II

"I must never let it happen like that again. What a state this weather can get one into...."

But he had come back to his senses. His brain was clear; he could think now. The great point was that it was of no use to think of himself in this affair. "Rachel, Rachel's the only thing that matters."

Then upon that came the decision. "That old woman's got to pay for it. She's been wantin' to give Rachel a bad time. She's tried to. Her mouth's got to be stopped however old and ill she is!"

He was fiercely, furiously indignant with her—vanished, it appeared, all his affection, the sentiment of years. "I've got to defend Rachel from her, no knowin' whom she's been tellin'." Roddy still found it impossible to admit more than one idea at a time, and the idea now was that "he must stop the old lady dead."

His brain came round now to Breton, and halted there. What kind of fellow, after all, was he? What, after all, did Roddy know about him that he could so easily condemn him?

To-night, fresh from the battle with the Creature, Roddy's view of the world was painted with new colours. The man had been condemned for things that his father had done, and one recognized, here in London, how difficult it was for a fellow to climb up once he had been pushed down.

Was the man in love with Rachel? Well, Roddy did not know that he could blame him for that? ... difficult enough, surely, for anyone not to be. But was he? What, after all, was he like?

Then swiftly the answer came to him. See the man.... Talk to him ... know him. He stared at the idea, felt already new energy in his bones and a surging victory over the lethargy of this awful evening at the suggestion of some definite action.

But see him, yes, and see him here and see him soon. His impatience leapt now hotly upon him; he pulled Jacob's ears. "That's the ticket, old boy, ain't it? See what kind of a ruffian this is! My word, but wouldn't the old lady hate it if she knew?"

But, and at this the room flared with the thrill of it, why not have her here to meet him? Confront her with him.

He was cool now. Here was matter that needed careful handling. Still as vigorous now as in his most active days was his impatience. Was something in the way, cobwebs, barriers, obstacles of any sort? Brush them aside, beat them down!

Here was a plan. Here, too, most happily at hand, was the Duchess's punishment.

All these years had the old lady been refusing to set eyes upon her grandson, therefore, how dramatic would it be were she confronted with him unexpectedly. Out of the heart of that meeting would come most assuredly the truth about Rachel.

There, in a flash, solid, substantial, beautifully compact, magnificently splendid his plan lay before him. He would have them there. Rachel, the Duchess, this Breton, all of them there before him. They should come ignorant, unprepared, Breton first, then Rachel, then the Duchess.

Having them there he would quite simply say that someone had been pouring into his ears a story of friendship to which he might take objection.

He would then, very quietly.... But here he paused. Oh! he knew what he would do. He smiled at the thought of the success of his plan.

When he had made his little speech to them all there would never again be any danger of scandal. The old lady would never again have any single word to say.

The thought that Rachel might be angry at his deceptive plot did not disturb him. When she had heard his little speech she would not say that—and here, suddenly, he knew how deeply, in his heart, he trusted her.

But what if, after all, it should be a lie on the old lady's part? Was he not doing wrong to take things so far without a question to anyone else, Christopher or Lizzie Rand?

But this was Roddy. Here both his pride and his impatience were concerned. He did not wish that the business should pass beyond its present bounds. He could not go from person to person asking them whether they trusted his wife. And then he could not wait. Here was a plan that killed the danger at one blow, something direct, open, with sharply defined issues. Oh! Rachel should see how he loved her!

"All these days," he said to Jacob, "I've been worryin' about her, but I knew—yes, I knew—that she was comin' to me all right." He thought of a day long before and of Miss Nita Raseley and of a meeting in the garden. "I'll show her that I can forgive, too, if it's necessary. Not because I care so little, but, by God, because I care so much. No," he thought, shaking his head over it, "she doesn't love me, not yet. But she's beginnin' to belong to me. She's coming."

There was also the thought that the Duchess was an old, sick woman and that the scene might be too much for her strength. "Not she," he grimly decided, "that's the kind of thing she lives on. Anyway, I owe her one. Didn't do her any harm comin' to me the other day, won't do her any harm now. I know her."

His scheme must be carried out at once. He felt that he could not wait a moment. He would have liked to have had them all there, before him, to-night.

"Why, by this time to-morrow, old boy, it will all be straight. Thank God, my brain cleared, in spite of this damn weather."

He rang the bell and Peters, large, solemn, but bending a loving eye upon his master, appeared.

"Writing things, Peters."

He wrote swiftly two notes.

"Very close to-night, sir."

"Yes, Peters, very."

"You're looking better, sir ... less tired. Your dinner will be up in a quarter of an hour. Nice omelette, nice little bird, nice fruit salad, sardines on toast."

"Thank you, Peters, I'm hungry as—as anything."

"Very glad to hear it, sir."

"I want these two notes sent by hand instantly, do you see?"

"Yes, Sir Rod'rick."

"At once."

"Yes, Sir Rod'rick."

Roddy lay back and surveyed the black sky.

"Nasty storm comin' up—look here, Peters, give me that bird book over there. That big one. Thanks."

Peters retired.