Moulton came back while he was still at the sideboard to say that Mr. Gray’s bed had not been slept in. Brand, watching like a hawk, anticipated immediate confusion. But, to his surprise, Amy only remarked in a vexed tone, “How very provoking! He’s never fit for anything when he’s dropped off in the library. I broke up cards early last night on purpose that he should be fresh this morning. He’s got to read the lessons. He always does on Christmas Day.”
Brand suppressed a spasm of grotesque laughter at the notion of a meek congregation waiting for that dead thing to enter the church and instruct them in their duties. Gray could read a lesson as other men preached sermons, as if he took to himself all the credit for the subject-matter and severely enjoined his hearers to obey him. There was no object in remaining at the sideboard any longer; clearly the panic was, at all events, postponed, and he could watch better by resuming his place at the table. Besides, it looked less marked. So he came back, carrying his plate, and said seriously, “I’m afraid some of us combined, quite unconsciously, to frustrate your good intentions. I had a fairly long session with him myself last night, and then there was Eustace. Of course, I don’t know how long that went on.”
Eustace flung up his head. “You’re crazy, Brand,” he cried in sharp tones. “I don’t suppose you know what you’re saying, and certainly I don’t. I didn’t see your father, Amy, last night after cards broke up. Olivia and I were tired, and had one or two things to talk over, and we went up to bed early. I don’t understand what your brother’s hinting at.”
He looked across the table to Brand, ruffled and flushed. Brand looked embarrassed. “Well, I beg your pardon, then,” he burst out with averted eyes. “Only—it was a pardonable mistake, I think. The library is about the only room we use down that corridor, so I supposed, naturally, you were going to talk to father. He’d let fall something about it while we were discussing my affairs. But I don’t suppose it’s of any consequence. It was really father who put the idea into my head.”
“What idea?”
“That he wouldn’t be exactly surprised to see you again before morning.”
Eustace said touchily, “I fail to see why you should discuss my affairs with your father at all.”
“They came up quite naturally in the course of conversation.”
“Money, I suppose?”
“Yes. We seem remarkably unanimous for once.”
Old Mrs. Gray thumped the table with a triangular-shaped napkin-holder of Indian silver, heavily embossed with elephants. “Can’t you for heaven’s sake keep the peace this one day of the year?” she cried. “You scarcely ever meet, and when you do you’re at one another’s throats like a pack of dogs. It’s very unpleasant for Amy and myself, who never see you at any other time. If you must be unmannerly, can’t you meet at one another’s houses for that purpose?”
It was characteristic that she paid no heed to the servant standing by, who now enquired respectfully whether he should rouse his master.
Richard stood up quickly. “No, I’ll go. He may be asleep.”
The general conversation was resumed in a desultory manner. Olivia raised the point of the advantages of Capri over Mallorca, as a holiday resort, with Miles, who had been to neither, but talked so deftly that Olivia presently said, “Dear me, you seem to have been quite a traveller. In your bachelor days, I suppose? Not much chance of going abroad now.” Ruth asked Eustace about his sons. Isobel murmured something about a Christmas-card Christmas, with all the snow and robins about, to Brand, who countered grimly, “And ghosts. You can’t leave them out of your old-fashioned Christmas. I wonder how many there are stalking round this house to-day.”
Brand found himself quite composed now, and spread butter on his toast very thickly, because he knew Amy was watching him, and put marmalade on the top of that. His sister made an involuntary movement to stop him; then her hand dropped, though her eyebrows twitched with irritation.
2
Richard came in, very pale and grave. Holding the door in his hand, he said, with a quietness that held everyone’s attention, “Eustace, did you say you didn’t see my father last night?”
“No,” said Eustace violently, “I didn’t. Oh, I admit, I wanted to see him, but I decided to put off the discussion until after to-day.”
“And what time did you leave him, Brand?”
“Shortly before midnight.”
“I wonder how you can be so sure,” murmured Amy unpleasantly.
“Quite simple. When I saw Eustace—not going down to the library, as he didn’t go there, but just saw him—it was in my mind to hail him with an appropriate greeting—‘Merry Christmas’ or something of that sort—but glancing at my wrist-watch I saw it wasn’t actually midnight, and, not wishing to invite a snub, I let the opportunity pass. In any case, it might possibly have looked like a taunt—the successful mendicant compassionating his less fortunate rival.”
There was a minute of startled silence. Only Miles immediately realised the meaning of Brand’s words, and he was too well trained at his work to exhibit any trace of feeling. Isobel scarcely seemed to have heard what he said; Olivia was troubled over Eustace. But Eustace’s eyes were all for this hangdog brother-in-law, who spoke to-day with so debonair an assurance and gaiety. Amy, too, had realised what he meant, and she was the first to put her suspicion into words.
“Are you trying to tell us that you made father give you money—you—when he hadn’t a penny to spare?”
“I gathered things weren’t going too well with him. He seemed to have been pressed in various directions, but all the same…” He glanced uncertainly at Richard, then continued doubtfully, “I suppose he’ll be sure to tell you. He didn’t enjoin secrecy on me,
