The Market-Place | Page 4

glorious a warrant those nerves had for their unsettled
state. They would be all right after a night's real rest. He would know
how to sleep NOW, thank God!
But yes--there was somebody outside--and this time knocking with
assurance at the right door, the entrance to the outer office. After a
second's consideration, he went into this unlighted outer office, and
called out through the opaque glass an enquiry. The sound of his voice,
as it analyzed itself in his own ears, seemed unduly peremptory. The

answer which came back brought a flash of wonderment to his eyes. He
hurriedly unlocked and opened the door.
"I saw the lights in what I made out to be the Board Room," said the
newcomer, as he entered. "I assumed it must be you. Hope I don't
interrupt anything."
"Nothing could have given me greater pleasure, Lord Plowden," replied
the other, leading the way back to the inner apartment. "In fact, I
couldn't have asked anything better."
The tone of his voice had a certain anxious note in it not quite in
harmony with this declaration. He turned, under the drop-light
overhanging the Board-table, and shook hands with his guest, as if to
atone for this doubtful accent. "I shake hands with you again," he said,
speaking rapidly, "because this afternoon it was what you may call
formal; it didn't count. And--my God!--you're the man I owe it all to."
"Oh, you mustn't go as far as that--even in the absence of witnesses,"
replied Lord Plowden, lightly. "I'll take off my coat for a few minutes,"
he went on, very much at his ease. "It's hot in here. It's by the merest
chance I happened to be detained in the City--and I saw your lights, and
this afternoon we had no opportunity whatever for a quiet talk. No--I
won't drink anything before dinner, but I'll light a cigar. I want to say to
you, Thorpe," he concluded, as he seated himself "that I think what
you've done is very wonderful. The Marquis thinks so too--but I
shouldn't like to swear that he understands much about it."
The implication that the speaker did understand remained in the air like
a tangible object. Thorpe took a chair, and the two men exchanged a
silent, intent look. Their faces, dusky red on the side of the glow from
the fire, pallid where the electric light fell slantwise upon them from
above, had for a moment a mysterious something in common. Then the
tension of the glance was relaxed--and on the instant no two men in
London looked less alike.
Lord Plowden was familiarly spoken of as a handsome man. Thorpe
had even heard him called the handsomest man in England--though this

seemed in all likelihood an exaggeration. But handsome he
undoubtedly was--tall without suggesting the thought of height to the
observer, erect yet graceful, powerfully built, while preserving the
effect of slenderness. His face in repose had the outline of the more
youthful guardsman-type--regular, finely-cut, impassive to hardness.
When he talked, or followed with interest the talk of others, it revealed
almost an excess of animation. Then one noted the flashing subtlety of
his glance, the swift facility of his smile and comprehending brows,
and saw that it was not the guardsman face at all. His skin was
fresh-hued, and there was a shade of warm brown in his small,
well-ordered moustasche, but his hair, wavy and worn longer than the
fashion, seemed black. There were perceptible veins of grey in it,
though he had only entered his thirty-fifth year. He was dressed
habitually with the utmost possible care.
The contrast between this personage and the older man confronting him
was abrupt. Thorpe was also tall, but of a burly and slouching figure.
His face, shrouded in a high-growing, dust-coloured beard, invited no
attention. One seemed always to have known this face--thick-featured,
immobile, undistinguished. Its accessories for the time being were even
more than ordinarily unimpressive. Both hair and beard were ragged
with neglect. His commonplace, dark clothes looked as if he had slept
in them. The hands resting on his big knees were coarse in shape, and
roughened, and ill-kept.
"I couldn't have asked anything better than your dropping in, "he
repeated now, speaking with a drag, as of caution, on his words.
"Witnesses or no witnesses, I'm anxious to have you understand that I
realize what I owe to you."
"I only wish it were a great deal more than it is," replied the other, with
a frank smile.
"Oh, it'll mount up to considerable, as it stands," said Thorpe.
He could hear that there was a kind of reservation in his voice; the
suspicion that his companion detected it embarrassed him. He found
himself in the position of fencing with a man to whom all