Till the Clock Stops | Page 9

and pressed one of the white buttons.
"All right, Caw, all right," said Christopher kindly--and the glass fell from his fingers. He did not appear to notice the mishap. "I'm afraid Handyside will be annoyed, but I had to get the whole business finished."
"Don't exhaust yourself, sir. Just try to think that everything will be done as you wish."
"One thing more--failing the doctor, you may trust Miss Marjorie Handyside in an emergency. And, Caw, don't forget--"
The door in the back wall opened noiselessly; and a tall bearded man in tweeds, with the complexion of an outdoor worker, entered. Closing the door he came quickly to the table.
"Sorry to trouble you, Handyside," said Christopher with a faltering smile, "but the interfering Caw insisted."
The newcomer glanced a question at the servant.
"No, sir," said Caw. "No attack, but--"
"Have his bed made ready," interrupted the doctor, softly, and Caw left the room.
"I've been overdoing it a little," the invalid said, apologetically, "but it was in doing things that had to be done. I'll be all right presently, my friend.... I say, Handyside, I want you and your daughter to come along and take supper with me to-night. I haven't seen Marjorie for more than a week."
"She has been away at her sister's for a few days. Only came home an hour ago." Handyside let go his patient's wrist and moved over to the hearth.
As he stared into the fire his face betrayed disappointment and grave concern, but when he turned it was cheerful enough.
"Yes, Craig, you've overdone it to-day. However, I'll try to forgive you. Only I'd like you to see Carslaw again--to-morrow."
"He can't do anything more for me--anything you can't do."
"Possibly not. Still, we must remember that I've been out of harness for five years."
"I remember only that you have virtually kept me alive for the last two."
"Your constitution did that," the doctor replied untruthfully. "And you've been a good patient, you know, except once in a while."
"You've been a good friend, Handyside, though we met for the first time only five years ago. Yes; I'll see Carslaw to please you. Now there are several things I want to say to you--"
"They must keep," Handyside said firmly. "You are going to bed now."
"But I've asked you to fetch Marjorie--"
"That pleasure for her must keep also."
"Bed?" muttered Christopher. Then he looked straight at his friend, a question at his lips.
At that moment Caw reappeared.
"I'm ready," said his master. "I say, Handyside, what do you think of my new clock?" he asked as he was being wheeled to the door.
"I'll have a look at it later, Craig. It's not going yet."
"No"--gently--"not yet. Stop, Caw! Take me over to the window and put out the lights."
Caw looked towards the doctor, who nodded as one who should say, "What after all, can it matter now?"
At the window, for the space of five minutes, Christopher sat silent. A full moon shone clear on the still waters and calm hills. From across the loch twinkled little yellow homely lights. The evening steamer exhibited what seemed a string of pale gems and a solitary emerald.
"Almost as beautiful," he murmured at last, "as diamonds." He chuckled softly, then sighed. "Bed, Caw."
Within the hour he had a bad heart attack, and it was the forerunner of worse.
Precisely at midnight Caw stole into the sitting-room and released the pendulum. Thereafter he went down to the shore.
"Hard orders, dear master," he sighed, "but I'll carry them out to the letter."
CHAPTER IV
In his home at Earl's Gate, Kensington, Mr. Lancaster had made an indifferent meal of an excellently cooked and temptingly served breakfast. He was feeling dejected, limp, and generally "seedy" after the two nights in the train. He and Bullard had occupied a double sleeping berth, and Bullard had persisted in discussing many things, and thereafter slumber had proved no match against a host of assaulting thoughts. Perhaps he might have made a better meal had he been left to himself, but ever since the moment of his arrival--save in the brief seclusion of his bath--Mrs. Lancaster had harried his wearied mind with questions.
Mrs. Lancaster had learned several important things since wealth began to come to her husband, about ten years ago. She had learned to dress well, no less so than expensively; she had acquired the art of entertaining with an amount of display that just escaped vulgarity; and she had even learned to hold her tongue in company. (Possibly that was why Mr. Lancaster got so much of it.) She was a big, handsome creature, with a clear, dusky complexion and brown eyes that either shone with a hard eagerness or smouldered sullenly. And it may be well to state at once that she had no "past" worth mentioning, and no relatives, as far as one knows, to mention it. Lancaster had wooed