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Page 7
Max stopped in the act of trying for a carom, and stared at his sister.
"Why, he only came when I did, ten minutes ago!"
"He's gone, I tell you!" repeated Doreen, stamping her foot. "And--and
listen, Max, I'm frightened about him! He's got something on his mind.
When he went away, I saw him; I was standing by the gate; he looked
so--so _dreadful_ that I didn't dare to speak to him. _I!_ Think of
that!"
"Had papa been speaking to him?" put in the shrewd younger sister, who
was chalking her cue at the other end of the room.
The younger sister always sees most of the game.
"Ye--es, but--I don't know--I hardly think it was that," answered Doreen
quickly. "At any rate, Max, I want you to do this for me; I want you to
go up to town to-morrow and see him. I shan't rest until I know
he's--he's all right--after what I saw of his face and the look on it.
Now, you will do this, won't you, won't you? Without saying anything to
anybody, mind. Queenie, you can hold your tongue, too. Now, Max, there's
a dear, you'll do it, won't you?"
Max told her that she was "off her head," that he could do no good, and
so on. But he ended in giving way to the will of his handsome sister,
whom he adored.
Max Wedmore was a good-looking fellow of five-and-twenty, with a
reputation as a ne'er-do-weel, which, perhaps, he hardly deserved. His
father had a great idea of bringing the young man up to some useful
calling to keep him out of mischief. Not very terrible mischief, for the
most part: only the result of too much leisure and too much money in
inexperienced hands. The upshot of this difference of opinion between
father and son was that while Mr. Wedmore was always finding mercantile
situations for his son, Max was always taking care to be thrown out of
them after a few weeks, and taking a rest which was by no means well
earned.
This errand of his sister's was by no means unwelcome to him, since it
took him back to town, where he could amuse himself better than he could
in the country.
So, on the following morning, he found some sort of excuse to take him
up, and started on his journey with the blessings of Doreen, and with
very little opposition from his father, who was subdued and thankful to
have got rid of Dudley with so little trouble.
It was soon after three when Max arrived at Dudley Horne's chambers in
Lincoln's Inn. Of course, Dudley was out; so Max scribbled a note for
his friend and left it on the table while he went to the Law Courts to
look for him. Not finding him anywhere about, Max filled up the day in
his own fashion, and returned to Dudley's room at about seven o'clock,
when he supposed that his friend would either return to dinner or look
in on his way to dine elsewhere.
He waited an hour, then went away and filled up his time at a
music-hall, and returned once more at a quarter to eleven. Dudley, so he
was told by the old woman who gave him the information, had not, as far
as she knew, been in his rooms since the morning.
Max, who was a great friend of Dudley's, and could take any liberty he
pleased in his precincts, lit the gas and the sitting-room fire, and
installed himself in an arm-chair with a book. He could not read,
however, for he was oppressed by some of Doreen's own fears. He was well
acquainted with all his friend's ways, and he knew that for him to be
away both from his chambers and from the neighborhood of the Courts for
a whole day was most unusual with that particularly steady, plodding
young man. He began to worry himself with the remembrance that Dudley
had not been himself of late, that he had been moody, restless and
unsettled without apparent cause.
Finally, Max worked himself into such a state of anxiety about his
friend that when he at last heard the key turned in the lock of the
outer door, he jumped up excitedly and made a rush for the door.
Before he reached it, however, he heard footsteps in the adjoining
bedroom, the heavy tread of a man stumbling about in the dark, the
overthrowing of some of the furniture.
Surely that could not be Dudley!
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