"I promised to tell you,'with her love,'that she was going to Germany with her sister this evening.That was all we had time for."Mr.Wilcox seemed relieved.
"Because by then I suppose the man got tired of hiding,for suddenly Mrs.Wilcox screamed out his name.I recognized it,and I went for him in the hall.Was I right,pater?I thought things were going a little too far.""Right,my dear boy?I don't know.But you would have been no son of mine if you hadn't.Then did he just--just--crumple up as you said?"He shrunk from the simple word.
"He caught hold of the bookcase,which came down over him.So I merely put the sword down and carried him into the garden.We all thought he was shamming.However,he's dead right enough.Awful business!""Sword?"cried his father,with anxiety in his voice.
"What sword?Whose sword?"
"A sword of theirs."
"What were you doing with it?"
"Well,didn't you see,pater,I had to snatch up the first thing handy I hadn't a riding-whip or stick.I caught him once or twice over the shoulders with the flat of their old German sword.""Then what?"
"He pulled over the bookcase,as I said,and fell,"said Charles,with a sigh.It was no fun doing errands for his father,who was never quite satisfied.
"But the real cause was heart disease?Of that you're sure?""That or a fit.However,we shall hear more than enough at the inquest on such unsavoury topics."They went into breakfast.Charles had a racking headache,consequent on motoring before food.He was also anxious about the future,reflecting that the police must detain Helen and Margaret for the inquest and ferret the whole thing out.He saw himself obliged to leave Hilton.One could not afford to live near the scene of a scandal--it was not fair on one's wife.His comfort was that the pater's eyes were opened at last.There would be a horrible smash up,and probably a separation from Margaret;then they would all start again,more as they had been in his mother's time.
"I think I'll go round to the police-station,"said his father when breakfast was over.
"What for?"cried Dolly,who had still not been "told.""Very well,sir.Which car will you have?"
"I think I'll walk."
"It's a good half-mile,"said Charles,stepping into the garden."The sun's very hot for April.Shan't I take you up,and then,perhaps,a little spin round by Tewin?""You go on as if I didn't know my own mind,"said Mr.Wilcox fretfully.Charles hardened his mouth."You young fellows'one idea is to get into a motor.I tell you,I want to walk:
I'm very fond of walking."
"Oh,all right;I'm about the house if you want me for anything.I thought of not going up to the office today,if that is your wish.""It is,indeed,my boy,"said Mr.Wilcox,and laid a hand on his sleeve.
Charles did not like it;he was uneasy about his father,who did not seem himself this morning.There was a petulant touch about him--more like a woman.Could it be that he was growing old?The Wilcoxes were not lacking in affection;they had it royally,but they did not know how to use it.It was the talent in the napkin,and,for a warm-hearted man,Charles had conveyed very little joy.
As he watched his father shuffling up the road,he had a vague regret--a wish that something had been different somewhere--a wish (though he did not express it thus)that he had been taught to say "I"in his youth.
He meant to make up for Margaret's defection,but knew that his father had been very happy with her until yesterday.How had she done it?
By some dishonest trick,no doubt--but how?
Mr.Wilcox reappeared at eleven,looking very tired.
There was to be an inquest on Leonard's'body tomorrow,and the police required his son to attend.
"I expected that,"said Charles."I shall naturally be the most important witness there."
