Mr. Chambers, finding himself suddenly out of employment and with an unlimited amount of spare time on his hands, spent the better part of the first care-free hour he had known in months in the telling of his story.
In a ruthlessly condensed and deleted form it was as follows: Lord Fenlew, quietly, almost surreptitiously, had set about to ascertain just how much of truth and how much of fiction there was in the unpublished charges that had caused his favourite grandson to abandon the Army and to seek obscurity that inevitably follows real or implied disgrace for one too proud to fight. His efforts were rewarded in a most distressing yet most satisfactory manner. One frightened and half-decent member of the little clique responsible for the ugly stories, confessed that the "whole bally business" was a put-up job.
Lord Fenlew lost no time in putting his grandsons on the grill. He grilled them properly; when they left his presence they were scorched to a crisp, unsavoury mess. Indeed, his lordship went so far as to complain of the stench, and had the windows of Fenlew Hall opened to give the place a thorough airing after they had gone forth forevermore. With characteristic energy and promptness, he went to the head of the War Office, and laid bare the situation. With equal forethought and acumen he objected to the slightest publicity being given the vindication of Eric Temple. He insisted that nothing be said about the matter until the maligned officer returned to England and to the corps from which he had resigned. He refused to have his grandson's innocence publicly advertised! That, he maintained, would be to start more tongues to wagging, and unless the young man himself were on the ground to make the wagging useless, speculation would have a chance to thrive on winks and head-shakings, and the "bally business" would be in a worse shape than before. Moreover, he argued, it wasn't Eric's place to humiliate himself by admitting his innocence. He wouldn't have that at all.
Instead of beginning his search for the young man through the "lost," "wanted" or "personal" columns of an international press, he went to Scotland Yard. He abhorred the idea of such printed insults as these: "If Lord Eric Temple will communicate with his grandfather he will learn something to his advantage" or "Will the young English nobleman who left London under a cloud in 1911 please address So-and-So"; or "Eric: All is well. Return at once and be forgiving"; or "£5,000 reward will be paid for information concerning the present whereabouts of one Eric Temple, grandson of Lord Fenlew, of Fenlew Hall"; etc., etc.
"And now, Lord Temple," said Mr. Alfred Chambers, after a minute and unsparing account of his own travels and adventures, "your grandfather is a very old man. I trust that you can start for England at once. I am authorized to draw upon him for all the money necessary to—"
Lord Temple held up his hand. His eyes were glistening, his breast was heaving mightily, and his voice shook with suppressed emotion as he said, scarcely above a whisper:
"First of all, I shall cable him tonight. He'd like that, you know. Better than anything."
"A word direct from you, dear," said Jane softly, happily. "It will mean more to him than anything else in the world."
"As you please, sir," said Mr. Chambers. "The matter is now entirely in your hands. I am, you understand, under orders not to return to England without you,—but, I leave everything to you, sir. I was only hoping that it would be possible for me to get back to my wife and babies before,—er,—well, I was about to say before they forget what I look like, but that would have been a stupid thing to say. They're not likely to forget a mug like mine."
"I am sorry to say, Mr. Chambers, that you and I will have to be content to leave the matter of our departure entirely to the discretion of a third party," said Eric, and blushed. A shy, diffident smile played about his lips as he turned his wistful eyes upon Lady Jane Thorne.