(IV)
"Well, I'll tell you the whole thing as far as I understand it," began Frank, as the door closed behind Jackson, who had brought whisky and candles. "And then I'll answer any questions you want."
He settled himself back in his chair, stretching out his legs and clasping his hands behind his head. Jack had a good view of him and could take notice of his own impressions, though he found them hard to put into words afterwards. The words he finally chose were "subdued" and "patient" again, and there are hardly two words that would have been less applicable to Frank three months before. At the same time his virility was more noticeable than ever; he had about him, Jack said, something of the air of a very good groom—a hard-featured and sharp, yet not at all unkindly look, very capable and, at the same time, very much restrained. There was no sentimental nonsense about him at all—his sorrow had not taken that form.
"Well, I needn't talk much about Jenny's last letter and what happened after that. I was entirely unprepared, of course. I hadn't the faintest idea—Well, she was the one person about whom I had no doubts at all! I actually left the letter unread for a few minutes (the envelope was in your handwriting, you know)—because I had to think over what I had to do next. The police had got me turned away from a builder's yard—"
Jack emitted a small sound. He was staring at Frank with all his eyes.
"Yes; that's their way," said Frank. "Well, when I read it, I simply couldn't think any more at all for a time. The girl we were traveling with—she had picked up with the man I had got into trouble over, you know—the girl was calling me to dinner, she told me afterwards. I didn't hear a sound. She came and touched me at last, and I woke up. But I couldn't say anything. They don't even now know what's the matter. I came away that afternoon. I couldn't even wait for the Major—"
"Eh?"
"The Major.... Oh! that's what the chap calls himself. I don't think he's lying, either. I simply couldn't stand him another minute just then. But I sent them a postcard that night—I forget where from; and—There aren't any letters for me, are there?
"One or two bills."
"Oh! well, I shall hear soon, I expect. I must join them again in a day or two. They're somewhere in this direction, I know."
"And what did you do?"
Frank considered.
"I'm not quite sure. I know I walked a great deal. People were awfully good to me. One woman stopped her motor—and I hadn't begged, either—"
"You! Begged!"
"Lord, yes; lots of times.... Well, she gave me a quid, and I didn't even thank her. And that lasted me very well, and I did a little work too, here and there."
"But, good Lord! what did you do?"
"I walked. I couldn't bear towns or people or anything. I got somewhere outside of Ripon at last, and went out on to the moors. I found an old shepherd's hut for about a week or ten days—"
"And you—"
"Lived there? Yes. I mended the hut thoroughly before I came away. And then I thought I'd come on here."
"What were you doing on the bridge?"
"Waiting till dark. I was going to ask at the lodge then whether you were at home."
"And if I hadn't been?"
"Gone on somewhere else, I suppose."
Jack tried to help himself to a whisky and soda, but the soda flew out all over his shirt-front like a fountain, and he was forced to make a small remark. Then he made another.
"What about prison?"
Frank smiled.
"Oh! I've almost forgotten that. It was beastly at the time, though."
"And ... and the Major and the work! Lord! Frank, you do tell a story badly."
He smiled again much more completely.
"I'm too busy inside," he said. "Those things don't seem to matter much, somehow."
"Inside? What the deuce do you mean?"
Frank made a tiny deprecating gesture.
"Well, what it's all about, you know ... Jack."
"Yes."
"It's a frightfully priggish thing to say, but I'm extraordinarily interested as to what's going to happen next—inside, I mean. At least, sometimes; and then at other times I don't care a hang."
Jack looked bewildered, and said so tersely. Frank leaned forward a little.
"It's like this, you see. Something or other has taken me in hand: I'm blessed if I know what. All these things don't happen one on the top of the other just by a fluke. There's something going on, and I want to know what it is. And I suppose something's going to happen soon."
"For God's sake do say what you mean!"
"I can't more than that. I tell you I don't know. I only wish somebody could tell me."
"But what does it all amount to? What are you going to do next?"
"Oh! I know that all right. I'm going to join the Major and Gertie again."
"Frank!"
"Yes?... No, not a word, please. You promised you wouldn't. I'm going to join those two again and see what happens."
"But why?"
"That's my job. I know that much. I've got to get that girl back to her people again. She's not his wife, you know."
"But what the devil—"
"It seems to me to matter a good deal. Oh! she's a thoroughly stupid girl, and he's a proper cad; but that doesn't matter. It's got to be done; or, rather, I've got to try to do it. I daresay I shan't succeed, but that, again, doesn't matter. I've got to do my job, and then we'll see."
Jack threw up his hands.
"You're cracked!" he said.
"I daresay," said Frank solemnly.
There was a pause. It seemed to Jack that the whole thing must be a dream. This simply wasn't Frank at all. The wild idea came to him that the man who sat before him with Frank's features was some kind of changeling. Mentally he shook himself.
"And what about Jenny?" he said.
Frank sat perfectly silent and still for an instant. Then he spoke without heat.
"I'm not quite sure," he said. "Sometimes I'd like to ... well, to make her a little speech about what she's done, and sometimes I'd like to crawl to her and kiss her feet—but both those things are when I'm feeling bad. On the whole, I think—though I'm not sure—that is not my business any more; in fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. It's part of the whole campaign and out of my hands. It's no good talking about that any more. So please don't, Jack."
"One question?"
"Well?"
"Have you written to her or sent her a message?"
"No."
"And I want to say one other thing. I don't think it's against the bargain."
"Well?"
"Will you take five hundred pounds and go out to the colonies?"
Frank looked up with an amused smile.
"No, I won't—thanks very much.... Am I in such disgrace as all that, then?"
"You know I don't mean that," said Jack quietly.
"No, old chap. I oughtn't to have said that. I'm sorry."
Jack waved a hand.
"I thought perhaps you'd loathe England, and would like—And you don't seem absolutely bursting with pride, you know."
"Honestly, I don't think I am," said Frank. "But England suits me very well—and there are the other two, you know. But I'll tell you one thing you could do for me."
"Yes?"
"Pay those extra bills. I don't think they're much."
"That's all right," said Jack. "And you really mean to go on with it all?"
"Why, yes."