Heavens! How they stood listening, panic stricken, not knowing what they were afraid of, nor what there was to fear. Mrs. Surtees still kept her seat tremulously, and Jim, lost in the corner of the sofa, suddenly extinguished the candles—an act which they all seemed to approve and understand without knowing why. And then there came a heavy foot ascending the stairs. Mrs. Surtees did not know the man who came in—a tall soldierly man with a clear and healthful countenance. It even gave her a momentary sensation of comfort to see that Jim’s “friend” was no blear-eyed young rake, but a person so respectable. She rose to meet him with her old-fashioned courtesy. “Though I have not the pleasure of knowing you,” she said with a smile, which was tremulous by reason of that causeless agitation, “my son’s friends are always welcome.” Oh heaven above! her son’s friend! Dr. Barrère was the only one among them who knew the man. The sight of him cleared the whole matter in a moment, and shed a horrible light over everything to the doctor’s eyes. He made a sudden sign to the newcomer imploring silence.
“I know this gentleman, too, Mrs. Surtees,” he said, “he is one of my—friends, also. Would it be taking a great liberty if I were to ask you to leave us for a few minutes the use of this room? Agnes, it is a great intrusion—but—for God’s sake take her away!” he said in his betrothed’s ear.
Mrs. Surtees looked at him with some surprise and an air of gentle dignity not entirely without offence. “My dear,” she said to Agnes, “Dr. Barrère would not ask such a thing without good reasons for it, so let us go.” She was not a woman who had been accustomed to take the lead even in her own family, and she was glad, glad beyond description, to believe that the business, whatever it was, was Dr. Barrère’s business, and not—anything else. She accepted it with a trembling sense of relief, yet a feeling that the doctor was perhaps taking a little too much upon him, turning her out of her own room.
The two men stood looking at each other as the ladies went away, with Jim still huddled in the corner of the sofa, in the shade, making no sign. Dr. Barrère saw, however, that the stranger, with a glance round of keen, much-practised eyes, had at once seen him, and placed himself between Jim and the door. When the ladies had disappeared the doctor spoke quickly. “Well,” he said, “what is it, Morton? Some new information?”
“Something I regret as much as any one can, Dr. Barrère. I have to ask Mr. Surtees to come with me. There need be no exposure for the moment: but I must take him without delay.”
“Take him!” The doctor made a last effort to appear not to perceive. He said, “Have you too seen something, then? Have you further evidence to give, Jim?”
There was no reply. Neither did the superintendent say a word. They stood all three silent. Jim had risen up; his limbs seemed unable to support him. He stood leaning on the table, looking out blankly over the two extinguished candles and their red shades. The officer went up and laid his hand lightly upon the young man’s shoulder. “Come,” he said, “you know what I’m here for: and I’m sorry, very sorry for you, Mr. Jim: but no doubt you’ll be able to make it all clear.”
“Barrère,” said Jim, struggling against the dryness in his throat, “you can prove that I have not been out of the house—that I was at home all last night. I couldn’t—I couldn’t, you know, be in two places at one time—could I, Barrère?”
“Mr. Jim, you must remember that whatever you say now will tell against you at the trial. I take you to witness, doctor, that I haven’t even told him what it was for.”