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Updated: June 29, 2025
Vallancey is asking for you, sir," he announced. Richard started. Vallancey! He had come at last, and his coming was connected with the impending duel. The thought was paralyzing to young Westmacott. The flush of anger faded from his face; its leaden hue returned and he shivered as with cold. At last he mastered himself sufficiently to ask: "Where is he, Jasper?"
If Richard Westmacott were allowed to live after what had passed, there were too many tall fellows might go in peril of their lives. Richard, meanwhile, had turned to the man on his left young Vallancey, a notorious partisan of the Duke of Monmouth's, a hair-brained gentleman who was his own worst enemy. "May I count on you, Ned?" he asked. "Aye to the death," said Vallancey magniloquently. "Mr.
Might they not reach higher, to the consulting-room, to the bench, and even to the pulpit? Mrs. Westmacott sacrificed her tricycle ride in her eagerness over her pet subject, and her two fair disciples drank in every word, and noted every suggestion for future use. That afternoon they went shopping in London, and before evening strange packages began to be handed in at the Doctor's door.
Charles Westmacott had ceased to knock the tennis balls about, and was chatting with Clara Walker, while Ida and Harold Denver were still talking by the railing with little outbursts of laughter. Presently a fresh set was formed, and Doctor Walker, the odd man out, came through the wicket gate and strolled up the garden walk. "Good evening, Mrs. Hay Denver," said he, raising his broad straw hat.
"There's my fee," cried the doctor. "How much?" "A guinea." The Admiral threw a pound and a shilling upon the table. "Come, Westmacott," said he, and they walked together from the room. "I don't like it," said Charles, when they found themselves in the street once more; "I don't profess to be a very sharp chap, but this is a trifle too thin. What did he want to go out and speak to the doctor for?
Westmacott," he whispered in the rash fool's ear, "you were best away." Richard stood up, leaning his full weight upon the arm the landlord had about his waist. He passed a hand over his brow, as if to brush aside the veil that obscured his wits. What had happened? What had he said? What had Trenchard done? Why did these fellows stand and gape at him?
Young Westmacott recoiled, the heat all frozen out of him. But Blake scarce looked at him, his smouldering glance was all for Ruth, who watched him with incipient fear, despite herself. "Madam," he said, "'tis not to be supposed a mind holding so much thought for a husband's safety could find room for any concern as to another's.
That in itself would be bad enough; but there might be worse, for he could scarcely betray Wilding without betraying others and what mattered most the Cause itself. He must be dealt with out of hand, Trenchard opined, and dealt with ruthlessly. "I think, Anthony," said he, "that we have had words enough. Shall you be disposing of Mr. Westmacott to-morrow, or must I be doing it for you?"
Now it befell that towards dusk one evening early in the week Richard Westmacott went abroad alone, as was commonly his habit, his goal being the Saracen's Head, where he and Sir Rowland spent many a night over wine and cards to Sir Rowland's moderate profit, for he had not played the pigeon in town so long without having acquired sufficient knowledge to enable him to play the rook in the country.
To save Wilding for the Cause he had resorted to this desperate expedient of betraying that Cause. It must be observed, however, that he had not done so save under the conviction that betrayed it was bound to be, and that since that was inevitable the thing had better come from him for Wilding's sake than from Richard Westmacott.
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