Chapter 2

"THE PENANCE OF MARGERY."

"I'm Trall," repeated the man, staggering to his feet.

He plucked off a false beard, thereby throwing into prominence the haggardness of his face.

"Trall?" echoed Mallow, as though taking in the man's identity for the first time. "Good God, I thought you were dead!" The man whimpered, and fawned on Mallow as a whipped dog fawns on its master. "I'm alive; I'm Trall," he reiterated. "I'm so glad it's you, Mr. Mallow. I thought they were after me. But I'm Trall; you know me, don't you? You'll save me, won't you? I'm afraid of them.'

"Whatever is the matter, Laurence?" called out Olive, at the window. "Who is it?"

"It's all right, Olive; it's only Trall. I'll explain later; go inside now.--Good God!" said Mallow, again looking at the wreck of humanity before him. "Alive after all."

Jeremiah Trall nodded, and laughed vacantly. His life of terror and strong drink, added now to want of food and sleep, had scattered the poor creature's wits. He clung to Mallow like a child, reiterating his prayer for protection, and ultimately sliding into an incoherent gabble, disconnected though continuous. Seeing that nothing was to be got out of him, in his present state, Mallow soothed him with repeated assurances of his safety. He then led him round to the back of the house, and had him supplied with food. In another half-hour the wretched man was safely tucked in bed, with one of the men-servants to watch over him. The food and warmth and sense of security relaxed his nerves, and shortly he fell into a deep sleep. His relief had come just in time.

Meanwhile Mallow returned to the drawing-room and explained the situation. How Trall had escaped death he did not know, but he understood the man's instinct had led him to seek the protection of the only person who had treated him with kindness.

"We shall hear his story to-morrow," concluded Mallow; "and a queer one it will be, unless I'm very much mistaken."

"Laurence, do you think this can be the man who inquired at the P. and O. Office? He has a black beard."

"False, my dear; assumed no doubt to escape the Brotherhood, although, seeing they are all dead, I can't understand what it is he fears. It is quite possible he may be the man who inquired at the shipping office; we shall know all about that in the morning. And Olive," added Mallow, in lower tones, as the servant entered with the tea, "say nothing about this for the present to Miss Ostergaard or the old ladies. I'll tell Aldean myself later on."

Olive readily assented. She had no wish any of them should be alarmed. When they, with Lord Aldean, came in to tea, no word was said about Trall's strange arrival. Later on Mallow found an opportunity for enlightening Jim.

"Jove!" said the startled Aldean. "How the dickens did he escape?"

"I can't say. Perhaps he wasn't at the meeting. Don't alarm the ladies, Jim. We'll get it all out of him in the morning. He's worn-out now, poor devil."

"Do you think he knows the truth about this Carson business?"

"It's possible, and probable. At all events, whatever he knows he'll tell me."

But, in spite of all precautions, it was not long before Mrs. Purcell knew all about it. Her maids were of more than ordinary loquacity. She immediately declared her belief that they would all be murdered in their beds, and communicated her fears to Miss Slarge. The two ancients reappeared in the drawing-room in a nervous flutter, and, in the end, if only to quieten them, Mallow thought it best to explain matters fully. Contrary to his expectations, they were only the more alarmed.

"An Anarchist," cried Miss Slarge, tremulously, "with a bomb!"

"I don't think he has a bomb," replied Mallow, gravely. "He is quite harmless, Miss Slarge. He hasn't strength just now to kill a fly."

"Has he rebelled against established authority?" demanded Mrs. Purcell. "Has he crime upon his soul?"

"His worst crime is hard drinking. I'll look after him, Mrs. Purcell. Please give the servants no particulars."

Mrs. Purcell expressed a pious hope that the Manor House would be still whole in the morning; but finally agreed that Mr. Mallow had acted with his usual judgment, and was quite right to succour the oppressed.

When, after every one had gone to bed, Mallow and Aldean visited Trall, he was still sleeping, so they left him. But early next morning Mallow was in his room. He was awake, and professed himself much easier in his mind. Amid a profusion of thanks for all his kindness, he told Mallow how he had escaped the common fate through Madame having ordered him out of the house.

"I don't know how it all happened," he said. "There was a mine laid under the cellar, I know, but I feel sure Madame didn't fire it. I hope they won't think I did it. It was for fear of that I came down here."

"You are safe enough here, Trall. Besides, that section, at least, of the Brotherhood is done for."

"Oh, but they were not all there. There are others. Two of them have gone after Carlo and Clara. I protested, but Madame would send them, and she turned me out of the place."

"Where are Boldini and your niece now?"

"They have left Genoa for South America. One of the Brothers followed them. He wired to Madame they had taken ship, but he did not say for what port. But they're as good as dead," moaned Trall; "the Brothers who were sent after them had instructions to kill them."

"Oh, let us hope they will escape," said Mallow, soothingly. "By the way, that disguise of yours, Trall. Did you wear it to visit the P. and O. Office before Carson arrived?"

"No, Mr. Mallow; I was never in the P. and O. Office in my life."

Mallow looked searchingly at the man, but saw by his simple denial, and from his manner, that he was telling the truth. "Do you know any one else who went there?" he asked, shifting his ground.

"No, I never heard of any one."

"Did Dr. Drabble?"

"I am sure I don't know," said Trall, plucking at the clothes. "He never told me, if he did. But Drabble wore all kinds of disguises; sometimes he wore a light wig, at others a black one. He was never twice the same."

"I dare say it was he," said Mallow, thoughtfully; "he was the person most interested in Carson's arrival. He is dead, I suppose?"

"Blown to pieces, Mr. Mallow. He was in the cellar when I left. Not one of those present escaped alive. They are dead in their sins, Mr. Mallow, and black--black indeed are those sins. If I had not spoken for Clara, if Madame had not--well, I have sins of my own to repent of. God saved me for repentance. I'm sure of that."

"Rouge was in the cellar, of course?"

"He came down the trapdoor as I went up. I liked Rouge; he hated the Brotherhood, as I did. It might have been Rouge who caused the explosion. He laid the mine; he knew how to fire it. Yes, I believe Rouge killed them all."

"I am sure he did," said Mallow decisively. "Mrs. Arne had Nemesis at her elbow, although she thought, no doubt, it was the devil. But how did you know that I was alive, and here?"

"Rouge told me. He said that he intended to aid your escape, because you had been kind to him. As he passed down the trapdoor, I heard him say, 'Monsieur is safe.' I didn't know what he meant at the time, but afterwards I recollected he was speaking of you. When I heard of the explosion, I was nearly out of my mind. I thought the surviving Brotherhood would surely suspect me. I went to your rooms to ask for your protection. They told me there that you were at Casterwell, so I came down. I walked the whole way. I begged, and slept out-of-doors. Oh, the cold was bitter. I knew you would protect me, for you were always kind, Mr. Mallow. Always, always," and Trall stretched out his hand timidly.

"Well, now you are here, you shall stay," said Mallow, kindly. "They won't look for you here. I dare say they think you perished with the rest; and later on we'll see what had better be done."

Trall sat up eagerly.

"I know what to do; I have my plans," he whispered, with a glance round, as was his habit. "Give me money, and I'll go out to South America. Clara will look after me. Carlo has a lot of money; Drabble said so. I'll warn them of their danger, and we'll hide in the mountains. They'll never find us there. Clara is so clever; Clara knows."

"Is she your only relative?"

"So far as I know. I have a brother--her father--my brother Michael; but he may be dead. He left his wife and Clara many, many years ago. His wife died. I looked after Clara. I had money then. But when I met Drabble"--Trall burst into childish anger--"I hate Drabble; he made me what I am. He was my curse. I'm glad he's dead; glad, oh, so glad. If he'd only died before he ruined me. I was once--I am now--oh!" and the man, weeping senile tears, dropped back exhausted on his pillow.

"Hush, hush!" said Mallow, smoothing the bed-clothes; "you are with friends now; I will take care of you. But don't say a word as to who you are or what you have been doing. That might be dangerous even here."

"No, no--not a word; you won't let them get to me if they come?"

"They won't come, Trall. Believe me, they think you dead."

"Dead?" echoed Trall, his wits wandering. "Dead, dead, yes, these many years. Drabble killed my soul. Dead--yes, the man is dead; the beast lives on."

With tactful words and many promises, Mallow managed to calm him and dispel his morbid mood. The man was not really so ill as worn with fatigue, and stupefied with terror. Rest, and a belief in his safety, were the medicines he needed, and these were now forthcoming. His narrow escape seemed to have turned his thoughts towards religion, for he requested the use of a Bible with childish eagerness. Mallow left him grappling desperately with the Psalms, striving to extract hope from the more comforting.

"I am glad the poor man is better," said Olive, when she heard Mallow's report; "he seems a harmless creature."

"There is good in him, but circumstances and Drabble have done their best to destroy it."

"Well, let him stay here and rest, Laurence. See, I have the letter for Mr. Brock. We must call on him now. Talking about Dr. Drabble," added Olive, as they stepped out into the crisp air; "I think I ought to call and see his wife, and tell her."

"Do you think that is wise?" asked Mallow, dubiously.

"Of course it is wise; suspense is worse than the truth. Besides, she is without money and food. I had to send provisions to her yesterday. The sooner she understands her position, and makes the best of it, the better."

"How can she make the best of it?"

"I shall help her; and Lord Aldean has promised his assistance."

"Good fellow; you must let me do something too."

"My help is yours, Laurence," said Olive, softly.

A brisk walk soon brought them to Drabble's untidy home. In a room more slatternly than ever, they found the unsuspecting widow. She was, if possible, more worn and downcast than before.

"I'm sure I don't know what I should have done but for your kindness," she said to Olive. "But I expect the doctor will be back soon. It is too bad his leaving me destitute like this. The tradesmen won't send in food without money."

"Dear Mrs. Drabble," said Olive, touching her arm gently, "will you take me to your room? I have something to tell you."

The significance of Olive's tone was not lost upon her. "I hope--hope nothing is the matter with the doctor?" she said tremulously.

"I'll tell you in your own room," insisted Olive, leading her to the door.

"Excuse us, won't you, Mr. Mallow?" called back the widow; "and if the children should come in send them away. Danton is in bed with the mumps, and Margery has been converted. Please talk her back to some sense, Mr. Mallow, if you can. Dear, dear! my children are so dreadful."

Mallow sat quietly amid all the litter, in no wise inclined to laugh at these last words, albeit there was some humour in them. On all sides there was the noise of children creeping, scuffling, and whispering. At times a head would pop round the corner; its owner, meeting Mallow's eye, would shriek and scuttle away, and then would be swift scampering and a continuous patter as of hard little hoofs on a frosty soil. Shortly the door swung open to its widest, and Margery appeared, so astonishing a spectacle that Mallow could not but stare at the child. She was draped in a sheet; her feet were bare, and she carried a lighted candle.

"I'm doing penance!" announced Margery in solemn tones. "I should stand at the church-door and proclaim my sins, but mother won't let me."

"Your sins?" said Mallow, suppressing a strong desire to laugh; "have you any?"

"Dozens! I have sinned deeply," sighed this guilty little person. "I have been cross, I have stolen, I have perverted the truth. Would you like to hear about any particular sin, Mr. Mallow?"

"I should be delighted, Margery. Only don't shock me too much."

Margery waved her taper. "This sin was done to Olive!" she chanted. "Listen, oh people, to the sin done to Olive! I gave her a golden ornament of fine gold with wrought-work. She asked where I obtained it. I declared that I had taken it from the desk of my father. That was a lie. That was a sin. I did steal it. Wicked woman that I am--but I stole it from the study of Mr. Brock."

"Margery!" Mallow jumped with sudden interest. "Did you find that wrist-button in Mr. Brock's study?"

Margery dropped her candle and became the child she was, even to the length of bursting into tears.

"Yes," she sobbed, "I was wicked. I went to see Mr. Brock; he left me to play in his study, and I found the button in the drawer of his writing-table. I--I--I took it."