And then there’s poor little Alice to
consider, and—and you yourself, Mrs. Lawford: I wouldn’t give the
fellow—friend though he was, in a way—it isn’t safe to give him five
minutes’ freedom. We’ve simply got to save you from yourself, Mrs
Lawford; that’s what it is—and from old-fashioned sentiment. And I only
wish Bethany was here now to dispute it!’

He stirred himself down, as it were, into his clothes, and stood in the
middle of the hearthrug, gently oscillating, with his hands behind his
back. But at some faint rumour out of the silent house his posture
suddenly stiffened, and he lifted a little, with heavy, steady lids,
his head. ‘What is the matter, Danton?’ said Mr Craik in a small voice; ‘why are
you listening?’

‘I wasn’t listening,’ said Danton stoutly, ‘I was thinking.’

At the same moment, at the creak of a footstep on the kitchen stairs,
Lawford also had drawn soundlessly back into the darkness of the empty
drawing-room. ‘While Mr Danton is “thinking,” Sheila,’ Mrs Lovat was softly
interposing, ‘do please listen a moment to _me_. Do you mean really
that that Frenchman—the one you’ve pocketed—is the poor creature in the
grave?’

‘Yes, Mrs Lawford,’ said Mr Craik, putting out his face a little, ‘are
we to take it that you mean that?’

‘It’s the same date, dear, the same name even to the spelling; what
possibly else can I think?’

‘And that the poor creature in the grave actually climbed up out of the
darkness and—well, what?’

‘I know no more than you do _now_, Bettie. But the two faces—you must
remember you haven’t seen my husband _since_.’ You must remember you
haven’t heard the peculiar—the most peculiar things he—Arthur
himself—has said to me. Things such as a wife... And not in jest,
Bettie; I assure you....’

‘And Mr Bethany?’ interpolated Mr Craik modestly, feeling his way. ‘Pah, Bethany, Craik! He’d back Old Nick himself if he came with a good
tale. We’ve got to act; we’ve got to settle his hash before he does any
mischief.’

‘Well,’ began Mrs Lovat, smiling a little remorsefully beneath the arch
of her raised eyebrows, ‘I sincerely hope you’ll all forgive me; but I
really am, heart and soul, with Old Nick, as Mr Danton seems on
intimate terms enough to call him. Dead, he is really immensely
alluring; and alive, I think, awfully—just awfully pitiful and—and
pathetic. But if I know anything of Arthur he won’t be beaten by a
Frenchman. As for just the portrait, I think, do you know, I almost
prefer dark men’—she glanced up at the face immediately in front of the
clock—‘at least,’ she added softly, ‘when they are not looking very
vindictive. I suppose people are fairly often possessed, Mr Craik? _How_ many “deadly sins” are there?’

‘As a matter of fact, Mrs Lovat, there are seven. But I think in this
case Mrs Lawford intends to suggest not so much that—that her husband
is in that condition; habitual sin, you know—grave enough, of course, I
own—but that he is actually being compelled, even to the extent of a
more or less complete change of physiognomy, to follow the biddings of
some atrocious spiritual influence. It is no breach of confidence to
say that I have myself been present at a death-bed where the struggle
against what I may call the end was perfectly awful to witness. I don’t
profess to follow all the ramifications of the affair, but though
possibly Mr Danton may seem a little harsh, such harshness, if I may
venture to intercede, is not necessarily “vindictive.” And—and personal
security is a consideration.’

‘If you only knew the awful fear, the awful uncertainty I have been in,
Bettie! Oh, it is worse, infinitely worse, than you can possibly
imagine. I have myself heard the Voice speak out of him—a high, hard,
nasal voice. I’ve seen what Mr Danton calls the “glassiness” come into
his face, and an expression so wild and so appallingly depraved, as it
were, that I have had to hurry downstairs to hide myself from the
thought. I’m willing to sacrifice everything for my own husband and for
Alice; but can it be expected of me to go on harbouring....’ Lawford
listened on in vain for a moment; poor Sheila, it seemed, had all but
broken down. ‘Look here, Mrs Lawford,’ began Danton huskily, ‘you really mustn’t
give way; you really mustn’t. It’s awful, unspeakably awful, I admit. But here we are; friends, in the midst of friends. And there’s
absolutely nothing—What’s that? Eh? Who is it?... Oh, the maid!’

Ada stood in the doorway looking in. ‘All I’ve come to ask, ma’am,’ she
said in a low voice, ‘is, am I to stay downstairs any longer? And are
you aware there’s somebody in the house?’

‘What’s that? What’s that you’re saying?’ broke out the husky voice
again. ‘Control yourself! Speak gently! What’s that?’

‘Begging your pardon, sir, I’m perfectly under control. And all I say
is that I can’t stay any longer alone downstairs there. There’s
somebody in the house.’

A concentrated hush seemed to have fallen on the little assembly. ‘“Somebody”—but who?’ said Sheila out of the silence. ‘You come up
here, Ada, with these idle fancies. Who’s in the house? There has been
no knock—no footstep.’

‘No knock, no footstep, ma’am, that I’ve heard. It’s Dr Ferguson,
ma’am. He was here that first night; and he’s been here ever since. He
was here when I came on Tuesday; and he was here last night. And he’s
here now. I can’t be deceived by my own feelings. It’s not right, it’s
not out-spoken to keep me in the dark like this. And if you have no
objection, I would like to go home.’

Lawford in his utter weariness had nearly closed the door and now sat
bent up on a chair, wondering vaguely when this poor play was coming to
an end, longing with an intensity almost beyond endurance for the keen
night air, the open sky. But still his ears drank in every tiniest
sound or stir. He heard Danton’s lowered voice muttering his arguments. He heard Ada quietly sniffing in the darkness of the hall. And this was
his world! This was his life’s panorama, creaking on at every jolt. This was the ‘must’ Grisel had sent him back to—these poor fools packed
together in a panic at an old stale tale! Well, they would all come out
presently, and cluster; and the crested, cackling fellow would lead
them safely away out of the haunted farmyard. He started out of his reverie at Danton’s voice close at hand. ‘Look here, my good girl, we haven’t the least intention of keeping you
in the dark. If you want to leave your mistress like this in the midst
of her anxieties she says you can go and welcome. But it’s not a bit of
good in the world coming up with these cock-and-bull stories. The truth
is your master’s mad, that’s the sober truth of it—hopelessly insane,
you understand; and we’ve got to find him. But nothing’s to be said,
d’ye see? It’s got to be done without fuss or scandal. But if there’s
any witness wanted, or anything of that kind, why, here you are; and,’
he dropped his voice to an almost inaudible hoot, ‘and well worth your
while! You did see him, eh?