“They’re all a lot o’ bungling idiots,” Inman remarked to Nancy as the car moved away. “They see what you tell ’em and what can’t be missed. That Harker is half asleep. I suggested a Scotland Yard man to the inspector, but he seemed huffed, so I dropped it.”
His tone was surly, but Nancy distinguished another note in it that she did not quite understand; something between satisfaction and relief or a mixture of both; something infinitely less harsh than she had expected. She had been bracing herself for an angry encounter with her husband, for there had been no mistaking the look he shot her when his minute inquiries elicited the information that Hannah had spent the evening with her. It had been a silent promissory-note for settlement at the earliest opportunity, and had been accepted as such. Now that the favourable moment had come, she was surprised and also relieved to find that her husband’s mood had changed.
Inman had not forgotten, but it was his constant fate to be compelled by considerations of what was prudent in his own interests to defer the settlements from which he promised himself so much satisfaction. To hurt his wife and through her sufferings to cut her lover to the quick was one of the two absorbing passions that occupied his thoughts by day and night. But when he was about to strike, self-interest always held his arm. He had been sorely vexed that hitherto his threat to injure Jagger had come to naught; it humiliated him to think that his rival was laughing in his sleeve at the emptiness of the warning; but what could he do so long as the two passions were at variance? Nancy held the purse and the purse was deep. Until that had changed hands he was not master of the situation; revenge must be deferred.
It may be questioned whether the prospect of vengeance does not afford as great satisfaction as its accomplishment; it is at any rate certain that Inman’s soul nourished itself upon foretastes and that the kindlier note in his voice was the traitorous servant of his ill-intent.
There was a fire in the parlour and he took Nancy there, bidding Keturah get Baldwin off to bed. The baby was sleeping on the sofa, and Inman closed the door and stood with his back to the mantelpiece.
“What the deuce made you tell Hannah about the money?” he began. “I should have expected you to have more sense.”
“I didn’t; she told me!” Nancy looked up from her sewing to see what effect the denial had upon her husband.
“She told you!” The voice was incredulous, yet in spite of himself he believed her, knowing that Nancy would never purchase pardon with a lie.
“All the village knew it,” she repeated quietly.
He stared at the head that was bent down again upon her work, and turned over this new information in his mind.