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Avenger, a novel by E. Phillips Oppenheim |
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Chapter 4. Under A Cloud |
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_ CHAPTER IV. UNDER A CLOUD Exactly one week later, six men were smoking their after-dinner cigars at the same round table in the dining-room at the Sheridan Club. As a rule, it was the hour when, with all the reserve of the day thrown aside, badinage and jest reigned supreme, and the humourist came to his own. To-night chairs were drawn a little closer together, voices were subdued, and the conversation was of a more serious order. Not even the pleasant warmth of the room, the fragrance of tobacco, and the comfortable sense of having dined, could altogether dispel a feeling of uneasiness which all more or less shared. It chanced that all six were friends of Herbert Wrayson's. The Colonel, as usual, was in the chair, but even on his kindly features the cloud hovered. "Of course," he said, "none of us who know Wrayson well would believe for a moment that he could be connected in any way with this beastly affair. The unfortunate part of it is, that others, who do not know him, might easily be led to think otherwise!" "It is altogether his own fault, too," Mason remarked. "He gave his evidence shockingly." "And his movements that night, or rather that morning, were certainly a little peculiar," another man remarked. "His connection with the affair seemed to consist of a series of coincidences. The law does not look favourably upon coincidences!" "But, after all," the Colonel remarked, "he scarcely knew the fellow! Just nodded to him on the stairs, and that sort of thing. Why, there isn't a shadow of a motive!" "We can't be sure of that, Colonel," Heneage remarked quietly. "I wonder how much we really know of the inner lives of even our closest friends? I fancy that we should be surprised if we realized our ignorance!" The Colonel stroked his grey moustache thoughtfully. "That may be true," he said, "of a good many of us. Wrayson, however, never struck me as being a particularly secretive sort of chap." "Unfortunately, that counts for very little," Heneage declared. "The things which surprise us most in life come often from the most unlikely people. We none of us mean to be deceitful, but a perfectly honest life is a luxury which few of us dare indulge in." The Colonel regarded him gravely. "I hope," he said, "that you don't mean that you consider Wrayson capable--" "I wasn't thinking of Wrayson at all," Heneage interrupted. "I was generalizing. But I must say this. I think that, given sufficient provocation or motive, there isn't one of us who wouldn't be capable of committing murder. A man's outer life is lived according to the laws of circumstances and society: his inner one no one knows anything about, except himself--and God!" "Heneage," Mason sighed, "is always cynical after 'kuemmel.'" Heneage shrugged his shoulders and lit a cigarette. "No!" he said, "I am not cynical. I simply have a weakness for the truth. You will find it rather a hard material to collect if you set out in earnest. But to return to Wrayson. Let me ask you a question. We are all friends of his, more or less intimate friends. You would all of you scout the idea of his having any share in the murder of Morris Barnes. What did you make of his evidence at the inquest this afternoon? What do you think of his whole deportment and condition?" "I can answer that in one word," the Colonel declared. "I think that it is unfortunate. The poor fellow has been terribly upset, and his nerves have not been able to stand the strain. That is all there is about it!" "Wrayson has been working up to the limit for years," Mason remarked, "and he's not a particularly strong chap. I should say that he was about due for a nervous breakdown." A waiter approached the table and addressed the Colonel--he was wanted on the telephone. During his absence, Heneage leaned back in his chair and relapsed into his usual imperturbability. He was known amongst his friends generally as the silent man. It was very seldom that he contributed so much to their discussions as upon this occasion. Perhaps for that reason his words, when he spoke, always carried weight. Mason changed his place and sat beside him. The others had wandered off into a discussion upon a new magazine. "Between ourselves, Heneage," Mason said quietly, "have you anything at the back of your head about Wrayson?" Heneage did not immediately reply. He was gazing at the little cloud of blue tobacco smoke which he had just expelled from his lips. "There is no reason," he declared, "why my opinion should be worth any more than any one else's. I think as highly of Wrayson as any of you." "Granted," Mason answered. "But you have a theory or an idea of some sort concerning him. What is it?" "If you really want to know," Heneage said, "I believe that Wrayson has kept something back. It is a very dangerous thing to do, and I believe that he realizes it. I believe that he has some secret knowledge of the affair which he has not disclosed--knowledge which he has kept out of his evidence altogether." "A--guilty--knowledge?" Mason whispered. "Not necessarily!" Heneage answered. "He may be shielding some one." "If you are right," Mason said anxiously, "it is a serious affair." "Very serious indeed," Heneage assented. "I believe that he is realizing it." The Colonel came back looking a little disturbed. "Sorry, boys, but I must be off," he announced. "Wrayson has just telephoned to ask me to go down and see him. I'm afraid he's queer! I've sent for a hansom." "Poor chap!" Mason murmured. "Let us know if any of us can do anything." The Colonel nodded and took his departure. The others drifted up into the billiard-room. Heneage alone remained seated at the end of the table. He was playing idly with his wineglass, but his eyes were fixed steadfastly, if a little absently, upon the Colonel's empty place. _ |
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