XIX
For the next ten minutes Douglas Briggs paced his study. He kept repeating to himself that what that woman had said was impossible; she had come simply to blackmail him; she had supposed him to be an easy mark. But it was strange that Helen’s discovery of his relations with West should have followed so closely the night of the ball in Washington. Could West have been so cowardly as to expose him to her? It flashed upon Briggs that on the very morning after the ball he had found Helen reading his scrapbooks. Why had she done that? What had been a merely commonplace incident now seemed significant. Was she searching those files for support of West’s charges? The idea seemed too hideous, too monstrous. For a moment Briggs had a sensation of having been accused of a crime of which he was innocent. Then he called himself a fool. West had verylittle respect for women, but he was altogether too experienced, too much a man of the world, to insult a woman like Helen.
The only sensible course to pursue was to ignore Miss Wing altogether. If she started the story about him it would merely add one more to the scandals already in circulation. Thus far they did not appear to hurt him very much. The chances were, however, that the woman would not dare to carry out her threat. Besides, Briggs thought with satisfaction, the increased severity of the libel laws was making newspapers more careful of what they said, even about men running for office. He was himself used to hearing similar stories about his colleagues in Washington, and he paid little attention to them. As for Helen, he decided that he would not degrade his wife even by mentioning the matter to her. He returned to his work, however, with bitterness in his mind, and when, an hour later, Helen entered the room, he looked up quickly and said:
“Oh, there’s something I want to ask you.”
He dropped his pen and scanned her face, letting his chin rest on his hands. “Why is it that you were so dead set against having Franklin West come here the other day?”
She waited, as if carefully preparing an answer. “I would rather not speak of that again, Douglas,” she said.
“But I want to speak of it,” he insisted. “And I want you to speak of it in plain language. You needn’t be afraid of wounding me. Was it because of my connection with him in that railroad business?”
He saw her face flush. Her hand twitched at her belt. “I never liked him,” she said. “I told you that.”
“Oh!” he cried, impatiently, “this isn’t a question of your liking him or disliking him. You dislike a good many people.” She looked at him reproachfully. “You know perfectly well you do, even if you don’t say so. Don’t you suppose I can tell?” He felt suddenly ashamed, and he checked himself. “Excuse me, Helen,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be disagreeable; but I want you to be open with me in this matter. What’s your reason for saying you’d leave here if he came to stay?”
“Don’t, Douglas!” Helen’s eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t ask me. It’s better that you shouldn’t. I’ve tried, oh, I’ve——”
“Thereisa reason, then,” he declared, withgrim triumph. “Now, I’m going to find out what it is,” he added, with determination.
She sank helplessly to the couch. He leaned forward and kept his eyes fixed on her. “Well,” he said, “I’m waiting.”
“The last time he was at our house in Washington he—he insulted me.”
Briggs started back, as if someone had aimed a blow at him. “He insulted you?” he cried, incredulously. “This must be some fancy of yours. West is the most courteous, the most suave—he’stoosuave. What did he say?”
“He said that he was in love with me, he said that he’d been in love with me for years. He said that was why he’d helped you so much. When I tried to call the servants he said they were his servants, in his pay, that you were in his pay—” Helen dropped her head on the couch. Her lips trembled.
Her husband looked at her, dazed. “The scoundrel!” he exclaimed, under his breath.
“Perhaps now you can understand why I loathe him so. I always knew what he was. I’ve always been afraid of him.”
Briggs grew suddenly angry. “Why didn’t you speak of this before? Why didn’tyou?” He clasped his hands over his face. “God!” he exclaimed.
“I couldn’t. He said it would ruin you.”
“Ruin me!” Briggs repeated, savagely. Then he looked pityingly at his wife. “And you’ve kept silent all these months just to protect me?” He turned away. “I might have known what this life would lead to,” he went on, as if speaking to himself. “I’ve dragged myself through the gutter, and I’ve dragged my family with me.”
Helen rose from the couch.
“You ought to have told me,” he went on, this time without reproach. “That would have been the only fair thing to do. But it isn’t too late,” he concluded, grimly.
A look of alarm appeared in her face. “What do you mean, Douglas?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that I intend to kill him,” he replied, with a scorn that was plainly directed against himself. “We can get along without any heroics.”
“What—?” She looked at him with the helplessness of a woman in such a situation. Then she walked toward him. “Please let it all go, Douglas,” she said. “No harm has been done—to me, I mean. Don’t, don’t——”
“Don’t make a scandal? No, I won’t. I promise you that. You’ve suffered enough out of this thing.” He had an impulse to go forward and embrace her, but a fear of appearing too spectacular checked him. He had the Anglo-Saxon’s horror of acting up to a situation. Besides, in her manner there was something that stung his pride. He could more easily have borne reproaches.
When she had left the room he asked himself what he could do. He felt as helpless as his wife had been a few moments before. Of course, he would break with West; but this contingency did not affect the real question between them. He might thrash the fellow; but even that would be a poor satisfaction. He clearly saw that in this matter there could be no such thing for him as satisfaction. He alone was to blame; he had brought the shame on himself by introducing to his wife a man for whom no honest man or woman could feel respect. He must take his medicine, bitter as it was.
The medicine grew more bitter as the days passed and he did nothing. West, he felt sure, would never enter his house again. When they did meet it would be in Washington, where hewould let the fellow know that their business deals were at an end. There was no reason why they should not end now; he had done the work, and he had received his pay, he thought, with self-disgust. In future he should keep himself out of any such complications. West had taught him a lesson that would keep him straight for the rest of his life.
Two days before the election Michael announced a visitor. When Douglas Briggs heard the name the expression of his face changed so completely that it found a reflection in Michael’s face.
“Where is he?” Briggs asked.
“In the drawing-room, sir. Shall I ask him to step in here?”
“No.” Briggs adjusted the collar of his coat. “I’ll go in there,” he said.
As he was about to leave the room he met his wife, entering from the hall. She looked as if she were about to faint. “I saw him as I came down the stairs,” she said. She laid her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Douglas, you won’t be foolish, will you?”
He drew her hand away. She noticed that his arm was quivering. “Don’t be afraid,” he replied,impatiently. “I’ll make short work of him, and there’ll be no scene. Think of his coming here!” he added, with a bitter laugh.
She followed him into the hall. When he entered the drawing-room he closed the door behind him. West was standing in front of the mantel; he wore a long frock coat, and a pair of yellow gloves hung from one hand. On seeing Briggs he came forward, smiling, and offering his hand.
“Glad to catch you in,” he said. “I came over in a tremendous hurry. I——”
He stopped. Briggs stood in front of him, looking him sharply in the face, with hands clasped behind his back.
“West!”
Franklin West let his hand drop. His eyes showed astonishment. “What’s the matter?” he gasped.
Briggs went on, in a lower voice: “West, I have something to say to you, and I might as well say it without any preliminaries. I want to tell you that you’re a blackguard.”
“What!” West exclaimed.
“I have heard from my wife how you insulted her at our house last Spring.”
“Insultedher? It’s—it’s a mistake. I never——”
Briggs drew nearer West. He looked dangerous. “No. There’s no mistake. My wife isn’t in the habit of lying. Now, I have just one thing to say to you. That is, get out of here. Don’t ever show yourself in my house again. If you do, by God, you’ll pay for it!”
West had partly recovered from his bewilderment. “You must be crazy!” he said.
“I shall be if you don’t take yourself out of my sight pretty quick.”
“You mean to throw me over, then?”
“Yes, you and your whole gang. I’ve had enough of you. You thought you owned me, didn’t you?”
West did not flinch. “It’s war between us, then; is it?” he said.
“Call it what you please, but get out!”
West smiled. “Very well, then. I think we understand each other. Now that you’ve got your nomination again you believe you’re strong enough to stand up against us. After we’ve made you, you’re going to knife us. And you make your wife the cloak, the pretext—just as you’ve used her all along!”
Douglas seized West by the throat and hurled him to the floor.
The door opened, and Helen stood on the threshold, her face white, her figure trembling. “Douglas!” she whispered.
Briggs released his hold and stood up. “Excuse me,” he said, glancing at his wife. “I forgot myself.” He glanced at the prostrate figure. “Get out!”
West rose, his face flushed with anger. He walked slowly toward the door. Then he turned. “You’ll pay for this!” he said.