CHAPTER XXXII. LEONARD MEETS WITH A FELLOW-SCOUNDREL.

The few months that passed were the happiest period in Emilia's life. Gerald's love, his care and devotion, his wonderful thoughtfulness, were in their effect something like divine revelations to the tender-hearted and confiding young girl, who was enjoying a very heaven upon earth. Leonard joined them in Interlaken, as had been arranged, and accompanied them through the loveliest parts of Switzerland and Italy. Gerald's plan was not to rush from place to place, but to proceed leisurely from one scene of loveliness to another, and to linger and dawdle wherever the fancy seized them. It suited Leonard, who could make little detours to neighboring cities which offered greater attractions to him, and he never went away from them without making it understood that it was for their sake, and not for his own, that he left them.

"I know what young people like yourselves enjoy most," he said, "their own society. I am like the fifth wheel in a coach."

Gerald did not dispute with him on this point. Much as he loved Leonard he loved Emilia more, and his greatest happiness was derived from that delicious intercourse of soul and soul which can only be made manifest when lovers are alone together.

"Leonard is the dearest fellow in the world," he said to Emilia, "and I don't know what we should do without him. You do not know what we owe him. If it had not been for him I doubt if you would be with me at the present moment."

Emilia was only too willing to subscribe to this affectionate estimate of Leonard's character; she grew, like Gerald, to have never one moment's doubt of the sincerity of his affection. From this it will be seen how thoroughly the villain had succeeded in deceiving them.

Giving himself up entirely to the blissful enjoyment of the present, Gerald, at the instigation of Leonard, had delivered over to him the management of his monetary matters. Leonard thus became a kind of steward to Gerald's estate, and so absolutely did he succeed in getting matters into his hands that he now drew all the checks for the current expenses of the tour, supplying Gerald with loose cash as the young man required it. Ostensibly, therefore, Leonard, was the master and Gerald the dependent.

In this manner five months of happiness passed, and then it was that Emilia, with burning blushes and a palpitating heart, whispered to Gerald the solemn, joyful news that a new life was born within her.

"If anything was needed to complete my happiness," said Gerald, pressing his wife fondly to his heart, "it was this."

Leonard, ever on the watch, knew that some fresh spring of happiness had been found, and he wormed the news out of Gerald. It drove him almost mad. If a child was born to them he might bid farewell forever to every chance of stepping into possession of the fortune which Gerald possessed, and which ought by right to have been his. "I must find a way," he thought, with burning hatred in his heart, "I must find a way, and soon, or it will be too late."

"My dear boy," he said to Gerald, "I am overjoyed at the tidings. Heaven bless you, and Emilia, and the little one--my nephew or my niece, Gerald; which!--who is going to cheer our hearts!"

It was evening when this confidence passed between Gerald and Leonard. They had been travelling for a few days in the Valais, and were making for the village of Vissoye, where they intended to remain a little while if they could find accommodation, and make it the starting-point of idle excursions in the romantic neighborhood. They had mules and guides; Emilia was riding in front, alone for a few minutes, while the step-brothers, walking in the rear, were conversing. Gerald was too enamoured of Emilia to leave her long alone, and presently he was walking by her side, with his hand in hers. The guides took no notice, being well accustomed to these loving exchanges on the part of foreign tourists.

"Do you hear Leonard singing?" asked Gerald. "I wish he could meet some one like you--but that, I think, is impossible, Emilia--to make him happy as you have made me. He deserves everything that is good."

While he uttered these words, Leonard, who was carolling a mountain song to show how light of heart he was, gazed at the precipice over which they were passing, and thought, even in the midst of his singing, "If she would only topple over! Things would be so much easier then. Such accidents have occurred. Now, if the guides were absent, and Gerald had gone on a little ahead, just round that turn where he could not see what was going on, I daresay it could be managed. It would not take a moment. A bold sweep, a scream, and all would be over." He stopped singing, to give full play to his thoughts, and he mentally acted the tragic scene, from its initiatory stage to the point where he stood with his arms round the distracted Gerald, endeavoring to console him for the horrible loss. It did not appear so difficult; he was a clever fellow, and he ought to be able to manage it. But it would have to be done very, very carefully; no shadow of suspicion must rest upon him. Corrupt as was Leonard's nature, he would go only to a certain length; he stopped short where there was fear of danger to himself.

They found rough but clean accommodation in the village, and after the evening meal Leonard left the lovers alone, and went out to smoke and think. So far as a full purse and creature comforts went he was in clover. He had plenty of money, and was enjoying the best of everything. The cigar he was smoking was of the finest brand that could be obtained; when they stopped at good hotels every luxury that could be obtained was his; the largest rooms with the grandest views, the most famous vintages, the most delicate dishes--nothing was spared. But how long would it last? When the child was born a new interest would be created which was certain to be injurious to him. Curse them! He was but a pauper, after all, and what he enjoyed was at the will of another, to be continued or taken away at a moment's notice. And he did not trust Emilia. He trusted no woman. They were a false, selfish lot, thinking only of themselves, with no sense of justice. It was intolerable that he should be at the mercy of one of the falsest and most selfish of the crowd.

He was out of the village now, and stood smoking and musing, facing a tremendous range. The evil thoughts by which he was animated were expressed in his face; being alone, as he thought, there was no reason for concealment, and although he generally kept perfect control over his features, there were rare occasions upon which he indulged in the luxury of frankness. This was such an occasion.

He was mistaken in believing himself to be alone. A man, also smoking a good cigar, was sitting on a jutting rock, observing him. Leonard threw away the end of his cigar, and took another from his case. Then he took another from his case. Then he took out his matchbox, and found that it was empty. "The devil take it!" he muttered. "The whole world is against me!" Low as was the tone in which the words were spoken, the stranger heard them.

"Allow me to offer you a light."

Leonard started, and his countenance became instantly composed. The stranger laughed aloud. Irritated by the laugh, in which there was a malicious, if not a sinister note, Leonard turned on his heel.

"Why so fast?" said the stranger, stepping to Leonard's side. "A match is a very simple offering for a friend to make."

"A friend!" exclaimed Leonard, and looked the stranger full in the face.

"Allow me to introduce myself anew," said the stranger. "Your memory is not good. Dr. Peterssen, at your service."

"What, Peterssen!" cried Leonard.

"The same."

"I should never have recognized you," said Leonard, taking the lighted match and applying it to his cigar.

"Small wonder. When we last met I was in low water, and my face was bearded. You remember me now?"

"Yes, I remember you now."

"Voices do not change. Let me see. It is eighteen months ago since we saw each other. Ballarat I think the place was.

"Yes, it was on Ballarat."

"A marvellous gold field, though we got none of the precious metal, partly from indolence, partly from ill luck."

Dr. Peterssen and Leonard had met in Australia, and had struck up an acquaintance there. Arcades ambo. It would not have been to their credit if some of their mutual experiences were known. Leonard was painfully conscious of the fact, and could not just at this moment make up his mind whether the meeting was one to be hailed with satisfaction, or the reverse. He knew Dr. Peterssen to be ripe for any villainy, and at this juncture it might be handy to have such a friend near him; but how far would it be safe to trust the man?

"What brings you here, Peterssen?"

"Business, Royce, business. I have a mission."

"You remind me," said Leonard, with an awkward smile. "When I was at the antipodes I thought the name of Royce an easy one to go by."

"But it was not your own."

"It was not my own."

"What I always admired in you," said Dr. Peterssen, "was your candor. The soul of truth, upon my honor! I used to ask of myself, 'Can Royce lie?' Excuse my sticking to the name till you supply me with another. Yes, I used to ask of myself, 'Can Royce lie?' There was but one invariable answer, 'No, he cannot.'"

The laugh with which he accompanied his words was so distinctly opposed to their sense that Leonard's face flushed, and Dr. Peterssen laughed still louder when he observed this sign of emotion. Of all the men whom Leonard had met in the course of his varied experiences Dr. Peterssen was the only one whom he was conscious he could not deceive. Peterssen spoke good English, with just a touch of foreign accent. He was by descent a Dane, and was a past-master in every species of craft and villainy. It would not have been easy to find his match in a scheme of evil cunning. Leonard was smooth-spoken, suave, and persuasive; Dr. Peterssen was brutally outspoken, calling a spade a spade, and, if it served his purpose, something worse--never something better.

"Don't be a fool, Peterssen," said Leonard. "You are lying yourself, and you know it."

"True, true, Royce--but really this is awkward, addressing a friend by a name he has no right to bear. What name do you pass by now?"

"My own," replied Leonard, convinced that Dr. Peterssen would bring him to the proof through other persons; "Paget."

"Christian name?"

"Leonard."

"Mr. Leonard Paget. Rather nice-sounding. When did you arrive here?"

"This evening."

"When do you leave?"

"I can't say."

"You can, Leonard, you can."

"I tell you I cannot."

"Let us test it. I have something of the breed of your English mastiff in me. Do you go away to-morrow?"

"I think not."

"On the following day?"

"It is uncertain."

"Your movements, then, do not depend entirely upon yourself? You are not alone?"

"Am I in the witness-box," demanded Leonard, beginning to lose his temper.

"You are. And when I have done with you, you shall place me in the witness-box, and I will be frank with you. It is best for men like ourselves to be friends, Leonard. Who knows? We may be able to serve each other. Allow me to remind you that you are in my debt. Our last transaction in Ballarat was when we laid a snare to sell a man of substance a golden claim. The price was five thousand pounds. The stuff at the bottom of the shaft was salted--with gold purchased with my money. At that time you had none--that is, you said you had none; so I expended my last fifty pounds in the purchase of twelve ounces, which we distributed cunningly in the wash-dirt below. The plant almost came off, but it was discovered one moment too soon. We had only to fly; and then we lost sight of each other. You did not wait to pay the half of the fifty pounds--a shabby trick."

From his pocket-book Leonard extracted twenty-five pounds in bank notes, which he handed to Dr. Peterssen.

"I am out of your debt."

"Not at all. There is the interest, which I shall not exact to-night, but in the future, from time to time. You pay so readily that you are worth sticking to; you think so lightly of twenty-five pounds that you must be rolling in money. Back to my questions. You are not alone?"

"I am not."

"Shall we say, a lady? Ah, fortunate man! Susceptible heart! Forever putting itself into chains. There was a lady on the other side. And there is a lady on this. I see it in your face.",

"She is none of mine; she is one of our party."

"How many in all?"

"I am sick of your questions. Here is the plain truth. I am travelling with my brother and his wife. They are on their honeymoon. There, you have the whole thing in a nutshell."

"Apparently. But how about the kernel? I have an odd idea there is a maggot inside. How arrived at? Easily. It is you yourself who have engendered the suspicion. You come to this spot to think and smoke, leaving your brother and his bride to their honeymooning. That is considerate, and as a tender-souled man I commend you for it. You believe yourself to be alone, but I am here, communing with Nature. Looking up, I see you, and on your face I see that which you would not like your friends to see. There is a convulsive twitch in your features. What is the cause? Do you love your brother's wife?"

"No."

"The tone in which you speak that little word convinces me that you hate her. Do you remember we used to congratulate each other in Australia that we could read men's faces and voices? Why do you hate her? There must be a reason."

"Peterssen, you are going a little too far."

"Between friends? No, Leonard, I have not yet gone far enough. Give ear, Leonard, to something analytical--not very deep, only in a superficial way. You and I are alike in our aims but not in our methods. We are both adventurers--why disguise it? The supreme motive-power in our natures is self-interest. To serve that we would go any lengths--except, perhaps, that I would go a little farther than you. We have no honest regard for each other, it is only our self-interest that draws us together. Why, Leonard, if I could profit largely by it I would have no more compunction in pushing you over that precipice than I have in flinging away this cigar. Give me another, will you? I warrant yours are better than mine. Thank you. And the compunction on your side, should it be to your advantage to serve me the same, would be as small as my own. Commend me for being an honest man, for I take it the quality of sincerity is vital to honesty--and my sincerity cannot be disputed. What reason have you for hating your brother's wife?"

"Could not the agitation you observed in my face spring from some other cause than love or hate?"

"Yes, one--money; and you have proved to me that money is not the cause by paying me the twenty-five pounds so readily. For really it is a debt that I could not have enforced in a court of law."

"Well, let the matter bide, Peterssen. Your searching questions have exhausted me."

"We will suspend it, then. There is time before us. Meanwhile I attach myself, and with myself another, to your party."

"Are you mad?" cried Leonard. "Why that would ruin all!"

Dr. Peterssen's previous laughter was tame in comparison to the sounds of merriment he emitted now. He made the echoes ring again.

"So there is work to be done," he said when his merriment ceased. "Good. Two things to be kept always in view--personal safety and the reward to be earned for the work. Still I attach myself to your party, but now secretly. I follow you wherever you go, but I do not mix with you. Our parties may meet, but it shall be in a casual, accidental way, and there shall be no close intimacy. I do not affect disguise, Leonard. I follow you for the purpose of making money out of you. I have very little; I want some. I put a question to you, to which I must have an answer. Without encroaching further on your confidence, I wish you to inform me what the end you are scheming for is worth, supposing I accomplish it in safety. I do not ask what that end is, but how much it would be worth to me? You are silent. Shall we say a thousand pounds?"

"Yes," replied Leonard, slowly, "say a thousand pounds."

"Much obliged to you. The subject is now dismissed. Have you any questions to ask me? I put myself in the witness-box."

"When did you come here?" asked Leonard.

"Yesterday."

"When do you go away?"

"To-morrow if I like; the next day if I like; next week, or month, if I like. It depends absolutely on myself."

"Are you alone?"

"I remember, you said you were here on business."

"What business?"

"Professional. I am a doctor: I have a patient in my care."

"Male or female?"

"Male."

"The disease?"

"Madness."