Rodney Elmore returned by the 9.10 to town. He had meant to travel by the Pullman, but as he entered the station the train was drawing clear of the platform. Being informed that another express was starting in ten minutes, he had to be content with that. Beyond doubt the Pullman had been crowded; as he found himself the sole occupant of a first-class carriage, he was inclined to think that he had not lost by the exchange. He was in a mood for privacy. Events had followed each other so quickly; he had so many things to consider that he was glad of an opportunity for a little solitary self-communion. He was not pleased, therefore, when, just as the signal had been given to start, someone came rushing along the platform, the door was thrown open by an officious guard, and a passenger was hoisted into his compartment while the train was already in motion; nor was his pleasure enhanced by the discovery that the intruder was his uncle, Graham Patterson. In such disorder had Mr. Patterson been thrown that it was some seconds before he even realised that he had a companion. Uncovering, he wiped first his brow, then the lining of his hat. He panted so for breath that his critical nephew said to himself that if he had run a little further, or even a little faster, he might have panted in vain; he had never seen a man in such difficulty with his breathing apparatus. His face was purple, his eyes seemed to be bulging out of their sockets.

The train had passed Preston Park station before Mr. Patterson had sufficiently recovered himself to become alive to the fact that he was not alone. But that he still did not recognise his companion his words showed.

"I'm not exactly-of the build-to-run after trains."

The moment he spoke Rodney became aware that Mr. Patterson had been drinking. Not enough, perhaps, to affect his speech-the hyphenated form of the remark he had just made was owing to the trouble he still had to breathe-but sufficient to place him at the point which divides the drunk from the sober. Elmore was still; possibly because he was unwilling to spoil what he felt was the grim humour of the situation. His silence apparently struck the other as odd. Presently Mr. Patterson glanced round as if to learn what manner of person this was who offered no comment on his observation. Then he perceived who his companion was.

The discovery seemed to fill him with amazement which approached to stupefaction. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulged still farther out of his head, his face assumed a darker shade of purple; he looked like a man who was on the verge of a fit. His nephew felt that he had never seen him present so unprepossessing a spectacle. His surprise was so great that an appreciable space of time passed before he could find words to give it expression. Then they were of a lurid kind.

"By gad! – it's you! Well, I'm damned!"

"I'm sorry, sir, to hear it."

The retort was so obvious that it had slipped from Rodney's lips almost before he was aware. Its effect on Mr. Patterson was so great that for some moments his nephew was convinced that that apoplectic fit which he had so often seen threatening was hideously close. Mr. Patterson himself seemed conscious of the risk he ran. He made a perceptible effort to regain self-control-a painful one it evidently was. He put his finger to his collar as if to loosen it; one could see that his hand shook, his lips trembled, beads of sweat stood on his brow. Probably more than a minute had passed before he felt himself in a condition to speak again. Still his voice was a little hoarse, his utterance not quite clear.

"My lad, if I could have got at you this morning I should have killed you."

"Should you, indeed, sir. Pray why?"

The young man had been observing his senior's plight with a sense, not only of amusement, but of positive relish. He was conscious that a spirit of malice had entered into him. He was prepared to return insolence with insolence. This bloated relative of his should this time not find him disposed to cringe.

Still with his finger to his neck, as if he would have liked to loosen his collar, Mr. Patterson went on, yet a little huskily:

"Luckily I didn't get at you, because I'll do worse than kill you, now."

"I thank you for your kind intentions, sir. You have not yet told me what I have done to deserve them."

"You've been getting at that girl of mine again."

"You use unpleasant phrases, sir. I'm afraid you have been drinking."

"You young swine! In spite of what I told you, last night you took her out with you again to dinner."

"Premising that I don't see why you should so resent my showing little courtesies to members of your family, may I ask on what grounds your statement is based?"

"You young word-twister! You've your father's tongue. Do you deny it?"

"That I've my father's tongue?"

"That you took my girl to dinner?"

"It's for you to prove; not for me to disprove."

"A man came to me on the front this morning and said that he saw my daughter dining last night in Jermyn Street with a young man. He described the fellow; from his description I knew that it was you. If I could have got at you then and there I'd have broken my stick across your back! I'd have-I'd have- Are you going to tell a lie, and say it wasn't you?"

"It was."

"It was?"

"It was. Why not? We had a most agreeable evening, much more agreeable, perhaps, than you have any notion of. Possibly, if you ask Gladys, she herself will tell you so."

"You-you-!"

"Steady-go slow! If you don't take care you'll have a fit-you know you have been drinking."

Possibly because he had given way to such a sudden access of rage, Mr. Patterson again went through all his former disagreeable physical experiences, while his nephew smiled. He sat inarticulate and gasping, incapable alike of speech or movement. When, after a prolonged interval, the faculty of speech returned, his voice had grown huskier than ever; he spoke slowly, with a pause between each word.

"All right, my lad-laugh, but you won't laugh last. You're not going to put me in the cart, as your swindler of a father did; I'm going to put you there. I warned you what would be the result of your attempting to have any more traffic with my girl, so you've yourself to thank for whatever happens."

He stopped, as if he found a difficulty in saying much at once. When he continued, while his tones were a little clearer, they were more bitter. "Directly I get home I'm going to tell my girl what kind of man you are, and what kind of man your delectable father was. When she knows, I'll wager you a trifle that she never willingly speaks to you again; she'll despise herself for ever having spoken to you at all; she'll treat you in the future as if you had never been. She has her faults, but she resembles her father on one point-she has no use for a thief, and especially for a thief who is the son of a thief."

Another pause; this time, apparently, not so much for the sake of gaining breath as to enable his words to have their full effect on the smiling young man at the other end of the carriage. If he looked for some sign of their having touched him on a sensitive spot, he found none; the young man continued to smile. Possibly because he suspected that it might be the other's intention to irritate, he kept himself the more in hand. Leaning back in his seat, laying his parti-coloured silk handkerchief across his knee, for the first time he wore an appearance of ease, and he also began to smile.

"However, since I'm a cautious man, and you never can be certain what trick a blackguard will play upon a girl, I'll make assurance doubly sure; I'll take steps which will render it impossible for you to play a trick on my girl. The first thing to-morrow morning I'll take out a warrant for your arrest as a forger and a thief, and I'll give instructions to have it executed at once; so, you see, I'm better than my word, as I generally am. I warned you that if you dared to force yourself upon my girl again I'd have you gaoled, and I will. But I didn't undertake to give you a chance to show the police a clean pair of heels; yet I'm giving you one. If, between this and to-morrow morning-say, at ten-you can make yourself scarce, you can. But you'll have to be spry, because I give you my word that if the police do let the scent go cold it won't be for want of my urging them after you. You may run to earth if you like, but they'll dig you out. Don't you flatter yourself on your dodging powers; they'll get the handcuffs on your wrists."

Picking up his handkerchief with his finger-tips, Mr. Patterson let it fall again across his knee, smiling broadly as if in the enjoyment of a joke.

"And don't you flatter yourself that you'll come under the First Offenders Act-you won't, I'll take care of that. I've a list locked up in a drawer at the office the details of which, when they are produced in court, will surprise you. No jury will recommend you to mercy after hearing that, and no judge will listen to them if they do. You'll be sentenced to a long term of imprisonment as sure as you are sitting there. You'll be branded as a felon for the rest of your life. I'll teach you, you thief, to try to associate as an equal with that girl of mine."

Again he picked up his handkerchief; on this occasion to wipe his lips. But this time he did not return it to his knee; he continued to hold it in his hand-indeed, he waved it affably towards Elmore.

"I owed your father one-such a one! But he never gave me a chance of paying him. Now I owe you one-also such a one-and I'll pay you both together-by gad, I will! Oh, you may keep on smiling, you brassbound blackguard; I hope you'll find the reality as amusing as you seem to find the prospect. When you feel a policeman's hand upon your shoulder and handcuffs on your wrists, then you'll stop smiling. Make no mistake; for you there's only one way of escape, and that's your father's-suicide."

Stopping, Mr. Patterson thrust his handkerchief into the outer breast-pocket of his coat in such a fashion that the hem protruded. There was silence, broken only by the rushing noise made by the train. All at once Rodney Elmore, rising, moved along the carriage and placed himself on the seat immediately in front of his uncle.

CHAPTER IX
THE SECOND

Mr. Patterson glared at his nephew as if he had been guilty of a gross liberty in placing himself where he had done-indeed, he said as much.

"Go back to your own end of the carriage at once, you young scoundrel. How dare you come so close to me? Isn't it sufficient contamination to have to breathe the air of the same compartment, without being polluted by your immediate neighbourhood?"

Rodney was not at all abashed, nor did he show any sign of an intention to return whence he came. On the contrary, leaning a little forward, he smiled at his uncle blandly.

"Softly, sir, softly! If you allow yourself to become excited you may do yourself a mischief-excitement is the worst possible thing for you."

"None of your insolence, you young hound; don't you think I'll allow you to be insolent to me! Are you going back to the other end of the carriage?"

"No, sir; I am not."

"Then-"

Mr. Patterson made as if to move, then checked himself. Rodney asked:

"What were you going to do?"

"If you don't go back to the other end of the carriage at once I'll pull the communication cord and stop the train."

"And then?"

"I'll give you into custody before the whole trainful of passengers."

"Into whose custody?"

"The guard will take charge of you till we get to a station; he won't let you go till he has seen you safe in the hands of a policeman. You won't have a chance of running; you'll sleep in gaol tonight. Are you going back to your own seat?"

"I propose to remain where I am."

"Then I'll stop the train!"

He made as if to do as he said, but Rodney, rising first, laid his hand upon his shoulder to such effect that he found himself unable to move. Indignation brought back the purple to Mr. Patterson's face.

"You dare to touch me? You infernal young villain-take away your hand!"

"I don't intend to allow you to touch the communication cord."

"You don't intend! We'll see about that."

They did see, on the instant. The black knob of the alarm bell was over the centre seat in front of Mr. Patterson. Putting out his strength, evading Rodney's grip, he gained his feet. Elmore took him by the shoulders with both his hands. There was a scuffle-sharp, but brief. For a moment it looked as if the elder man might be a match for the younger, but for a moment only. On a sudden Mr. Patterson collapsed on to his seat as if the stiffening had gone all out of him and left him but a mass of boneless pulp. He could only gasp out words.

"You shall smart for this!"

"If you're not very careful, sir, you'll smart first-my dear uncle."

"Don't you call me your dear uncle."

"My dear uncle."

"Damn you, you-"

A flood of vituperation poured from the elder man's lips, which, when he had finished, left him an even darker shade of purple. Rodney never ceased to smile. So soon as the flood had stopped he repeated the endearing form of address.

"My dear uncle" – Mr. Patterson was panting, for the moment he was speechless-"turn and turn about's fair play, and fair play's a jewel. You've had your say, now I'm going to have mine-you'll find mine as interesting as I found yours. To begin with, I'm going to ask you one or two questions."

"I'll answer no questions of yours."

"Oh, yes, you will, when you find what they are. In the first place, am I to understand that you are really serious-weigh your words, my dear uncle! – in saying that you'd tell Gladys-what you said you'd tell her?"

"So soon as I get home I'll tell her everything-everything-about you, and your rascally father, too."

"Will you?"

"I will-as sure as you are living!"

"So surely as that? And are you prepared to take your oath that you'll take out that warrant you were speaking of, or-was that intended for a jest?"

"Oath! I'll take no oath to you-you Nature's gaol-bird! But of this I assure you, you'll sleep in a prison cell to-night, and many and many another night to come."

Mr. Patterson, dragging the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket, used it to wipe away the perspiration which again bedewed his brow.

"Shall I?"

"You will."

"Oh, no, I won't; nor will you tell Gladys those unkind things about me and my father."

"Who the devil's going to stop me?"

"I'm the devil who's going to stop you."

Rodney was leaning a little forward. His uncle stopped in the process of wiping his brow to stare at him, as if there were something in his manner which struck him as peculiar. About the young gentleman's lips was the same easy, unconcerned smile which had been there all the time; there was a smile also in his eyes-it was, apparently, this latter which gave him the odd expression which had struck his uncle. Mr. Patterson glanced about him as if in search of something he would have liked to find. Rodney sat perfectly still. As he put a query to him his uncle's pursy lips showed a tendency to twitch.

"How are you going to stop me?"

"Can't you guess how I am going to stop you?"

"I can do nothing of the kind. You can't stop me, or anyone. I am going to do my duty to my daughter and to society, and nothing can stop me."

"You know better than that. From something which has just come upon your face I can see that already you know better."

Mr. Patterson gave what he doubtless meant to be a spring towards the alarm bell opposite; but, for reasons which were beyond his control, his movements were slower than they should have been-the younger man was much too quick for him. Gripping him again by both his shoulders, exerting greater strength than on the first occasion, he forced him back upon his seat with a degree of violence which seemed to drive the sense half out of him. As Rodney, remaining on his feet, stood towering above him, one perceived more clearly that his was the build of the athlete, and how great were the probabilities, if they came to grips, that the big man would be helpless in his hands. He addressed his uncle as an elder person might have spoken to a mutinous child.

"My dearest uncle-you really must permit me to lay stress upon your avuncular relationship on what will probably be my last chance of doing so-you are not going to pull the alarm bell, you are not going to stop the train. You have no more chance of doing either than you have of flying to the moon, so get that into your drink-sodden brain. Nor are you going to libel me to Gladys, nor commit me to the mercy of a ruthless police. Presently you will see that as clearly as I do now."

Rodney resumed his seat, still keeping his glance fixed on his uncle, in whose demeanour a change seemed to have taken place which was both mental and physical. Possibly his nephew had used more violence than he supposed. The vigour had gone all out of him; inert, he stared at Rodney with bloodshot eyes, as if drink had taken sudden effect and bemused his brain. The young man's smile became more pronounced, as if he found the singularity of the other's appearance amusing. The tone of his voice, when he spoke, was genial and pleasant.

"My dear uncle, if you, the only relative I have in the world, had treated me, when first I entered your office, as you might have been expected to do, I might have become an affectionate and worthy nephew."

"Not you. You started robbing me before you'd been in the place a week."

"Is that so? So soon as that? Perhaps you have never known what it is to be in want of ready cash."

"When I was eighteen I was keeping myself on fifty pounds a year, for which I was working anything up to sixteen hours a day."

"Indeed! It might have been better if that period of your life had lasted longer. You wouldn't have been in the rotten condition you are."

"What's the matter with my condition? I never had a day's illness in my life."

"My dear uncle, if you weren't in a rotten condition you'd have rung that alarm bell before this, wouldn't you? But, although it's only within a foot or two, you'll never ring it-never, because you are rotten."

Mr. Patterson glanced towards the black knob. Rodney shook his head.

"It's no good, uncle. You won't be able to get at it-you know that. What an illustration you are of the desirability of keeping oneself fit! It seems that from the first you kept a sharper eye on me than I suspected."

"I'm not the fool you took me for."

"Aren't you? That remains to be seen. Do you think that it was the part of wisdom to threaten me as you have been doing when you and I were alone together in a compartment of a railway train which doesn't stop, at least, till it gets to Croydon?"

"I've not been threatening you; I wouldn't condescend. I've only been telling you what you may expect."

"That's all; and by doing so you've made the issue a simple one. If you reach town alive, to all intents I shall be dead; whereas, if you reach town dead, I-shall be on velvet, because you see, my dear uncle, I'm Gladys' lover; and she loves me, if possible, even more than I do her. I've proofs of it. Since she is your only child, when you are dead everything you have will be hers, which is tantamount to saying that it will be mine, which is just what I should like. So you will at once perceive how-from every point of view-very much to my advantage it would be that you should be dead."

"You young hell-hound! Unfortunately for you, I'm not dead, and I'm not likely to die."

"Oh, yes, you are, very likely-unfortunately for you. You told me that my father only found one way to escape trouble-suicide. You hinted in your most affectionate manner that some time, in my turn, I might only find one way. Your kindly hint made such an impression on me that I actually made preparations, so that I might never be at a loss if ever that time should come. Those preparations are contained in this dainty little box."

Rodney took from his waistcoat pocket what might have passed as a silver needle-case or receptacle for pins. He held it out in front of his uncle, who was as much moved by the sight of it as if it had been some object of horror.

"You-you're not going to make away with yourself before my eyes? You-you don't suppose I'll let you do it?"

"How would you propose to stop me?"

Again Mr. Patterson mopped his brow with his silk handkerchief of many colours. He presented a pitiable spectacle. His lips twitched, his hand trembled, and his whole huge frame seemed to shiver like a mass of jelly. His voice was broken and husky, he stammered in his speech.

"Elmore, you-you're quite right; I'm-I'm not very well. I-I've had a great deal to put up with lately, and it's unhinged me. Give me that infernal thing you've got there-I don't know what is in it, or if you're playing a trick with me, but-you give it me."

"I'm going to-shortly."

The young man's airy self-possession was in almost painful contrast to the elder's agitation. He glanced at his watch, holding the slender, round case between the finger and thumb of his other hand.

"Nearly half-past nine. What was that station we passed? Was it Hayward's Heath? I fancy we do stop at Croydon, so that there's not much time to spare. I'm going to act on your suggestion, uncle-with a difference. I am not going to commit suicide, but you are!"

"I am? – you young fool! – what do you mean?"

"In fact, you practically have committed suicide already."

"The man's mad."

"Possibly-but not on this particular point. When you told me in such very coarse language what I might expect, you practically committed suicide, as-I'm about to prove. You remember the case of the eminent financier who, within five minutes of being sentenced to a long term of penal servitude, was in a room which was immediately outside the court in which he had received his sentence, from which he was instantly to be haled to gaol, under the very noses of his warders slipped something between his lips and-escaped. You will probably remember the case better than I do, since at the time I was only a boy; yet I have studied it to such purpose that within this pretty little box are-shall we call them tabloids? – which are in all essentials identical with the one he swallowed. They kill as by a flash of lightning. Whoever has one of these within his reach no man shall stay him from-escaping. You are going to swallow one of these tabloids, uncle-this one." Unscrewing the top of his silver box, Rodney removed the cap, and took from it what looked like a small peppermint lozenge, holding it up between his finger and thumb.

"You see, uncle-this one; as it were, death reduced to its lowest possible denomination."

At that moment Rodney seemed to be exercising over his uncle some of the fabulous qualities attributed to the serpent. Beyond doubt Mr. Patterson recognised with sufficient vividness that this young man in front of him was much more dangerous than he had supposed; that he had underrated his capacity for evil; that he might as well have shut himself in with a tiger as with his sister's son. But the recognition came too late. The very force of it had the effect of destroying his few remaining powers of volition. In face of the deadly purpose with which he perceived that his nephew was filled, he was as one paralysed. He could only grow purpler and purpler, and splutter.

"Don't-don't you play any of your infernal tricks on me, you-you villain! Curse it, why can't I get at that bell!" He made as if to rise, but, seemingly, was as incapable of movement as if he had been glued to his seat. As if conscious that his peril was imminent, he raised his voice to a raucous scream.

"Don't-don't you dare to lay your hands on me! Don't-don't you dare to touch me! Help!"

As the uncle opened his mouth to cry for aid the nephew caught him by the throat and slipped between his lips the tiny white lozenge which he had taken from the silver box. Then he struck up his jaw with a click and held it shut, so that he could not put it out again. Forcing back his head, he gripped him tight. His uncle was seized with a convulsion which seemed to Rodney as if it must have shaken the carriage. Almost at the same instant it was as if all vitality had gone clean out of him. The nephew was gripping a limp corpse.