CHAPTER XXIV.

UNKNOWN!

Brinsley Otway had for a week or two had his eyes upon a beautiful square-cut diamond and emerald ring in platinum--a single diamond, set with a very fine, well-matched emerald on either side--which was shown in the window of that expensive jeweller’s in the Galerie Charles X at Monte Carlo. It had been sold by one of the Hapsburg princesses, who had, like many, been temporarily embarrassed at the tables, so the jeweller said, and, after considerable bargaining, Brinsley bought it, and on his return, presented it to his fiancée.

It fitted perfectly on her finger, and she was beside herself with delight, and kissed him fondly, time after time, for his beautiful present, intended as a birthday gift, for her anniversary would be in about a week’s time.

Next day turned out grey and damp, with a slight drizzle, one of the days all know on the Riviera. Otway went out for exercise about eleven o’clock, leaving Sibell to write letters, when suddenly he encountered the tall, thin-faced air-pilot Jack Cranston, whom he knew during the war, at the ill-fated aerodrome at Dunkirk.

“Hulloa, Otway,” he cried merrily. “Fancy! After all this time! Only yesterday I heard you were here through my friend Miss Ibbetson.”

“Really!” replied Brinsley. “She is an old schoolfellow of my fiancée whom you know, I think. They were at Cheltenham College together.”

“Marigold is a great friend of Moyna Lascelles. I’m staying here with her mother, who is a distant relation of mine. She has a villa out on the road to Nice.”

Then, as they walked together towards the Casino, Cranston suddenly turned, and said:

“Look here, Brinsley, excuse me for asking the question, but is it true that you’re engaged to Sibell Dare?”

“Of course I am,” replied the other in considerable surprise at his tone of voice. “I thought everybody knew that!”

“Oh, I see,” exclaimed the other. “But of course I mean no offence. Understand that!”

“Why should I take offence?” asked the young doctor, facing him inquiringly.

“Nothing, my dear old fellow, nothing. I’m sorry I mentioned it, that’s all. Forgive me, I’m a fool.”

“Why should you regret? I thought everyone knew it. The announcement was in the papers weeks ago.”

“I’ve been abroad for months, my dear old chap, so I haven’t seen it,” replied his friend quite honestly.

“Come over into the bar yonder”; and Brinsley indicated the Casino. “Let’s have a drink and talk it over,” he suggested.

“I’d really rather not, old man,” was the other’s reply. “What I may say might only give you pain. And, further, it’s really none of my business what girl you marry, is it, now?”

“Well, I should think not, all things considered.”

“Then why should we discuss the matter? Let’s talk of something else. Do!”

“No, we won’t, Cranston,” said Otway insistently. “You’ll just come in and have a drink with me and tell me what’s at the back of your mind. Now is it about that infernal house of old Henry the Eighth’s time at Hampton Court that people are discussing?”

The keen-faced cross-channel pilot laughed heartily.

“Oh, my dear Brinsley, of course not. You surely don’t believe in curses, do you? I don’t.”

“No. Who does? There seems, however, to have been a lot of uncanny happenings there,” his friend replied. “I myself had a very curious attack after spending some hours in the old place. Indeed, I nearly lost my life over it.”

And then he went on to explain the mysterious circumstances which occurred after his visit to the Guest House to inspect those old books in the long-shut-up library.

At last Cranston, induced by Otway, went through the spacious hall of the Casino, and entered the bar, where they both sat at a little table in the corner to smoke and gossip. The usual crowd of Riviera idlers of all ages who assemble each morning were already there, but amid the chatter, laughter, and discussions over the previous night’s play in the Rooms their conversation could not be overheard.

“Now, tell me frankly, my dear Jack,” said Otway at last, leaning both elbows upon the little table and looking straight into his friend’s eyes. “Why are you so devilish mysterious about Sibell?”

“I’m not mysterious, my dear old chap--not at all,” declared the other. “I’m not going to interfere in the least in anything that doesn’t concern me. Forgive me, won’t you?”

“It isn’t the point of interference. Are we not friends, you and I?”

“I--well, I think so.”

“Then why don’t you speak out to me as a friend, as man to man? What are you concealing?”

“Nothing,” was the other’s reply.

“You swear that!” cried Otway, half rising, his face strong and intent.

Cranston wavered for only a second, and then excused himself, saying:

“Really, I didn’t come in here to be subjected to any inquisition! I must refuse.”

“My dear Cranston, I’m no inquisitor--only your good friend. Yet I demand to know why you are so reticent about Sibell. I noticed that curl of your lip, that glance of sarcasm when you mentioned her name. Now, if you are a real pal, as you pretend to be, out with it! What do you know? If you are not a pal--a false friend--then remain silent. And that’s the end.”

The pair sat facing each other for a full minute. Cranston felt himself cornered, as indeed he was.

“Well, Otway,” he said at last, speaking very slowly, “I really don’t know how to reply to you. I only know that to-day you are one of the happiest men in all the world--a charming girl, who is to be your wife, with so much money that you will never want to work another single day in all your life. Would not a million men like to be in your shoes?”

“Yes, I suppose they would,” replied his friend.

“I run lots of engaged couples and honeymooners over from Croydon to Le Bourget almost daily and I see a lot--I can assure you. We pilots see funny things very often, for our passengers are closely associated with us, especially if there’s any element of danger over the sea. Girls get the wind up terribly sometimes, and I’ve seen brave men turn pale when things are not going quite to my liking.”

“But how does that concern me?” asked Otway. “You seem somehow to be warning me! Tell me if you are, now, straight out.”

For a few moments Jack Cranston remained silent. Then, fixing his keen, hawk-like blue eyes upon his friend, he said:

“Yes. I’ll speak frankly and damn the consequences, Brinsley. I am warning you!”

“Of what?” the other gasped, staring at him.

“Of the girl you are about to marry. You’re trusting her far too implicitly.”

“What the devil do you mean?” asked the lover, rising quickly in fierce resentment. “Say that again!”

“I repeat it,” the air-pilot answered quite calmly.

“What do you say against Sibell, eh?”

“Merely that she’s not quite so true to you as she pretends, that’s all! I’m sorry to utter those words, Brinsley, but you’ve forced me to do so.”

“Then you mean that she’s playing me false?” he said in a hard, hoarse voice.

“That’s my meaning. But I regret if my words hurt you. I know they do, old chap. But I leave you to discover the truth. That’s all.”

“It’s a damned lie!” cried Otway, striking the table with his fist and causing the others in the bar to look round.

“That is for you alone to discover, my dear Brinsley,” exclaimed his friend, still calmly. “If it is a lie then everyone believes it. That’s why they pity you, good, honest pal that you are, they pity you that you should be made sport of by that girl and her suave gentleman friend.”

“Who is the man?” demanded Otway fiercely. “Give me his name!”

“Are you really certain that you want it? Would it not be far the best way for you to set watch, and to discover for yourself? Believe me, my dear old Otway, that’s by far the best course. If I told you, then you would only say that I’m his enemy, or that I am prejudiced.”

“But I demand his name!” cried the unhappy lover vehemently.

Again a silence fell between them.

“Ask others. They will tell you. I refuse to say more,” said the airman.

“By God! I’ll drag the name out of you,” cried the distracted man in fury.

“No heroics, my dear fellow. Remain calm, and just watch. That’s my advice!” responded the keen-faced man, who on more than one occasion had lain in a shallow dug-out with yellow water trickling in, and braved the daily bombings of the Huns upon Dunkirk, those days when the German airmen absolutely wiped our stores and our planes out of existence.

“But can’t you give me any clue? For God’s sake, Cranston--at least do that!”

“I’d tell you his name, but surely you realize how painful it would be for me; how unfair it would be to give away a friend--just as you are.”

“Is he a man whom she has lately met--or one she has known a long time? Tell me that,” he asked in all eagerness, as may well be imagined. At one blow, all the poor fellow’s illusions as to Sibell’s all-absorbing love had been converted into a dark cloud of suspicion. And yet, he now asked himself the real reason--as well he might.

“I really can’t answer that question. I’m sorry,” was Cranston’s reply. “Just watch--that’s all I suggest.”

“Then you refuse to reveal the scoundrel’s name? He’s a friend of yours. That you admit, eh?”

“Not much of a friend, really. Only that I have once met him. My standpoint is that I refuse to be regarded as one who has any axe to grind, Otway. I simply tell you what I know, what many people gossip about, and suggest that you make independent inquiries for your own satisfaction. That’s all”; and he rose from the table, adding: “I’m going. I would never have said all these painful things had I not been really forced to do so.”

“And even now you refuse to give me the slightest hint as to this secret rival of mine!” cried Otway in fury.

“I have already explained the reason. Investigate for yourself and--well, forget that we met this morning. I’m leaving for Paris by the _rapide_ at three-thirty, for I’m on duty again at the aerodrome to cross in the morning. Why don’t you come for a flip over with me one day?”

“I may when all this is cleared up, Cranston,” he replied. “But I tell you now frankly that I don’t believe it!”

The aviator shrugged his shoulders, and replied:

“I expected so. That’s exactly why I refuse to mention the name.”

And together they walked outside in silence, when, with estrangement, they parted.

On his way back to the Beau Site, passing the gay home-going tennis-playing crowd, Brinsley Otway walked with his eyes upon the ground, deep in thought. The seeds of deep suspicion had been sown, but, man-of-the-world that he was, he tried to steel himself not to believe them.

In any case his war-time friend had not substantiated anything. He had spoken through his hat, as it were, he reflected. Yet, why? What ulterior motive could Cranston have to warn him that Sibell was playing him false?

For a full hour he walked along the Croisette, and to ease his mind and pass the time, he went into a little café and called for an _apéritif_ in order to think it all over.

He reflected upon the past. His first chance meeting with Sibell, who had come so entirely and wholeheartedly into his life to console and become his other self--a woman who, in her ideals, in her aspirations, in her religious beliefs, and in her quality of soul, he found to be heights above any other girl he had ever met--his own affinity.

Yet, when poison of the mind is sown, it sweeps into an ever-increasing flood, to raise a tide that will overwhelm even the level-headed, and to swirl against the rocks of truth.

And where can one find truth, save in the bottom of the deepest well?

The man or woman who dares to tell the truth to-day deserves a statue as an heroic example. The ever-ready lie is to be found in every household, be it the cottage or the castle, whether at Sydenham or Sydney, Mayfair or Manitoba, and I leave the reader to complete the geographical survey.

If the woman of Mayfair is “peevy” and yet religious, she tells her butler that she is “not at home.” And that deliberate lie goes down through all the classes, even to the grey-haired wives of Church of England country parsons themselves.

And yet, is not the lie forbidden to the Christian? And if lies are told daily, even by those chosen to administer in religion, why should anyone hold the lie in abhorrence? We are a wonderful people. The village parson, with his tea upon his knees, will say in his best Oxford drawl:

“Oh, I’m sorry. But I never eat cakes!” And only because the cakes in question are underdone and hence do not appeal to his digestion.

A man who is now a Bishop of the Church of England once, in his early days, before his election to the House of Lords, was open enough to wire to his would-be hostess, a well-known peeress:

“Regret quite impossible. Lie follows by post.”

In such a mood, thinking out all the past, and contemplating the future, Brinsley re-entered the gay hotel, and, finding Sibell chatting in the lounge with her old school-friend Marigold, to whom she introduced him, he sat down beside them and ordered three cocktails.

As a real man-of-the-world, and a true lover, he tried to crush down those fierce feelings which had arisen within him in consequence of his friend’s warning, while Sibell, glancing at him, thought that her ideal lover had never appeared to be so charming.