"Exactly," agreed the Actor. "Exactly. Two and a half years of hell for something one has not done.... Appalling—quite appalling." With great care he continued the delicate process of peeling a walnut.
But the Bishop was not convinced. "All the time he would know that a mistake had been made; that sooner or later he would be cleared in the eyes of the world. Whereas if he was guilty he would know that no such chance existed, and that when he came out from prison he would be an outcast—a jail-bird."
The Soldier shook his head and drained his glass. "Right in theory, Bishop; right in practice, too, if the clearing had been quicker. But two and a half years is too long. Hope would die: a youngster would grow bitter."
"Where is he now?" demanded the Celebrated Actor, sweeping back his hair with the gesture for which he was rightly famous.
"No one knows," said the Soldier, quietly. "He came out a week ago. His brother met him at the prison gates, but Hugh gave him the slip. And since then he's hidden himself. Of course, he could be traced, but his father is wise, I think, in not doing so."
The Bishop nodded. "He will find himself in time; and it's best to leave him alone till he does. A good boy, too."
For a while the three men were silent while the soft summer breeze played gently through the old-fashioned garden outside, and the wonderful scent of the laburnum came fragrant through the open windows.
"I forget exactly what happened," remarked the Actor, at length. "I was producing 'King Lear' at the time, I remember, and——" He glanced inquiringly at the General.
"A fairly common story," returned the Soldier, lighting a cigarette thoughtfully. "The boy had been an ass and owed a lot of money to some bookmaker. Then he plunged on the Derby—the year Signorinetta won at a hundred to one—and went down, like most of us did. Two days afterwards a couple of thousand in cash was missing. Also the books were falsified over a long period. Everything pointed to him, and they found him guilty, though he protested his innocence all through. A month ago the real thief confessed—two and half years too late."
The General shrugged his shoulders, and then suddenly sat motionless, staring with narrowed eyes into the darkness outside.