(IV)
It was on the morning of the twenty-fourth that Mr. Parham-Carter was summoned by the neat maid-servant of the clergy-house to see two gentlemen. She presented two cards on a plated salver, inscribed with the names of Richard Guiseley and John B. Kirkby. He got up very quickly, and went downstairs two at a time. A minute later he brought them both upstairs and shut the door.
"Sit down," he said. "I'm most awfully glad you've come. I ... I've been fearfully upset by all this, and I haven't known what to do."
"Now where is he?" demanded Jack Kirkby.
The clergyman made a deprecatory face.
"I've absolutely promised not to tell," he said. "And you know—"
"But that's ridiculous. We've come on purpose to fetch him away. It simply mustn't go on. That's why I didn't write. I sent Frank's letter on to Mr. Guiseley here (he's a cousin of Frank's, by the way), and he asked me to come up to town. I got to town last night, and we've come down here at once this morning."
Mr. Parham-Carter glanced at the neat melancholy-faced, bearded man who sat opposite.
"But you know I promised," he said.
"Yes," burst in Jack; "but one doesn't keep promises one makes to madmen. And—"
"But he's not mad in the least. He's—"
"Well?"
"I was going to say that it seems to me that he's more sane than anyone else," said the young man dismally. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but—"
Dick Guiseley nodded with such emphasis that he stopped.
"I know what you mean," said Dick in his gentle drawl. "And I quite understand."
"But it's all sickening rot," burst in Jack. "He must be mad. You don't know Frank as I do—neither of you. And now there's this last business—his father's marriage, I mean; and—"
He broke off and looked across at Dick.
"Go on," said Dick; "don't mind me."
"Well, we don't know whether he's heard of it or not; but he must hear sooner or later, and then—"
"But he has heard of it," interrupted the clergyman. "I showed him the paragraph myself."
"He's heard of it! And he knows all about it!"
"Certainly. And I understood from him that he knew the girl: the Rector's daughter, isn't it?"
"Knows the girl! Why, he was engaged to her himself."
"What?"
"Yes; didn't he tell you?"
"He didn't give me the faintest hint—"
"How did he behave? What did he say?"
Mr. Parham-Carter stared a moment in silence.
"What did he say?" snapped out Jack impatiently.
"Say? He said nothing. He just told me he knew the girl, when I asked him."
"Good God!" remarked Jack. And there was silence.
Dick broke it.
"Well, it seems to me we're rather in a hole."
"But it's preposterous," burst out Jack again. "Here's poor old Frank, simply breaking his heart, and here are we perfectly ready to do anything we can—why, the chap must be in hell!"
"Look here, Mr. Parham-Carter," said Dick softly. "What about your going round to his house and seeing if he's in, and what he's likely to be doing to-day."
"He'll be at the factory till this evening."
"The factory?"
"Yes; he's working at a jam factory just now."
A sound of fury and disdain broke from Jack.
"Well," continued Dick, "(May I take a cigarette, by the way?), why shouldn't you go round and make inquiries, and find out how the land lies? Then Kirkby and I might perhaps hang about a bit and run up against him—if you'd just give us a hint, you know."
The other looked at him a moment.
"Well, perhaps I might," he said doubtfully. "But what—"
"Good Lord! But you'll be keeping your promise, won't you? After all, it's quite natural we should come down after his letter—and quite on the cards that we should run up against him.... Please to go at once, and let us wait here."
In a quarter of an hour Mr. Parham-Carter came back quickly into the room and shut the door.
"Yes; he's at the factory," he said. "Or at any rate he's not at home. And they don't expect him back till late."
"Well?"
"There's something up. The girl's gone, too. (No; she's not at the factory.) And I think there's going to be trouble."