Chapter VII

A Gong sounded and a mechanical voice announced, “Mr. Peter Hubbard to see Mr. Dyall and Mr. Shortmire.”

“Do you mean to say he has the gall to come see us, after the accusations he made against you, Emrys?” Dyall demanded incredulously. “I still can’t understand why you sent him an invitation to the wedding, but that he should make a casual social call... !”

“We’ve come to terms.” Emrys smiled. “After all, at his age, he can’t be held accountable for everything he says.”

“I’m at least fifty years older than he is!” the old engineer almost spat. “And you--do you mean that I am not responsible for what I say?”

Knowing that he was the other man’s senior by some twenty years himself, Emrys was malevolently pleased. “Some people retain their faculties longer than others,” he observed. “And Hubbard was my father’s friend, as well as his lawyer, so he’s the closest thing to a relative that I have on Earth. Except you, of course; you were my father’s friend, too.”

Dyall’s lips tightened. “How does Hubbard know you’re in this house right now? Do you think he’s having you followed?”

It was possible, but Emrys didn’t care. For almost a year now, his life had been blameless, and, strangely, it suited him to live that way. “I’m here in this house most of the time. It wouldn’t be hard for him to figure out where he could find me.”

The gong sounded again. Dyall looked undecided.

“If I can forgive him, sir,” Emrys said gently, “surely you can.”

“Show him in,” Dyall rasped to the machine.

Megan rose to go, but Emrys kept hold of her small, cold hand. “I’d like you to meet Peter Hubbard, dear. He’s really a nice old fellow when you get to know him. Just a bit too much of a do-gooder, that’s all.”

Dyall snorted.

“I shall be glad to know any friend of yours, Emrys,” Megan said, sitting down again obediently.

After a moment, Peter Hubbard came into the room. “Peter, this is my fiancée, Megan Dyall.” Smilingly, Emrys waited for the usual inane felicitations. He couldn’t expect a man of Hubbard’s age to be bowled over by this loveliness, but still surely no man, no matter how ancient, could be completely insensible to the girl’s charm.

Hubbard stood still and stared at her. “Amazing...” he murmured. “Amazing...” Then he turned to Dyall. “You are to be congratulated, sir.”

Emrys was annoyed. He knew Hubbard was too well-bred to make a remark like that unintentionally. However, he pretended to be amused and said, “You’re supposed to congratulate me, Peter.”

But Hubbard continued his inexplicable rudeness by paying no attention to Emrys and, instead, staring at Nicholas Dyall. And finally Dyall said, with a strangled laugh, “I think perhaps in this instance Mr. Hubbard is right.”

He threw himself into an easy chair with an attempt at nonchalance, but it was embarrassingly apparent that his stick was not enough to support him any more. His old body was trembling. And Emrys found that he himself was trembling, too.

There was a painful silence. Everyone seemed to be waiting. Even Megan glanced from one to the other with her usual expression of bright-eyed interest.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Hubbard,” Dyall said at last, “you’ve reached your conclusions too late to do anything except perhaps hasten an end that is, you’ll concede, by now inevitable.”

“Yes,” Hubbard agreed, “you’ve won your game.” He came a little further into the room, so that he was standing over the other old man. “I do believe that, of the two, you are the worse. He did what he did out of spite. You created that spite and kept it alive.”

Dyall’s dark face flushed and his hands tightened on his cane. “But I had a right to do what I did. And I hurt only one person. Two, if you include me. Give me credit, at least, for the smallness of my scope.”

Hubbard glanced at Megan. And Dyall broke into the shrill cackle of an old man. “But you know, you know, and still you think of her! How sentimental can you get? Don’t you realize--”

“How much does she?” Hubbard said. “How much do you?”

Emrys had become nearly frantic with frustration and bewilderment. He was the one who had secrets; nobody else. Nothing was to be kept hidden from him! “What are you two blabbering about?” he almost screamed. “It doesn’t make sense--any of it!”

Hubbard turned toward him, his head and neck moving with the deliberate precision of a piece of clockwork. “It makes very good sense, Jan. I realized that I could find out nothing more from the stars, so I turned my researches back to Earth. I’ve been investigating Mr. Dyall.”

“What did you find?” Emrys asked tensely. Why did Peter call him by his former name in front of his former enemy? Had the old fool forgotten his promise, or had he broken it on purpose? “What did you find out?“ he repeated.

Hubbard’s voice was filled with pity. “Just this: Nicholas Dyall never did marry Alissa Embel.”

Emrys’ fear exploded into a scarlet rage. “Then Megan is--” He advanced on Dyall, his fists clenched. “If you took Alissa and then didn’t--”