On my father's face came something closer to blank astonishment than I had ever seen there. Something in the situation was puzzling him, and for the moment he seemed unable to cope with it.

"Lawton," he said slowly, "shuffle those cards, or I'll shoot you where you stand."

Mr. Lawton placed the cards on the table, and adjusted them thoughtfully.

"No, you won't," he replied. "I know you better than that. You would never draw a weapon on any man unless he had an equal chance, and I haven't, Shelton."

I had stepped forward beside him. Was there someone else at the bottom of the whole wretched business? Was it possible that my father had no hand in it? A glance at Mr. Lawton answered a half a hundred questions which were darting through my mind.

And my father was still staring in a baffled way, eyeing Mr. Lawton in silent wonder.

"So," he said, "you think I'll forgive you? Is it possible you are relying on my Christian spirit?"

"No," said Mr. Lawton, "I do not ask you to forgive me. I am saying I have stopped. That is all--stopped, do you understand me? I should nave stopped when Jason commissioned me to kill your son. I should have, if this affair with France was not beginning. Even then the business sickened me. What did I care about the money he stole from her? I did not want her money. What did I care if the boy suspected you had not stolen it, but that Jason had it all the time? I couldn't have killed him, because he had some slight glimmerings of sense."

A dozen dim suspicions clashed suddenly together into fact. I looked sharply at my father. He was nodding, with some faint suspicion of amus.e.m.e.nt.

"And so you did not," he said gently. "Your scruples do you credit, after all."

"It was just as well," said Mr. Lawton. "I thought the news your son was attacked would fetch you over. Jason did his best to hush it up, but I knew you would suspect. And you know what it would have meant to me if I could have sent you back to France."

And yet, for some reason, my father was strangely ill at ease. Like someone detected in a falsehood, he looked restlessly about him. For the moment his adroitness seemed to have left him. He made a helpless little gesture of annoyance.

"You say you have stopped?" inquired my father. "Then why not do so, Lawton, and stop talking. Do you think what you say interests me? Do you think I do not know the whole d.a.m.nable business, without your raking it up again? Why should Jason have wished to be rid of me except for her money? Why should you have helped him, except--At least it was not for money, Lawton."

But Mr. Lawton did not heed my father's voice. His glance had come to rest again upon the locket on the table, and the hard lines about his mouth had vanished.

"And she never spoke to me, never looked at me again," he said.

My father started and looked at him quickly.

"Lawton," groaned my uncle, "are you out of your mind?"

Mr. Lawton turned sharp around and faced him with a scowl.

"I told you," he said harshly. "I told you to get me the paper, and I told you what would happen if you did not, and it is happening already, Jason. I am going to tell the story."

My uncle moved convulsively to his feet, and his voice was sharp and malignant.

"Do you suppose anyone will believe you?" he cried. "Do you fancy they will take your word against mine?"

"We will try it," said Mr. Lawton. "There are still people who wonder why Shelton stooped to the thing you accused him of. We certainly will try it."

"And if you do," said my uncle, "I will show it was she who did it--that it was she who urged him on. I'll tell them! D'you hear me? I'll tell them, and they'll take my word for it. They'll take my word!"

"G.o.d!" cried Mr. Lawton. "So that's the reason! So that's the trick you played. You dog! If I had only known--"

His face had become blanched with pa.s.sion, and my uncle staggered back before his upraised hand, but Mr. Lawton did not strike. For a moment he stood rigid, and when he spoke he had regained his self-control.

"You will never tell it, Jason," he said slowly, and then he turned to my father, and inclined his head very gravely, and his voice was no longer harsh and strident.

"I often wondered why you left her so," he said, "and why you did not face it. You feared her name might be dragged in the mire! Because he threatened to bring her into that miserable business, you never raised a hand. I always knew you were a gentleman, but I did not know you were Don Quixote de la Mancha."

For the first time since the two had spoken, my father moved. He leaned across the table, picked up the locket very gently, and placed it in his coat. His eyes rested on Lawton, and returned his bow.

"Rubbish!" said my father. "One liar is bad enough, but why listen to two? We will leave her name out of the conversation. Perhaps I had other reasons for going away. Did they ever occur to you, Lawton? Perhaps, for instance, I was sick of the whole business. Did you ever think I might have found it pleasant to leave so uncongenial an atmosphere, that I was relieved, delighted at the opportunity to leave lying relatives, and friends who turned their backs? Faugh! I have kept the matter quiet for fifteen years, merely because I was too indolent to stand against it. I was too glad to see the cards fall as they did to call for a new deal.

There I was, tied up to a family of sniveling hypocrites. Look at Jason, look at him. Who wouldn't have been glad to get away?"

And he bowed to my uncle ironically.

"Positively, I was glad to hear the crash. 'Very well,' I said, 'I am a thief, since it pleases you to think so.' Thieves at least are a more interesting society, and I have found them so, Lawton, not only more interesting, but more honest."

But somehow there was no ring of conviction to his words. His voice seemed unable to a.s.sume its old cynicism, and his face had lost its former placidity. It had suddenly become old and careworn. Pain and regret, sharp and poignant, were reflected there. His eyes seemed strained and tired, the corners of his mouth had drooped, and his body too was less erect and resolute. Something had been broken. For a moment, his mask and his mantle had dropped where he could not find them. And then, as he stood looking ahead of him at the shadows, he ended his speech in a way that had no logic and no relation to the rest.

"If she had only said she did not believe them--Why did she not say it?"

And then he squared his shoulders and tried again to smile.

"But what difference does it make now? The road has turned too long ago for us to face about."

"She never spoke to me, never looked at me again!" repeated Mr. Lawton.

My father's fist crashed down on the table, but when he spoke his words were precise and devoid of all emotion.

"And why the devil should she," he answered. "We are not questioning her taste. And you, Jason," he added. "No one will doubt your word, or believe this little romance. Do you wonder why? They will never have the opportunity. Brutus, take them down to the boat."

Brutus stepped forward and laid a hand on my uncle's shoulder. He shrank back.

"George," he cried, "you shall have the money. I swear it, George. I have wronged you, but--"

"Yes," said my father, "I shall have the money, and you too, Jason. I shall have everything. Take them along, Brutus," and they left the room in silence, while my father watched them thoughtfully, and arranged the lapel on his coat.

"Ned," said my father, "the rum decanter is over on the bookshelves. Good G.o.d, where is he going?" for Mr. Aiken had darted into the hall, and was running up the staircase.

"Is the man mad? Is--"

My father stopped, and was looking at the table. I followed his glance, and started involuntarily. There had been three pistols lying side by side on the polished mahogany, and now there were only two.

"My son," said my father, "the rum decanter is on the bookshelves. The gla.s.ses--"

A shout from the hall interrupted him.

"B'gad, captain!" Mr. Aiken was roaring. "Damme! Here's another of 'em! You would bite me, would you! h.e.l.l's fire if I don't cut your gullet open."

"What an evening we are having, to be sure," said my father, turning to the doorway.

Mr. Aiken was pushing a man before him into the room, and holding a dirk at his throat.