There was not a rickshaw to be seen; they were all waiting for revellers outside the Town Hall. Fatigue was beginning to tell on Carson: he rapped out a bad and bitter word.

"Cheer up!" said Portal blithely. "You'll soon be dead!"

It was a well-worn expression, and Carson was accustomed to it, but upon this occasion it jarred. Something in Portal's voice was jarring, too.

Now that Carson came to remark it, for the first time that evening there was something wrong with Portal's appearance as well as his voice.

Instead of being in evening-dress, he had on a brown tweed morning-suit, in which, to judge by its appearance, he might have been knocking about the veldt for several weeks. On the other hand, his face was as bloodless and sallow as if he had been shut in a cellar for a month, and his eyes were sunk deep in his head. Withal, he was cheerful, full of suppressed excitement--almost it might be said that he was gay. After many years in Africa, Carson was accustomed to all kinds of moods and tenses in his friends; also, being an intimate of Portal's, he was aware that the latter possessed a troublesome liver. But somehow, none of these things could quite account for the extraordinary aspect and manner of Portal to-night. Under the powerful rays of a street light which fizzled and hummed close by, Carson observed him intently.

"What's the matter with you, Bill? You look queer. Anything wrong? ...

besides Cap.r.o.n, I mean...?"

The other responded with apparent composure.

"No, nothing. I'm only glad to see you, Carson, that's all. I'd no idea you were back from the Rand. I had arranged to go up there after you, but----"

"When? What for?" asked Carson in surprise. He was unable to make head or tail of Portal's speech.

"Oh, nothing; just wanted to see you. You're a fascinating chap."

Carson gazed at him.

One of Portal's hands spasmodically gripped and ungripped the verandah rail. With the other he appeared to be holding something stiff in the right pocket of his coat. He continued to talk in parables.

"I went as far as Maritzburg, but I came back to-night to put my affairs into shape and write a few letters--then those fellows came in and asked me to take charge of Cap.r.o.n ... I left him asleep, I thought ... I was writing a letter to--well, never mind who to--when I heard a row ...

and there was Cap.r.o.n ... _he'd got ahead of me_."

"But, good Lord! what do you mean?" Carson burst out. "What's wrong with you? Have your finances gone smash?" he brought an iron hand down on the restless one gripping the verandah railing. The stiff article in Portal's pocket twitched. Carson's career had been adventurous and dangerous, but he had never been nearer death than at that moment.

Entirely unconscious of the fact, he went on speaking.

"If you've had a smash-up, Bill, everything I've got is at your disposal.... I've just made a good turn-over in the market.... I thought I should need it, for ... but _my_ castle is in ruins.... You can have it if it's any good to you."

"Thanks, Carson--my finances are all right."

"Then what in thunder's the matter with you?--haven't you got the only good woman in this filthy country I'd like to know! I could swear to _two_ until to-night. _Now_, if it were not for your wife, I should say they were all rotten to the core ... false as--Oh, well, what's the use?" he turned wearily away.

"Have you spoken to my wife since you got back?" asked Portal. He had come closer and was staring intently into Carson's odd eyes as if searching for something there. His gay air was gone; he breathed heavily.

"I haven't spoken to any woman--except a devil in the train to-day--for nearly three weeks. And after to-night I think I'll be able to exist without 'em forever. But I saw Mrs. Portal from the door of the Town Hall; and she looked to me remarkably ill. Is _that_ your trouble?"

Portal did not answer at once, and Carson turned on him austerely and keenly. "If it's any other woman, don't expect _me_ to sympathise with you--I could forgive any man that but you--bah! but it couldn't be ...

impossible!... Look here, Bill, I may as well tell you something now ...

you can take it how you like ... I'm not ashamed of it ... I was in love with your wife for years ... she has never known it for one moment ...

but I loved her crazily--everything and everyone else went by the board ... until I met her I was--well, I needn't tell _you_ what I was--no follower of Plato, anyway--and you can take this how you please, too--I am not going to pretend that there was anything platonic about my feeling for her ... there was _not_.... But, because she never turned her eyes my way ... or stepped down once in all the years I've known her and you from her shrine ... it got finer and finer until it got to be the highest, finest thing in my life, and anything decent that I've ever done was because of it."

Portal had turned his head away before Carson had finished and appeared to be looking at something down the street. The thought came to Carson that he was either indifferent or not listening.

"Ah, well!" said he, angry to have wasted his confidence and yet too weary to be angry long. "I daresay this doesn't interest you much ...

you know, of course, that dozens of men have been in love with your wife ... she's one of the women men can't help loving with all that's decent in them--any more than one can help loving one's mother. A love like that is like a star in the sky of a man's life ... a star that shows the way to the east.... And if _you_ are one of those fellows that don't know when a star has come down to you, why----"

Portal turned a shaken, strange face to the other man.

"Carson, you must excuse me; I'm queer to-night ... I've been listening to Cap.r.o.n's ravings until I'm nearly raving myself ... but I think I understand ... I begin to see through it all.... Women do and say strange things in the name of Love!... But I _know_ that what you say is true--I believe in you, Karri."

Carson could not pretend to understand the meaning of this, and moreover, Ferrand's cart was at the door, and the sickening remembrance of his own broken hopes was upon him.

"Well, good-night, old man.... I must go home. If anything I've got can be of any use to you, let me know." He held out his hand and Portal gripped it.

"Good-night, Karri--I'm going home, too." His face was transformed.

Carson never solved the problem of that conversation with Portal; never knew how near death he had been, never knew how his accidental confidence had saved his life and given back her husband to Clem Portal.

Indeed, he never remembered much about his interview with Portal at all.

The memory of it was lost amongst the crowded events of that phantasmagorial night.

Ferrand's coolie spun the cart along at a great rate behind the doctor's best polo pony. Just as they turned into West Street a flying rickshaw pa.s.sed them, but though Carson heard a man's voice hailing he did not respond. Mrs. Portal and de Grey were in the rickshaw returning from long and vain seeking for Mrs. Cap.r.o.n, and it was de Grey who shouted, thinking he recognised the doctor's cart in the darkness.

But even if Carson had known, he would not have stopped. He had been too long delayed from his own affairs, and he was driving now to get ease from the torture burning in his brain and searing his heart. His thoughts were fixed on one thing now--an interview with Bramham.

"He's the only honest man amongst us, by Heaven!" he said loudly, so that the coolie driver gave him a nervous glance, and drew away. "The only one I'd take the trouble to believe."

He stopped the cart at the gate of Sea House, and told the man to go back to the Club, then strode away up the sea-sanded path. Lights gleamed brilliantly from the dining-room, but silence reigned, and every other part of the house was dark as death. Walking through the verandah with light, swift feet and into the dining-room, he came upon Poppy and Abinger sitting there, facing each other across a corner of the table.

There were tears on her face, and one arm was flung out before her with the gesture of one who has thrown the dice on a last and desperate venture. Abinger's hand lay on hers.

They stood up as Carson sped into the room, his eyes blazing light in his dark face, and before anyone could speak he reached Abinger and without word or warning struck him a tremendous blow between the eyes, felling him to the floor, where he lay quite still. Then he took the girl by the throat--the long, white throat that shone in the darkness.

"By G.o.d! I must kill you!" he said, and his voice was whispering like the sea's. She heard him; but she made no movement upward of her hands, though the pressure on her throat was terrible to bear. She closed her eyes and prepared to die. The thought slipped into her mind then that it would be good to have rest at last from the ache and storm of life. That was the message the sea was whispering.

"_Rest, rest ... peace ... rest!_"

After a long while she opened her eyes and found that she was sitting in the same chair she had previously risen from. Bramham's broad back was before her, but she could see Evelyn Carson leaning heavily against the wall like a drunken man, and Abinger seated in another chair delicately wiping his lips. His scar had opened, and blood was trickling down it.

The silence was broken by Bramham's voice--quite calm and pleasant.

"If you want to kill each other, take a brace of revolvers and go out and do it decently somewhere in the open, where it won't make a mess--killing Miss Chard, however, is quite another matter."

Again silence prevailed. Later, Carson said collectedly:

"She can live--_if she wants to_"--he gave her a look that lashed across her face like a whip, leaving it distorted. "Let them both live, and be d.a.m.ned to them!"

The tone and expression of bitter pleasantry Bramham had adopted, died away.

"Well! _you_ fellows from home--!" he began, and looked from face to face. Abinger continued to wipe blood delicately away, but he did not wipe the sneer from his lips. The girl had the face of a little tired, weeping child: the sight of it turned Bramham's heart to water. He put out a hand to Carson, appealingly:

"G.o.d! Karri, what is it?"

The paleness of Carson under his tan had once more given place to an inartistic-grey tint, and his eyes were dull; but he appeared strangely composed.

"Nothing, Bram," he said. "Only to find the girl you love--less than nothing."

A cry broke upon their ears, and all started and stared about them, especially at the open door of Carson's room, from whence that m.u.f.fled, involuntary sound had come. A stiffness came over them; their masks slipped on. What unknown person had listened to the wild words that had been spoken?