Till the Clock Stops | Page 4

been anticipating the end itself for months--long, weary months, one may venture to say. Yet Lancaster, who had been unfortunate in getting the easy-chair which compelled its occupant to face the strong, clear light, suffered an emotion that constricted his throat and brought tears to his eyes. But Lancaster had ever been half-hearted, whether for good or evil. He looked less unhealthy than on that spring morning, eighteen months ago, but the furtiveness had increased so much that a stranger would have pitied him as a man with nerves. To his host's calmly delivered intimation he had no response ready.
Bullard, on the other hand, was at no loss for words, though he allowed a few seconds--a decent interval, as they say--to elapse ere he uttered them. He was not the sort of fool who tosses a light protest in the face of a grave statement. If his dark face showed no more feeling than usual, his voice was kind, sympathetic, sincere.
"My dear Christopher," he said, "you have hit us hard, for you never were a man to make idle assertions, and we know you have suffered much these last few years. Nevertheless, for our own sakes as well as your own, we must take leave to hope that your medical man is mistaken. For one thing, your eyes are not those of a man who is done with life."
Christopher Craig smiled faintly. "Unfortunately, Bullard, life is done--or nearly done--with me."
Said Lancaster, as if forced--"Have you seen a specialist?"
The host's hand made a slightly impatient movement. "Let us not discuss the point further. I did not bring you both from London to listen to medical details. By the way, I must thank you for coming so promptly."
"We could not have done otherwise," said Bullard, fingering his cigar. "It is nearly two years since we saw you--but, as you know, that has been hardly our fault."
"Indeed no," Lancaster murmured.
"Go on smoking," said the host. "Yes; I'm afraid I became a bit of a recluse latterly. I had to take such confounded care of myself. Well, I didn't want to go out of the world before I could help it, and I was enjoying the quiet here after the strenuous years in Africa--Africa South, East, West. What years they were!" He sighed. "Only the luck came too late to save my brother." He was gazing at the loch, and could hardly have noticed Lancaster's wince which called up Bullard's frown.
Bullard threw his cold cigar into the fire and lit a fresh one with care. With smoke coming from his lips he said softly, "Your brother was devilishly badly treated in that land deal, Christopher. Lancaster and I would have helped him out, had it been possible--wouldn't we, Lancaster?"
Lancaster cleared his throat. "Oh, surely!"
"Thanks," said Christopher. "Of course we've gone over all that before, and I'd thought I had spoken of it for the last time. Only now I feel I'd die a bit happier if I could bring to book the man or men who ruined him. But that cannot be, so let us change the subject with these words, 'They shall have their reward.'"
"Amen!" said Bullard, in clear tones.
Lancaster took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead.
Still gazing at the loch, Christopher continued--
"I will speak of the living--my nephew, Alan." He lifted his hand as though to check a contradiction. "I am well aware that you believe him dead, and I cannot get away from the fact that the wretched twopence-ha'penny expedition came home without him. But no member could assert that he was dead--only that he was lost, missing; and though I shall not live to see it, I will die in the firm belief of his return within a year."
For once Bullard seemed to have nothing to say, and doubtless he was surprised to hear his colleague's voice stammer--
"If you could give me any grounds for your belief, Christopher--"
"Men have been lost in the Arctic before now, and have not died."
"But Alan, poor fellow, was alone."
"He had his gun and some food. As you know, he was hunting with a man named Flitch when they got separated in a sudden fog."
"And all search proved vain," said Bullard.
"True. But there was an Eskimo encampment within a day's march," retorted Christopher, mildly.
"It had been broken up--"
"Yes; by the time the search party reached it. I may tell you that I have seen and questioned every member of the expedition excepting the man Flitch, who seems to have disappeared, and several admitted the possibility which is my belief." The pale cheeks had flushed, the calm voice had risen.
Bullard gave Lancaster a warning glance, and there was a pause.
"I must not excite myself," resumed Christopher, his pallor back again. "But the boy grew dear to me when, like other happenings in my life, it