“Maybe I’m fanciful,” he muttered, “and yet—I bet there’s something she has not told me.”
Five
A USEFUL GENTLEMAN
Rufus Van Aldin had just finished the sparse breakfast of coffee and dry toast, which was all he ever allowed himself, when Knighton entered the room.
“Mr. Goby is below, sir, waiting to see you.”
The millionaire glanced at the clock. It was just half past nine.
“All right,” he said curtly. “He can come up.”
A minute or two later, Mr. Goby entered the room. He was a small, elderly man, shabbily dressed, with eyes that looked carefully all round the room, and never at the person he was addressing.
“Good morning, Goby,” said the millionaire. “Take a chair.”
“Thank you, Mr. Van Aldin.”
Mr. Goby sat down with his hands on his knees, and gazed earnestly at the radiator.
“I have got a job for you.”
“Yes, Mr. Van Aldin?”
“My daughter is married to the Hon. Derek Kettering, as you may perhaps know.”
Mr. Goby transferred his gaze from the radiator to the left-hand drawer of the desk, and permitted a deprecating smile to pass over his face. Mr. Goby knew a great many things, but he always hated to admit the fact.
“By my advice, she is about to file a petition for divorce. That, of course, is a solicitor’s business. But, for private reasons, I want the fullest and most complete information.”
Mr. Goby looked at the cornice and murmured:
“About Mr. Kettering?”
“About Mr. Kettering.”
“Very good, sir.”
Mr. Goby rose to his feet.
“When will you have it ready for me?”
“Are you in a hurry, sir?”
“I’m always in a hurry,” said the millionaire.
Mr. Goby smiled understandingly at the fender.
“Shall we say two o’clock this afternoon, sir?” he asked.
“Excellent,” approved the other. “Good morning, Goby.”
“Good morning, Mr. Van Aldin.”
“That’s a very useful man,” said the millionaire as Goby went out and his secretary came in. “In his own line he’s a specialist.”
“What is his line?”
“Information. Give him twenty-four hours and he would lay the private life of the Archbishop of Canterbury bare for you.”
“A useful sort of chap,” said Knighton, with a smile.
“He has been useful to me once or twice,” said Van Aldin. “Now then, Knighton, I’m ready for work.”
The next few hours saw a vast quantity of business rapidly transacted. It was half past twelve when the telephone bell rang, and Mr. Van Aldin was informed that Mr. Kettering had called. Knighton looked at Van Aldin, and interpreted his brief nod.
“Ask Mr. Kettering to come up, please.”
The secretary gathered up his papers and departed. He and the visitor passed each other in the doorway, and Derek Kettering stood aside to let the other go out. Then he came in, shutting the door behind him.
“Good morning, sir. You are very anxious to see me, I hear.”
The lazy voice with its slightly ironic inflection roused memories in Van Aldin. There was charm in it—there had always been charm in it. He looked piercingly at his son-in-law. Derek Kettering was thirty-four, lean of build, with a dark, narrow face, which had even now something indescribably boyish in it.
“Come in,” said Van Aldin curtly. “Sit down.”
Kettering flung himself lightly into an armchair. He looked at his father-in-law with a kind of tolerant amusement.
“Not seen you for a long time, sir,” he remarked pleasantly. “About two years, I should say. Seen Ruth yet?”
“I saw her last night,” said Van Aldin.
“Looking very fit, isn’t she?” said the other lightly.
“I didn’t know you had had much opportunity of judging,” said Van Aldin drily.
Derek Kettering raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, we sometimes meet at the same nightclub, you know,” he said airily.
“I am not going to beat about the bush,” Van Aldin said curtly. “I have advised Ruth to file a petition for divorce.”
Derek Kettering seemed unmoved.
“How drastic!” he murmured. “Do you mind if I smoke, sir?”
He lit a cigarette, and puffed out a cloud of smoke as he added nonchalantly:
“And what did Ruth say?”
“Ruth proposes to take my advice,” said her father.
“Does she really?”
“Is that all you have got to say?” demanded Van Aldin sharply.
Kettering flicked his ash into the grate.
“I think, you know,” he said, with a detached air, “that she’s making a great mistake.”
“From your point of view she doubtless is,” said Van Aldin grimly.
“Oh, come now,” said the other; “don’t let’s be personal. I really wasn’t thinking of myself at the moment. I was thinking of Ruth. You know my poor old Governor really can’t last much longer; all the doctors say so. Ruth had better give it a couple more years, then I shall be Lord Leconbury, and she can be châtelaine of Leconbury, which is what she married me for.”
“I won’t have any of your darned impudence,” roared Van Aldin.
Derek Kettering smiled at him unmoved.
“I agree with you. It’s an obsolete idea,” he said. “There’s nothing in a title nowadays. Still, Leconbury is a very fine old place, and, after all, we are one of the oldest families in England. It will be very annoying for Ruth if she divorces me to find me marrying again, and some other woman queening it at Leconbury instead of her.”
“I am serious, young man,” said Van Aldin.
“Oh, so am I,” said Kettering. “I am in very low water financially; it will put me in a nasty hole if Ruth divorces me, and, after all, if she has stood it for ten years, why not stand it a little longer? I give you my word of honour that the old man can’t possibly last out another eighteen months, and, as I said before, it’s a pity Ruth shouldn’t get what she married me for.”
“You suggest that my daughter married you for your title and position?”
Derek Kettering laughed a laugh that was not all amusement.
“You don’t think it was a question of a love match?” he asked.
“I know,” said Van Aldin slowly, “that you spoke very differently in Paris ten years ago.”
“Did I? Perhaps I did. Ruth was very beautiful, you know—rather like an angel or a saint, or something that had stepped down from a niche in a church. I had fine ideas, I remember, of turning over a new leaf, of settling down and living up to the highest traditions of English home life with a beautiful wife who loved me.”
He laughed again, rather more discordantly.
“But you don’t believe that, I suppose?” he said.
“I have no doubt at all that you married Ruth for her money,” said Van Aldin unemotionally.
“And that she married me for love?” asked the other ironically.
“Certainly,” said Van Aldin.
Derek Kettering stared at him for a minute or two, then he nodded reflectively.
“I see you believe that,” he said. “So did I at the time. I can assure you, my dear father-in-law, I was very soon undeceived.”
“I don’t know what you are getting at,” said Van Aldin, “and I don’t care. You have treated Ruth darned badly.”
“Oh, I have,” agreed Kettering lightly, “but she’s tough, you know. She’s your daughter. Underneath the pink-and-white softness of her she’s as hard as granite. You have always been known as a hard man, so I have been told, but Ruth is harder than you are. You, at any rate, love one person better than yourself. Ruth never has and never will.”
“That is enough,” said Van Aldin. “I asked you here so that I could tell you fair and square what I meant to do. My girl has go
t to have some happiness, and remember this, I am behind her.”
Derek Kettering got up and stood by the mantelpiece. He tossed away his cigarette. When he spoke, his voice was very quiet.
“What exactly do you mean by that, I wonder?” he said.
“I mean,” said Van Aldin, “that you had better not try to defend the case.”