The Mischief Maker | Page 6

very common substitute for brains; Mrs. Carraby, on whom
had been plastered an expensive and ultra-fashionable education,
although she was able perhaps more effectually to conceal her origin,
the daughter of a rich Yorkshire manufacturer, who had secured a paid
entrance into Society. They were purely artificial figures for the very
reason that they never admitted any one of these facts to themselves,
but talked always the jargon of the world to which they aspired, as
though they were indeed denizens therein by right. At that moment,
though, a single natural feeling shook the man, shook his faith in

himself, in life, in his destiny. There was Jewish blood in his veins and
it made itself felt.
"Mabel," he began, "this man Portel--you've flirted with him, you say?"
"I have most certainly flirted with him," she admitted quietly.
"He hasn't dared--"
A flash of scorn lit her cold eyes.
"I think," she said, "that you had better ask me no questions of that
sort."
Carraby went slowly out. Already the moment was passing. Of course
he could trust his wife! Besides, in his letter was the death warrant of
the man who stood between him and his ambitions. Mrs. Carraby
listened to his footsteps in the hall, heard his suave reply to his
secretary, heard his orders to the footman who let him out. From where
she stood she watched him cross the square. Already he had recovered
his alert bearing. His shoes and his hat were glossy, his coat was of an
excellent fit. The woman watched him without movement or any
change of expression.

CHAPTER III
A RUINED CAREER
Sir Julien Portel stood in the middle of his bedroom, dressed in shirt
and trousers only. The sofa and chairs around him were littered with
portions of the brilliant uniform which he had torn from his person a
few minutes before with almost feverish haste. His perplexed servant,
who had only just arrived, was doing his best to restore the room to
some appearance of order.
"You needn't mind those wretched things for the present, Richards," his
master ordered sharply. "Bring the rest of the tweed traveling suit like

the trousers I have on, and then see about packing some clothes."
The man ceased his task. He looked around, a little bewildered.
"Do I understand that you are going out of town tonight, Sir Julien?" he
asked.
"I am going on to the continent by the nine o'clock train," was the curt
reply.
Richards was a perfectly trained servant, but the situation was too much
for him.
"You will excuse me, Sir Julien," he said, "but there is Lord
Cardington's dinner tonight, and the reception afterwards at the Foreign
Office. I have your court clothes ready."
His master laughed shortly.
"I am not attending the dinner or the reception, Richards. You can put
those things back again and get me the traveling clothes."
The man seemed a little dazed, but turned automatically towards the
wardrobe.
"Shall you require me to accompany you, sir?" he inquired.
"Not at present," Sir Julien replied. "You will have to come on with the
rest of my luggage when I have decided what to do."
Richards was not more than ordinarily inquisitive, but the
circumstances were certainly unusual.
"Do you mean, sir, that you will not be returning to London at
present?" he ventured to ask.
"I shall not be returning to London for some time," Sir Julien answered
sharply. "Get on with the packing as quickly as you can. Put the
whiskey and soda on the table in the sitting-room, and the cigarettes.

Remember, if any one comes I am not at home."
"Too late, my dear fellow," a voice called out from the adjoining room.
"You see, I have found my way up unannounced--a bad habit, but my
profession excuses everything."
The man stood on the threshold of the room opening out from the
bedroom--tall, florid, untidily dressed, with clean-shaven, humorous
face, ungloved hands, and a terribly shabby hat. He looked around the
room and shrugged his shoulders.
"What an infernal mess!" he exclaimed. "Come along out into the
sitting-room, Julien. I want to talk to you."
"I should like to know how the devil you got in here!" Sir Julien
muttered. "I told the fellow downstairs that no one was to be allowed
up."
"He did try to make himself disagreeable," the newcomer replied.
"However, here I am--that's enough."
Sir Julien turned to his servant.
"Get on with your packing, Richards," he directed, "and let me know
when you have finished."
Sir Julien followed his visitor into the sitting-room, closing the door
behind him. His manner was not in the least cordial.
"Look here, Kendricks, old fellow," he said, "I don't want to be rude,
but I am not in the humor to