Gabriel sing tenor."
Leonard, who had begun moving away, stopped and regarded him with keen horror.
"What! What's this, man alive?"
The man alive shot him, crosswise, one of those black arrows of wickedness. "Don't forget, when time comes," said George. ”

“ George nodded and kicked away a bough.
"Can't be helped." He spoke sadly. "I'd hate to see her go—his sister. But Laurence—oh, well, let's cheat ourselves by thinking he'd never stand the climate. In winter there's only two places in England fit for a man to be—in bed, or on the back of a good horse. Leave it at that, for comfort. Pretend he was ordered south."
Leonard remained thoughtful and silent.
"Laurence would never accept it from me," he blurted. "But if you bought the place and gave it back to him, George——"
Grayland looked up swiftly. ”

“ Finish!" He lighted a cigarette among the candles and smoked pensively. "Thanks to your agile doings at the Bottle of Hay, all this rottenness has fallen into the right hands. In the wrong, your paper here and one I held, would have been used to bring on—well, massacre, followed by another hole-and-corner war that might spread. Certainly a few hundred men, women, and children, perhaps a few thousand, who never heard of you or me, will go on leading so-called innocent lives out there."
The morose cloud swept from George's face. Glowing with admiration, he turned to Leonard. ”

“ Whole thing may go smooth anyway. No good beating the air. What I mean to say is, if it did come to a fight, I'd kill him as quick as any other snake, without a smatch of pity. That's all."
He stalked away into the darkness, bare-armed, bare-legged, his flimsy white clothing still wet, like a shipwrecked Robinson Crusoe or a drowned ghost out of place in that quiet old room. Bending his head under the pointed arch he vanished up the stairs, to return soon with an armful of sticks and brown canvas. ”

“ Leonard smiled in apology.
"You're right. No brains. 'The shallow part is always the forehead, at least in Oxford, sir.'" He suddenly cast off his pretended weakness, drew clear of the wall, stood up, and spoke out. These brutes would never come close enough, so let them begin. "Put your mind at rest. I'm Corsant. We've fooled long enough. You, I believe, are a secret agent, and a bad one who can't pull off the simplest job. What any Chinese Coast comprador would call a Number Nine man on sight. That's you—a professional turncoat, selling out both ends, and even so a failure. ”

“ Corsant shook his head. The other in sign language begged a cigarette, lighted it from a glowing brand, and smoked and steamed with great relish.
"To-night's their weather for it, unless they're fools," he declared. "So wet and black, with plenty of noises to cover your own. If 'twas my job, I'd tackle her before midnight. Outside there, a man can't even tell what's near him. The old girl going home passed within touch of me; nor you nor she nor the pony-cart boy guessed I was there, right by your elbows." George nodded at the candlestick. ”

“ Coming through the arch, round a corner, he suddenly had his advantage after all, and saw the enemy first. Under the portrait of the young horseman and the blades a girl sat leaning backward, her hands folded in her lap, resting, as if alone with some thought which was good but rather grave company. ”

“ Some rocks for the mind to break on."
Sinking defeated in his armchair, Leonard began The State of Man Before the Fall. It promised, to his ignorance, a few gleams of bliss from the earthly paradise. But no sunshine leaked out here. Lost in a black sand storm where Pelagians and Socinians whirled round the protoplast like dead leaves, he plodded on, sometimes buffeted by quatenus or quomodo, sometimes cheered by sight of Crelllus or Smalcius nibbling at an argument among other doleful night creatures of the desert. ”

“ Her father worked for us a long while out there. Useful man, most useful, after you learned to know him and could sift the lies out. A chin-chucking policy helped one learn, you know." Laurence's eyes twinkled at some memory. "But to come back. Our friend whom the police led babbling away just now—he gave you a friendly warning in Gino's café, did he? That's interesting. Can't tell you how interesting. He would have wanted me to clear out then—for reasons. The dickens of it is, I never can tell you just what or how very, very much you've done for me, old chap." ”

“ Laurence Corsant, when he and Leonard were dining an hour afterward. "Prostrate forms all over the stage. Rather extraordinary to walk in upon, by one's own hearthstone, wasn't it?" He laughed. "Yet in a way I expected something uncommon. Whenever George grows mysterious, you may be sure he's cooking a little surprise for you."
They sat at a corner of the great table, where two silver trees filled with candles now burned brightly and made the surroundings less forlorn ”

“ Grayland came back to them, quiet and composed.
"I always knew it must be something more than friendship." Laurence held out a tumbler in each hand, and when these two were taken, raised the third before him. "Cousin Leonard and Cousin George, I wish we were to be longer under this roof. Here, let's all stand on the hearthstone—that's better. ”

“ As for George, there's something I want to show you. It can wait till morning. By the way, he declares that we must keep your umbrella in the family archives; that our forerunner in the picture, the Johnny with the sword, below stairs, would have been proud of you. Wonderful work, George says. Never saw anything half so good."
The speaker turned and, waiting, seemed to expect a reply.
"I did use to fence a bit," said Leonard, with embarrassment. "Dad always believed in getting the best master who'ld take you, for learning anything. ”

“ Was he?"
"A famous master of the arm, they do say," replied George. "Killed in an ambush outside Tangier. This naked one, here, was his pet little pinking iron. I oiled her up last week."
Leonard promptly set one knee on his cot and leaning toward the sword, eyed it with care from hilt to point.
"Good plain Toledo," he murmured. "About 1600. Pretty balance, I should think."
"Hobby of yours?" said Grayland.
"Used to be." Leonard drew slowly back from the weapon, and stood gazing up once more at its owner. "Why," he exclaimed, "there are the lovelocks! ”