employer’s disorder.
As he lay in a hot bath, soaking the stiffness out of his limbs, Johnny examined his injuries. They were more or less superficial, but he had had a terribly narrow escape from death, and he was not wholly recovered from the violence of it. Emanuel had intended his destruction. The attempt did not surprise him. Men of Legge’s type worked that way. He met them in Dartmoor. They would go to a killing without fire or rage or frenzy of despair.
Once he had seen a convict select with deliberation and care a large jagged stone and drop it upon the head of a man working in the quarry below. Fortunately, a warder had seen the act, and his shout saved the intended victim from mutilation. The assailant had only one excuse. The man he had attacked had slighted him in some way.
In the hearts of these men lived a cold beast. Johnny often pictured it, an obscene shape with pale, lidless eyes and a straight slit of a mouth. He had seen the beast staring at him from a hundred distorted faces, had heard its voice, had seen its hatefulness expressed in actions that he shivered to recall. Something of the beast had saturated into his own soul.
When he came from his bath, the masseur whom Parker had summoned was waiting, and for half an hour he groaned under the kneading hands.
The evening newspaper that Parker procured contained no news of the ‘accident’ – Emanuel was hardly likely to report the matter, even for his own protection. There were explanations he could offer – Johnny thought of several.
Free from the hands of the masseur, he rested in his dressing-gown.
“Has anybody called?” he asked.
“A Mr Reeder, sir.”
Johnny frowned.
“Mr Reeder?” he repeated. “What did he want?”
“I don’t know, sir. He merely asked for you. A middle-aged man, with rather a sad face,” said Parker. “I told him you were not at home, and that I would take any message for you, but he gave none.”
His employer made no reply. For some reason, the call of the mysterious Mr Reeder worried him more than the memory of the tragic happening of that afternoon, more, for the moment, than the marriage of Marney Kane.
9
Marney made her journey to London that afternoon in almost complete silence. She sat in a corner of the limousine, and felt herself separated from the man she had married by a distance which was becoming immeasurable. Once or twice she stole a timid glance at him, but he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not even notice. They were not pleasant thoughts, to judge by his unchanging scowl. All the way up he nibbled at his nails; a wrinkle between his eyes.
It was not until the big car was bowling across one of the river bridges that the strain was relieved, and he turned his head, regarding her coldly.
“We’re going abroad tomorrow,” he said, and her heart sank.
“I thought you were staying in town for a week, Jeff,” she asked, trouble in her eyes. “I told father–”
“Does it matter?” he said roughly, and then she found courage to ask him a question that had been in her mind during that dreary ride.
“Jeff, what did you mean this morning, on the way back from the church…? You frightened me.”
Jeff Legge chuckled softly.
“I frightened you, did I?” he sneered. “Well, if that’s all that’s going to happen to you, you’re a lucky girl!”
“But you’re so changed…” she was bewildered. “I – I didn’t want to marry you… I thought you wanted…and father was so very anxious…”
“Your father was very anxious that you should marry a man in good society with plenty of money,” he said, emphasising every word. “Well, you’ve married him, haven’t you? When I told you this morning that I’d got your father like that” – he put out his thumb suggestively – “I meant it. I suppose you know your father’s a crook?”
The beautiful face flushed and went pale again.
“How dare you say that?” she asked, her voice trembling
As he lay in a hot bath, soaking the stiffness out of his limbs, Johnny examined his injuries. They were more or less superficial, but he had had a terribly narrow escape from death, and he was not wholly recovered from the violence of it. Emanuel had intended his destruction. The attempt did not surprise him. Men of Legge’s type worked that way. He met them in Dartmoor. They would go to a killing without fire or rage or frenzy of despair.
Once he had seen a convict select with deliberation and care a large jagged stone and drop it upon the head of a man working in the quarry below. Fortunately, a warder had seen the act, and his shout saved the intended victim from mutilation. The assailant had only one excuse. The man he had attacked had slighted him in some way.
In the hearts of these men lived a cold beast. Johnny often pictured it, an obscene shape with pale, lidless eyes and a straight slit of a mouth. He had seen the beast staring at him from a hundred distorted faces, had heard its voice, had seen its hatefulness expressed in actions that he shivered to recall. Something of the beast had saturated into his own soul.
When he came from his bath, the masseur whom Parker had summoned was waiting, and for half an hour he groaned under the kneading hands.
The evening newspaper that Parker procured contained no news of the ‘accident’ – Emanuel was hardly likely to report the matter, even for his own protection. There were explanations he could offer – Johnny thought of several.
Free from the hands of the masseur, he rested in his dressing-gown.
“Has anybody called?” he asked.
“A Mr Reeder, sir.”
Johnny frowned.
“Mr Reeder?” he repeated. “What did he want?”
“I don’t know, sir. He merely asked for you. A middle-aged man, with rather a sad face,” said Parker. “I told him you were not at home, and that I would take any message for you, but he gave none.”
His employer made no reply. For some reason, the call of the mysterious Mr Reeder worried him more than the memory of the tragic happening of that afternoon, more, for the moment, than the marriage of Marney Kane.
9
Marney made her journey to London that afternoon in almost complete silence. She sat in a corner of the limousine, and felt herself separated from the man she had married by a distance which was becoming immeasurable. Once or twice she stole a timid glance at him, but he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not even notice. They were not pleasant thoughts, to judge by his unchanging scowl. All the way up he nibbled at his nails; a wrinkle between his eyes.
It was not until the big car was bowling across one of the river bridges that the strain was relieved, and he turned his head, regarding her coldly.
“We’re going abroad tomorrow,” he said, and her heart sank.
“I thought you were staying in town for a week, Jeff,” she asked, trouble in her eyes. “I told father–”
“Does it matter?” he said roughly, and then she found courage to ask him a question that had been in her mind during that dreary ride.
“Jeff, what did you mean this morning, on the way back from the church…? You frightened me.”
Jeff Legge chuckled softly.
“I frightened you, did I?” he sneered. “Well, if that’s all that’s going to happen to you, you’re a lucky girl!”
“But you’re so changed…” she was bewildered. “I – I didn’t want to marry you… I thought you wanted…and father was so very anxious…”
“Your father was very anxious that you should marry a man in good society with plenty of money,” he said, emphasising every word. “Well, you’ve married him, haven’t you? When I told you this morning that I’d got your father like that” – he put out his thumb suggestively – “I meant it. I suppose you know your father’s a crook?”
The beautiful face flushed and went pale again.
“How dare you say that?” she asked, her voice trembling
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