At one o’clock in the morning the reverend occupant of the house was wakened by a noise below; he listened, warned his wife to keep quiet, drew on his trousers, took his revolver, and crept downstairs in his naked feet. Yes, the thief had entered the library. Mr. Blewton was, as we have seen, a person of some determination. He opened the library door and said,—
“Speak, or I’ll fire.”
“It is—” But the voice was not allowed to proceed. The sound indicated the position of the robber. The minister fired two barrels in the direction of the voice, and heard a body fall with a groan of—
“Oh—father—you—have—killed—me!”
Then there was silence. Then another groan, and the fall of another man. When the servants came with a light they found the dead body of the father stretched by the dead body of the son.
IX.
A PHILANTHROPIC “MASHER.”
An elderly man with a pleasant expression, iron-grey hair, and faultlessly dressed may occasionally be seen walking along the shady side of St. James’s Street in the early afternoon. He gazes a good deal under the bonnets of the pretty women. But there is a demure and half-respectful expression in his glance which withers any rising feeling of resentment. His age and his unmistakably sympathetic half-smile give him an immunity which would not be extended to younger and bolder men. He is known to society as the Hon. Archibald Flodden.
Flodden is a member of three excellent clubs. His name is on some extremely desirable visiting lists. He goes to church when in town every Sunday morning. His conduct in public is most exemplary. And yet, somehow, Flodden has no men friends. He has money, and therefore can always command the society of a select circle of parasites. But men who ought to be in his own set—or of whose set he ought to be—do not care for his company. Nor do the female leaders of society give him great countenance. He is not, perhaps, regarded exactly as a mauvais sujet. But it is generally admitted that there is something queer about Flodden.
This sentiment was not, of course, inspired originally by the fact that after two years of domestic infelicity his wife left him, taking her infant daughter with her. Society naturally took the man’s part. The wife placed herself outside the pale, and Flodden never asked her to re-enter it. He took the matter philosophically, gave up his house in Sloane Square, took chambers in the Albany, refused all communication with his wife, and led the life of a sedate and philanthropic bachelor. For eighteen years he has led this blameless and almost idyllic life, and yet there exists in society an undefined distrust of him which is utterly unaccountable.
But though the great ladies of society, guided by an infallible instinct, do not regard the Hon. Archie Flodden with favour, there are certain other desirable persons who worship him as the very beau ideal knight. These are ladies of the middle-class, the wives of professional men, or the gushing ornaments of suburban Bohemia. Their experience of gentlemen is, perhaps, limited. They may be excused, therefore, in mistaking Flodden’s tinsel of politeness for the gold of real gallantry.