That evening Alf called at Bobby's lodgings and apologised frankly.
"I know I said what I shouldn't, sir," he admitted. "But it fairly tortured me to see you along of a chap like that Burt."
"He's all right," said Bobby coldly.
Alf smiled that sickly smile of his.
"Ah, you're innocent, Mr. Chislehurst," he said. "Only wish I knew as little as you do."
Alf in fact was moving on and up again in his career; walking warily in consequence, and determined to do nothing that should endanger his position with the powers that be. This was the motive that inspired his apology to Mr. Chislehurst and caused him likewise to make approaches to his old schoolmaster, Mr. Pigott.
The old Nonconformist met the advances of his erstwhile pupil with genial brutality.
"What's up now, Alf?" he asked. "Spreading the treacle to catch the flies. Mind ye don't catch an hornet instead then!"
The remark may have been made in innocence, but Alf looked sharply at the speaker and retired in some disorder. His new stir of secret busyness was in fact bringing him into contact with unusual company, as Mrs. Trupp discovered by accident. One evening she had occasion to telephone on behalf of her husband to the garage. A voice that seemed familiar replied.
"Who's that?" she asked.
The answer came back, sharp as an echo,
"Who's that?"
"I'm Mrs. Trupp. I want to speak to Alfred Caspar."
Then the voice muttered and Alfred took the receiver.
Later Mrs. Trupp told her husband of the incident.
"I'm certain it was Captain Royal," she said with emphasis.
The old surgeon expressed no surprise.
"I daresay," he said. "Alf's raising money for some business scheme. He told me so."
Now if Alf's attempts on Ruth in the days between the birth of the child and her marriage to Ernie were known to Mrs. Trupp, the connection of the little motor-engineer and Royal was only suspected by her. A chance word of Ruth's had put her on guard; and that was all. Now with the swift natural intuition for the ways of evil-doers, which the innocent woman, once roused, so often reveals as by miracle, she flashed to a conclusion.
"Alf's blackmailing him!" she said positively.
"I shouldn't be surprised," her husband answered calmly.
His wife put her hand upon his shoulder.
"How can you employ a man like that, William?" she said, grave and grieved.
It was an old point of dispute between them. Now he took her hand and stroked it.
"My dear," he said, "when a bacteriologist has had a unique specimen under the microscope for years he's not going to abandon it for a scruple."
A few days later Mrs. Trupp was walking down Borough Lane past the Star when she saw Alf and Ruth cross each other on the pavement fifty yards in front. Neither stopped, but Alf shot a sidelong word in the woman's ear as he slid by serpent-wise. Ruth marched on with a toss of her head, and Mrs. Trupp noted the furtive look in the eyes of her husband's chaffeur as he met her glance and passed, touching his cap.
Mindful of her conversation with her husband, she followed Ruth home and boarded her instantly.
"Ruth," she asked, "I want to know something. You must tell me for your own good. Alfred's got no hold over you?"
Ruth drew in her breath with the sound, almost a hiss, of a sword snatched from its scabbard. Then slowly she relaxed.
"He's not got the sway over me not now," she said in a still voice, with lowered eyes. "Only thing he's the only one outside who knaws Captain Royal's the father of little Alice."
Mrs. Trupp eyed her under level brows.
"Oh, he does know that?" she said.
Ruth was pale.
"Yes, 'M," she said. "See Alf used to drive him that summer at the Hohenzollern."
Mrs. Trupp was not entirely satisfied.
"I don't see how Alfred can hold his knowledge over you," she remarked.
"Not over me," answered Ruth, raising her eyes. "Over him."
"Over who?"
"Captain Royal," said Ruth; and added slowly--"And I'd be sorry for anyone Alf got into his clutches--let alone her father."
Her dark eyes smouldered; her colour returned to her, swarthy and glowing; a gleam of teeth revealed itself between faintly parted lips.
Mrs. Trupp not for the first time was aware of a secret love of battle and danger in this young Englishwoman whose staid veins carried the wild blood of some remote ancestress who had danced in the orange groves of Seville, watched the Mediterranean blue flecked with the sails of Barbary corsairs, and followed with passionate eyes the darings and devilries of her matador in the ring among the bulls of Andalusia.
Mrs. Trupp returned home, unquiet at heart, and with a sense that somehow she had been baffled. She knew Ruth well enough now to understand how that young woman had fallen a prey to Royal. It was not the element of class that had been her undoing, certainly not the factor of money: it was the soldier in the man who had seized the girl's imagination. And Mrs. Trupp, daughter herself of a line of famous soldiers, recognised that Royal with all his faults, was a soldier, fine as a steel-blade, keen, thorough, searching. It was the hardness and sparkle and frost-like quality of this man with a soul like a sword which had set dancing the girl's hot Spanish blood. Royal was a warrior; and to that fact Ruth owned her downfall.
Was Ernie a warrior too?
Not for the first time she asked herself the question as she turned out of the Moot into Borough Lane. And at the moment the man of whom she was thinking emerged from the yard of the Transport Company, dusty, draggled, negligent as always, and smiling at her with kind eyes--too kind, she sometimes thought.
As she crossed the road to the Manor-house Joe Burt passed her and gave his cap a surly hitch by way of salute. Mrs. Trupp responded pleasantly. Her husband, she knew, respected the engineer. She herself had once heard him speak and had admired the fire and fearlessness in him. Moreover, genuine aristocrat that she was, she followed with sympathy his lonely battle against the hosts of Toryism in the East-end, none the less because she was herself a Conservative by tradition and temperament.
That man was a warrior to be sure....
That evening the old surgeon dropped his paper and looked over his pince-nez at his wife and daughter.
"My dears," he said, "I've some good news for you."
"I know," replied Bess, scornfully. "Your Lloyd George is coming down in January to speak on his iniquitous Budget. I knew that, thank you!"
"Better even than that," her father answered. "Alfred Caspar's leaving me of his own accord."
The girl tossed her skein of coloured silk to the ceiling with a splendid gesture.
"Chuck-her-up!" she cried. "Do you hear, mother?"
"I do," answered Mrs. Trupp severely. "Better late than never."
"And I'm losing the best chauffeur in East Sussex," Mr. Trupp continued.
Alf, indeed, who had paddled his little canoe for so long and so successfully on the Beachbourne mill-pond, was now about to launch a larger vessel on the ocean of the world in obedience to the urge of that ambition which, apart from a solitary lapse, had been the consuming passion of his life. Unlike most men, however, who, as they become increasingly absorbed in their own affairs, tend to drop outside interests, he persisted loyally in old-time activities. Whether it was that his insatiable desire for power forbade him to abandon any position, however modest, which afforded him scope; or that he felt it more necessary than ever now, in the interests of his expanding career, to maintain and if possible improve his relations with the Church and State which exercised so potent a control in the sphere in which he proposed to operate; or that the genuinely honest workman in him refused to abandon a job to which he had once put his hand, it is the fact that he continued diligent in his office at St. Michael's, and manifested even increased zeal in his labours for the National Service League.
Alf, indeed, so distinguished himself by his services to the League that at the annual meeting at the Town Hall, he received public commendation both from the Archdeacon and the Colonel, who announced that "the admirable and indefatigable secretary of our Old Town branch, Mr. Alfred Caspar, has agreed to become District Convener."
That meeting was a red-letter day in the history of the Beachbourne National Service League, for at it the Colonel disclosed that Lord Roberts was coming down to speak.
