At about an hour after midnight Clem came to Poppy, who was sitting out a dance with a peaceful partner, and drawing her aside said:

"Dear, something awful has happened to Nick Cap.r.o.n and Mary can't be found. I fancy she must have been feeling ill and gone home without telling anyone. Anyway, Mr. de Grey and I are going to see. I've asked Bramham to take you home as soon as you would like to go.... the others will want to dance until dawn.... Billy is at the Club, too, it appears."

"I'll come now," said Poppy quickly, forgetful of everything in the momentary excitement.

"No; I can't wait for you, dear, as I'm ready. Better come on with Mr.

Bramham or Mr. Abinger. Suppose you and Miss Allendner wait at Sea House for me?... It's an easy drive from the Club.... I'll call for you there, and we'll all go up home together.... it will probably be painful, breaking the news to poor Mary. I'll come as soon as I can afterwards."

She hurried away, and Poppy, excusing herself to her partner, went to the dressing-room for her wraps. On her way she met Abinger, told him swiftly what had happened, and asked him to find Miss Allendner. But when she emerged from the dressing-room Abinger and Bramham were waiting for her, minus the companion.

"She was dancing so happily for the first time to-night, that I hadn't the heart to drag her away," said Abinger, with unheard-of benevolence.

The truth was that Miss Allendner did not at all enter into his plans for the evening, and so he had not bothered to look for her.

The three of them left the hall together and reached Bramham's carriage, which had been sent for. Afterwards they drove away in the direction of Sea House. Bramham, with permission, smoked moodily out of a window, and Abinger, without permission, under cover of the uncertain light, took Poppy's hand; but it lay like a smooth, cold stone, and gave no response to his hot hold. His hands were as bad as his eyes; by just holding a woman's hand for three seconds, he could tell her things which for her soul's sake she had avoided knowing all her life.

They were a silent party when they arrived at Sea House. In the dining-room they sat down and Bramham drummed his fingers on the table, wondering where Carson was. Luggage was lying in the verandah, and Bramham's note was open on the table; but of Carson himself no sign.

Inspiration came to Abinger to go and rout out the servants to make coffee and sandwiches, for there was a distinct chill in the air, and as none of them had partaken of any supper to speak of, they felt weary and collapsed. As it happened, the servants had not gone to bed, so the coffee soon made its appearance, and at Poppy's suggestion a further supply was ordered to be ready for Mrs. Portal and de Grey. They sat at the table, and Poppy poured out the coffee; but Bramham was restless and began to walk the room, staring out at the night, and then into Carson's room, which led from the dining-room, and the door of which stood ajar.

Once he sniffed the air, and then stopped and listened.

Abinger smiled sourly at him.

"Whose trail are _you_ on, Bram?"

"There's something odd in the air--some unusual scent," was the answer.

"Perhaps Miss Chard can account for it," suggested Abinger. Bramham ventured near her, sniffing still.

"I never use scent," said she, "but I, too, seem to smell some heavy scent."

"Someone's been here," said Bramham, convinced, and thereupon called in the _boys_ again and questioned them in Zulu.

"No--no one had been," they said, "excepting only _Intandugaza_, who had remained but a little while and gone away very angry."

Both Abinger and the white woman in the white gown who sat by the table understood Zulu, and heard for the first time now of Carson's arrival that evening. To Abinger the fact did not mean much. But Poppy sat staring with frozen lips at her bunch of orange leaves which lay now upon the table. Also, she was listening intently. It seemed to her that the sea, rustling and whispering on the beach at the foot of the garden, had a message for her that she had often heard before, but had never understood. Dimly, for the first time, the meaning of its mysterious sighing was creeping into her weary brain.

"_Rest, rest, rest--peace--rest_," it whispered and sang.

Bramham came to the table, took another sandwich, and ate it walking about the room.

"Well, I can smell something," he averred, as though making a new statement. "Can't you, Abinger?"

"Oh, have some more coffee, Bram. Your nerves have gone back on you."

Poppy poured him out another cup.

"We are all odd to-night," she said, with a wan smile.

"It must be the news about poor Nick Cap.r.o.n," Bram said, and was just taking his coffee-cup from her hand when they thought they heard a sound. They looked at each other. It was a gentle little sound, and might have been anything imagination suggested--a groan, or a cough, or an exclamation. They waited intently to hear it repeated, but it never came again. Abruptly Bramham caught up a lamp--the lamp with Mrs.

Brookfield's little pink-silk shade upon it, and walked towards the only door of the room that was open. It was the door of Carson's bedroom--Poppy's eyes saw that in a moment. She and Abinger had risen and followed Bram, and stood behind him in the doorway. Her eyes took in every detail of the wide, breezy room; the long, green curtains at the windows, the heavy oak furniture, the guns, and whips, and rods standing about, the books--and a big photograph of Mrs. Portal's gay-sad face, smiling, on the mantelpiece.

Then she went back to her chair and listened once more to the whispering sea:

"_Rest, rest--peace, rest._"

"I swear I heard someone say 'Oh!'" said Bramham angrily.

"Look under the bed," mocked Abinger.

"Look under it yourself, my dear fellow!"

They returned to the dining-room.

"What a beast of a night!" continued Bramham explosively. "What is one to do? I've a good mind to take a run up to the Club and see whether I can do anything, or where the others are ... shall I? Will you people come too?"

"No," said Poppy quietly. "We'll stay here. I have something to say to Mr. Abinger."

At any other time Bramham might have found this remark surprising, but on this upside-down night, when nothing had happened as it should have done, and the air was full of odd scents and sounds, he merely thought it in keeping with the rest of things, so he departed, without even taking his hat.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

Nick Cap.r.o.n lay on a bed in one of the bedrooms of the Club--a sobbing, raving, blaspheming figure, fearful in bandages sodden with blood, his arms strapped to the sides of the bed to keep him from tearing at his throat. The doctor and Portal stood by, regarding him, one with a calm, professional eye, the other with a wet forehead. Carson sat on a chair at the foot of the bed with a face like a stone wall, staring straight before him, his hands in his pockets.

The injured man spoke continuously in a gurgling, guttural way, half of his words intelligible, the other half maniacal. His main plaint was for the sight of Carson, whom he had not recognised.

"I wish you'd fetch Carson ... there's no one like old Karri ... he's worth the whole d.a.m.ned boiling of you ... besides, I have something to say to him ... if I am booked for the last stretch I'd like Karri to see me off.... Oh, blazes! what the----is this at my throat? Carson!

Karri--where is my devoted wife, too? _She_ ought to be here to speed the parting guest ... Mary--a d.a.m.ned iceberg ... but I'd like some ice.... Give me some ice, Karri----"

After a time the narcotic administered began to take effect, and the watchers were relieved from the strain of listening to these ravings.

Ferrand and Portal took drinks and sat down to wait for the coming of Mrs. Cap.r.o.n.

"--And an infernal long time she is about it," said Ferrand. "What do _you_ think, Karri?"

If Carson had an opinion on the subject he did not state it, but he roused himself and looked at the time. It was nearly half-past one.

"I must get home," he muttered. "If you want me Ferrand, you can telephone to Bramham's house. I want to see Bramham," he added absently.

Ferrand c.o.c.ked a professional eye at him.

"You're used up, Carson. Go home and sleep, but first see if you can find Mrs. Cap.r.o.n, there's a good chap. We can't have this over again when he comes to. She _must_ be here and that's all there is to it. You can use my cart if you like, to get home in. Get a rest, old man ... you look just about _peleela_ ... take my cart."

Carson accepted the offer and went out, followed by Portal through the silent rooms of the Club to the front verandah.

Ferrand's red-wheeled dog-cart, with its coolie-driver, usually formed part of the street furniture, for the doctor had a happy habit of leaving it outside the Club door, going in and settling down to poker and forgetting all about it. But at the moment it was nowhere to be seen, the fact being that the man, tired of sitting still, had begun to walk the horse, and was now out of sight at the far end of the street.