THE HEART OF A WOMAN (Unabridged). Emma Orczy
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he said gruffly, and he threw the card back onto the salver, "haven't you told Mr. Warren?"
"Mr. Warren," said solemn Parker, "is out, my lord."
"Then ask Mr. Dobson to call another time."
"It's not Mr. Dobson hisself, my lord. But a young gentleman from his office."
"Then tell the young gentleman from the office that I haven't time to bother about him."
"Shall I see him, sir?" asked Luke, ready to go.
"Certainly not," retorted the irascible old man. "Stay where you are. You have got Miss Harris to entertain."
"The young gentleman," resumed Parker with respectful insistence, "said he wouldn't keep your lordship five minutes. He said he'd brought some papers for your lordship's signature."
"The Tower Farm lease, Uncle Rad," remarked Luke.
"I think, Mr. Luke," assented the butler, "that the young gentleman did mention the word lease."
"Why has that confounded Warren taken himself off just when I want him?" was Lord Radclyffe's gruff comment as he rose from the table.
"Let me go, sir," insisted Luke.
"No, hang it, boy, you can't sign my name — not yet anyway. I am not yet a helpless imbecile. Show the young man into the library, Parker. I can't think why Dobson is always in such a confounded hurry about leases — sending a fool of a clerk up at most inconvenient hours."
Still muttering half audibly, he walked to the library door, which Parker held open for him, and even this he did not do without surreptitiously taking hold of Luke's hand and giving it a friendly squeeze. For a moment it seemed as if Luke would follow him, despite contrary orders. He paused, undecided, standing in the middle of the room, Louisa's kind gray eyes following his slightest movement.
Jim stolidly pulled the cigar box toward him, and Edie, with chin resting in both hands, looked sulky and generally out of sorts.
Parker — silent and correct of mien — had closed the library door behind his master, and now with noiseless tread he crossed the dining-room and opened the other door — the one that gave on the hall. Louisa instinctively turned her eyes from Luke and saw — standing in the middle of the hall — a young man in jacket suit and overcoat, who had looked up, with palpitating eagerness expressed in his face, the moment he caught sight of Parker.
It was the same man who had lifted his hat to Luke and to herself in Battersea Park this very morning. Luke saw him too and apparently also recognized him.
"That's why he bowed to us, Luke — in the park — you remember?" she said as soon as the door had once more closed on Parker and the visitor.
"Funny that you didn't know him," she continued since Luke had made no comment.
"I didn't," he remarked curtly.
"Didn't what?"
"I did not and do not know this man."
"Not Mr. Dobson's clerk?"
Luke did not answer but went out into the hall. Parker was standing beside the library door which he had just closed, having introduced the visitor into his lordship's presence.
"Parker," said Luke abruptly, "what made you tell his lordship that that young gentleman came from Mr. Dobson?"
The question had come so suddenly that Parker — pompous, dignified Parker — was thrown off his balance, and the reply which took some time in coming, sounded unconvincing.
"The young gentleman," he said slowly, "told me, Mr. Luke, that he came from Mr. Dobson."
"No, Parker," asserted Luke unhesitatingly, "he did nothing of the sort. He wanted to see his lordship and got you to help him concoct some lie whereby he could get what he wanted."
A grayish hue spread over Parker's pink and flabby countenance.
"Lord help me, Mr. Luke," he murmured tonelessly, "how did you know?"
"I didn't," replied Luke curtly. "I guessed. Now I know."
"I didn't think I was doing no harm."
"No harm by introducing into his lordship's presence strangers who might be malefactors?"
Already Luke, at Parker's first admission, had gone quickly to the library door. Here he paused, with his hand on the latch, uncertain if he should enter. The house was an old one, well-built and stout; from within came the even sound of a voice speaking quite quietly, but no isolated word could be distinguished. Parker was floundering in a quagmire of confused explanations.
"Malefactor, Mr. Luke!" he argued, "that young man was no malefactor. He spoke ever so nicely. And he had plenty of money about him. I didn't see I was doing no harm. He wanted to see his lordship and asked me to help him to it —— "
"And," queried Luke impatiently, "paid you to help him, eh?"
"I thought," replied the man loftily ignoring the suggestion, "that taking in one of Mr. Dobson's cards that was lying in the tray could do no harm. I thought it couldn't do no harm. The young gentleman said his lordship would be very grateful to me when he found out what I'd done."
"And how grateful was the young gentleman to you, Parker?"
"To the tune of a five-pound note, Mr. Luke."
"Then as you have plenty of money in hand, you can pack up your things and get out of this house before I've time to tell his lordship."
"Mr. Luke —— "
"Don't argue. Do as I tell you."
"I must take my notice from his lordship," said Parker, vainly trying to recover his dignity.
"Very well. You can wait until his lordship has been told."
"Mr. Luke —— "
"Best not wait to see his lordship, Parker. Take my word for it."
"Very well, Mr. Luke."
There was a tone of finality in Luke's voice which apparently Parker did not dare to combat. The man looked confused and troubled. What had seemed to him merely a venial sin — the taking of a bribe for a trivial service — now suddenly assumed giant proportions — a crime almost, punished by a stern dismissal from Mr. Luke.
He went without venturing on further protest, and Luke, left standing alone in the hall, once more put his hand on the knob of the library door. This time he tried to turn it. But the door had been locked from the inside.
CHAPTER VIII
AND THUS THE SHADOW DESCENDED
From within the hum of a man's voice — speaking low and insistently — still came softly through. Luke, with the prodigality of youth, would have given ten years of his life for the gift of second-sight, to know what went on between those four walls beyond the door where he himself stood expectant, undecided, and more than vaguely anxious.
"Luke!"
It was quite natural that Louisa should stand here beside him, having come to him softly, noiselessly, like the embodiment of moral strength, and a common-sense which was almost a virtue.
"Uncle Rad," he said quietly, "has locked himself in with this man."
"Who is it, Luke?"
"The man who calls himself Philip de Mountford."
"How do you know?"
"How does one," he retorted, "know such things?"
"And Parker let him in?"
"He gave Parker a five-pound note. Parker is only a grasping fool. He concocted the story of Mr. Dobson and the lease. He is always listening at key-holes,