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Table of Contents

      Of two evils it is always best to choose the least, and as M. Vandeloup had to choose between the loss of his popularity or his liberty, he chose to lose the former instead of the latter. After all, as he argued to himself, Australia at large is a small portion of the world, and in America no one would know anything about his little escapade in connection with Kitty. He knew that he was in Gollipeck’s power, and that unless he acceded to that gentleman’s demand as to giving evidence he would be denounced to the authorities as an escaped convict from New Caledonia, and would be sent back there. Of course, his evidence could not but prove detrimental to himself, seeing how badly he had behaved to Kitty, but still as going through the ordeal meant liberty, he did so, and the result was as he had foreseen. Men, as a rule, are not very squeamish, and view each other’s failings, especially towards women, with a lenient eye, but Vandeloup had gone too far, and the Bachelors’ Club unanimously characterised his conduct as ‘damned shady’, so a letter was sent requesting M. Vandeloup to take his name off the books of the club. He immediately resigned, and wrote a polite letter to the secretary, which brought uneasy blushes to the cheek of that gentleman by its stinging remarks about his and his fellow clubmen’s morality. He showed it to several of the members, but as they all had their little redeeming vices, they determined to take no notice, and so M. Vandeloup was left alone. Another thing which happened was that he was socially ostracised from society, and his table, which used to be piled up with invitations, soon became quite bare. Of course, he knew he could force Meddlechip to recognise him, but he did not choose to do so, as all his thoughts were fixed on America. He had plenty of money, and with a new name and a brand new character, Vandeloup thought he would prosper exceedingly well in the States. So he stayed at home, not caring to face the stony faces of friends who cut him, and waited for the trial of Kitty Marchurst, after which he intended to leave for Sydney at once, and take the next steamer to San Francisco. He did not mind waiting, but amused himself reading, smoking, and playing, and was quite independent of Melbourne society. Only two things worried him, and the first of these was the annoyance of Pierre Lemaire, who seemed to have divined his intention of going away, and haunted him day and night like an unquiet spirit. Whenever Vandeloup looked out, he saw the dumb man watching the house, and if he went for a walk, Pierre would slouch sullenly along behind him, as he had done in the early days. Vandeloup could have called in the aid of a policeman to rid himself of this annoyance, but the fact was he was afraid of offending Pierre, as he might be tempted to reveal what he knew, and the result would not be pleasant. So Gaston bore patiently with the disagreeable system of espionage the dumb man kept over him, and consoled himself with the idea that once he was on his way to America, it would not matter two straws whether Pierre told all he knew, or kept silent. The other thing which troubled the young man were the words Kitty had made use of in Mrs Villiers’ drawing-room regarding the secret she said she knew. It made him uneasy, for he half guessed what it was, and thought she might tell it to someone out of revenge, and then there would be more troubles for him to get out of. Then, again, he argued that she was too fond of him ever to tell anything likely to injure him, even though he had put a rope round her neck. If he could have settled the whole affair by running away, he would have done so, but Gollipeck was still in Melbourne, and Gaston knew he could not leave the town without the terrible old man finding it out, and bringing him back. At last the torture of wondering how much Kitty knew was too much for him, and he determined to go to the Melbourne gaol and interview her. So he obtained an order from the authorities to see her, and prepared to start next morning. He sent the servant out for a hansom, and by the time it was at the door, M. Vandeloup, cool, calm, and well dressed, came down stairs pulling on his gloves. The first thing he saw when he got outside was Pierre waiting for him with his old hat pulled down over his eyes, and his look of sullen resignation. Gaston nodded coolly to him, and told the cabby he wanted to go to the Melbourne gaol, whereupon Pierre slouched forward as the young man was preparing to enter the cab, and laid his hand on his arm.

      ‘Well,’ said Vandeloup, in a quiet voice, in French, shaking off the dumb man’s arm, ‘what do you want?’

      Pierre pointed to the cab, whereupon M. Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders. ‘Surely you don’t want to come to the gaol with me,’ he said, mockingly, ‘you’ll get there soon enough.’

      The other nodded, and made a step towards the cab, but Vandeloup pushed him back.

      ‘Curse the fool,’ he muttered to himself, ‘I’ll have to humour him or he’ll be making a scene—you can’t come,’ he added aloud, but Pierre still refused to go away.

      This conversation or rather monologue, seeing M. Vandeloup was the only speaker, was carried on in French, so the cabman and the servant at the door were quite ignorant of its purport, but looked rather astonished at the conduct of the dirty tramp towards such an elegant-looking gentleman. Vandeloup saw this and therefore determined to end the scene.

      ‘Well, well,’ he said to Pierre in French, ‘get in at once,’ and then when the dumb man entered the cab, he explained to the cabman in English:—‘This poor devil is a pensioner of mine, and as he wants to see a friend of his in gaol I’ll take him with me.’

      He stepped into the cab which drove off, the cabman rather astonished at the whole affair, but none the less contented himself with merely winking at the pretty servant girl who stood on the steps, whereupon she tossed her head and went inside.

      As they drove along Vandeloup said nothing to Pierre, not that he did not want to, but he mistrusted the trap-door in the roof of the cab, which would permit the cabman to overhear everything. So they went along in silence, and when they arrived at the gaol Vandeloup told the cabman to wait for him, and walked towards the gaol.

      ‘You are coming inside, I suppose,’ he said, sharply, to Pierre, who still slouched alongside.

      The dumb man nodded sullenly.

      Vandeloup cursed Pierre in his innermost heart, but smiled blandly and agreed to let him enter with him. There was some difficulty with the warder at the door, as the permission to see the prisoner was only made out in the name of M. Vandeloup, but after some considerable trouble they succeeded in getting in.

      ‘My faith!’ observed Gaston, lightly, as they went along to the cell, conducted by a warder, ‘it’s almost as hard to get into gaol as to get out of it.’

      The warder admitted them both to Kitty’s cell, and left them alone with her. She was seated on the bed in the corner of the cell, in an attitude of deepest dejection. When they entered she looked up in a mechanical sort of manner, and Vandeloup could see how worn and pinched-looking her face was. Pierre went to one end of the cell and leaned against the wall in an indifferent manner, while Vandeloup stood right in front of the unhappy woman. Kitty arose when she saw him, and an expression of loathing passed over her haggard-looking face.

      ‘Ah!’ she said, bitterly, rejecting Vandeloup’s preferred hand, ‘so you have come to see your work; well, look around at these bare walls; see how thin and ugly I have grown; think of the crime with which I am charged, and surely even Gaston Vandeloup will be satisfied.’

      The young man sneered.

      ‘Still as good at acting as ever, I see,’ he said, mockingly; ‘cannot you even see a friend without going into these heroics?’

      ‘Why have you come here?’ she asked, drawing herself up to her full height.

      ‘Because I am your friend,’ he answered, coolly.

      ‘My friend!’ she echoed, scornfully, looking at him with contempt; ‘you ruined my life a year ago, now you have endeavoured to fasten the guilt of murder on me, and yet you call yourself my friend; a good story, truly,’ with a bitter laugh.

      ‘I could not help giving the evidence I did,’ replied Gaston, coolly, shrugging his shoulders; ‘if you are innocent, what I say will not matter.’

      ‘If I am innocent!’ she said, looking at him steadily; ‘you villain, you know I am innocent!’

      ‘I know nothing of the sort.’