"Well, he'd got to go, had Mr. Minchin! The boss told him he could tell who he liked, but go he'd have to; and go he did, with his tail between his legs, and not another word to anybody. I believe it was the boss who started him in Western Australia."
"Not such a bad boss," remarked Langholm, dryly; and the words set him thinking a moment on his own account. "And what happened to you?" he added, abandoning reflection by an effort.
"I stayed on."
"Forgiven?"
"If you like to put it that way."
"And you both filed the secret for future use!"
"Don't talk through your neck, mister," said Abel, huffily. "What are you drivin' at?"
"You kept this secret up your sleeve to play it for all it was worth in a country where it would be worth more than it was in the back-blocks? That's all I mean."
"Well, if I did, that's my own affair."
"Oh, certainly. Only you came here at your own proposal in order, I suppose, to sell this secret to me?"
"Yes, to sell it."
"Then, you see, it is more or less my affair as well."
"It may be," said Abel, doggedly. And his face was very evil as he struck a match to relight his pipe; but before the flame Langholm had stepped backward, with his stick, that no superfluous light might fall upon his thin wrists and half-filled sleeves.
"You are sure," he pursued, "that Mr. Minchin was in possession of this precious secret at the time of his death?"
"I told it him myself. It isn't one you would forget."
"Was it one that he could prove?"
"Easily."
"Could I?"
"Anybody could."
"Well, and what's your price?"
"Fifty pounds."
"Nonsense! I'm not a rich man like Mr. Steel."
"I don't take less from anybody—not much less, anyhow!"
"Not twenty in hard cash?"
"Not me; but look here, mister, you show me thirty and we'll see."
The voice drew uncomfortably close. And there were steps upon the cross-roads at last; they were those of one advancing with lumbering gait and of another stepping nimbly backward. The latter laughed aloud.
"Did you really think I would come to meet the writer of a letter like yours, at night, in a spot like this, with a single penny-piece in my pocket? Come to my cottage, and we'll settle there."
"I'm not coming in!"
"To the gate, then. It isn't three hundred yards from this. I'll lead the way."
Langholm set off at a brisk walk, his heart in his mouth. But the lumbering steps did not gain upon him; a muttered grumbling was their only accompaniment; and in minute they saw the lights. In another minute they were at the wicket.
"You really prefer not to come in?"
There was a sly restrained humor in Langholm's tone.
"I do—and don't be long."
"Oh, no, I shan't be a minute."
There were other lights in the other cottage. It was not at all late. A warm parallelogram appeared and disappeared as Langholm opened his door and went in. Was it a sound of bolts and bars that followed? Abel was still wondering when his prospective paymaster threw up the window and reappeared across the sill.
"It was a three-figured check you had from Mr. Steel, was it?"
"Yes—yes—but not so loud!"
"And then he sent you to the devil to do your worst?"
"That's your way of putting it."
"I do the same—without the check."
And the window shut with a slam, the hasp was fastened, and the blind pulled down.
Chapter XXVI
A Cardinal Point
The irresistible discomfiture of this ruffian did not affect the value of the evidence which he had volunteered. Langholm was glad to remember that he had volunteered it; the creature was well served for his spite and his cupidity; and the man of peace and letters, whose temperament shrank from contention of any kind, could not but congratulate himself upon an incidental triumph for which it was impossible to feel the smallest compunction. Moreover, he had gained his point. It was enough for him to know that there was a certain secret in Steel's life, upon which the wretch Abel had admittedly traded, even as his superior Minchin had apparently intended to do before him. Only those two seemed to have been in this secret, and one of them still lived to reveal it when called upon with authority. The nature of the secret mattered nothing in the meanwhile. Here was the motive, without which the case against John Buchanan Steel must have remained incomplete. Langholm added it to his notes—and trembled!
He had compunction enough about the major triumph which now seemed in certain store for him; the larger it loomed, the less triumphant and the more tragic was its promise. And, with all human perversity, an unforeseen and quite involuntary sympathy with Steel was the last complication in Langholm's mind.
He had to think of Rachel in order to harden his heart against her husband; and that ground was the most dangerous of all. It was strange to Langholm to battle against that by the bedside of a weaker brother fallen in the same fight. Yet it was there he spent the night. He had scarcely slept all the week. It was a comfort to think that this vigil was a useful one.
Severino slept fitfully, and Langholm had never a long stretch of uninterrupted thought.
But before morning he had decided to give Steel a chance. It was a vague decision, dependent on the chance that Steel gave him when they met, as meet they must. Meanwhile Langholm had some cause for satisfaction with the mere resolve; it defined the line that he took with a somewhat absurd but equally startling visitor, who waited upon him early in the forenoon, in the person of the Chief Constable of Northborough.
This worthy had heard of Langholm's quest, and desired to be informed of what success, if any, he had met with up to the present. Langholm opened his eyes.
"It's my own show," he protested.
"Would you say that if you had got the man? I doubt it would be our show then!" wheezed the Chief Constable, who was enormously fat.
"It would be Scotland Yard's," admitted Langholm, "perhaps."
"Unless you got him up here," suggested the fat official. "In that case you would naturally come to me."
Langholm met his eyes. They were very small and bright, as the eyes of the obese often are, or as they seem by contrast with a large crass face. Langholm fancied he perceived a glimmer of his own enlightenment, and instinctively he lied.
"We are not likely to get him up here," he said. "This is about the last place where I should look!"
The Chief Constable took his departure with a curious smile. Langholm began to feel uneasy; his unforeseen sympathy with Steel assumed the form of an actual fear on his behalf. Severino was another thorn in his side. He knew that Rachel had been written to, and fell into a fever of impatience and despair because the morning did not bring her to his bedside. She was not coming at all. She had refused to come—or her husband would not allow it. So he must die without seeing her again! The man was as unreasonable as sick men will be; nothing would console him but Langholm's undertaking to go to Normanthorpe himself after lunch and plead in person with the stony-hearted lady or her tyrannical lord. This plan suited Langholm well enough. It would pave