الفصل الفصل 30 · A WITHDRAWAL.

. A WITHDRAWAL.

On Tuesday Lewisham returned from Vigours' at five--at half-past six

he would go on to his science class at Walham Green--and discovered

Mrs. Chaffery and Ethel in tears. He was fagged and rather anxious for

some tea, but the news they had for him drove tea out of his head

altogether.

"He's gone," said Ethel.

"Who's gone? What! Not Chaffery?"

Mrs. Chaffery, with a keen eye to Lewisham's behaviour, nodded

tearfully over an experienced handkerchief.

Lewisham grasped the essentials of the situation forthwith, and

trembled on the brink of an expletive. Ethel handed him a letter.

For a moment Lewisham held this in his hand asking questions. Mrs.

Chaffery had come upon it in the case of her eight-day clock when

the time to wind it came round. Chaffery, it seemed, had not been

home since Saturday night. The letter was an open one addressed to

Lewisham, a long rambling would-be clever letter, oddly inferior in

style to Chaffery's conversation. It had been written some hours before

Chaffery's last visit; his talk then had been perhaps a sort of codicil.

"The inordinate stupidity of that man Lagune is driving me out of the

country," Lewisham saw. "It has been at last a definite stumbling

block--even a legal stumbling block. I fear. I am off. I skedaddle. I

break ties. I shall miss our long refreshing chats--you had found me

out and I could open my mind. I am sorry to part from Ethel also, but

thank Heaven she has you to look to! And indeed they both have you to

look to, though the 'both' may be a new light to you."

Lewisham growled, went from page 1 to page 3--conscious of their both

looking to him now--even intensely--and discovered Chaffery in a

practical vein.

"There is but little light and portable property in that house in

Clapham that has escaped my lamentable improvidence, but there are one

or two things; the iron-bound chest, the bureau with a broken hinge,

and the large air pump, distinctly pawnable if only you can contrive

to get them to a pawnshop. You have more Will power than I--I never

could get the confounded things downstairs. That iron-bound box was

originally mine, before I married your mother-in-law, so that I am not

altogether regardless of your welfare and the necessity of giving some

equivalent. Don't judge me too harshly."

Lewisham turned over sharply without finishing that page.

"My life at Clapham," continued the letter, "has irked me for some

time, and to tell you the truth, the spectacle of your vigorous young

happiness--you are having a very good time, you know, fighting the

world--reminded me of the passing years. To be frank in

self-criticism, there is more than a touch of the New Woman about me,

and I feel I have still to live my own life. What a beautiful phrase

that is--to live one's own life!--redolent of honest scorn for moral

plagiarism. No _Imitatio Christi_ in that ... I long to see more of

men and cities.... I begin late, I know, to live my own life, bald as

I am and grey-whiskered; but better late than never. Why should the

educated girl have the monopoly of the game? And after all, the

whiskers will dye....

"There are things--I touch upon them lightly--that will presently

astonish Lagune." Lewisham became more attentive. "I marvel at that

man, grubbing hungry for marvels amidst the almost incredibly

marvellous. What can be the nature of a man who gapes after

Poltergeists with the miracle of his own silly existence

(inconsequent, reasonless, unfathomably weird) nearer to him than

breathing and closer than hands and feet. What is _he_ for, that he

should wonder at Poltergeists? I am astonished these by no means

flimsy psychic phenomena do not turn upon their investigators, and

that a Research Society of eminent illusions and hallucinations does

not pursue Lagune with sceptical inquiries. Take his house--expose

the alleged man of Chelsea! _A priori_ they might argue that a thing

so vain, so unmeaning, so strongly beset by cackle, could only be the

diseased imagining of some hysterical phantom. Do _you_ believe that

such a thing as Lagune exists? I must own to the gravest doubts. But

happily his banker is of a more credulous type than I.... Of all that

Lagune will tell you soon enough."

Lewisham read no more. "I suppose he thought himself clever when he

wrote that rot," said Lewisham bitterly, throwing the sheets forcibly

athwart the table. "The simple fact is, he's stolen, or forged, or

something--and bolted."

There was a pause. "What will become of Mother?" said Ethel.

Lewisham looked at Mother and thought for a moment. Then he glanced

at Ethel.

"We're all in the same boat," said Lewisham.

"I don't want to give any trouble to a single human being," said

Mrs. Chaffery.

"I think you might get a man his tea, Ethel," said Lewisham, sitting

down suddenly; "anyhow." He drummed on the table with his fingers. "I

have to get to Walham Green by a quarter to seven."

"We're all in the same boat," he repeated after an interval, and

continued drumming. He was chiefly occupied by the curious fact that

they were all in the same boat. What an extraordinary faculty he had

for acquiring responsibility! He looked up suddenly and caught

Mrs. Chaffery's tearful eye directed to Ethel and full of distressful

interrogation, and his perplexity was suddenly changed to pity. "It's

all right, Mother," he said. "I'm not going to be unreasonable. I'll

stand by you."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Chaffery. "As if I didn't know!" and Ethel came and

kissed him.

He seemed in imminent danger of universal embraces.

"I wish you'd let me have my tea," he said. And while he had his tea

he asked Mrs. Chaffery questions and tried to get the new situation

into focus.

But even at ten o'clock, when he was returning hot and jaded from

Walham Green, he was still trying to get the situation into

focus. There were vague ends and blank walls of interrogation in the

matter, that perplexed him.

He knew that his supper would be only the prelude to an interminable

"talking over," and indeed he did not get to bed until nearly two. By

that time a course of action was already agreed upon. Mrs. Chaffery

was tied to the house in Clapham by a long lease, and thither they

must go. The ground floor and first floor were let unfurnished, and

the rent of these practically paid the rent of the house. The

Chafferys occupied basement and second floor. There was a bedroom on

the second floor, formerly let to the first floor tenants, that he and

Ethel could occupy, and in this an old toilet table could be put for

such studies as were to be prosecuted at home. Ethel could have her

typewriter in the subterranean breakfast-room. Mrs. Chaffery and Ethel

must do the catering and the bulk of the housework, and as soon as

possible, since letting lodgings would not square with Lewisham's

professional pride, they must get rid of the lease that bound them and

take some smaller and more suburban residence. If they did that

without leaving any address it might save their feelings from any

return of the prodigal Chaffery.

Mrs. Chaffery's frequent and pathetic acknowledgments of Lewisham's

goodness only partly relieved his disposition to a philosophical

bitterness. And the practical issues were complicated by excursions

upon the subject of Chaffery, what he might have done, and where he

might have gone, and whether by any chance he might not return.

When at last Mrs. Chaffery, after a violent and tearful kissing and

blessing of them both--they were "good dear children," she said--had

departed, Mr. and Mrs. Lewisham returned into their sitting-room.

Mrs. Lewisham's little face was enthusiastic. "You're a Trump," she

said, extending the willing arms that were his reward. "I know," she

said, "I know, and all to-night I have been loving you. Dear! Dear!

Dear...."

The next day Lewisham was too full of engagements to communicate with

Lagune, but the following morning he called and found the psychic

investigator busy with the proofs of _Hesperus_. He welcomed the young

man cordially nevertheless, conceiving him charged with the questions

that had been promised long ago--it was evident he knew nothing of

Lewisham's marriage. Lewisham stated his case with some bluntness.

"He was last here on Saturday," said Lagune. "You have always been

inclined to suspicion about him. Have you any grounds?"

"You'd better read this," said Lewisham, repressing a grim smile, and

he handed Lagune Chaffery's letter.

He glanced at the little man ever and again to see if he had come to

the personal portion, and for the rest of the time occupied himself

with an envious inventory of the writing appointments about him. No

doubt the boy with the big ears had had the same sort of thing ...

When Lagune came to the question of his real identity he blew out his

cheeks in the most astonishing way, but made no other sign.

"Dear, dear!" he said at last. "My bankers!"

He looked at Lewisham with the exaggerated mildness of his spectacled

eye. "What do you think it means?" he asked. "Has he gone mad? We have

been conducting some experiments involving--considerable mental

strain. He and I and a lady. Hypnotic--"

"I should look at my cheque-book if I were you."

Lagune produced some keys and got out his cheque book. He turned over

the counterfoils. "There's nothing wrong here," he said, and handed

the book to Lewisham.

"Um," said Lewisham. "I suppose this--I say, is _this_ right?"

He handed back the book to Lagune, open at the blank counterfoil of a

cheque that had been removed. Lagune stared and passed his hand over

his forehead in a confused way. "I can't see this," he said.

Lewisham had never heard of post hypnotic suggestion and he stood

incredulous. "You can't see that?" he said. "What nonsense!"

"I can't see it," repeated Lagune.

For some seconds Lewisham could not get away from stupid repetitions

of his inquiry. Then he hit upon a collateral proof. "But look here!

Can you see _this_ counterfoil?"

"Plainly," said Lagune.

"Can you read the number?"

"Five thousand two hundred and seventy-nine."

"Well, and this?"

"Five thousand two hundred and eighty-one."

"Well--where's five thousand two hundred and eighty?"

Lagune began to look uncomfortable. "Surely," he said, "he has

not--Will you read it out--the cheque, the counterfoil I mean, that I

am unable to see?"

"It's blank," said Lewisham with an irresistible grin.

"Surely," said Lagune, and the discomfort of his expression

deepened. "Do you mind if I call in a servant to confirm--?"

Lewisham did not mind, and the same girl who had admitted him to the

_séance_ appeared. When she had given her evidence she went again. As

she left the room by the door behind Lagune her eyes met Lewisham's,

and she lifted her eyebrows, depressed her mouth, and glanced at

Lagune with a meaning expression.

"I'm afraid," said Lagune, "that I have been shabbily treated.

Mr. Chaffery is a man of indisputable powers--indisputable powers; but

I am afraid--I am very much afraid he has abused the conditions of the

experiment. All this--and his insults--touch me rather nearly."

He paused. Lewisham rose. "Do you mind if you come again?" asked

Lagune with gentle politeness.

Lewisham was surprised to find himself sorry.

"He was a man of extraordinary gifts," said Lagune. "I had come to

rely upon him.... My cash balance has been rather heavy lately. How he

came to know of that I am unable to say. Without supposing, that is,

that he had very remarkable gifts."

When Lewisham saw Lagune again he learnt the particulars of Chaffery's

misdeed and the additional fact that the "lady" had also

disappeared. "That's a good job," he remarked selfishly. "There's no

chance of _his_ coming back." He spent a moment trying to imagine the

"lady"; he realised more vividly than he had ever done before the

narrow range of his experience, the bounds of his imagination. These

people also--with grey hair and truncated honour--had their emotions!

Even it may be glowing! He came back to facts. Chaffery had induced

Lagune when hypnotised to sign a blank cheque as an "autograph." "The

strange thing is," explained Lagune, "it's doubtful if he's legally

accountable. The law is so peculiar about hypnotism and I certainly

signed the cheque, you know."

The little man, in spite of his losses, was now almost cheerful again

on account of a curious side issue. "You may say it is coincidence,"

he said, "you may call it a fluke, but I prefer to look for some other

interpretation! Consider this. The amount of my balance is a secret

between me and my bankers. He never had it from _me_, for I did not

know it--I hadn't looked at my passbook for months. But he drew it all

in one cheque, within seventeen and sixpence of the total. And the

total was over five hundred pounds!"

He seemed quite bright again as he culminated.

"Within seventeen and sixpence," he said. "Now how do you account for

that, eh? Give me a materialistic explanation that will explain away

all that. You can't. Neither can I."

"I think I can," said Lewisham.

"Well--what is it?"

Lewisham nodded towards a little drawer of the bureau. "Don't you

think--perhaps"--a little ripple of laughter passed across his

mind--"he had a skeleton key?"

Lagune's face lingered amusingly in Lewisham's mind as he returned to

Clapham. But after a time that amusement passed away. He declined upon

the extraordinary fact that Chaffery was his father-in-law, Mrs.

Chaffery his mother-in-law, that these two and Ethel constituted his

family, his clan, and that grimy graceless house up the Clapham

hillside was to be his home. Home! His connexion with these things as

a point of worldly departure was as inexorable now as though he had

been born to it. And a year ago, except for a fading reminiscence of

Ethel, none of these people had existed for him. The ways of Destiny!

The happenings of the last few months, foreshortened in perspective,

seemed to have almost a pantomimic rapidity. The thing took him

suddenly as being laughable; and he laughed.

His laugh marked an epoch. Never before had Lewisham laughed at any

fix in which he had found himself! The enormous seriousness of

adolescence was coming to an end; the days of his growing were

numbered. It was a laugh of infinite admissions.