“I?”
“Yes—that socialist maniac you dragged me to hear one Sunday in Hyde Park.”
“Whew!” said Jimmie. He remembered the look in the orator's eyes, his crazy, meaningless words, his fierce refusal to enter into friendly talk; also Morland's impatient exclamation and abrupt departure as soon as they had learned the man's name.
“He's as mad as a hatter,” he said. “If he should take it into his head to come down here and make a row, there will be the deuce to pay,” said Morland.
Jimmie reflected for a moment. The man, with his wild talk of maidens lashed to the chariot-wheels of the rich, must have been tortured by the sense of some personal wrong.
“How does he come into the story?” he asked. “You had better tell me.”
“The usual way. Oh, I wish to God I had never got into this mess! A man of position is an infernal fool to go rotting about after that sort of thing. Oh, don't you see? He had a crazy passion for her, was engaged to her—he was mad then. When I came along, he had to drop it, and he has been persecuting her ever since—divided between the desire to marry her in spite of everything, and to murder me. That's why I had the assumed name and false address. I would n't have let you in for this bother, but I could n't go and run the risk of being blackmailed at a confounded little stationer's shop up a back street. He has been trying to get on my track all the time—and now he's succeeded, thanks to Aline. Why the devil could n't she hold her tongue?”
“Because she is an innocent child, who has never dreamed of evil,” said Jimmie.
Morland walked about the room, agitated, for a few moments, then halted.
“Oh, yes, I know, Jimmie. She is n't to blame. Besides, the mischief is done, so it's no use talking.”
“Were you thinking of any such possibility in the summer when you asked me to help you?” said Jimmie. Morland cast a quick, hopeful glance at his friend.
“Something of the sort. One never knows. You were the only man I could rely on.”
“Does this man know you by sight?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Then what are you so afraid of? Look here, my dear old boy,” he said cheerily, “you are being frighted by false fire. If it is only a question of dealing with the man when he comes here—that is, supposing he does come—which is very unlikely, I will tackle him as the only person who knows anything about David Rendell. I'll tell him David Rendell is in Scotland or Honolulu.”
“He is on the track of the false name,” said Morland, uneasily. “Aline mentions that.”
“He is bound to come to me first,” said Jimmie. “I'll fix him. We'll get on capitally together. There's a freemasonry between lunatics. Leave it all to me.”
“Really?” cried Morland, in great eagerness.
“Of course,” said Jimmie. “Let us go upstairs.”
They passed out of the billiard-room in silence. On their way to the drawing-room Morland murmured in a shamefaced way his apologia. He was just at the beginning of his electoral campaign. It was his own county. He was hand in glove with the duchess, sovereign lady of these parts, and she never forgave a scandal. “Besides,” he added, “to quote your own words, it would break Norma's heart.” Also, employing the limited vocabulary of his class and type, he reiterated the old assurance that he had not been a beast. He had done all that a man could to make amends. If Jimmie had not loved him so loyally, he would have seen something very pitiful in these excuses; but convinced that Morland had atoned as far as lay in his power for his fault, he trembled for the happiness of only those dear to him.
Norma met them on the drawing-room landing.
“I was coming down to see what had become of you,” she said.
“I have been the culprit. I restore him to you,” laughed Jimmie. He entered the room and closed the door. The betrothed pair stood for a moment in an embarrassed silence. She laid a hesitating hand on his sleeve.
“Morland—” she said diffidently. “I was really wanting to have a little talk with you. Somehow we don't often see one another.”
Morland, surprised at the softness in her voice, led her back to the billiard-room.