The Unknown Ajax

clumsier than his efforts to keep Richmond’s mother and grandfather in ignorance of his condition; his naive attempts at deception had been the big, good-natured, stupid man he appeared to be. But was he? There was no subtlety in his face, as there was in Vincent Darracott’s; his eyes were sometimes grave, and sometimes twinkling, but they were the eyes of a child: they gazed innocently upon the world, there was no thought behind them.

The Lieutenant glanced at Richmond. It struck him that Richmond was too pale; paler, surely, then he had been a few minutes earlier? His eyes narrowed, intently watching the boy. It was useless to question him: if he was drunk his answers would be valueless; if he was pretending to be drunk he could make them so. He was leaning forward, both his arms on the table, foolishly trying to stand the stopper of the decanter on end, using both hands impartially. It was incredible that he could sit like that, vacantly smiling, if he had a bullet lodged in him; it was incredible that he should be sitting in that chair at all under such circumstances: surely he must have swooned from sheer weakness? But he was certainly growing paler.

“Vincent!”

The Major’s voice was lowered. Ottershaw’s suspicious eyes went instantly to his face, but Hugo was no longer looking at him, he was looking at Richmond, a rather rueful smile on his lips. He glanced towards Vincent, and significantly directed his attention to Richmond, saying, in an under-voice: “From the looks of it, he’ll be casting up his accounts before he’s much older. Better get him to bed.”

“Damn the brat!” said Vincent. “Inevitable, of course! He will in all probability cast ’em up as soon as he gets to his feet. What a singularly disagreeable evening this has been, to be sure!”

He went up to the table as he spoke, and grasped Richmond’s left arm, just above the elbow, as though to pull him to his feet. “Come along, bantam!” he said. “Bedtime!”

Richmond hiccupped. “I don’t want to go to bed.”

“One moment!” Ottershaw said suddenly, obedient to an insistent, inner prompting. “Before you retire, Mr. Richmond, oblige me, please, by removing your coat!”

Chapter 21

“Well, upon my word!” cried Anthea, as though she could no longer restrain herself. “Mr. Ottershaw, are you indeed mad, or merely determined to insult us! I never heard of anything so outrageous in my life! Who are you to throw orders about in this house? Pray how many people have been fired on tonight?”

Uncertainty, chagrin, the intangible feeling that he was being fooled to the top of his bent, were making the Lieutenant lose his temper. He snapped back accusingly: “Only one, Miss Darracott!”

She stared at him, her eyes blazing. “Only—Why, you—you impertinent idiot! Do you know what you are saying? Do you seriously imagine that I—my grandfather—my cousins—all of us, in fact: every member of the household!—are engaged in the smuggling trade?”

“No! But that you are engaged in protecting Mr. Richmond Darracott, yes!”he said recklessly.

“Don’t be so daft, Ottershaw!” said Hugo quietly.

Anthea paid no heed, but gave a scornful, angry laugh, and said: “Well, I hope you know how my brother has contrived to become a smuggler without anyone’s being the wiser, for I can assure you I don’t! When I think of the way every single soul at Darracott Place fusses and cossets him—Oh, what is the use of talking to you? You are out of your senses!” She swung round towards Lord Darracott, demanding impetuously: “Grandpapa, how much more of this do you mean to endure?”

“Let him go his length, my girl!” he replied. “The farther the better! Do you think I mean to stop him tieing the noose round his own neck? I don’t, pea-goose!”

Sergeant Hoole stepped forward, laying a hand on the Lieutenant’s arm. “Sir!” he uttered imploringly. “Begging your pardon, but—”

Ottershaw shook him off. He had gone too far to draw back, and the voice within his brain that urged him not to let these Darracotts outjockey him was growing every second more insistent. Rather pale, but with his jaw out- thrust, he said: “If Mr. Richmond Darracott is unhurt, why should he hesitate to remove his coat, so that I may be convinced by the evidence of my own eyes that it is so?”

Hugo, who had bent over Claud, adjusting the sling that supported his left arm, straightened himself, saying: “Oh, for God’s sake, take your coat off, Richmond, and your waistcoat too! Let’s be done with this business!”

Richmond might be pale, but his eyes, tremendously alive, gave the lie to the drawn look on his face, not a trace of fear in them. He gave a gleeful chuckle, and pointed a derisive finger at the Major. “Who said I couldn’t bamboozle the Exciseman? Who said he was too fly to the time of day to be hoaxed by a silly schoolboy? I’ve done it! Vincent, do you know what Hugo—”

“I’m going to say something more, when you’re sober enough to attend to me,” said Hugo, somewhat grimly. “Happen you won’t find that so amusing! In the meantime, we’ve had more than enough of your hoax, so take your coat off, and let me have no argument about it!”

Richmond’s laughter was quenched. He looked resentfully at his large cousin, saying sulkily: “I don’t know why I need do as you say. I don’t care for what you think. Nothing to do with you!”

“Help him off with it, Vincent!” said Hugo curtly.

At this point Claud, who had opened his eyes some few minutes previously, demanded, in bewildered accents: “What the devil does that fellow want with Richmond’s coat? Dash it, he is mad!”

“Don’t fatch!” said Hugo. “He thinks it’s Richmond that was shot, and not you at all, so the easiest way to prove him wrong—”

“Thinks—thinks I wasn’t shot?” gasped Claud, galvanized into struggling up on to his right elbow. “Oh, so that’s what you think, is it, you murderous lunatic? Then let me tell you—”

“You young fool, keep still! Claud—!” exclaimed Hugo, taking two hasty strides to the head of the sofa, as Claud, with every sign of one exerting a superhuman effort, dragged himself up from the cushions, panting, and making unavailing attempts to speak. “Nay then, lad! Gently now!” he begged, his arms round Claud. “You’ll do yourself an injury, you silly lad! You mustn’t—”

“Don’t you talk to me!” raged Claud, between laboured breaths. “If you think— Ow—!”

The anguish throbbing in this sharp cry was so real that even Vincent was startled, while Anthea could almost have exclaimed Bravo! Ottershaw, who had been paying no heed to him, but keeping his eyes fixed on Richmond, just about to let Vincent pull off his coat, turned involuntarily.

“Hugo, you—you—!”

“Nay, lad, it’s your own fault!” protested Hugo. “Stop wriggling about like—”

“You put your great, clumsy hand right on—Oh—ah—ugh—!” moaned Claud, reduced again to extremis.

“Brandy, Polyphant!” Hugo said, his anxious gaze on Claud’s face. He shifted him slightly, and stretched out an imperative hand. “Or the salts! Anything, only give it to me quickly!”

A tiny, perfectly spontaneous shriek escaped Anthea.

“Hugo—! Your hand!”she stammered, her dilating eyes riveted to it.

“Good God!” ejaculated Vincent involuntarily.

Hugo looked round, surprised at Anthea, and then at his own bloodstained palm. “Oh, my God!” he uttered, swiftly glancing down at Claud’s back, which only he was in a position to see.

“Sir—!” exclaimed Polyphant reproachfully, and darted forward to snatch up some lint from the pile on the floor. “No, no, let me, sir! I beg pardon, but pray don’t—Just hold him, if you please! Oh, dear, oh, dear!

Miss Anthea, the longest strip of linen you can find—or knot two together—anything! Don’t move, Mr. Claud! I implore you, sir, don’t move!”