The Chase of the Ruby. Marsh Richard

or sleeping?'

      'Awake. I couldn't sleep. I was haunted by a feeling that he was dying. The stranger had not killed him; but in consequence of the thrashing he had received he was struggling with death, and kept calling out to me to come to him; and I couldn't.'

      'Poor Guy!'

      The lady softly stroked the hand of his which she held between her two.

      'I wondered if I was on the verge of an attack of illness or going mad, or what, though personally I felt as fit as a fiddle all the time, with my senses as much about me as they are now. I kept hearing him call out, over and over again, "Guy, Guy!" in the voice I knew so well and wasn't particularly fond of. There was something else which he kept repeating.'

      'What was that?'

      '"The ruby."'

      'The ruby?'

      'I haven't a notion of what he meant or what the whole thing meant, but at least a dozen times that night I heard him referring to a ruby, – the ruby, he called it. Long and seemingly involved sentences I heard him utter, but the only two words I could distinguish were those two-"the ruby"; and, as I have said, those two I heard him pronounce certainly a dozen times. And in the morning I was conscious of an absolute conviction that he was dead.'

      'How very strange.'

      'I'm not one of your clever chaps, so I don't pretend to be able to suggest a sufficient explanation, but the entire business reminds me of what I've heard about second sight. Although in the body I was out there on the veldt I seemed to know and see what was taking place heaven knows how many thousand miles away. In spite of the persuasion which was borne in upon me that he was dead, every day, and sometimes all day, I heard him calling out to me, "Guy, Guy!" and every now and then, "The ruby!" It was as if he were imploring me to come to him.'

      'So you came.'

      'So I came. The truth is I couldn't stand it any longer. I should have gone off my head if I had had much more of it. I was good for nothing, my nerves were all anyhow, everyone was laughing at me. So I slipped off by myself without a word to a creature; got down to Cape Town, found a boat just starting, and was off on it at once. Directly the boat was away the haunting stopped. My nerves were all right in an instant. I told myself I was an ass; that I ought to have wired or written, or done something sensible. Since, however, it was too late I tried to make the best of things. I ran up to London so soon as we reached port, meaning, if it turned out that my imagination had made a fool of me, to go straight back without breathing a word to anyone of my ever having come.'

      'Not even to me?'

      'Not even to you. You wouldn't have liked me to turn up with nothing but a bee in my bonnet.'

      'So long as you turned up, I shouldn't have cared for forty thousand bees. The idea!'

      'That's very sweet of you. As it happened, no sooner did I appear at my old quarters than Mrs Flickers produced a letter which had arrived for me-she did not know how long ago, and which she had not known what to do with. It turned out to be an intimation from Collyer that that my uncle had died on the 23rd of February, the very day on which, out on the veldt, I had seen him assaulted by that unknown individual upon that flight of steps.'

      'Guy, is this a ghost story you have been telling me? I don't want to be absurd, but it really does look as if it were a case of the hand of destiny.'

      'I don't know about the hand of destiny, but it does look as if it were a case of something.'

      'I shouldn't be surprised if, after all, the old reprobate has left you some of his money.'

      'Nor I. Oh, Letty, if he has! We'll be married on Monday.'

      'As this is Friday, couldn't you make it Sunday? Monday seems such a long way off. My dear Guy, first of all interview Mr Samuel Collyer. Then you'll learn the worst.'

      'I am going to. Of course I had to see you first-'

      'Of course.'

      'But I wired to him that I'd call this afternoon.'

      'Then call.'

      And Mr Holland called.

      CHAPTER II

      THE QUEST ORDAINED

      Mr Collyer's offices were in Pump Court, first floor front. Mr Samuel Collyer was a somewhat short and pursy gentleman of about fifty years of age, with a clean-shaven face, and a manner which gave such a varying complexion to the words he used as to cause it sometimes to be very difficult to make out exactly what it was he meant; an extremely useful manner for a solicitor to have. As with alert, swinging stride Mr Holland entered, Mr Collyer rose, greeting him with his usual stolid air, as if he had just looked in from across the road, instead of from the wilds of Africa.

      'Good morning, Mr Guy. You're looking very brown.'

      'Yes, I-I'm feeling very brown.'

      The words seemed to come from him almost before he knew it, on the spur of the moment, as if the presence of a third person lent them a special significance. Reclining in the only armchair the room contained was a young gentleman of about Mr Holland's own age. He was well dressed, good looking, very much at his ease, and he regarded Mr Holland with a suggestion of amusement which seemed somehow to be very much in character.

      'In questions of feeling is brown the equivalent of blue?'

      Mr Holland's bearing was not so genial as the other's.

      'I did not expect to see you here.'

      'Nor, my dear Guy, did I expect to see you. I did not even wish to.'

      'That I can easily believe.'

      'It is Mr Collyer's fault that I am here, not mine. I should have been content never to set eyes on you again; and as for being in the same room with you-'

      He left his sentence unfinished, with a little airy movement of his hand, which seemed to round it off with a sting. He continued to smile, although Mr Holland regarded him for a moment with eyes which were very far from smiling. The newcomer turned to the solicitor.

      'I have your letter.'

      'I presume, Mr Guy, that you had my letter nearly three months ago.'

      'I had it this morning. I only came back from Africa last night.'

      'From Africa? I was not aware you had gone so far.'

      'Dear Guy is such a gadabout.'

      The interpolation came from the young gentleman in the arm-chair. The solicitor went on.

      'The only address I had was the one in Craven Street. As my letter did not come back I supposed it had reached you safely; but that, for reasons of your own, you chose to take no notice of it. You know, Mr Guy, that in such matters you are a little erratic.'

      'I know. You needn't remind me. So my uncle is dead. Of what did he die?'

      'The immediate cause was apoplexy, brought on, it is to be feared, by something which happened on the afternoon of his decease.'

      The young gentleman in the arm-chair struck in.

      'He was thrashed within an inch of his life, and very properly he was served.'

      'Thrashed! Where? On a flight of steps?'

      'On the steps of the Hôtel des Anglais at Nice.'

      'Good God! I thought I knew the place; of course it was the Hôtel des Anglais; it's-it's past believing.'

      The solicitor misapprehended the cause of Mr Holland's excitement.

      'It does seem almost incredible; none the less it is a lamentable fact.'

      The young gentleman put in his word.

      'How incredible? The dear man misbehaved himself with another man's wife, as was his invariable custom when he had a chance. The other man thrashed him for it. What could be more natural? or simpler?'

      Mr Holland ignored the inquiry.

      'What is it, Mr Collyer, which you wish to say to me?'

      'It is not so much that I have anything to say