pgw.uneasymoney-第20部分

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　She　turned　and　began　to　walk　up　the　drive。　Hanging　over　the　top　of　the　gate　like　a　wet　sock；　Lord　Dawlish　watched　her　go。　The　interview　was　over；　and　he　could　not　think　of　one　single　thing　to　say。　Her　white　dress　made　a　patch　of　light　in　the　shadows。　She　moved　slowly；　as　if　weighed　down　by　sad　thoughts；　like　one　who；　as　Luella　Delia　Philpotts　beautifully　puts　it；　paces　with　measured　step　behind　the　coffin　of　a　murdered　heart。　The　bend　of　the　drive　hid　her　from　his　sight。
　About　twenty　minutes　later　Dudley　Pickering；　smoking　sentimentally　in　the　darkness　hard　by　the　porch；　received　a　shock。　He　was　musing　tenderly　on　his　Claire；　who　was　assisting　him　in　the　process　by　singing　in　the　drawing…room；　when　he　was　aware　of　a　figure；　the　sinister　figure　of　a　man　who；　pressed　against　the　netting　of　the　porch；　stared　into　the　lighted　room　beyond。
　Dudley　Pickering's　first　impulse　was　to　stride　briskly　up　to　the　intruder；　tap　him　on　the　shoulder；　and　ask　him　what　the　devil　he　wanted；　but　a　second　look　showed　him　that　the　other　was　built　on　too　ample　a　scale　to　make　this　advisable。　He　was　a　large；　fit…looking　intruder。
　Mr　Pickering　was　alarmed。　There　had　been　the　usual　epidemic　of　burglaries　that　season。　Houses　had　been　broken　into；　valuable　possessions　removed。　In　one　case　a　negro　butler　had　been　struck　over　the　head　with　a　gas…pipe　and　given　a　headache。　In　these　circumstances；　it　was　unpleasant　to　find　burly　strangers　looking　in　at　windows。
　'Hi！'　cried　Mr　Pickering。
　The　intruder　leaped　a　foot。　It　had　not　occurred　to　Lord　Dawlish；　when　in　an　access　of　wistful　yearning　he　had　decided　to　sneak　up　to　the　house　in　order　to　increase　his　anguish　by　one　last　glimpse　of　Claire；　that　other　members　of　the　household　might　be　out　in　the　grounds。　He　was　just　thinking　sorrowfully；　as　he　listened　to　the　music；　how　like　his　own　position　was　to　that　of　the　hero　of　Tennyson's　_Maud_a　poem　to　which　he　was　greatly　addicted；　when　Mr　Pickering's　'Hi！'　came　out　of　nowhere　and　hit　him　like　a　torpedo。
　He　turned　in　agitation。　Mr　Pickering　having　prudently　elected　to　stay　in　the　shadows；　there　was　no　one　to　be　seen。　It　was　as　if　the　voice　of　conscience　had　shouted　'Hi！'　at　him。　He　was　just　wondering　if　he　had　imagined　the　whole　thing；　when　he　perceived　the　red　glow　of　a　cigar　and　beyond　it　a　shadowy　form。
　It　was　not　the　fact　that　he　was　in　an　equivocal　position；　staring　into　a　house　which　did　not　belong　to　him；　with　his　feet　on　somebody　else's　private　soil；　that　caused　Bill　to　act　as　he　did。　It　was　the　fact　that　at　that　moment　he　was　not　feeling　equal　to　conversation　with　anybody　on　any　subject　whatsoever。　It　did　not　occur　to　him　that　his　behaviour　might　strike　a　nervous　stranger　as　suspicious。　All　he　aimed　at　was　the　swift　removal　of　himself　from　a　spot　infested　by　others　of　his　species。　He　ran；　and　Mr　Pickering；　having　followed　him　with　the　eye　of　fear；　went　rather　shakily　into　the　house；　his　brain　whirling　with　professional　cracksmen　and　gas　pipes　and　assaulted　butlers；　to　relate　his　adventure。
　'A　great；　hulking；　ruffianly　sort　of　fellow　glaring　in　at　the　window；'　said　Mr　Pickering。　'I　shouted　at　him　and　he　ran　like　a　rabbit。'
　'Gee！　Must　have　been　one　of　the　gang　that's　been　working　down　here；'　said　Roscoe　Sherriff。　'There　might　be　a　quarter　of　a　column　in　that；　properly　worked；　but　I　guess　I'd　better　wait　until　he　actually　does　bust　the　place。'
　'We　must　notify　the　police！'
　'Notify　the　police；　and　have　them　butt　in　and　stop　the　thing　and　kill　a　good　story！'　There　was　honest　amazement　in　the　Press…agent's　voice。　'Let　me　tell　you；　it　isn't　so　easy　to　get　publicity　these　days　that　you　want　to　go　out　of　your　way　to　stop　it！'
　Mr　Pickering　was　appalled。　A　dislike　of　this　man；　which　had　grown　less　vivid　since　his　scene　with　Claire；　returned　to　him　with　redoubled　force。
　'Why；　we　may　all　be　murdered　in　our　beds！'　he　cried。
　'Front…page　stuff！'　said　Roscoe　Sherriff；　with　gleaming　eyes。　'And　three　columns　at　least。　Fine！'
　It　might　have　consoled　Lord　Dawlish　somewhat；　as　he　lay　awake　that　night；　to　have　known　that　the　man　who　had　taken　Claire　from　himthough　at　present　he　was　not　aware　of　such　a　man's　existencealso　slept　ill。
　
　13
　Lady　Wetherby　sat　in　her　room；　writing　letters。　The　rest　of　the　household　were　variously　employed。　Roscoe　Sherriff　was　prowling　about　the　house；　brooding　on　campaigns　of　publicity。　Dudley　Pickering　was　walking　in　the　grounds　with　Claire。　In　a　little　shack　in　the　woods　that　adjoined　the　high…road；　which　he　had　converted　into　a　temporary　studio；　Lord　Wetherby　was　working　on　a　picture　which　he　proposed　to　call　'Innocence'；　a　study　of　a　small　Italian　child　he　had　discovered　in　Washington　Square。　Lady　Wetherby；　who　had　been　taken　to　see　the　picture；　had　suggested　'The　Black　Hand's　Newest　Recruit'　as　a　better　title　than　the　one　selected　by　the　artist。
　It　is　a　fact　to　be　noted　that　of　the　entire　household　only　Lady　Wetherby　could　fairly　be　described　as　happy。　It　took　very　little　to　make　Lady　Wetherby　happy。　Fine　weather；　good　food；　and　a　plete　abstention　from　classical　dancinggive　her　these　and　she　asked　no　more。　She　was；　moreover；　delighted　at　Claire's　engagement。　It　seemed　to　her；　for　she　had　no　knowledge　of　the　existence　of　Lord　Dawlish；　a　genuine　manifestation　of　Love's　Young　Dream。　She　liked　Dudley　Pickering　and　she　was　devoted　to　Claire。　It　made　her　happy　to　think　that　it　was　she　who　had　brought　them　together。
　But　of　the　other　members　of　the　party；　Dudley　Pickering　was　unhappy　because　he　feared　that　burglars　were　about　to　raid　the　house；　Roscoe　Sherriff　because　he　feared　they　were　not；　Claire　because；　now　that　the　news　of　the　engagement　was　out；　it　seemed　to　be　everybody's　aim　to　leave　her　alone　with　Mr　Pickering；　whose　undiluted　society　tended　to　pall。　And　Lord　Wetherby　was　unhappy　because　he　found　Eustace；　the　monkey；　a　perpetual　strain　upon　his　artistic　nerves。　It　was　Eustace　who　had　driven　him　to　his　shack　in　the　woods。　He　could　have　painted　far　more　fortably　in　the　house；　but　Eustace　had　developed　a　habit　of　stealing　up　to　him　and　plucking　the　leg　of　his　trousers；　and　an　artist　simply　cannot　give　of　his　best　with　that　sort　of　thing　going　on。
　Lady　Wetherby　wrote　on。　She　was　not　fond　of　letter…writing　and　she　had　allowed　her　correspondence　to　accumulate；　but　she　was　disposing　of　it　in　an　energetic　and　conscientious　way；　when　the　entrance　of　Wrench；　the　butler；　interrupted　her。
　Wrench　had　been　imported　from　England　at　the　request　of　Lord　Wetherby；　who　had　said　that　it　soothed　him　and　kept　him　from　feeling　home…sick　to　see　a　butler　about　the　place。　Since　then　he　had　been　hanging　to　the　establishment　as　it　were　by　a　hair。　He　gave　the　impression　of　being　always　on　the　point　of　giving　notice。　There　were　so　many　things　connected　with　his　position　of　which　he　disapproved。　He　had　made　no　official　pronouncement　of　the　matter；　but　Lady　Wetherby　knew　that　he　disapproved　of　her　classical　dancing。　His　last　position　had　been　with　the　Dowager　Duchess　of　Waveney；　the　well…known　political　hostess；　whoeven　had　the　somewhat　generous　lines　on　which　she　was　built　not　prevented　the　possibility　of　such　a　thingwould　have　perished　rather　than　dance　barefooted　in　a　public　restaurant。　Wrench　also　disapproved　of　America。　That　fact　had　been　made　plain　immediately　upon　his　arrival　in　the　country。　He　had　given　America　one　look；　and　then　his　mind　was　made　uphe　disapproved　of　it。
　'If　you　please；　m'lady！'
　Lady　Wetherby　turned。　The　butler　was　looking　even　more　than　usually　disapproving；　and　his　disapproval　had；　so　to　speak；　crystallized；　as　if　it　had　found　some　more　concrete　and　definite　objective　than　either　barefoot　dancing　or　the　United　States。
　'If　you　please；　m'ladythe　hape！'
　It　was　Wrench's　custom　to　speak　of　Eustace　in　a　tone　of　restrained　disgust。　He　disapproved　of　Eustace。　The　Dowager　Duchess　of　Waveney；　though　she　kept　open　house　for　members　of　Parliament；　would　have　drawn　the　line　at　monkeys。
　'The　hape　is　behaving　very　strange；　m'lady；'　said　Wrench；　frostily。
　It　has　been　well　said　that　in　this　world　there　is　always　something。　A　moment　before；　Lady　Wetherby　had　been　feeling　pletely　contented；　without　a　care　on　her　horizon。　It　was　foolish　of　her　to　have　expected　such　a　state　of　things　to　last；　for　what　is　life　but　a　series　of　sharp　corners；　round　each　of　which　Fate　lies　in　wait　for　us　with　a　stuffed　eel…skin？　Something　in　the　butler's　manner；　a　sort　of　gloating　gloom　which　he　radiated；　told　her　that　she　had　arrived　at　one　of　these　corners　now。
　'The　hape　is　seated　on　the　kitchen…sink；　m'lady；　throwing　new…laid　eggs　at　the　scullery…maid；　and　cook　desired　me　to　step　up　and　ask　for　instructions。'
　'What！'　Lady　Wetherby　rose　in　agitation。　'What's　he　doing　that　for？'　she　asked；　weakly。
　A　slight；　dignified　gesture　was　Wrench's　only　reply。　It　was　not　his　place　to　analyse　the　motives　of　monkeys。
　'Throwing　eggs！'
　The　sight　of　Lady　Wetherby's　distress　melted　the　butler's　stern　reserve。　He　unbent　so　far　as　to　supply　a　clue。
　'As　I　understand　from　cook；　m'lady；　the　animal　appears　to　have　taken　umbrage　at　a　lack　of　cordiality　on　the　part　of　the　cat。　It　seems　that　the　hape　attempted　to　fondle　the　cat；　but　the　latter　scratched　him；　being　suspicious；'　said　Wrench；　'of　his　_bona　fides_。'　He　scrutinized　the