Out & Proud: Gay Classics Collection. Radclyffe Hall

      “It is an annoying subject,” broke in Lord Henry. “It has no psychological value at all. Now if Geoffrey had done the thing on purpose, how interesting he would be! I should like to know some one who had committed a real murder.”

      “How horrid of you, Harry!” cried the duchess. “Isn’t it, Mr. Gray? Harry, Mr. Gray is ill again. He is going to faint.”

      Dorian drew himself up with an effort and smiled. “It is nothing, Duchess,” he murmured; “my nerves are dreadfully out of order. That is all. I am afraid I walked too far this morning. I didn’t hear what Harry said. Was it very bad? You must tell me some other time. I think I must go and lie down. You will excuse me, won’t you?”

      They had reached the great flight of steps that led from the conservatory on to the terrace. As the glass door closed behind Dorian, Lord Henry turned and looked at the duchess with his slumberous eyes. “Are you very much in love with him?” he asked.

      She did not answer for some time, but stood gazing at the landscape. “I wish I knew,” she said at last.

      He shook his head. “Knowledge would be fatal. It is the uncertainty that charms one. A mist makes things wonderful.”

      “One may lose one’s way.”

      “All ways end at the same point, my dear Gladys.”

      “What is that?”

      “Disillusion.”

      “It was my début in life,” she sighed.

      “It came to you crowned.”

      “I am tired of strawberry leaves.”

      “They become you.”

      “Only in public.”

      “You would miss them,” said Lord Henry.

      “I will not part with a petal.”

      “Monmouth has ears.”

      “Old age is dull of hearing.”

      “Has he never been jealous?”

      “I wish he had been.”

      He glanced about as if in search of something. “What are you looking for?” she inquired.

      “The button from your foil,” he answered. “You have dropped it.”

      She laughed. “I have still the mask.”

      “It makes your eyes lovelier,” was his reply.

      She laughed again. Her teeth showed like white seeds in a scarlet fruit.

      Upstairs, in his own room, Dorian Gray was lying on a sofa, with terror in every tingling fibre of his body. Life had suddenly become too hideous a burden for him to bear. The dreadful death of the unlucky beater, shot in the thicket like a wild animal, had seemed to him to pre-figure death for himself also. He had nearly swooned at what Lord Henry had said in a chance mood of cynical jesting.

      At five o’clock he rang his bell for his servant and gave him orders to pack his things for the night-express to town, and to have the brougham at the door by eight-thirty. He was determined not to sleep another night at Selby Royal. It was an ill-omened place. Death walked there in the sunlight. The grass of the forest had been spotted with blood.

      Then he wrote a note to Lord Henry, telling him that he was going up to town to consult his doctor and asking him to entertain his guests in his absence. As he was putting it into the envelope, a knock came to the door, and his valet informed him that the head-keeper wished to see him. He frowned and bit his lip. “Send him in,” he muttered, after some moments’ hesitation.

      As soon as the man entered, Dorian pulled his chequebook out of a drawer and spread it out before him.

      “I suppose you have come about the unfortunate accident of this morning, Thornton?” he said, taking up a pen.

      “Yes, sir,” answered the gamekeeper.

      “Was the poor fellow married? Had he any people dependent on him?” asked Dorian, looking bored. “If so, I should not like them to be left in want, and will send them any sum of money you may think necessary.”

      “We don’t know who he is, sir. That is what I took the liberty of coming to you about.”

      “Don’t know who he is?” said Dorian, listlessly. “What do you mean? Wasn’t he one of your men?”

      “No, sir. Never saw him before. Seems like a sailor, sir.”

      The pen dropped from Dorian Gray’s hand, and he felt as if his heart had suddenly stopped beating. “A sailor?” he cried out. “Did you say a sailor?”

      “Yes, sir. He looks as if he had been a sort of sailor; tattooed on both arms, and that kind of thing.”

      “Was there anything found on him?” said Dorian, leaning forward and looking at the man with startled eyes. “Anything that would tell his name?”

      “Some money, sir—not much, and a six-shooter. There was no name of any kind. A decent-looking man, sir, but rough-like. A sort of sailor we think.”

      Dorian started to his feet. A terrible hope fluttered past him. He clutched at it madly. “Where is the body?” he exclaimed. “Quick! I must see it at once.”

      “It is in an empty stable in the Home Farm, sir. The folk don’t like to have that sort of thing in their houses. They say a corpse brings bad luck.”

      “The Home Farm! Go there at once and meet me. Tell one of the grooms to bring my horse round. No. Never mind. I’ll go to the stables myself. It will save time.”

      In less than a quarter of an hour, Dorian Gray was galloping down the long avenue as hard as he could go. The trees seemed to sweep past him in spectral procession, and wild shadows to fling themselves across his path. Once the mare swerved at a white gate-post and nearly threw him. He lashed her across the neck with his crop. She cleft the dusky air like an arrow. The stones flew from her hoofs.

      At last he reached the Home Farm. Two men were loitering in the yard. He leaped from the saddle and threw the reins to one of them. In the farthest stable a light was glimmering. Something seemed to tell him that the body was there, and he hurried to the door and put his hand upon the latch.

      There he paused for a moment, feeling that he was on the brink of a discovery that would either make or mar his life. Then he thrust the door open and entered.

      On a heap of sacking in the far corner was lying the dead body of a man dressed in a coarse shirt and a pair of blue trousers. A spotted handkerchief had been placed over the face. A coarse candle, stuck in a bottle, sputtered beside it.

      Dorian Gray shuddered. He felt that his could not be the hand to take the handkerchief away, and called out to one of the farm-servants to come to him.

      “Take that thing off the face. I wish to see it,” he said, clutching at the door-post for support.

      When the farm-servant had done so, he stepped forward. A cry of joy broke from his lips. The man who had been shot in the thicket was James Vane.

      He stood there for some minutes looking at the dead body. As he rode home, his eyes were full of tears, for he knew he was safe.

      CHAPTER XIX.

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      “There is no use your telling me that you are going to be good,” cried Lord Henry, dipping his white fingers into a red copper bowl filled with rose-water. “You are quite perfect. Pray, don’t change.”

      Dorian Gray shook his head. “No, Harry, I have done too many dreadful things in my life. I am not going to do any more. I began my good actions yesterday.”