The Doings of Raffles Haw by Arthur Conan Doyle (readnow .txt) 📖

we must make a good deal of allowance for him,” said Robert earnestly. “I have noticed a great change in him lately. I don’t think he is himself at all. I must get some medical advice. But I have been up at the Hall this morning.”

“Have you? Have you seen Raffles? Did he send anything for me?”

“He said that he would come down when he had finished his work.”

“But what is the matter, Robert?” cried Laura, with the swift perception of womanhood. “You are flushed, and your eyes are shining, and really you look quite handsome. Raffles has been telling you something! What was it? Oh, I know! He has been telling you how he made his money. Hasn’t he, now?”

“Well, yes. He took me partly into his confidence. I congratulate you, Laura, with all my heart, for you will be a very wealthy woman.”

“How strange it seems that he should have come to us in our poverty. It is all owing to you, you dear old Robert; for if he had not taken a fancy to you, he would never have come down to Elmdene and taken a fancy to some one else.”

“Not at all,” Robert answered, sitting down by his sister, and patting her hand affectionately. “It was a clear case of love at first sight. He was in love with you before he ever knew your name. He asked me about you the very first time I saw him.”

“But tell me about his money, Bob,” said his sister. “He has not told me yet, and I am so curious. How did he make it? It was not from his father; he told me that himself. His father was just a country doctor. How did he do it?”

“I am bound over to secrecy. He will tell you himself.”

“Oh, but only tell me if I guess right. He had it left him by an uncle, eh? Well, by a friend? Or he took out some wonderful patent? Or he discovered a mine? Or oil? Do tell me, Robert!”

“I mustn’t, really,” cried her brother laughing. “And I must not talk to you any more. You are much too sharp. I feel a responsibility about it; and, besides, I must really do some work.”

“It Is very unkind of you,” said Laura, pouting. “But I must put my things on, for I go into Birmingham by the 1.20.”

“To Birmingham?”

“Yes, I have a hundred things to order. There is everything to be got. You men forget about these details. Raffles wishes to have the wedding in little more than a fortnight. Of course it will be very quiet, but still one needs something.”

“So early as that!” said Robert, thoughtfully. “Well, perhaps it is better so.”

“Much better, Robert. Would it not be dreadful if Hector came back first and there was a scene? If I were once married I should not mind. Why should I? But of course Raffles knows nothing about him, and it would be terrible if they came together.”

“That must be avoided at any cost.”

“Oh, I cannot bear even to think of it. Poor Hector! And yet what could I do, Robert? You know that it was only a boy and girl affair. And how could I refuse such an offer as this? It was a duty to my family, was it not?”

“You were placed in a difficult position—very difficult,” her brother answered. “But all will be right, and I have no doubt Hector will see it as you do. But does Mr. Spurling know of your engagement?”

“Not a word. He was here yesterday, and talked of Hector, but indeed I did not know how to tell him. We are to be married by special licence in Birmingham, so really there is no reason why he should know. But now I must hurry or I shall miss my train.”

When his sister was gone Robert went up to his studio, and having ground some colours upon his palette he stood for some time, brush and mahlstick in hand, in front of his big bare canvas. But how profitless all his work seemed to him now! What object had he in doing it? Was it to earn money? Money could be had for the asking, or, for that matter, without the asking. Or was it to produce a thing of beauty? But he had artistic faults. Raffles Haw had said so, and he knew that he was right. After all his pains the thing might not please; and with money he could at all times buy pictures which would please, and which would be things of beauty. What, then, was the object of his working? He could see none. He threw down his brush, and, lighting his pipe, he strolled downstairs once more.

His father was standing in front of the fire, and in no very good humour, as his red face and puckered eyes sufficed to show.

“Well, Robert,” he began, “I suppose that, as usual, you have spent your morning plotting against your father?”

“What do you mean, father?”

“I mean what I say. What is it but plotting when three folk—you and she and this Raffles Haw—whisper and arrange and have meetings without a word to me about it? What do I know of your plans?”

“I cannot tell you secrets which are not my own, father.”

“But I’ll have a voice in the matter, for all that. Secrets or no secrets, you will find that Laura has a father, and that he is not a man to be set aside. I may have had my ups and downs in trade, but I have not quite fallen so low that I am nothing in my own family. What am I to get out of this precious marriage?”

“What should you get? Surely Laura’s happiness and welfare are enough for you?”

“If this man were really fond of Laura he would show proper consideration for Laura’s father. It was only yesterday that I asked him for a loan-condescended actually to ask for it—I, who have been within an ace of being Mayor of Birmingham! And he refused me point blank.”

“Oh, father! How could you expose yourself to such humiliation?”

“Refused me point blank!” cried the old man excitedly. “It was against his principles, if you please. But I’ll be even with him—you see if I am not. I know one or two things about him. What is it they call him at the Three Pigeons? A ‘smasher’—that’s the word-a coiner of false money. Why else should he have this metal sent him, and that great smoky chimney of his going all day?”

“Why can you not leave him alone, father?” expostulated Robert. “You seem to think of nothing but his money. If he had not a penny he would still be a very kind-hearted, pleasant gentleman.”

Old McIntyre burst into a hoarse laugh.

“I like to hear you preach,” said he. “Without a penny, indeed! Do you think that you would dance attendance upon him if he were a poor man? Do you think that Laura would ever have looked twice at him? You know as well as I do that she is marrying him only for his money.”

Robert gave a cry of dismay. There was the alchemist standing in the doorway, pale and silent, looking from one to the other of them with his searching eyes.

“I must apologise,” he said coldly. “I did not mean to listen to your words. I could not help it. But I have heard them. As to you, Mr. McIntyre, I believe that you speak from your own bad heart. I will not let myself be moved by your words. In Robert I have a true friend. Laura also loves me for my own sake. You cannot shake my faith in them. But with you, Mr. McIntyre, I have nothing in common; and it is as well, perhaps, that we should both recognise the fact.”

He bowed, and was gone ere either of the McIntyres could say a word.

“You see!” said Robert at last. “You have done now what you cannot undo!”

“I will be even with him!” cried the old man furiously, shaking his fist through the window at the dark slow-pacing figure. “You just wait, Robert, and see if your old dad is a man to be played with.”

 

CHAPTER XIII.

A MIDNIGHT VENTURE.

 

Not a word was said to Laura when she returned as to the scene which had occurred in her absence. She was in the gayest of spirits, and prattled merrily about her purchases and her arrangements, wondering from time to time when Raffles Haw would come. As night fell, however, without any word from him, she became uneasy.

“What can be the matter that he does not come?” she said. “It is the first day since our engagement that I have not seen him.”

Robert looked out through the window.

“It is a gusty night, and raining hard,” he remarked. “I do not at all expect him.”

“Poor Hector used to come, rain, snow, or fine. But, then, of course, he was a sailor. It was nothing to him. I hope that Raffles is not ill.”

“He was quite well when I saw him this morning,” answered her brother, and they relapsed into silence, while the rain pattered against the windows, and the wind screamed amid the branches of the elms outside.

Old McIntyre had sat in the corner most of the day biting his nails and glowering into the fire, with a brooding, malignant expression upon his wrinkled features. Contrary to his usual habits, he did not go to the village inn, but shuffled off early to bed without a word to his children. Laura and Robert remained chatting for some time by the fire, she talking of the thousand and one wonderful things which were to be done when she was mistress of the New Hall. There was less philanthropy in her talk when her future husband was absent, and Robert could not but remark that her carriages, her dresses, her receptions, and her travels in distant countries were the topics into which she threw all the enthusiasm which he had formerly heard her bestow upon refuge homes and labour organisations.

“I think that greys are the nicest horses,” she said. “Bays are nice too, but greys are more showy. We could manage with a brougham and a landau, and perhaps a high dog-cart for Raffles. He has the coach-house full at present, but he never uses them, and I am sure that those fifty horses would all die for want of exercise, or get livers like Strasburg geese, if they waited for him to ride or drive them.”

“I suppose that you will still live here?” said her brother.

“We must have a house in London as well, and run up for the season. I don’t, of course, like to make suggestions now, but it will be different afterwards. I am sure that Raffles will do it if I ask him. It is all very well for him to say that he does not want any thanks or honours, but I should like to know what is the use of being a public benefactor if you are to have no return for it. I am sure that if he does only half what he talks of doing, they will make him a peer—Lord Tamfield, perhaps—and then, of course, I shall be my Lady Tamfield, and what would you think of that, Bob?” She dropped him a stately curtsey, and tossed her head in the air, as one who was born to wear a coronet.

“Father must be pensioned off,” she remarked presently. “He shall have so much a year on condition that he keeps away. As to you, Bob, I don’t know what we shall do for you. We shall