The Philanderers | Page 7

advanced from duty to duty; a week before the force
began its homeward march from Boruwimi he was sent out with a body
of men to forage for provisions. Three days later a solitary negro rushed
into camp, one of the few survivors of his tribe, he said. He told a story
of food freely given, a village plundered and burned for thanks, of
gold-dust stolen and the owners murdered that they might the better
hold their tongues. He signified Gorley as the culprit. Drake, guided by
the negro, marched towards the spot. He met Gorley and his company
half-way between Boruwimi and the village, carried him along with
him, and proved the story true. Against Gorley's troops no charge could
be sustained; they had only obeyed orders. But Gorley he
court-martialled, and the result has been described.
This was the incident which Drake was unwilling to commit to the
discretion of the editor of the Meteor. He had discovered Gorley's
relations in England, and had written to them a full account of the affair,
despatching with his letter a copy of the evidence given at the
court-martial. The reply came from the father, a heart-broken admission
of the justice of Drake's action, and a prayer that, for the sake of those
of the family who still lived, Gorley's crime should be as far as possible
kept secret. Drake gave the promise. So far he had kept it, he realised,
as he tossed aside the last copy of the Meteor.
At eight o'clock Sidney Mallinson arrived. He saw Drake at the top of
the flight of steps in the vestibule, and hesitated, perceiving that he was
alone.
'Hasn't Conway come?' he asked. 'I sent to him.'
'Not yet. It's barely eight.'
They shook hands limply and searched for topics of conversation.
'You look older than you did,' said Mallinson.

'Ah! Ten years, you know. You haven't changed much.'
Drake was looking at a face distinguished by considerable comeliness.
The forehead, however, overhung the features beneath it and gave to a
mouth and chin, which would otherwise have aroused no criticism, an
appearance of irresolution. The one noticeable difference in Mallinson
was the addition of an air of constraint. It was due partly to a question
which had troubled him since he had received the invitation. Had Drake
read A Man of Influence and recognised himself?
'I got your telegram,' he said at length.
'Naturally, or you wouldn't be here.'
The answer was intended to be jocular; it sounded only gauche, as
Drake recognised, and the laugh which accompanied it positively rude.
'Shall I put my coat in the cloak-room?' suggested Mallinson.
'Oh yes, do!' replied Drake. He was inclined to look upon the proposal
as an inspiration, and his tone unfortunately betrayed his thought.
When Mallinson returned, he saw Conway entering the hotel. The latter
looked younger by some years than either of his companions, so that, as
the three men stood together at this moment, they might have been held
to represent three separate decades.
'Twenty minutes late, I'm afraid,' said Conway, and he shook Drake's
hand with a genuine cordiality.
'Five,' said Drake, looking at his watch.
'Twenty,' replied Conway. 'A quarter to, was the time Mallinson wired
me.'
'Was it?' asked Mallinson, with a show of surprise. 'I must have made a
mistake.'
It occurred, however, to Drake that the mistake might have been

purposely made from a prevision of the awkwardness of the meeting.
The dinner, prefaced inauspiciously, failed to remove the awkwardness,
since the reticence under which Drake and Mallinson laboured,
gradually spread and enveloped Conway. A forced conversation of a
curiously impersonal sort dragged from course to course. Absolute
strangers would have exhibited less restraint; for the ghost of an old
comradeship made the fourth at the feast and prated to them in
exiguous voice of paths that had diverged. Drake noticed, besides, an
undercurrent of antagonism between Conway and Mallinson. He
inquired what each had been doing during his absence.
'Mallinson,' interposed Conway, 'has been absorbed in the interesting
study of his own personality.'
'I am not certain that pursuit is not preferable to revolving
unsuccessfully through a cycle of professions,' said Mallinson in slow
sarcasm.
The flush was upon Conway's cheek now. He set his wine glass
deliberately upon the table and leaned forward on an elbow.
'My dear good Sidney,' he began with elaborate affection, plainly
intended as the sugar coating of an excessively unpleasant pill. Drake
hastily interrupted with an anecdote of African experiences. It sounded
bald and monstrously long, but it served its purpose as peace-maker.
Literary acquisitiveness drew Mallinson on to ask for more of the same
kind. Drake mentioned a race of pigmies and described them,
speculating whether they might be considered the originals of the
human race.
'My