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"I could never part with them," she said. "He gave them to me in a sealed parcel the last time I saw him. It's only a hundred pounds. Yes, that was the message he wrote. Can you read it? 'With apologies from the man who swindled you. As if I cared for the wretched money!" Babbacombe frowned over the writing in silence. "Why don't you say what you think, Jack?" she said.
Babbacombe started the engine, and followed him. In another moment they had glided away into the dripping mist, and the prison was left behind. Through mile after mile they sped in silence. West sat with his chin buried in his coat, his keen eyes staring straight ahead. Babbacombe, at the wheel, never glanced at him once.
It won't hurt you to humour it." "But good heavens! have you thought of her?" Babbacombe exclaimed. "I am thinking of her only," West answered quietly. "And I am asking you to do the same, both now and after you have married her." "And send you to perdition to secure her peace of mind? A thousand times no!" Babbacombe turned, and began to pace the room as though his feelings were too much for him.
They reached the gateway, passing under an arch of stone. Beyond it lay wide stretches of park land. Rabbits scuttled in the sunshine, and under the trees here and there they had glimpses of deer. "Ever ridden to hounds?" asked Babbacombe. The man beside him turned with a movement half savage. "Set me on a good horse," he said, "and I will show you what I can do."
The only point in his favour that Babbacombe, the kindliest of critics, could discover after a fort-night's patient study, was that the animals loved him. He conducted himself like a gentleman, but somehow Babbacombe had expected this much from the moment of their meeting.
"Before I come with you," he said, in his brief, clipped style, "there is one thing I want to know. Are you patronising me for the sake of philanthropy, or for some other reason?" As he uttered the question, he fixed Babbacombe with a stare that was not without insolence. Babbacombe did not hesitate in his reply. He was not a man to be lightly disconcerted.
"What do you think of it?" he asked at last, determined to wring some meed of appreciation from him, even though he stooped to ask for it. "What the house?" said West. "It's uncommonly like a primeval sort of prison, to my idea. I've no doubt it boasts some very superior dungeons." The sting in the words reached Babbacombe, but without offence.
The light was beginning to fail, but his expressionless face was clearly visible. It held neither curiosity nor dismay. "I was told," Babbacombe said again, "that you cashed a cheque of mine yesterday for two hundred and fifty pounds. Is that so?" "It is," said West curtly. "And yet," Babbacombe proceeded, "I understood from you that the Millsand estate business was settled long ago."
I suppose he is still in prison. I forget exactly what the sentence was, but I know it was a long one. I should think this man must be his twin-brother, Jack. I never saw a more remarkable likeness." Babbacombe barely glanced up from his letter. "You are always finding that the people you don't like resemble criminals, Ursula," he said, with something less than his usual courtesy.
"I don't know what to say to you, West," he said at length. "Why say anything?" said West. "Because," Babbacombe said slowly, "I don't believe I can't believe that simply for the sake of a paltry sum like that you would have risked so much. You could have swindled me in a thousand ways before now, and done it easily, too, with small chance of being found out.
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