The Avenger
by
E. Phillips Oppenheim
Part 6 out of 6
"AGNES B."
* * * * *
The Colonel's eyes grew very soft.
"Poor little woman," he said to himself. "Wrayson, you'll look after her.
You'll see she doesn't come to grief!"
There was the sound of a heavy fall in the room above. The Colonel's face
assumed an air of intense irritation.
"It's that infernal window pole," he declared. "I had doubts about it all
the time."
Wrayson looked at him in horror.
"What do you mean?" he demanded.
"Perhaps you had better go up and see," the Colonel answered, taking up
his hat. "A very commonplace tragedy after all! I don't quite see what
else he could have done. He was penniless, half mad with disappointment;
he'd been smoking too many cigarettes and drinking too much cheap liquor,
and he was in danger of arrest for selling the landlord's furniture. No
other end for him, I am afraid."
Wrayson threw open the door.
"Don't hurry," the Colonel declared. "You'll probably find that he has
hanged himself, but he must have been dead for some time."
Wrayson tore up the stairs. The Colonel watched him for a moment. Then,
with a little sigh, he began to descend.
"False sentiment," he murmured to himself sadly. "The world's full of
it."
CHAPTER XLII
LOVE REMAINS
Wrayson rode slowly up the great avenue, and paused at the bend to see
for the first time at close quarters the house, which from the valley
below had seemed little more than a speck of white set in a deep bower of
green. Seen at close quarters its size amazed him. With its cluster of
outbuildings, it occupied nearly the whole of the plateau, which was like
a jutting tableland out from the side of the mountain. It was of two
stories only, and encircled with a great veranda supported by embowered
pillars. Free at last from the densely growing trees, Wrayson, for the
first time during his long climb, caught an uninterrupted view of the
magnificent panorama below. A land of hills, of black forests and shining
rivers; a land uncultivated but rich in promise, magnificent in its
primitivism. It was a wonderful dwelling this, of which the owner,
springing down from the veranda, was now on his way to meet his guest.
The two men shook hands with unaffected heartiness. Duncan Fitzmaurice,
in his white linen riding clothes, seemed taller than ever, a little
gaunt and thin, too, from a recent attack of fever. There was no doubt
about the pleasure with which he received his guest.
"Where is Louise?" he asked, looking behind down the valley.
"Coming up in the wagons," Wrayson answered. "She has been riding all
day and was tired."
A Kaffir boy came out with a tray and glasses. Wrayson helped himself to
a whisky and soda, and lit a cigar.
"I'll get my pony and ride back with you to meet them," Duncan said.
Wrayson detained him.
"One moment," he said, "I have something to say to you first."
Duncan glanced at him a little anxiously. Wrayson answered the look.
"Nothing--disturbing," he said. "You learnt the end of everything from
my letters?"
"I think so," Duncan answered.
