“If you’re not a good conspirator, it’s another reason for not conspiring, Mr. Beaumaroy. I know you conspired for him first of all, but—”
“Well, he’s safe, he’s at peace. It can all come out now, and it must. You know, and you must tell the truth. I don’t know whether they can put me in prison. I should hardly think they’d bother, if they get the money all right. In any case I don’t care much. Lord, what a lot of people’ll say ‘I told you so—bad egg, that Beaumaroy!’ No, I don’t care. My old man’s safe; I’ve won my big game after all, Doctor Mary!”
“I don’t believe you cared about the money really!” she cried. “That really was a game to you, I think, a trick you liked to play on us respectables!”
He smiled at her confidentially. “I do like beating the respectables,” he admitted. Then he looked at his watch. “I must do what has to be done for the old man. But it’s late—hard on one o’clock. You must be tired—and it’s a sad job.”
“No, I’ll help you. I—I’ve been in hospitals, you know. Only do go first, and cover up that horrible place, and hide that wretched money before I go into the Tower. Will you?” She gave a shiver, as her imagination renewed the scene which the Tower held.
“You needn’t come into the Tower at all. He’s as light as a feather—I’ve lifted him into bed often. I can lift him now. If you really wish to help, will you go up to his room, and get things ready?” As he spoke, he crossed to the sideboard, took up a bedroom candlestick, and lighted it from one that stood on the table. “And you’ll see about the body being taken to the mortuary, won’t you? I shall communicate with the Radbolts—fully; they’ll take charge of the funeral, I suppose. Well, he won’t know anything about that now, thank God!” There was the slightest tremor in his voice as he spoke.
Mary did not take the candle. “I’ve said some hard things to you, Mr. Beaumaroy. I dare say I’ve sounded very self-righteous.” He raised his hand in protest, but she went on: “So I should like to say one different thing to you, since we’re to part after to-night. You’ve shown yourself a good friend, good and true as a man could have.”
“I loved my old man,” said Beaumaroy.
It was his only plea. To Mary it seemed a good one. He had loved his poor old madman; and he had served him faithfully. “Yes, the old man found a good friend in you; I hope you will find good friends too. Oh, I do hope it! Because that’s what you want.”
“I should be very glad if I could think that, in spite of everything, I had found one here in this place—even although she can be a friend only in memory.”