John answered impetuously, "But that is impossible."
"Why impossible, sir? Are you interested in this case?"
A certain quivering moved John"s mouth. "I am Father Storm himself."
The officer was silent for a moment. Then he turned to the inspector with a pitying smile. "Another of them," he said significantly. The psychology of criminals had been an interesting study to this official.
"Wait a minute," said the inspector, and he went hurriedly through an inner doorway. The officer asked John some questions about his movements since yesterday. John answered vaguely in broken and rather bewildering sentences. Then the inspector returned.
"You are Father Storm?"
"Yes."
"Do you know of anybody who might wish to personate you?"
"G.o.d forbid that any one should do that!"
"Still, there is some one here who says----"
"Let me see him."
"Come this way quietly," said the inspector, and John followed him to the inner room. His pride was all gone, his head was hanging low, and he was a prey to extraordinary agitation.
A man in a black ca.s.sock was sitting at a table making a statement to another officer with an open book before him. His back was to the door, but John knew him in a moment. It was Brother Andrew.
"Then why have you given yourself up?" the officer asked, and Brother Andrew began a rambling and foolish explanation. He had seen it stated in an evening paper that the Father had been traced to the train at Euston, and he thought it a pity--a pity that the police--that the police should waste their time----
"Take care!" said the officer. "You are in a position that should make you careful of what you say."
And then the inspector stepped forward, leaving John by the door.
"You still say you are Father Storm?"
"Of course I do," said Brother Andrew indignantly. "If I was anybody else, do you think I should come here and give myself up----"
"Then who is this standing behind you?"
Brother Andrew turned and saw John with a start of surprise and a cry of terror. He seemed hardly able to believe in the reality of what was before him, and his restless eyeb.a.l.l.s rolled fearfully. John tried to speak, but he could only utter a few inarticulate sounds.
"Well?" said the inspector. And while John stood with head down and heaving breast, Brother Andrew began to laugh hysterically and to say:
"Don"t you know who this is? This is my lay brother! I brought him out of the Brotherhood six months ago, and he has been with me ever since."
The officers looked at each other. "Good heavens!" cried Brother Andrew in an imperious voice, "don"t you believe me? You mustn"t touch this man. He has done nothing--nothing at all. He is as tender as a woman and wouldn"t hurt a fly. What"s he doing here?"
The officers also were dropping their heads, and the heartrending voice went on: "Have you arrested him? You"ll do very wrong if you arrest----But perhaps he has given himself up! That would be just like him. He is devoted to me and would tell you any falsehood if he thought it would----But you must send him away. Tell him to go back to his old mother--that"s the proper place for him. Good G.o.d! do you think I"m telling you lies?"
There was silence for a moment. "My poor lad, hush, hush!" said John in a tone full of tenderness and authority. Then he turned to the inspector with a pitiful smile of triumph. "Are you satisfied?" he asked.
"Quite satisfied, Father," the officer answered in a broken voice, and then Brother Andrew began to cry.
X.
When Glory awoke on the morning after the Derby and thought of John she felt no remorse. A sea of bewildering difficulty lay somewhere ahead, but she would not look at it. He loved her, she loved him, and nothing else mattered. If rules and vows stood between them, so much the worse for such enemies of love.
She was conscious that a subtle change had come over her. She was not herself any longer, but somebody else as well; not a woman merely, but in some sort a man; not Glory only, but also John Storm. Oh, delicious mystery! Oh, joy of joys! His arms seemed to be about her waist still, and his breath to linger about her neck. With a certain tremor, a certain thrill, she reached for a hand-gla.s.s and looked at herself to learn if there was any difference in her face that the rest of the world would see. Yes, her eyes had another l.u.s.tre, a deeper light, but she lay back in the cool bed with a smile and a long-drawn sigh. What matter whatever happened! Gone were the six cruel months in which she had awakened every morning with a pain at her breast. She was happy, happy, happy!
The morning sun was streaming across the room when Liza came in with the tea.
"Did ye see the Farver last night, Miss Gloria?"
"Oh, yes; that was all right, Liza."
The day"s newspaper was lying folded on the tray. She took it up and opened it, remembering the Derby, and thinking for the first time of Drake"s triumph. But what caught her eye in glaring head-lines was a different matter: "The Panic Terror--Collapse of the Farce."
It was a shriek of triumphant derision. The fateful day had come and gone, yet London stood where it did before. Last night"s tide had flowed and ebbed, and the dwellings of men were not submerged. No earthquake had swallowed up St. Paul"s; no mighty bonfire of the greatest city of the world had lit up the sky of Europe, and even the thunderstorm which had broken over London had only laid the dust and left the air more clear.
"London is to be congratulated on the collapse of this panic, which, so far as we can hear, has been attended by only one casualty--an a.s.sault in Brown"s Square, Westminster, on a young soldier, Charles Wilkes, of the Wellington Barracks, by two of the frantic army of the terror-stricken. The injured man was removed to St. Thomas"s Hospital, while his a.s.sailants were taken to Rochester Row police station, and we have only to regret that the clerical panic-maker himself has not yet shared the fate of his followers. Late last night the authorities, recovering from their extraordinary supineness, issued a warrant for his arrest, but up to the time of going to press he had escaped the vigilance of the police."
Glory was breathing audibly as she read, and Liza, who was drawing up the blind, looked back at her with surprise.
"Liza, have you mentioned to anybody that Father Storm was here last night?"
"Why, no, miss, there ain"t n.o.body stirring yet, and besides----"
"Then don"t mention it to a soul. Will you do me that great, great kindness?"
"Down"t ye know I will, mum?" said Liza, with a twinkle of the eye and a wag of the head.
Glory dressed hurriedly, went down to the drawing-room, and wrote a letter. It was to Sefton, the manager. "Do not expect me to play to-night. I don"t feel up to it. Sorry to be so troublesome."
Then Rosa came in with another newspaper in her hand, and, without saying anything, Glory showed her the letter. Rosa read it and returned it in silence. They understood each other.
During the next few hours Glory"s impatience became feverish, and as soon as the first of the evening papers appeared she sent out for it.
The panic was subsiding, and the people who had gone to the outskirts were returning to the city in troops, looking downcast and ashamed. No news of Father Storm. Inquiry that morning at Scotland Yard elicited the fact that nothing had yet been heard of him. There was much perplexity as to where he had spent the previous night.
Glory"s face tingled and burned. From hour to hour she sent out for new editions. The panic itself was now eclipsed by the interest of John Storm"s disappearance. His followers scouted the idea that he had fled from London. Nevertheless, he had fallen. As a pretender to the gift of prophecy his career was at an end, and his crazy system of mystical divinity was the laughing-stock of London.
"It does not surprise us that this second Moses, this mock Messiah, has broken down. Such men always do, and must collapse, but that the public should ever have taken seriously a movement which----" and then a grotesque list of John"s followers--one p.a.w.nbroker, one waiter, one "knocker-up," two or three apprentices, etc.
As she read all this, Glory was at the same time glowing with shame, trembling with fear, and burning with indignation. She dined with Rosa alone, and they tried to talk of other matters. The effort was useless.
At last Rosa said:
"I have to follow this thing up for the paper, dear, and I"m going to-night to see if they hold the usual service in his church."