In doing this he had neither overlooked his expressed determination to keep a watchful eye on the Drakes’ house, nor intentionally deceived Stalker; but had yielded to an imperative impulse which he did not stop to question. This was the more surprising because he was usually too logical and also too stubborn to be moved by those sudden mental thrusts to which many people yield so readily, and if he did so now it was because his mind was in a condition of excited eagerness that was not without a trace of panic.
Despite the coolness he had maintained in his wife’s presence after he had conquered the first almost uncontrollable impulse to render her incapable of doing him further mischief he was at heart afraid of Nancy. There had always been about her something he had not understood; a suggestion of strength held in reserve—of that super-strength which we call fortitude, and he began to fear that her resourcefulness might match his own. His thoughts were full of her as he strode along in the darkness, and of the relations that must exist between them in the future when the successful issue of his present enterprise should enable him to settle down to the only important business of life—that of making money and piling it up. Once let him get into his stride, and nothing should hinder him from pushing on; as for the Drakes, they might go to the dogs or the devil, or potter along to the end of their journey, patching up poor men’s fences and knocking together an occasional poor man’s coffin. Henceforward they were beneath his contempt—
He paused there, knowing it was a lie; that though he had married Nancy for her money and for the opportunities the alliance would bring him; though he had himself been unfaithful to her and was unrepentant, he was bitterly jealous of Jagger. The difficulty he had never yet surmounted was how to hurt his enemy in a vital spot and escape injury himself; but he never lost hope. His attempt to throw suspicion for the theft of the money on Jagger had influenced nobody except Stalker, who was a gullible fool. That, too, would have hit Nancy hard; would have wounded her pride as well as her heart, but prudence suggested that it would be best henceforth to imitate the police and let the matter drop. There would, however, be other openings. Life was long and full of snares, into which the wariest old bird might run. And he would be wealthy before many years had passed, and what was there money could not accomplish?
It was the one article in his short creed that he believed with all his soul, yet even as it crossed his mind he knew that it would never buy Nancy’s love; but the thought brought a smile to his face. He could very well do without love; in that market tinsel had all the attractiveness of pure gold, and tinsel was cheap. A smooth tongue and a kiss or two could purchase it.
So his thoughts raced along, but always in a circle, for they inevitably brought him back to the point where a vague uneasiness clouded his satisfaction, and the sense of anxiety was somehow connected with his wife. What if she were free again?—but that was impossible.
Once or twice he wondered if there was no possibility of patching up a peace; but he knew in his heart that she was too straight to tolerate his methods, and he told himself it was a pity. With a nature like hers, if only it had not been spoiled by this unprofitable conscientiousness, what an admirable helpmate she might have been!
When he reached the Gordale road and climbed the stile into the pasture he dismissed these reflections, and concentrated his thoughts on the task that had baffled him the previous night. All was very still, but the darkness was not dense, for the sky was bright with stars as if frost was in the air. Suddenly, as he raised his eyes to the cliff that was his goal, he saw a faint light that flickered for a moment and then went out. A second or two later another appeared and was carried along the surface of the rock until its life, too, was spent.
Inman stood still, but his pulse raced. Someone had anticipated him. Someone was searching the crevices which held his secret, and the result was inevitable. The overthrow of his schemes, so utterly unexpected, fell upon him with the force of a cataclysm, sweeping him from his feet and producing for a moment or two real physical dizziness.
He recovered himself quickly, and as another light glimmered on the rock he hastened along, finding cover in the shadows of the high walls, though he felt sure the searcher was too busily engaged to discover his approach. By the time the next match was struck he was cowering behind a rock at the entrance to the ravine; and there was murder in his heart when he recognised the familiar form of Jagger Drake.
He had dreaded it all along, though he had slighted and pushed aside the suggestion. His wife had tracked him only too well and had betrayed him to the enemy. In the moment of realisation he became desperate and thought only of vengeance, yet even so his mind set itself automatically and instantaneously to the work of counter-plotting. His fingers reached down and grasped a stone. There were few men whose aim was better than his; few whose right arm had more of weight and muscle in it. It was only necessary to stay there in hiding until the other’s feet should be on that treacherous slope of loose shingle when he would be powerless to defend himself, and one or two shots would bring him headlong to the foot of the cliff with a broken neck. If he should not be dead it would be no hard task to lend nature a hand—almost as easy as to take away the treasure-trove before any other eye should see it—and the man’s death would lie at his own door. Men would ask why the silly fool should have climbed the Scar at night. And it would be Nancy who had sent him to his fate!