“Are you ever sorry that you’ve mixed yourself up in all this?” asked Virginia suddenly.
“Sorry? Good Lord, no. I love it. I’ve spent most of my life looking for trouble, you know. Perhaps, this time, I’ve got a little more than I bargained for.”
“But you’re well out of the wood now,” said Virginia, a little surprised by the unusual gravity of his tone.
“Not quite.”
They strolled on for a minute or two in silence.
“There are some people,” said Anthony, breaking the silence, “who don’t conform to the signals. An ordinary well-regulated locomotive slows down or pulls up when it sees the red light hoisted against it. Perhaps I was born colour blind. When I see the red signal—I can’t help forging ahead. And in the end, you know, that spells disaster. Bound to. And quite right really. That sort of thing is bad for traffic generally.”
He still spoke very seriously.
“I suppose,” said Virginia, “that you have taken a good many risks in your life?”
“Pretty nearly everyone there is—except marriage.”
“That’s rather cynical.”
“It wasn’t meant to be. Marriage, the kind of marriage I mean, would be the biggest adventure of the lot.”
“I like that,” said Virginia, flushing eagerly.
“There’s only one kind of woman I’d want to marry—the kind who is worlds removed from my type of life. What would we do about it? Is she to lead my life, or am I to lead hers?”
“If she loved you—”
“Sentimentality, Mrs. Revel. You know it is. Love isn’t a drug that you take to blind you to your surroundings—you can make it that, yes, but it’s a pity—love can be a lot more than that. What do you think the king and his beggar maid thought of married life after they’d been married a year or two? Didn’t she regret her rags and her bare feet and her carefree life? You bet she did. Would it have been any good renouncing his crown for her sake? Not a bit of good, either. He’d have made a damned bad beggar, I’m sure. And no woman respects a man when he’s doing a thing thoroughly badly.”
“Have you fallen in love with a beggar maid, Mr. Cade?” inquired Virginia softly.
“It’s the other way about with me, but the principle’s the same.”
“And there’s no way out?” asked Virginia.
“There’s always a way out,” said Anthony gloomily. “I’ve a theory that one can always get anything one wants if one will pay the price. And do you know what the price is, nine times out of ten? Compromise. A beastly thing, compromise, but it steals upon you as you near middle age. It’s stealing upon me now. To get the woman I want I’d—I’d even take up regular work.”
Virginia laughed.
“I was brought up to a trade, you know,” continued Anthony.
“And you abandoned it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“A matter of principle.”
“Oh!”
“You’re a very unusual woman,” said Anthony suddenly, turning and looking at her.
“Why?”
“You can refrain from asking questions.”
“You mean that I haven’t asked you what your trade was?”
“Just that.”
Again they walked on in silence. They were nearing the house now, passing close by the scented sweetness of the rose garden.
“You understand well enough, I dare say,” said Anthony, breaking the silence. “You know when a man’s in love with you. I don’t suppose you care a hang for me—or for anyone else—but, by God, I’d like to make you care.”
“Do you think you could?” asked Virginia, in a low voice.
“Probably not, but I’d have a damned good try.”
“Are you sorry you ever met me?” she said suddenly.
“Lord no. It’s the red signal again. When I first saw you—that day in Pont Street, I knew I was up against something that was going to hurt like fun. Your face did that to me—just your face. There’s magic in you from head to foot—some women are like that, but I’ve never known a woman who had so much of it as you have. You’ll marry someone respectable and prosperous, I suppose, and I shall return to my disreputable life, but I’ll kiss you once before I go—I swear I will.”
“You can’t do it now,” said Virginia softly. “Superintendent Battle is watching us out of the library window.”
Anthony looked at her.
“You’re rather a devil, Virginia,” he said dispassionately. “But rather a dear too.”
Then he waved his hand airily to Superintendent Battle.
“Caught any criminals this morning, Battle?”
“Not as yet, Mr. Cade.”
“That sounds hopeful.”
Battle, with an agility surprising in so stolid a man, vaulted out of the library window and joined them on the terrace.
“I’ve got Professor Wynward down here,” he announced in a whisper. “Just this minute arrived. He’s decoding the letters now. Would you like to see him at work?”
His tone suggested that of the showman speaking of some pet exhibit. Receiving a reply in the affirmative, he led them up to the window and invited them to peep inside.
Seated at a table, the letters spread out in front of him and writing busily on a big sheet of paper was a small red-haired man of middle age. He grunted irritably to himself as he wrote, and every now and then rubbed his nose violently until its hue almost rivalled that of his hair.
Presently he looked up.
“That you, Battle? What you want me down here to unravel this tomfoolery for? A child in arms could do it. A baby of two could do it on its head. Call this thing a cipher? It leaps to the eye, man.”
“I’m glad of that, Professor,” said Battle mildly. “But we’re not all so clever as you are, you know.”
“It doesn’t need cleverness,” snapped the Professor. “It’s routine work. Do you want the whole bundle done? It’s a long business, you know—requires diligent application and close attention, and absolutely no intelligence. I’ve done the one dated ‘Chimneys’ which you said was important. I might as well take the rest back to London and hand ’em over to one of my assistants. I really can’t afford the time myself. I’ve come away now from a real
