The Malefactor
E. Phillips (Edward Phillips) Oppenheim
38 chapters
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38 chapters
A SOCIETY SCANDAL
A SOCIETY SCANDAL
Tall and burly, with features and skin hardened by exposure to the sun and winds of many climates, he looked like a man ready to face all hardships, equal to any emergency. Already one seemed to see the clothes and habits of civilization falling away from him, the former to be replaced by the stern, unlovely outfit of the war correspondent who plays the game. They crowded round him in the club smoking room, for these were his last few minutes. They had dined him, toasted him, and the club loving
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OUTSIDE THE PALE
OUTSIDE THE PALE
Three men were together in a large and handsomely furnished sitting room of the Clarence Hotel, in Piccadilly. One, pale, quiet, and unobtrusive, dressed in sober black, the typical lawyer’s clerk, was busy gathering up a collection of papers and documents from the table, over which they had been strewn. His employer, who had more the appearance of a country gentleman than the junior partner in the well-known firm of Rocke and Son, solicitors, had risen to his feet, and was drawing on his gloves
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A STUDENT OF CHARACTER
A STUDENT OF CHARACTER
Left alone, Wingrave walked for several minutes up and down the room, his hands behind him, his head bent. He walked, not restlessly, but with measured footsteps. His mind was fixed steadfastly upon the one immediate problem of his own future. His interview with Rocke had unsettled—to a certain extent unnerved—him. Was this freedom for which he had longed so passionately, this return into civilized life, to mean simply the exchange of an iron-barred cell for a palace whose outer gates were as ho
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A DELICATE MISSION
A DELICATE MISSION
Aynesworth was back in less than an hour. He carried under his arm a brown paper parcel, the strings of which he commenced at once to untie. Wingrave, who had been engrossed in the contents of his deed box, watched him with immovable face. “The tailor will be here at two-thirty,” he announced, “and the other fellows will follow on at half an hour’s interval. The manicurist and the barber are coming at six o’clock.” “What have you there?” he asked, pointing to the parcel. “Cigars and cigarettes,
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THE GOSPEL OF HATE
THE GOSPEL OF HATE
“And what,” Wingrave asked his secretary as they sat at dinner that night, “did you think of Lady Ruth?” “In plain words, I should not like to tell you,” Aynesworth answered. “I only hope that you will not send me to see her again.” “Why not?” “Lady Ruth,” Aynesworth answered deliberately, “is a very beautiful woman, with all the most dangerous gifts of Eve when she wanted her own way. She did me the scanty honor of appraising me as an easy victim, and she asked questions.” “For instance?” “She
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“HAST THOU FOUND ME, O MINE ENEMY?”
“HAST THOU FOUND ME, O MINE ENEMY?”
Aynesworth was waiting in the hall on the following afternoon when Lady Ruth arrived. He had half expected that she would drive up to the side door in a hansom, would wear a thick veil, and adopt the other appurtenances of a clandestine meeting. But Lady Ruth was much too clever a woman for anything of the sort. She descended at the great front entrance from her own electric coupe, and swept into the hotel followed by her maid. She stopped to speak to the manager of the hotel, who knew her from
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LORD OF THE MANOR
LORD OF THE MANOR
She came slowly towards the two men through the overgrown rose garden, a thin, pale, wild-eyed child, dressed in most uncompromising black. It was a matter of doubt whether she was the more surprised to see them, or they to find anyone else, in this wilderness of desolation. They stood face to face with her upon the narrow path. “Have you lost your way?” she inquired politely. “We were told,” Aynesworth answered, “that there was a gate in the wall there, through which we could get on to the clif
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THE HEART OF A CHILD
THE HEART OF A CHILD
The cottage, as Aynesworth neared it, showed no sign of life. The curtainless windows were blank and empty, no smoke ascended from the chimney. Its plastered front was innocent of any form of creeper, but in the few feet of garden in front a great, overgrown wild rose bush, starred with deep red blossoms, perfumed the air. As he drew near, the door suddenly opened, and with a little cry of welcome the child rushed out to him. “How lovely of you!” she cried. “I saw you coming from my window!” “Yo
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THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES
Mr. Lumley Barrington, K.C. and M.P., was in the act of stepping into his carriage to drive down to the House, when he was intercepted by a message. It was his wife’s maid, who came hurrying out after him. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, “but her ladyship particularly wished to see you as soon as you came in.” “Is your mistress in?” Barrington asked in some surprise. “Yes, sir!” the maid answered. “Her ladyship is resting, before she goes to the ball at Caleram House. She is in her room now.
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A FORLORN HOPE
A FORLORN HOPE
Aynesworth ceased tugging at the strap of his portmanteau, and rose slowly to his feet. A visitor had entered his rooms—apparently unannounced. “I must apologize,” the newcomer said, “for my intrusion. Your housekeeper, I presume it was, whom I saw below, told me to come up.” Aynesworth pushed forward a chair. “Won’t you sit down?” he said. “I believe that I am addressing Mr. Lumley Barrington.” Not altogether without embarrassment, Barrington seated himself. Something of his ordinary confidence
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PROFESSOR SINCLAIR’S DANCING ACADEMY
PROFESSOR SINCLAIR’S DANCING ACADEMY
Mr. Sinclair, or as he preferred to be called, Professor Sinclair, waved a white kid glove in the direction of the dancing hall. “This way, ladies and gentlemen!” he announced. “A beautiful valse just about to commence. Tickets, if you please! Ah! Glad to see you, Miss Cullingham! You’ll find—a friend of yours inside!” There was a good deal of giggling as the girls came out from the little dressing room and joined their waiting escorts, who stood in a line against the wall, mostly struggling wit
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MEPHISTOPHELES ON A STEAMER
MEPHISTOPHELES ON A STEAMER
In some respects, the voyage across the Atlantic was a surprise to Aynesworth. His companion seemed to have abandoned, for the time at any rate, his habit of taciturnity. He conversed readily, if a little stiffly, with his fellow passengers. He divided his time between the smoke room and the deck, and very seldom sought the seclusion of his state room. Aynesworth remarked upon this change one night as the two men paced the deck after dinner. “You are beginning to find more pleasure,” he said, “i
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A COCKNEY CONSPIRATOR
A COCKNEY CONSPIRATOR
“The bar closes in ten minutes, sir!” the smoking room steward announced. The young man who had been the subject of Wingrave’s remarks hastily ordered another drink, although he had an only half-emptied tumbler in front of him. Presently he stumbled out on to the deck. It was a dark night, and a strong head wind was blowing. He groped his way to the railing and leaned over, with his head half buried in his hands. Below, the black tossing sea was churned into phosphorescent spray, as the steamer
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“Tomorrow morning,” Aynesworth remarked, “we shall land.”
“Tomorrow morning,” Aynesworth remarked, “we shall land.”
Wingrave nodded. “I shall not be sorry,” he said shortly. Aynesworth fidgeted about. He had something to say, and he found it difficult. Wingrave gave him no encouragement. He was leaning back in his steamer chair, with his eyes fixed upon the sky line. Notwithstanding the incessant companionship of the last six days, Aynesworth felt that he had not progressed a single step towards establishing any more intimate relations between his employer and himself. “Mrs. Travers is not on deck this aftern
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“DEVIL TAKE THE HINDMOST”
“DEVIL TAKE THE HINDMOST”
Wingrave and Aynesworth were alone in a private room of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. The table at which the former was seated was covered with letters and papers. A New York directory and an atlas were at his elbow. “I propose,” Wingrave said, leaning back in his chair, “to give you some idea of the nature of my business in this country. You will be able then, I trust, to carry out my instructions more intelligibly.” Aynesworth nodded. “I thought,” he said, “that you came here simply to remain in
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THE HIDDEN HAND
THE HIDDEN HAND
Wingrave glanced up as they entered. He motioned Nesbitt to a chair by his side, but the young man remained standing. “My secretary tells me,” Wingrave said curtly, “that you cannot pay me what you owe.” “It’s more than I possess in the world, sir,” Nesbitt answered. “It is not a large amount,” Wingrave said. “I do not see how you can carry on business unless you can command such a sum as this.” Nesbitt moistened his dry lips with his tongue. “I have only been doing a very small business, sir,”
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“MR. WINGRAVE FROM AMERICA”
“MR. WINGRAVE FROM AMERICA”
“Four years ago tonight,” Aynesworth said, looking round the club smoking room thoughtfully, “we bade you farewell in this same room!” Lovell, wan and hollow-eyed, his arm in a sling, his once burly frame gaunt and attenuated with disease, nodded. “And I told you the story,” he remarked, “of—the man who had been my friend.” “Don’t let us talk of Wingrave tonight!” Aynesworth exclaimed with sudden emphasis. “Why not?” Lovell knocked the ashes from his pipe, and commenced leisurely to refill it. “
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THE SHADOW OF A FEAR
THE SHADOW OF A FEAR
For several minutes Lady Ruth said nothing. She was leaning back in the farthest corner of her chair, her head resting slightly upon her fingers, her eyes studying with a curious intentness the outline of Wingrave’s pale, hard face. He himself, either unconscious of, or indifferent to her close scrutiny, had simply the air of a man possessed of an inexhaustible fund of patience. “Wingrave,” she said quietly, “I think that the time has gone by when I was afraid of you.” He turned slightly towards
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JULIET ASKS QUESTIONS
JULIET ASKS QUESTIONS
“Any place,” the girl exclaimed as she entered, “more unlike a solicitor’s office, I never saw! Flowers outside and flowers on your desk, Mr. Pengarth! Don’t you have to apologize to your clients for your surroundings? There’s absolutely nothing, except the brass plate outside, to show that this isn’t an old-fashioned farmhouse, stuck down in the middle of a village. Fuchsias in the window sill, too!” He placed a chair for her, and laid down the deed which he had been examining, with a little si
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LADY RUTH’S LAST CARD
LADY RUTH’S LAST CARD
“There are two letters,” Aynesworth announced, “which I have not opened. One, I think, is from the Marchioness of Westhampton, the other from some solicitors at Truro. They were both marked private.” Wingrave was at breakfast in his flat; Aynesworth had been in an adjoining room sorting his correspondence. He accepted the two letters, and glanced them through without remark. But whereas he bestowed scarcely a second’s consideration upon the broad sheet of white paper with the small coronet and t
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GUARDIAN AND WARD
GUARDIAN AND WARD
“Up to the present, then,” Wingrave remarked, “the child has no idea as to who has been responsible for the charge of her?” “No idea at all, Sir Wingrave,” the lawyer declared. “Your wishes have been strictly carried out, most strictly. She imagines that it is some unknown connection of her father. But, as I explained to you in my letter, she has recently exhibited a good deal of curiosity in the matter. She is—er—a young lady of considerable force of character for her years, and her present att
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GHOSTS OF DEAD THINGS
GHOSTS OF DEAD THINGS
“It was here,” she said, as they passed through the walled garden seawards, “that I saw you first—you and the other gentleman who was so kind to me.” Wingrave nodded. “I believe that I remember it,” he said; “you were a mournful-looking object in a very soiled pinafore and most untidy hair.” “I had been out on the cliffs,” she reminded him, “where I am taking you now. If you are going to make unkind remarks about my hair, I think that I had better fetch a hat.” “Pray don’t leave me,” he answered
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“By the bye,” the Marchioness asked him, “have you a Christian name?”
“By the bye,” the Marchioness asked him, “have you a Christian name?”
“Sorry,” Wingrave answered, “if I ever had, I’ve forgotten it.” “Then I must call you Wingrave,” she remarked. “I hate calling anyone I know decently well Mr. anything.” “Charmed,” Wingrave answered; “it isn’t a bad name.” “It isn’t,” she admitted. “By the bye,” she continued, looking at him critically, “you are rather a surprising person, aren’t you?” “Glad you’ve found it out,” Wingrave answered. “I always thought so.” “One associates all sorts of terrible things with millionaires—especially A
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IN THE TOILS
IN THE TOILS
Wingrave did not speak for several moments after Aynesworth had entered the room. He had an engagement book before him and seemed to be deep in its contents. When at last he looked up, his forehead was furrowed with thought, and he had the weary air of a man who has been indulging in unprofitable memories. “Aynesworth,” he said, “be so good as to ring up Walters and excuse me from dining with him tonight.” Aynesworth nodded. “Any particular form of excuse?” he asked. “No! Say that I have an unav
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THE INDISCRETION OF THE MARCHIONESS
THE INDISCRETION OF THE MARCHIONESS
“I am perfectly certain,” Juliet declared, “that we ought not to be here.” “That,” Aynesworth remarked, fanning himself lightly with his pocket handkerchief, “may account for the extraordinary sense of pleasure which I am now experiencing. At the same time, I can’t see why not.” “I only met you this afternoon—a few hours ago. And here we are, absolutely wedged together on these seats—and my chaperon is dozing half the time.” “Pardon me,” Aynesworth objected, “I knew you when you were a child.” “
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“I AM MISANTHROPOS, AND HATE MANKIND”
“I AM MISANTHROPOS, AND HATE MANKIND”
Wingrave had just come in from an early gallop. His pale cheeks were slightly flushed, and his eyes were bright. He had been riding hard to escape from disconcerting thoughts. He looked in at the study, and found Aynesworth with a mass of correspondence before him. “Anything important?” he asked. “Not yet,” Aynesworth answered. “The letters marked private I have sent up to your room. By the bye, there was something I wanted to tell you.” Wingrave closed the door. “Well?” he said. “I was up in th
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JULIET GAINS EXPERIENCE
JULIET GAINS EXPERIENCE
“Of course,” Juliet said, “after Tredowen it seems very small, almost poky, but it isn’t, really, and Tredowen was not for me all my days. It was quite time I got used to something else.” Wingrave looked around him with expressionless face. It was a tiny room, high up on the fifth floor of a block of flats, prettily but inexpensively furnished. Juliet herself, tall and slim, with all the fire of youth and perfect health on her young face, was obviously contented. “And your work?” he asked. She m
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NEMESIS AT WORK
NEMESIS AT WORK
Wingrave was present that evening at a reception given by the Prime Minister to some distinguished foreign guests. He had scarcely exchanged the usual courtesies with his host and hostess before Lady Ruth, leaning over from a little group, whispered in his ear. “Please take me away. I am bored. I want to talk to you.” He paused at once. Lady Ruth nodded to her friends. “Mr. Wingrave is going to take me to hear Melba sing,” she said. “See you all again, I suppose, at Hereford House!” They made sl
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“You saw—who that was?”
“You saw—who that was?”
Lady Ruth’s voice seemed to come from a greater distance. Wingrave turned and looked at her with calm curiosity. She was leaning back in the corner of the carriage, and she seemed somehow to have shrunk into an unusual insignificance. Her eyes alone were clearly visible through the semi-darkness—and the light which shone from their depths was the light of fear. “Yes,” he answered slowly, “I believe that I recognized him. It was the young man who persists in some strange hallucination as to a cer
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“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT”
“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT”
Lady Ruth took up the receiver. Some instinct seemed to have prompted her to close the door of the study. “Who is there?” she asked. “Who is it that wants me?” A thin, unfamiliar voice answered her. “Is that Lady Ruth Barrington?” “Yes!” “Is it—Mademoiselle Violet?” The receiver nearly dropped from her hand. “I don’t understand you,” she answered, “I am Lady Ruth Barrington! Who are you?” “You are Mademoiselle Violet,” was the answer, “and you know who I am! Listen, I am in Mr. Wingrave’s rooms.
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AYNESWORTH PLANS A LOVE STORY
AYNESWORTH PLANS A LOVE STORY
Wingrave disappeared suddenly from London. Aynesworth alone knew where he was gone, and he was pledged to secrecy. Two people received letters from him. Lady Ruth was one of them. “This,” she remarked quietly, handing it over to her husband, “may interest you.” He adjusted his eye glasses and read it aloud:— “Dear Lady Ruth,—I am leaving London today for several weeks. With the usual inconsistency of the person to whom life is by no means a valuable asset, I am obeying the orders of my physician
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A DEED OF GIFT
A DEED OF GIFT
Wingrave threw the paper aside with an impatient exclamation. A small notice in an obscure corner had attracted his attention; the young man, Richardson, had been fished out of the river half drowned, and in view of his tearful and abject penitence, had been allowed to go his way by a lenient magistrate. He had been ill, he pleaded, and disappointed. His former employer, in an Islington emporium, gave him a good character, and offered to take him back. So that was an end of Mr. Richardson, and t
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FOR PITY’S SAKE
FOR PITY’S SAKE
The library at Tredowen was a room of irregular shape, full of angles and recesses lined with bookcases. It was in one of these, standing motionless before a small marble statue of some forgotten Greek poet, that Wingrave found his visitor. She wore a plain serge traveling dress, and the pallor of her face, from which she had just lifted a voluminous veil, matched almost in color the gleaming white marble upon which she was gazing. But when she saw Wingrave, leaning upon his stick, and regarding
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A DREAM OF PARADISE
A DREAM OF PARADISE
It seemed to Wingrave that the days which followed formed a sort of hiatus in his life—an interlude during which some other man in his place, and in his image, played the game of life to a long-forgotten tune. He moved through the hours as a man in a maze, unrecognizable to himself, half unconscious, half heedless of the fact that the garments of his carefully cultivated antagonism to the world and to his fellows had slipped very easily from his unresisting shoulders. The glory of a perfect Engl
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THE AWAKENING
THE AWAKENING
Wingrave had risen to his feet. He was perfectly calm, but there was a look on his face which Juliet had never seen there before. Instinctively she drew a little away, and Aynesworth took his place between them. “Are you mad, Aynesworth?” Wingrave asked coolly. “Not now,” Aynesworth answered. “I have been mad to stay with you for four years, to look on, however passively, at all the evil you have done. I’ve had enough of it now, and of you! I came here to tell you so.” “A letter,” Wingrave answe
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REVENGE IS—BITTER
REVENGE IS—BITTER
At no time during his career did Wingrave appear before the public more prominently than during the next few months. As London began to fill up again, during the early part of October, he gave many and magnificent entertainments, his name figured in all the great social events, he bought a mansion in Park Lane which had been built for Royalty, and the account of the treasures with which he filled it read like a chapter from some modern Arabian Nights. In the city, he was more hated and dreaded t
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THE WAY OF PEACE
THE WAY OF PEACE
They awaited his coming in varying moods. Barrington was irritable and restless, Lady Ruth gave no signs of any emotion whatever. She had the air of a woman who had no longer fear or hope. Only her eyes were a little weary. Barrington was walking up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed upon his wife. Every now and then he glanced nervously towards her. “Of course,” he said, “if he wants a settlement—well, there’s an end of all things. And I don’t see why he shouldn’t. He h
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“LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW”
“LOVE SHALL MAKE ALL THINGS NEW”
Mr. Pengarth was loth to depart. He felt that all pretext for lingering was gone, that he had outstayed his welcome. Yet he found himself desperately striving for some excuse to prolong an interview which was to all effects and purposes concluded. “I will do my best, Sir Wingrave,” he said, reverting to the subject of their interview, “to study Miss Lundy’s interests in every way. I will also see that she has the letter you have left for her within eight days from now. But if you could see you w
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