Many Dimensions, Charles Williams [black authors fiction TXT] 📗

to see that she actually went to Lord Arglay’s as she had

professed to intend; since with these modern girls, as someone

remarked, you never knew. The police had cause to be glad that they had

not interfered, since in quite a short time the Home Office was

intimating to them that the whole incident had better be kept as quiet

as possible, and the stop-press paragraph which, by the chance of a

belated journalist, had appeared in one morning paper had better be

left without any sequel.

 

The Chief Justice had listened in silence to Chloe’s account of the

night.

 

“And that blast of sound went on,” she ended, “and it Seemed to be a

long time before I understood it was just a POlice whistle, and all

that light was just the moon. And then

I knew that whatever it was had gone away; so I got up and looked out

of the window. And there they were.”

 

“The police?”

 

“The police. They saw me and I asked a question or two, and they asked

more—of Mrs. Webb too. But they couldn’t do anything to us. I don’t

even know whether… what they had was what I saw.”

 

“It may not have been,” Arglay said. “But I think it is likely. Did you

see the… the result?”

 

“Yes,” Chloe said, her face white but rather with awe than horror or

fear, “it was as if it had been struck by lightning.”

 

“It wasn’t Giles?”

 

“It was someone I have never seen before,” Chloe answered. “A dark man,

a foreigner I think. Not a negro but someone Eastern.”

 

“As a Persian, for instance?” Lord Arglay asked. “Though how they knew

of you I don’t understand. Well, we can ask the Hajji if he knows

anything—I don’t think he’d be in it. He seems to have too low an

opinion of violence and too high an opinion of you.”

 

Chloe looked at her feet and said nothing, and in a moment the Chief

Justice went on. “Yes, we will talk to him, and also

I will speak to Bruce Cumberland. He won’t want the thing broadcast, if

it is the Persians, and it may save you some trouble. At any rate, you

will sleep here now.”

 

“Yes,” Chloe said simply, “I will. Shall I send a note to Mrs. Webb

explaining?”

 

“Do,” Arglay said, “while I telephone.”

 

Mr. Bruce Cumberland, when he heard the news, took the steps he was

expected to take. The police were warned to b careful in their

inquiries, and to turn those inquiries to discovering whether any

member of the Persian Embassy was missing. But before Lord Arglay had

finished talking to the Hajji a caller arrived at Lancaster Gate.

 

Mr. Frank Lindsay had seen the newspaper paragraph, and alone among

its readers had known the street for Chloe’s. He did not seriously

connect her with “the dead body of a man found early that morning,” but

there flashed through his mind the notion that here was an opportunity

for an anxious inquiry. Within that opportunity another possibility lay

curled, vivid with a delectable poison. Sometimes with, sometimes

without, his own consent, Merridew’s proposal had demanded

consideration, each time more urgently, each time more plausibly. But

however reasonable it had begun to seem, since after all it would do

Chloe no harm and himself a great deal of good, he could not discover

how to carry it out without a depressing sacrifice of his own proper

pride. She had refused his suggestion almost—no, quite—rudely; she had

dismissed him; she had promised to write and had not written. Even for

the sake of his examination and (what of course did not weigh with him)

the fiee Merridew had spoken of—for a fee, nothing more, was what it

was—even for these things Lindsay could not see how to make any

movement towards a reconciliation. But every day made the need of that

reconciliation more urgent, if it was to be in time to be any use, if

(he said to himself) they were to be on their old terms again, and

hardly knew that by

the phrase he meant very new terms indeed. It was not that Chloe would

bear any malice, but that swift willingness of hers to hurry all

occasion of mischief into oblivion at times rather annoyed him; it

seemed a little undignified, and was one of the things in which he

suspected the influence of Lord Arglay encouraged her in lessening

herself. Of course, it was different when he was concerned, though even

then it was difficult for him to be gracious when she so speedily

abolished the opportunity for grace. She ran where he walked, and he

thought walking the more handsome movement. But now—with a dead body

in the street—yes, a real concern was permissible. And that concern

repaid its possessor in other ways—but he was not thinking of that, he

was thinking of a dead body. He was perfectly correct, but a more

accurate vision would have told him that he was thinking also of a

dying soul, and that his own.

 

She would be at Lancaster Gate, and to Lancaster Gate, rather

nervously, he went. The telephone seemed inadequate to his anxiety; an

actual meeting, a clasping hand, a reassuring embrace, if possible, if

the Chief Justice was out of the way, seemed to be demanded. From every

point of view he hoped that Lord Arglay would be out of the way.

 

Lord Arglay, seeing the maid speak to Chloe and seeing also Chloe’s

glance at himself, cut short his conversation with the Hajji, and,

hearing that Mr. Lindsay had called, took immediate steps to be out of

the way. “You can call me for a minute when he’s going,” he said, “if

you think it would look more courteous. But do as you like about that.

The Hajji won’t be here just yet.”

 

“But I don’t know that I want you to go,” Chloe said uncertainly. “No,

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put it like that. I didn’t mean to talk as

if I had a right….”

 

“I feel,” Lord Arglay said, “that God—it’s curious how easily one

accepts the idea; atavism, I suppose—would rather I went; at least, the

God in your friend. There is courtesy everywhere, and this, so to

speak, is that. Besides, now I know you’re safe, I should like him to.”

 

Chloe did her amiable best to reassure Mr. Lindsay, but she felt all

the time that she couldn’t much mind whether he were reassured or not.

Unless indeed he had undergone a conversion of which she would not look

for the signs for fear they should not be there. She said nothing about

the invasion of the night and at first took great care not to mention

the Stone. Yet sinCe it was so much in her thoughts she did find

herself wishing that he, so young, so ignorant, so well-intentioned, as

he seemed to her, could feel as she felt about it, or could at least

see what she felt, and when after about a quarter of an hour she felt

that he might as well go, she said hesitatingly: “You do understand,

Frank, about the other night, don’t you?”

 

Frank, whose inner thoughts had also been occupied with the Stone, said

brightly: “O of course, of course. Don’t worry; that’s quite all right.

I see what you meant,” and wondered, for the fifteenth time, whether

she had brought it with her or left it at Highgate. It wasn’t on any of

the tables, but her handbag lay by the typewriter; could it be—

 

“Would you like just to speak to Lord Arglay?” Chloe said.

 

That meant that she was expecting him to go, he thought very swiftly;

if he said yes would she leave the room? or would she send a maid? It

was growing urgent, this need of the Stone, though, of course, he could

perhaps take her home. But where did she keep it? Suppose she had it

round her neck in a bag? Girls did; and then-Even his mind refused to

contemplate what measures, and in them what treachery, might be

necessary: after all, they had been friends. “Yes” then, and pray

heaven she went to tell Lord Arglay herself.

 

“Perhaps it would be better,” he said.

 

She kissed him—persevering upon the Way—pressed his hand, went to the

door, threw him a last smile, and disappeared. And he, swiftly and

quietly, his eyes on the closed door, moved to her work-table, opened

the bag, felt the Stone, withdrew it, stared, at it, slipped it into

his trouser pocket, where he thought among his keys and money it would

be least noticeable, re-fastened the bag, and almost ran to the window.

And even then there were two or three minutes given him for repentance,

before Chloe opened the door for the Chief Justice, and stepped softly

aside, as a secretary should, that her employer might enter. This

careful subordination had always pleased Lord Arglay, and after the

occurrences of the last few days gave him an increasing joy, as if it

were part of the habitual ritual that surrounded his office, but much

more delightful, more dear, and in some way more important than the

rest.

 

Lord Arglay shook hands. Mr. Lindsay, a trifle awkwardly

apologized for disturbing Miss Burnett at her work. Lord Arglay said

that any friend of Miss Burnett’s was free at all times to disturb her

in her work, which owing to her sense of form was rapidly becoming a

great deal more her work than it was his. Mr. Lindsay said that the

paragraph in the paper had alarmed him; he had been afraid there might

have been some disturbance in the street, or even that some attack…

. Lord Arglay said that he had feared the same thing and had been very

anxious until Miss Burnett arrived. Mr. Lindsay was greatly indebted to

Lord Arglay. Lord Arglay hoped that Mr. Lindsay would believe that

their common friendship with Miss Burnett put his own house at Mr.

Lindsay’s disposal at such—or any—times. The maid announced Mr. Ibrahim.

Mr. Lindsay was again obliged and must go. Lord Arglay regretted,

understood, and parted. The maid showed Mr. Lindsay out.

 

With his departure the three in the study seemed to enter into a common

concern. The Hajji, as the sound of the front door closing was heard,

said quite simply: “It was Ali.”

 

“That is your nephew?” Lord Arglay said.

 

“He was my nephew,” the Hajji answered, “but more than death has

separated us. For he also has wished to lay violent hands upon the

Stone.”

 

Lord Arglay said, as he motioned to them to be seated, “Haji, the whole

world seems to agree with him there.”

 

“it is the worse for all of us,” the Hajji -answered sadly.

 

“You are sure of this?” Arglay asked, as he too sat down.

 

“As sure as I can be without seeing him,” Ibrahim said. “He is not at

the Embassy this morning, none knows where he has gone, and I know what

he unwisely desired.”

 

“I am very sorry for your house,” Lord Arglay said, “for this is

becoming a very terrible thing. But because of others will you tell us

what you think happened last night? Why did this man die?”

 

The Hajji looked at Chloe. “Tell me,” he said, “what you did when you

knew that someone was in your room.”

 

Chloe tried to express it. “I didn’t think I ought to use the Stone for

myself,” she said, “and I didn’t think I knew what it willed for

itself, so I-I did nothing except hope that it would —deal with

things.”

 

“Of itself?” the Hajji asked softly.