CHAPTER XXXV

THE OTHER MAN

NOTHING could keep Mrs. Keith quiet. She was unable to rest. Twenty minutes after Colin had left, she dismissed her maid, declaring herself well, and went to the scene of the conflagration, only to find the door locked. Extreme anxiety to know whether the hidden picture had escaped observation oppressed her; but she dared not make direct inquiries. She knew that the dresses on the floor had been consumed; but she also knew that, when the things caught fire, a thick woollen shawl still covered the picture, and her hope was that it might have been left undisturbed. She bitterly regretted now the fancy that had seized her to take one more look at the portrait.

If indeed it had been found, her role would be to profess ignorance of its presence in the box. Somebody else, not she, should bear the blame. She would not risk asking for the key of the door, but made her way to the library, where others were gathered, discussing the event of the day. Colin remonstrated with her for being about, putting her gently into an armchair, and Giles tried to turn the subject, seconded by Phyllys. Mr. Dugdale surveyed her with critical glances.

"Wonderful woman!" he said to himself. "Brass enough for anything!"

Yet she, like they, found it difficult to speak on any other topic but the fire. The dread which weighed upon her nailed her to it.

"I'm sure it is a marvel I was not burnt to death," she said. "Giles was so quick—if he had not been there, I must have been killed—perhaps the whole house burnt down."

"Unfortunately I can't take credit," remarked Giles. "I should like to discover who my 'doppel' can be."

Mrs. Keith was talking still, but she stopped. "'Not' you! How odd! I certainly thought—but I was too terrified to see, and the smoke was stifling."

"Sensible fellow, whoever he was, to throw a soaking towel round your face! First step everybody should take at a fire," observed Mr. Dugdale. "I'm told he had a pretty determined voice."

"Giles' voice," murmured Phyllys.

"If he was my build, probably a coal-heaver!"

"O no—a gentleman!"

"I wish he had stayed to be thanked."

"John tried to make him, but he was in such a state, he said he would look in later. Not hurt—only blackened," added Mr. Dugdale. "We owe him something for his energy. Three minutes' delay might have made all the difference."

Enter the stout butler, composed as always, but with curved eyebrows of intense amaze.

"The gentleman is here, sir, that got in at the window. He asks to see Mrs. Keith."

"Bring him in. We wish to thank him," spoke Giles.

Fear seized Mrs. Keith. The thought might have occurred earlier, but for the bewildering effects of her fright. She rose, and put out protesting hands; but all eyes were turned to the door, and she sank back, knowing that it was too late. With more than usual emphasis the butler gave forth—

"Mr. Jock Reeves!"

Solid of figure and heavy of step, in walked an elderly, but most exact reproduction of Giles. It was Giles in form, Giles in bearing, Giles when he spoke in voice—but Giles as he would become years later, more stout, with streaks of grey. Phyllys knew him instantly as the "Giles" of Interlaken.

He stopped, looked round, and smiled, as if in expectation of a welcome.

Nobody spoke. The circle seemed stricken dumb. Giles, Colin, Mr. Dugdale, Phyllys, were as if petrified. The three men knew not what to think. Phyllys read confirmation of her midnight suggestion. Mrs. Keith hardly breathed. This was the moment that had hung before her as an awful possibility through years.

Feature for feature he was Giles Randolph. And—his name was Jock Reeves. Brother to Mrs. Keith; uncle to Colin; no relative, not the most distant, of Giles.

He did not seem embarrassed by his reception, perhaps ascribing it to insular shyness. He cheerfully accosted Giles:—

"How d' you do, Colin? I've taken you all by surprise," with a jolly laugh. "You and I might be son and father! Glad to find my nephew so perfect a chip of the old block. Well, Cecil, my dear, I made up my mind to take the bull by the horns. Lucky I did and was at hand! You'll have guessed from my letter what I meant—eh?"

He addressed himself anew to Giles.

"I've put up for a good while with your mother's fantasies, Colin; but really, you know, it was getting beyond a joke! After a quarter of a century at the antipodes to be kept at arm's length from one's kith and kin—no reason but a fad! Couldn't stand it any longer, and that's a fact! So I thought I would see for myself what it all meant. I was in the garden, debating whom to ask for, when I saw a glare and heard Cecil shriek—and the quickest way was over the porch. I'm pretty active still—luckily. The fire was blazing—not three seconds to spare. Then of course I stayed to help, and when we had put it out, I was as black as a crow, and went to the inn, where I'd left my bag. Now I've come back—to see my sister and you young fellows. Not done wrongly, I hope?"

Giles murmured a negative, though the last words had been spoken to Colin.

"You, of course, are Randolph?" He placed a broad hand on Colin's shoulder. "About three feet high when I saw you last. No mistaking you for anything but a Randolph! Not the athletic type. You're the exact image of your uncle Jem—died early, you know. Well, Cecil, I hope you forgive me for not carrying out your eccentric instructions!"

So far he had talked carelessly, in Giles' voice, though with a "jollier" intonation. But the silence made itself felt. He paused.

After these years of unquestioning acceptance, in one moment light had flashed upon all three men, vividly, as with Phyllys before, casting a lurid glare upon past, present, future. No doubt the way for such illumination had been prepared. Many a perplexity, put down to Mrs. Keith's "oddity," now rose with convincing power. Mr. Dugdale's eyes expanded, and for once words failed him. Colin's face grew a shade more ivory-like. Giles flushed darkly crimson, whether with guilt Phyllys could not determine; and by comparison she cared for nothing beside. If "he" were true, if "he" had been in ignorance—all else signified little. The silence was brief, measured by seconds, yet it seemed long. To Mrs. Keith it meant an age of anguish!

For the worst had come. The blow which for twenty-seven years she had used every effort to avert, was fallen. At another time she might have carried matters with a high hand, might have tried to prove the likeness accidental. But the fire and the shock of her brother's appearance had shaken her nerve, and she could neither speak nor move. In previous imaginings of this scene, the one thing that she had not thought of was—silence. Astonishment, reproaches, exclamations, she had expected. The silence was more awful. Would it never end?

Colin broke it. In soft slow tones, dragging more than usual, he informed the newcomer—

"You are making a mistake; pardon me. I am Colin Keith. That is Giles Randolph."

The other spoke his incredulity by a laugh.

"It is true," chimed in a deeper voice. "'I' have always been Giles. 'He' has always been Colin." The form of expression betrayed his thought.

"No, my dear fellow! You don't bamboozle your uncle in that style! Not quite!"

Mr. Dugdale indulged in a whistle; an act so exceptional that it showed his state of mind. A cry from Mrs. Keith was smothered in her handkerchief.

More deliberately still Colin repeated, "'I' am Colin Keith, your nephew. This is Giles Randolph."

Reeves turned upon his heel with a gesture of disdain.

"I don't fathom your object in trying to take me in. But, I promise, you won't succeed. Look here!" He placed himself beside Giles, opposite the long mirror—both tall, substantial in make, upright, with red-brown complexion, straight features, and blue eyes dragged downward at the outer corners. Giles' sombreness was his own; otherwise the two were moulded after one model.

"Coincidence! Humbug! Look at us, and tell me so again! I believe," and he glanced round once more—"I believe you mean it. You are not humbugging me! But how you can have been taken in passes comprehension. Look there!" He pointed to the mirror. "Does it need telling? This is my nephew! You—" grasping Giles' arm—"'you' are Colin Keith. That other is Randolph! It is written in your faces—branded there! Mistake! No mistake is possible. Is 'that' what you have been up to, Cecil?"

She shivered under the accusing voice.

"Eh? Is that it?" he repeated.

Mr. Dugdale made a move. He went to a corner of the room, brought thence an oil-painting, and held it beside Colin. Hardly more remarkable was the resemblance between Giles and Mr. Reeves, than the resemblance between Colin and this Randolph ancestor.

"See?" demanded Mr. Dugdale. "Now we know why it has been hidden!"

"Now I know why I've been treated like a pariah!" muttered Reeves.

Giles strode across to Mrs. Keith, and she cowered before him.

Phyllys' heart bounded with joy; and then came self-reproach that she could be so happy when another was so miserable.

"Will you please to tell me the truth, Mrs. Keith? Am I—or is Colin—your son? Is my name Randolph or Keith?"

She shrank lower, till her bowed head rested on her knees; and in that shame-stricken form they read the answer. But he repeated—

"My name, if you please! Randolph—or Keith!"

And as if the word were dragged from her, against her will, she moaned, "Keith!"

Then she straightened herself, and made a feeble effort.

"I—I—couldn't help it," she stammered, and she laughed hysterically. "They—they—got mixed and I—I—when I found it out—"

"Mixed!" uttered Reeves scornfully.

One low murmur, "Mother!" had been heard from Colin.

But the crushing shame, the overwhelming distress, of Giles' look, drew all eyes, silenced all lips. He stood like a statue, with folded arms and bent head.

"I meant—I meant to tell," gasped Mrs. Keith. "I-I never meant it to go on!"

"And it has gone on! You have let it go on, all their lives! Colin for Giles! Giles for Colin! Though you are my sister, I say it is 'scandalous!'"

Reeves stopped.

Phyllys' hand was on his arm, and a soft voice whispered, "Please don't! Is she—quite like other people?"

"You don't understand—you can't!" Mrs. Keith spasmodically wailed. "It was—a mistake—a mistake—a mis—"

The strain became too great. She burst into a storm of hysterics and had to be carried from the room.

"I believe that girl is in the right," muttered Reeves. "Most charitable view to take, anyway—poor thing!"