“Is anything the matter?” he enquired anxiously. “Mr. Murray is not ill, not worse?”
Yes; Hencher thought, his master was ill, at least he was in great pain. He could not bring himself to see any one just then; and hoped, if Mr. Herriard called, he would make allowances and forgive him.
There was no more to be said. The impulse of friendship and gratitude had at first prompted Herriard to go up and see whether he could be of any use or comfort in alleviating the stricken man’s sufferings, but Hencher stood uncompromisingly in the aperture of the half-opened door, and made no suggestion of admitting him. So Herriard, with a sympathetic message for his friend, turned away, puzzled and a little hurt. Pain? It was curious. Since the accident which crippled him he had never heard Gastineau complain of pain. His state had been one of sheer helplessness and, so far as his lower limbs were concerned, of complete insensibility. Then, even if Gastineau were in pain, why had he refused to see the man who obviously was his only friend? He could not understand it. Had Gastineau’s feelings changed towards him? He could think of no reason why that should be. The incident worried and depressed him more than he cared to own; anyhow, though, he would return that night when the House was up, and then doubtless would know the reason of that strange denial.
When at a late hour he drove up, the lock which he had half expected to find secured against him, yielded to his key, and Gastineau received him with all his usual suggestion of warmth, and with a laughing apology for what had happened in the afternoon. “But really, my dear Geof, I was not fit to receive a dog, let alone my best friend, my only friend. I can’t forget that, you know,” he added, with a fascinating touch of feeling; “and simply dreaded lest my pain might have driven me to an impatience, even with you, which might have cast a shadow between us.”
Herriard could scarcely feel aggrieved after that. Nevertheless two circumstances brought an uncomfortable shadow of doubt to his mind. One was the unusual symptoms of pain, of which he had never heard Gastineau complain before; the other was that, instead of, as he expected, finding his friend ill and exhausted from the afternoon’s attack, he seemed brighter and less helpless than usual. Still, Herriard told himself, he knew little of medical science, had no experience in the strange turns disease would take, and his doubts therefore might be groundless.
“Well, what news?” Gastineau asked.
“Rather good news,” Herriard answered. “I have got a provisional retainer from Bowyers for a big case.”
“What is that?” Gastineau enquired alertly.
“Nothing less than this Vaux House affair. I’m in luck. That will be a sensational case, if you like.”
“I should think so,” Gastineau replied, a peculiar gleam in his eyes contradicting the almost languid interest in his manner. “What is the case? Is the Duke bringing an action?”