The Man Who Changed His Name E-Book

Edgar Wallace

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Over her head hung the menace of murder – and; of the man who changed his name...Best remembered for penning the screenplay for the classic film „King Kong”, author Edgar Wallace was an astoundingly popular luminary in the action-adventure genre in the early twentieth century. „The Man Who Changed His Name” is a Robert Curtis’s adaptation of a screenplay by Edgar Wallace. This story packed with intrigue, mystery, murders, and it highlights Wallace’s unmatched skill in setting a pulse-pounding pace. An entertaining tale, this book constitutes a must-read for lovers of crime fiction.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER I

NITA CLIVE was sitting in a deck chair on the well-trimmed lawn, gazing, with a slight pucker between her well-trimmed eyebrows, at what was described by Messrs. Truman & Co., Estate Agents and Purveyors of Adjectives, as “Sunningbourne Lodge, Ascot; a charming, detached, picturesque, creeper-clad, freehold residential property, standing in a matured, old-world garden of three acres.” At this time of the year both the house, draped with greenery so that not a brick was visible, and the garden, with its riot of rambler roses in full bloom, bore witness to the accuracy of Messrs. Truman & Co.‘s description.

If called upon to describe Mrs. Clive as she sat there with her dark hair confessing to the sunlight a secret tendency to be auburn, her mouth rather wistful, and her grey eyes thoughtful, Messrs. Truman & Co. would probably have used some of the same adjectives, “Charming” and “picturesque,” as applied to the slim, girlish figure lolling in the deck chair, would have stood; “detached” she certainly was at the moment, with an air of being quite unaware of her surroundings; and since, three years ago, she had been legally conveyed to Selby Clive as his wife, they might have felt justified in leaving unaltered the words “freehold residential property.”

Nita glanced again at the letter which she held in her hand. It was from Truman & Co. They were pleased to inform her that they had forwarded particulars of Sunningbourne Lodge to a Mr. Denham, who was looking for a residence in the district, and he proposed calling tomorrow to view the property. They trusted that she could conveniently allow him to look over the house and grounds and that a satisfactory sale would ensue.

Nita’s glance suddenly shifted to the French windows that gave onto the terrace from the library. They were open, and she could see her husband busily writing, his grey head, as he bent over his desk, showing up clearly against the oak-panelled wall. Selby, she reflected, disliked being interrupted when at work, but it might be as well, she thought, to beard him at once and show him the letter. It would be a difficult interview. Selby, of course, would refuse to discuss the matter seriously–try to laugh it off, as he had always done in the past. Probably, to appease her, he would suggest an evening in town–dinner at some highly respectable restaurant where the music was “good” and the food “wholesome,” followed by a visit to some show, during which he would yawn every few minutes and glance frequently at his watch.

But this time she did not mean to be appeased. She had never seriously opposed Selby before, and she was a little nervous as to what would happen when he discovered that she had flouted his wishes and taken matters into her own hands. She had never seen him angry, and the knowledge that he would almost certainly be furious when he heard what she had done gave her a strange thrill of excitement–and nervousness.

It would be something of an achievement to stir the placid, imperturbable Selby to anger; something of an interesting experiment. Rather alarming too, perhaps. She had always felt that Selby, if ever he should lose his temper, would be a rather terrifying person; which partly explained, no doubt, why she had been at pains to avoid making him lose it. Selby set at defiance was an unknown quantity, and she supposed, now she came to think of it, that she had always been just a little afraid of him.

Frank O’Ryan had often said as much, and, though she had stoutly denied it, Frank was probably right. But she would not be afraid this time. She would go to him now, show him the letter, and, if she were compelled to go so far, tell him bluntly that it was a choice between parting with Sunningbourne Lodge and parting with her. That, after all, was the truth.

With sudden resolution she got up from her chair, and as she did so she saw her husband step through the French windows and come towards her across the lawn–tall, broad-shouldered, grey-haired, his face rather grave, looking, as she had often told him, so much like Mr. Justice Somebody at the assizes that she wanted to call him “M’lud.” She hastily slipped the letter into her pocket.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he began, “but I’m afraid the trip to Scotland will have to be postponed. I’ve just had a cable from Muller. He reaches England at the end of next week, and I must be here to see him.”

Nita frowned.

“Muller? Have I ever heard of him?”

“Someone from my mysterious past,” smiled her husband. “He’s my lawyer in Canada–looks after all my affairs out there for me–besides being one of my oldest friends. There’ll be a good deal of business to discuss, Nita, and as he’ll only be in England for a few days I’m wiring him to come straight down here and stay with us. We can make the trip to Scotland later.”

“But you won’t want me for the business discussions, Selby, and there’s no reason why I shouldn’t go to Scotland, is there?”

He glanced at her quickly.

“You mean–alone?” He was so obviously surprised and shocked that Nita could not restrain a smile.

“Is there any reason why I shouldn’t go–alone?”

“I suppose not, my dear, except that–up till now––”

“Except that up till now, ever since we’ve been married, I’ve never been anywhere without you?” interrupted Nita. “But we can’t always live in each other’s pockets, Selby. Frankly, I can’t stand much more of the sort of life I’ve been leading lately–mooning about down here, doing nothing, seeing no one but you and old Sir Ralph Whitcombe–that stuffy old bore! I can’t sit in the same room with him unless the window’s open. And now, when I’ve a chance of getting away from it all for a few days, you expect me to cancel the trip and stay at home to entertain some fusty old lawyer.”

He laid a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said. “I had no idea that you felt like that about it.”

“Well, I do, Selby.”

He took her hand between his.

“In that case, my dear,” he said, “by all means, go.”

He turned abruptly and went back to the library, and Nita, with a sigh of relief, returned to her chair. She had not meant to say all that, but it was just as well that it had been said. It was more than time that Selby realized that a girl of twenty-five could not go on indefinitely living like a hermit. The news had obviously surprised him–and hurt him. There was a big streak of sentimentality in Selby, and it had come as a shock to him that she should contemplate going anywhere by herself. But he had been quite nice about it. If only he weren’t always quite so nice, quite so reasonable, quite so irreproachable! It was his flawlessness more than anything else that sometimes irritated her almost beyond endurance. If he would sometimes be wrong or inconsiderate or selfish or short-tempered, he would be so much easier to live with.

There came the sound of a car in the drive, and a few moments later she saw Frank O’Ryan sauntering towards her across the lawn. She greeted him with a smile. There were few women below the age of thirty who did not greet Frank O’Ryan with a smile, and in her present mood the sight of a good-looking, well-dressed young man was more than welcome to Nita.

He tossed his hat aside and seated himself on the grass beside her chair.

“I say, Nita,” he exclaimed, glancing round the garden, “you’ve a marvelous spot here. You’ve improved the place no end.”

“There’s this much to be said for Sunningbourne Lodge, Frank,” she replied: “you can’t do anything to it without improving it.”

“Rambler roses all a-bloom, Nita, well-trimmed lawns, picturesque creeper-clad house–what more do you want?”

She gave a shrug.

“The worst of living in a creeper-clad house is that you’re liable to get like it.”

He nodded.

“I know. Beats me how you stick it, Nita. You’re unhappy, aren’t you?”

“Are you suddenly becoming observant, Frank?”

“Not suddenly. I’ve always wondered why you married old Selby. He’s a good chap, of course. I admire him immensely––”

“But–? You may as well say it, now you’ve started. When one man says he admires another man, it usually means that he’s going to start slanging him.”

“Well, he’s not your sort, Nita. It doesn’t need very acute observation to see that Selby wants nothing better than to loaf about down here and watch the antirrhinums grow, but that sort of thing bores you to tears. You’ve been married for three years, and for two years and eleven months you’ve been wondering how much longer you could stick it. But you haven’t the pluck to do anything else: you’re scared stiff of Selby; and so the farce goes on. Why don’t you break away?”

“Break away–from Selby?”

“He doesn’t mean a thing to you.”

She did not contradict him. She had so often told herself just what Frank was telling her now. But then, as now, she had not been sure how far it was true. Often, too, during the last three years, in a rather timid, halfhearted way, feeling all the time that she was not in earnest about it and that she was considering something which could never be, she had toyed with the idea of cutting herself free and living a life in which Selby played no part. It was only lately that she had begun to look upon a break with her husband as a practical proposition; and even now, when she had come to feel that her life, like the house, could not suffer alteration without improvement, she still hesitated. After all, there were points about Selby. Whatever he had failed to give her, he had given her a sense of security–some solid foot-bold in a slippery sort of world. Anchored to him, she was in no danger of shipwreck, and however much she might long for adventurous voyaging, there were compensations in safe anchorage.

“He doesn’t mean a thing to you,” repeated O’Ryan. “Oh, I don’t know. I admire him, Frank–tremendously–and respect him––”

“But?” grinned O’Ryan. “You may as well go on, Nita, now you’ve started. When a woman says she admires and respects a man, it usually means he’s the last man she’d care to marry. Don’t tell me you haven’t often wanted to break out. You’ve been thinking about it ever since you were married, but you’re too much of a Puritan to do it. At one act per year it’s already a three-act farce. How much longer is it going on?”

Nita smiled.

“You’re always rather transparent, Frank,” she said, “when you start giving advice.”

“Women’s most hoary delusion,” he chuckled. “It’s good advice, anyway.”

“And disinterested?”

“Of course not. I’ve never pretended it was,” said O’Ryan. “But, if you prefer it, we’ll put it bluntly. How much longer am I to be kept waiting? You’re treating me pretty badly, you know, and we can’t go on like this forever. I can’t, anyway. It isn’t fair to expect it of me.”

“And has it occurred to you, Frank, that if I were to do what you want me to, it might be a little unfair to Selby?”

“I’m not thinking of Selby. I’m thinking of you. In a case like this, Selby doesn’t count. It’s bad luck on him, but it can’t be helped. Good Lord, Nita, if you really cared for Selby I’d be the last man to butt in. But you don’t. You know damned well that if Selby never kissed you again you’d be grateful and––”

“Frank–please!”

“It’s true,” persisted O’Ryan. “Do you suppose I haven’t noticed? You hate him to touch you, and when he kisses you good-night you put up with it because you fancy it’s your duty, and pull a face as if you were swallowing a dose of poison. That’s pretty rotten for you, Nita–and for me. I’ve stood it for a good time, but I can’t stand much more of it.”

He caught her hand suddenly and held it.

“Nita,” he said, “we could be tremendously happy together, couldn’t we? You know we could. If you’ll only give me the chance––”

She withdrew her hand sharply.

“When you’re proposing to rob a man of his wife, Frank,” she said, “it isn’t wise to hold her hand in full view of the library window.”

O’Ryan’s glance travelled swiftly to the open windows of the library and back to the girl’s face.

“It’s not a case of robbery, Nita,” he said. “You’d be giving me something you could never give to Selby, and I’d be taking nothing from him. You can’t rob a man of something he doesn’t possess–and you’ve never really belonged to Selby. Being married to a man and sharing a house with him and eating your meals at the same table doesn’t mean that you really belong to him. It may just be a case of two strangers being miserable together under the same roof because neither of them has the courage to leave it. That’s how it is with you and Selby and I don’t see anything to laugh at, Nita.”

She was gazing, with a smile of amusement, at the library windows.

“I was just wondering, Frank,” she said. “Suppose I did agree to do as you suggest, what would Selby do when he found out? Do you think he’d just be pathetic and broken-hearted and blame himself for not having understood me?” She shook her head. “I can’t quite see Selby crumpling up and feeling sorry for himself. And I don’t think he’d get dramatic about it; he hates anything approaching a scene, and he’s much too self-conscious to be really dramatic. He’d feel all the time what a fool he was making of himself.”

“Why worry about that now, Nita? I’m ready to risk––”

“I think I know what he would do,” she interrupted. “He wouldn’t make the least fuss about it. He’d take it all very calmly–say nothing to either of us and go on just as if nothing had happened, until the right moment arrived; and then he’d quite coolly put a bullet through each of us.”

O’Ryan shot a quick glance at her.

“Good God, Nita! You don’t really believe––”

“Oh, he’d do it ever so kindly, Frank,” she added, “but I’m sure that’s what he’d do–commit a nice, considerate murder and then refuse to discuss the matter further.”

The man forced a smile.

“I’ll risk the bullet if you will,” he laughed. “But seriously, my dear–how much longer? Or how soon?”

She shrugged her shapely shoulders.

“Seriously, Frank, I don’t know,” she told him. “Never, perhaps. If you forced me to answer you now, I should certainly say ‘never.’ But I know that’s only because Selby has just been rather sweet to me, and I’d feel a mean little worm at the moment if I agreed to let him down. Sometimes I feel–oh, I don’t know. You’re right in a way, of course: I don’t belong to Selby. I can’t ever feel towards him as I feel towards you–sometimes. You don’t know how near I’ve been once or twice to turning up with a bag at your flat and saying, ‘Here I am, Frank.’ I’ve felt that I simply must rush off to you, that I couldn’t stand another minute away from you. But the feeling has never lasted long enough for me to pack my bag. It may do so one day; I don’t know. It’s rather like cheating, isn’t it? Cheating Selby, I mean. But I’m cheating him now in a way–and cheating us, too. I’m not sure it wouldn’t be more honest to go to Selby and tell him frankly that I’ve made a mistake in marrying him and ask him to call the whole thing off in a friendly way.”

“Good Lord, Nita, don’t be crazy! You can’t.”

“I think I could, Frank. Selby must feel he’s not getting a square deal, and he might be glad to call it off. He’s too nice to suggest it himself, but if I suggested it––”

“You’re not going to suggest it. For heaven’s sake, my dear, be reasonable. If Selby had the least suspicion he’d–well, it would make things deuced awkward for me, anyway.”

“Any more awkward than for me?” she countered. “Or for Selby? I’m not suggesting it would be comfortable for any of us, but if I’m prepared to face it out––”

“I’m not prepared to let you,” he cut in. “Hang it, Vita, that would put paid to everything. The first thing Selby would do would be to call the whole deal off.”

“Deal?”

He nodded.

“The Tamagari property. I’ve been trying to get Selby to lease the land to me, and he seems inclined to do it. He has written to his lawyer in Canada about it, anyway, and I’m hoping to pull it off. I thought you knew–didn’t Selby tell you?”

“Yes, he did mention it.”

“He’s going to do it, isn’t he?”

“I believe so.”

He frowned.

“Well, it’ll be a pretty big thing for me, Nita, if it does come off–put me right on my feet. But if Selby had the least suspicion that there was anything between you and me, the deal would be as dead as doornails. Until the lease is signed––”

“All right, Frank; I understand. Until the lease is signed I’m to let him go on thinking that you’re the perfect little gentleman he believes you to be. Sorry if that hurts, but we may as well face facts. I’m not blaming you any more than I blame myself, but don’t let’s deceive ourselves. However we might justify it to ourselves, we should be playing a shabby sort of trick on Selby. We’re doing so in even discussing it.”

“If that’s how you feel about it––”

“I do,” she said. “But I don’t say it isn’t worth it. I don’t know. All I know is that sometimes I’ve wanted terribly to do it, and it’s quite possible that one day I shall do it. But if it means so much to you, I won’t be indiscreet until the lease is signed. I mean, if we’re going to rob Selby of his wife, a bit of land in Canada won’t make any odds one way or the other, and we may as well do the job thoroughly.”

“You’ve a rotten way of putting things, Nita.”

She shrugged.

“If you can’t be good, be honest,” she smiled. “What are you going to do with a bit of land in Canada, Frank?”

“Farm it, probably–if I can get it. Incidentally, you might put a word in for me if you get the chance. Selby takes notice of what you say, and if you tell him you want him to lease the land to me, that’ll probably help matters.”

“I’ve already done what I can,” she told him. “There’s Selby on the terrace. Go and talk to him, please, Frank; I don’t want him here just now.” O’Ryan rose, smiling.

“Afraid of a bullet?”

She shook her head.

“Afraid to look him in the eyes,” she said.

For some time after O’Ryan and her husband had gone into the library, Nita remained, with puckered forehead, in her deck chair. Frank would soon have to be answered definitely, and what answer was she to give him: Yes, and cheat Selby, or No, and cheat both Frank and herself?

It struck her that thousands of others had been faced with the same question since the world began, and that after all that time some satisfactory answer should have been found to it. It was not reasonable that after so much experience and experiment she should still have to decide the question for herself. Was it really more honest, since she did not love Selby, to leave him, or was that merely a convenient bit of sophistry to justify her own inclinations? Would she eventually be able to avoid leaving him? She did not know. She had been so near to doing it more than once...

It was Lane, the butler, who interrupted her.

“A Mr. Denham to see you, madam,” he announced. “To look over the house, I understood.”

Nita rose from her chair.

“I’ll be with him in a moment, Lane,” she said, and again she glanced anxiously towards the library windows.

CHAPTER II

MIXING a whisky-and-soda in the library, O’Ryan wondered if he might not be imagining things. Clive, when he had greeted him on the terrace, had struck him as in some way different from the calm, self-possessed Clive to whom he was accustomed. He was frowning and seemed preoccupied, and his “Ah, come in, O’Ryan; I want to have a chat with you” was unusually curt.

Probably, O’Ryan decided, he was letting his imagination run away with him. All that talk, of Nita’s ... rot, of course. Selby could not possibly have the least suspicion. There was nothing to suspect–so far, and Selby had never raised the least objection to his being with Nita. He had always rather encouraged it, asking him to take her out in the car or play tennis with her while he was busy in his study. All the same, he did seem a bit queer this morning, and it would be devilish awkward if he got any ideas into his head just now...

He glanced across at the older man, seated at his writing desk, and met the gaze of a keen pair of eyes staring at him with disconcerting fixity. O’Ryan forced a smile and raised his glass.

“Cheerio, Selby!”

Selby nodded, but continued to stare. Then:

“You’ve known Nita a long time, O’Ryan, haven’t you?”

The glass rattled noisily onto the table. “Good Lord, yes–pretty well since she was so high, Selby. Why?”

“She’s fond of you, isn’t she?”

“We’ve always been good pals, if that’s what you mean. Get on well together, you know, and that sort of thing.”

“Quite,” said Clive absently.

He shifted his gaze from O’Ryan’s face and sat for some moments staring into the garden, his fingers drumming on the desk. O’Ryan watched him with uneasy eyes. What was old Selby getting at? You could never tell from his face what he was thinking. Awkward fellow he must be at a poker table. If he had heard every word that had passed between them in the garden his face would reveal nothing–just as it was revealing nothing now. Of course, he hadn’t heard, but it didn’t follow that he had no suspicion as to what they had discussed. Selby didn’t miss much, and if Nita had let slip a hint...

“Any special reason for asking?”

Clive smiled.

“Only a man’s natural desire to see his wife happy, O’Ryan. I’m afraid Nita finds things a bit dull sometimes, and I just wanted to tell you that whenever you can come down and run around with her a bit you’ll be more than welcome.”

O’Ryan glanced at him quickly, but Clive’s face was as inscrutable as ever.

“And now about this Tamagari business,” added Clive. “Nita has been telling me I’m to lease you the property, and I’d be glad to do anything I can for a friend of hers. Besides, I like you, O’Ryan, and I’d like to do it for you if it can be managed.”

“Any hitch?” asked O’Ryan.

“Not exactly a hitch, but just at the moment I can’t give you a definite promise. All my Canadian business is in the hands of my lawyer out there. Muller’s his name–half the lawyers in Canada seem to be called Muller–and until I hear from him I don’t know whether I’m free to lease you the property or not. Muller has my power of attorney and deals with everything as he thinks fit, and for all I know he may already have leased the Tamagari land to someone else.”

“Is that likely?”

“I don’t imagine so,” Clive told him, “but it’s as well to be sure before making any promise. I wrote Muller about it as soon as you mentioned it, and I’ve just had a cable saying he’ll be in England towards the end of next week, so I shall know for certain then. If you care to run down the following week, Muller can draw up the lease if everything is all right, and we’ll fix it up straight away. Thinking of farming it, are you?”

O’Ryan nodded.

“There’s no reason why you shouldn’t do well with it,” Clive continued. “It’ll need capital, of course, but if you’ve a few thousand to play with––”

There came a tap at the door and Nita, followed by a short, plump, prosperous-looking little man, came in.

“May I come in, Selby?” she asked. “Sorry to interrupt, but this is Mr. Denham. This is my husband, Mr. Denham.”

Mr. Denham smiled.

“Charming house, Mr. Clive,” he said. “Old-fashioned, of course, but in excellent repair and––”

“This is the library, Mr. Denham,” interrupted Nita. “It’s all genuine old oak panelling––”

“Charming,” said Mr. Denham. “And the panelling is of no consequence. A few coats of paint would soon brighten that up. I’m all for brightness, Mrs. Clive. There’d be room here to build on a billiard room, I should say. A fine game, billiards. I always say no house is complete without a billiard room, but there’d be room here if I did away with the greenhouse...”

As Mr. Denham rattled on, though Selby’s face betrayed no surprise, his glance sought Nita’s eyes questioningly but failed to find them.

“Library, eh?” the little man was saying. “Well, I’m not much of a reader myself. Never found a book that could tell me anything I didn’t know already. But the wife has always said we ought to have a library. Gives tone to a house, she says, and what she says goes. I daresay the house furnishers will fit us up with a nice handsome set of books. Well, I like your house, Mr. Clive, and if you don’t make the price too stiff I’m prepared––”

“Price?”

It was Clive’s voice, like the crack of a whip. Nita turned and faced him.

“Mr. Denham has been sent by Truman’s, Selby,” she said. “He’s thinking of buying the house.”

“Ready to talk business, anyway,” said Mr. Denham. “Brass tacks and no haggling, eh? That’s my way. Name your figure and I’ll take it or leave it. I understand I can have possession within a month of completion, but if you can let the workmen in sooner––”

“The house is not for sale,” said Selby in a voice that seemed to have a ring of steel in it.

“Eh? What’s that? Truman’s told me––”

“You were misinformed, Mr. Denham.”

“But, my dear sir, your wife distinctly gave me to understand––”

“The house happens to belong to me, Mr. Denham, and not to my wife, and I’m telling you that it is not for sale.”

“Selby––” began Nita, but he waved her to silence.

“I’m sorry you should have wasted your time, Mr. Denham,” he said, “but there has evidently been some misunderstanding.”

“Extraordinary!” exclaimed Mr. Denham in evident confusion. “I shall tell Truman’s exactly what I think of them. Most embarrassing! No ill-feeling, I hope, Mr.–er–Clive. Not my fault, you know. Wouldn’t have butted in for worlds. I always say that an Englishman’s home is his castle––”

Nita opened the door, and Mr. Denham, still apologizing, followed her from the room.

In a few moments she returned, closed the door behind her, and stood, with flaming cheeks and defiant eyes, her back against it.

“Do you mind, Frank?” she said, with a nod towards the garden. “I want to talk to Selby.”

As O’Ryan went out through the French windows, she strode quickly forward and paused in front of Clive’s desk.

“Well, Nita?”

“Selby–how dare you!”

“Isn’t that rather a question for me to ask?”

“In front of Frank–with Mr. Denham here–to insult and cheapen and humiliate me––”

“I had no intention of doing that.”

“‘The house is not for sale!’–when I’d just been showing him round the place! You might as well have hit me in the face, Selby: it would have been just as dignified, just as considerate, just as much the action of a gentleman.”

“If you were insulted and cheapened and humiliated, Nita,” said her husband calmly, “you must admit that you have only yourself to blame. You knew that I had no intention whatever of selling the house, but because you wished to get rid of it you seem to have gone behind my back and placed it in the estate agents’ hands, hoping, I suppose, that when a prospective purchaser turned up I might give way to you and sell. It was an attempt to force my hand, but you should have known better than that. You should have known me better. Why you should be so anxious to sell the house, I can’t understand.”

“Because I hate it!” exclaimed Nita. “I’ve always hated it. Oh, for heaven’s sake, Selby, don’t remind me that it was I who persuaded you to buy it. I know I did. But I didn’t imagine that buying Sunningbourne Lodge would mean living here year in and year out with nothing to do but–but to watch the antirrhinums grow. I imagined you’d have a place in town as well, and that for some part of the year we’d be living like civilized beings. But I just have to mug along here, going to bed at ten o’clock because I’m too hopelessly bored to sit up any more, with nothing to do after breakfast but wait for lunch––”

“And because of that, Nita,” interrupted Clive, “you considered yourself justified in going behind my back and trying to force me into doing as you wanted.”

“That isn’t the point now, Selby. The point is that you refuse to do as I want. You’ve refused a dozen times, either because you didn’t care how I felt about it or didn’t understand that I was getting to the point where I could stand no more of it. But you do understand now. I shouldn’t have gone to Truman’s if I hadn’t been feeling desperate. I shouldn’t have been crazy enough to imagine I could force you to do anything you didn’t want to do. And now that you do know how I feel, what are you going to do about it?”

“Suppose, Nita,” he said, “my answer to that is ‘nothing’?”

She shrugged.

“In that case, you must take the consequences.” Clive’s mouth hardened.

“In all my life,” he said, “I’ve never yet allowed myself to be threatened or bullied into doing anything. It has always been a matter of principle with me. However inclined I might be to do a thing or to refrain from doing it, I have always felt that to surrender to a threat is a sign of weakness far more contemptible––”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Selby,” she interrupted impatiently, “don’t be so old!”

It was cheap. She knew it was cheap. She saw Clive wince as if she had struck him, and despised herself. The words “I’m sorry, Selby” trembled on her lips, but she could not bring herself to utter them.

He smiled rather wistfully.

“Very well, Nita,” he said quietly, “we’ll put it down to the obstinacy of old age. I’m too old to be able to do without principles.”

“You mean that you refuse to sell?”

He nodded. Nita turned abruptly and strode from the room.

For the rest of the afternoon she saw neither Selby nor O’Ryan. She remained in her bedroom, curled up in the corner of the couch, thinking. She felt mean and contemptible; and her outburst, after all, had only made matters worse. Selby would certainly not sell the house now, and she had only anchored herself more firmly than ever to the sort of existence from which she had been trying to escape. She should have known her husband well enough to realize that with him tactics of that kind were bound to fail.

But she knew so little of Selby. When she came to consider it, she was surprised to discover how meagre was her knowledge of him. When first she had met him, she had known what everyone knew of him–that he was wealthy, that he had lived most of his life abroad, that he was highly thought of as a man of business, and that, having made more than enough money, he proposed to settle down in England; and since then she had added practically nothing to her stock of knowledge about him.

Of his past life he had never spoken, and she had never questioned him. Looking back, she realized that she had taken him very much for granted. He had asked her to marry him, and because it had all seemed eminently convenient and satisfactory, she had married him. She had liked him and admired him, and she had not paused to consider if admiration and liking were a sufficiently solid foundation on which to build her happiness. Often in the early days of her marriage she had asked herself if she loved him, and the very fact of her asking gave her an uneasy feeling that her feelings towards Selby must be something less intense than love. If she were in love with him, then love was not the burning flame she had imagined it to be.

But she had striven hard to fan her feelings into a blaze, and it was not her fault that the blaze was not forthcoming, and that what little warmth there was had gradually faded away so that fanning was only wasted effort.

She knew now that Selby drew nothing from her but friendliness and respect. Entering the room, he had never caused her to feel that acute little stab of pleasure which marked the entrance of Frank O’Ryan; a touch of Selby’s hand never brought that quickening of her pulse which she felt at contact with Frank’s. She had never ached to run her fingers through Selby’s hair. Frank had been right when he had said that he would be taking nothing from Selby. All that she gave her husband now she would always give him–admiration, respect, friendship, a recognition of his worth. Even now, when she felt that he had humiliated her and treated her unfairly, the respect remained. She would have thought less of him if he had surrendered to her threats and allowed her to force his hand against his judgment.

But there was so much that she could give to Frank that she had never given to Selby and never could give to him, so much that Frank could give to her that Selby could never give. And the thought that it was only Selby who stood between her and this fullness of happiness increased her bitterness against him a hundredfold. The more she thought of that scene in the library, the more humiliating it became, the more unreasonable Selby’s attitude, the more callously selfish his refusal.

The sound of Selby’s footsteps in the corridor as he went towards his room reminded her that it was almost time for dinner, and she embarked listlessly on the process of dressing. But half an hour later she was still sitting, clad in her flimsy wrap, at the dressing table, gazing thoughtfully into the mirror. A tap on the door aroused her, and in response to her “Come in!” she saw in the mirror the door open and Selby, already dressed, step into the room. She did not turn her head.

“Well, Selby?”

He came slowly across the room and paused beside her, watching her as she combed her hair.

“Nita, my dear––”

She combed more rapidly, leaning forward and gazing intently at her reflection.

“Yes?”

“Nita, it seems such a terrible pity. Can’t we do something?”

“About what?”

“About everything, my dear,” he said. “We’re drifting–further and further apart. We’ve been drifting for a long time. It’s difficult to explain, but I think you feel it as much as I do. We’ve lost something that we used to have.”

Nita laid down her comb and began to apply her lipstick.

“Is that my fault?”

“I’m not saying that, Nita. I’ve an idea I’m to blame. I’ve a feeling that I’m failing somewhere, but I’m puzzled to know where. It’s not easy for a man of my age to see things from the point of view of a girl of twenty-five, and perhaps that’s where the trouble lies. I don’t know. All I know is that we’ve drifted apart, and I want to stop the drifting before we lose each other entirely. It’s worth an effort, Nita, isn’t it?”

“Do you imagine that I haven’t made an effort?”

He shook his head.

“It’s not that, my dear. I want to tell you that I’m going to make an effort. All this misunderstanding–I feel there’s no need for it. If we’d only be frank with each other–try to keep close to each other, to understand and make allowances––”

“Be frank? My dear Selby, when husband and wife start being frank with each other, one of them usually gets murdered. Has Lane rung the gong yet?”

She rose from her chair and slipped off her wrap; and as she did so he stepped forward, laid a hand on each of her shoulders, and turned her towards him.

“Nita darling,” he said, “what I really want to tell you is that I’ve never loved you as much as I love you now.”

And then, as his arm slipped round her and drew her eagerly towards him, she suddenly wrenched herself free and stepped quickly back.

“Selby–please–I don’t want to be mauled!”

For a moment he stood motionless, staring at her with pained, puzzled eyes; and then he turned and went quickly from the room.

Dinner that night was an ordeal to Nita. Sir Ralph Whitcombe was there–sixty, a retired K.C., with a talent for prosiness which, if merit received its just reward, so his colleagues said, should have swiftly raised him to the Bench; and after listening for an hour while Sir Ralph discoursed on the intricacies of ecclesiastical law, while Selby sat watching her with the eyes of a dog reproaching her for having kicked him, and Frank O’Ryan was blatantly bored, she was thankful when the meal was over and she could slip out onto the terrace and soothe her frayed nerves in the quietness of the garden. And there, a little later, O’Ryan found her.

“Well, Nita? Is the genuine old oak panelling to have a coat of paint? Thank God for the Denhams! He was the one bright spot in a dreary scene.”

“For heaven’s sake, Frank, forget it.”

“Is Selby selling the house?”

She shook her head.

“So Act Four of the farce will now begin, eh, Nita? You’ll go on being the dutiful little wife who’d rather be bored than bad.”

“You needn’t rub it in, Frank. I don’t need reminding of what’s in front of me. I know the whole dreary business from beginning to end. How I’m going to stand any more of it––”

He grasped her arm and turned her towards him. “Listen, Nita,” he said. “You’re not going to stand it any longer. Nor am I. You don’t love Selby––”

“Frank–please–I don’t know–I can’t think––”

His arms went round her and crushed her to him. “You do know,” he insisted. “You don’t love Selby. You’ve never loved him. You love me, and you’re mine, and here and now you’re going to tell me that you’ll keep me waiting no longer. Good God, Nita, how much longer do you want me to wait? I’m not going to wait.” His lips were crushed against hers, and just for a moment she lay in his arms, inert, unresisting. And then she suddenly strove to free herself, but he held her fast.

“Promise me, Nita,” he begged. “Darling, promise me now that the next time you want to come to me you will pack your bag and come. Just forget all about cheating Selby, and remember that if you don’t come you’ll be cheating me, cheating yourself––”

“Frank, I–I can’t promise,” she told him. “Not yet, I mean. I want to think. I’ve made one mistake, and I don’t mean to make another. But I will think, Frank. I’m going to Scotland tomorrow, and next week–when I get back–I’ll tell you. And if it’s Yes––”

His arms tightened around her and again his lips found hers.

“It must be Yes, Nita,” he whispered.