They were late coming into Washington, for the Special had been
sidetracked in the night for several express trains, and the noisy
crowd who had kept one another awake till after midnight made up by
sleeping far into the morning.
Three times did Gordon make the journey three cars front to see if his
companion of yesterday were awake and needed anything, but each time
found the curtains drawn and still, and each time he went slowly back
again to his seat in the crowded day-coach.
It was not until the white dome of the capitol, and the tall needle
of the monument, were painted soft and vision-like against the sky,
reminding one of the pictures of the heavenly city in the story of
Pilgrim’s Progress, and faintly suggesting a new and visionary world,
that he sought her again, and found her fully ready, standing in the
aisle while the porter put up the berth out of the way. Beneath the
great brim of her purple hat, where the soft fronds of her plumes
trembled with the motion of the train, she lifted sweet eyes to him, as
if she were both glad and frightened to see him. And then that ecstasy
shot through him again, as he realized suddenly what it would be to
have her for his life-companion, to feel her looks of gladness were all
for him, and have the right to take all fright away from her.
They could only smile at each other for good-morning, for everybody
was standing up and being brushed, and pushing here and there for
suit-cases and lost umbrellas; and everybody talked loudly, and laughed
a great deal, and told how late the train was. Then at last they were
there, and could get out and walk silently side by side in the noisy
procession through the station to the sidewalk.
What little things sometimes change a lifetime, and make for our safety
or our destruction! That very morning three keen watchers were set to
guard that station at Washington to hunt out the government spy who had
stolen back the stolen message, and take him, message and all, dead
or alive, back to New York; for the man who could testify against the
Holman Combination was not to be let live if there was such a thing as
getting him out of the way. But they never thought to watch the Special
which was supposed to carry only delegates to the great convention. He
could not possibly be on that! They knew he was coming from Pittsburgh,
for they had been so advised by telegram the evening before by one of
their company who had seen him buying a sleeper ticket for Washington,
but they felt safe about that Special, for they had made inquiries
and been told no one but delegates could possibly come on it. They
had done their work thoroughly, and were on hand with every possible
plan perfected for bagging their game, but they took the time when the
Pittsburgh Special was expected to arrive for eating a hearty breakfast
in the restaurant across the street from the station. Two of them
emerged from the restaurant doorway in plenty of time to meet the next
Pittsburgh train, just as Gordon, having placed the lady in a closed
carriage, was getting in himself.
If the carriage had stood in any other spot along the pavement in
front of the station, they never would have seen him, but, as it was,
they had a full view of him; and because they were Washington men, and
experts in their line, they recognized him at once, and knew their
plans had failed, and that only by extreme measures could they hope
to prevent the delivery of the message which would mean downfall and
disaster to them and their schemes.
As Gordon slammed shut the door of the carriage, he caught a vision of
his two enemies pointing excitedly toward him, and he knew that the
bloodhounds were on the scent.
His heart beat wildly. His anxiety was divided between the message and
the lady. What should he do? Drive at once to the home of his chief
and deliver the message, or leave the girl at his rooms, ’phone for
a faster conveyance and trust to getting to his chief ahead of his
pursuers?
“Don’t let anything hinder you! Don’t let anything hinder you! Make it
a matter of life and death!” rang the little ditty in his ears, and now
it seemed as if he must go straight ahead with the message. And yet--“a
matter of life and death!” He could not, must not, might not, take the
lady with him into danger. If he must be in danger of death he did not
want to die having exposed an innocent stranger to the same.
Then there was another point to be thought of.
He had already told the driver to take him to his apartments, and to
drive as rapidly as possible. It would not do to stop him now and
change the directions, for a pistol-shot could easily reach him yet;
and, coming from a crowd, who would be suspected? His enemies were
standing on the threshold of a place where there were many of their
kind to protect them, and none of his friends knew of his coming. It
would be a race for life from now on to the finish.
Celia was looking out with interest at the streets, recognizing
landmarks with wonder, and did not notice Gordon’s white, set face
and burning eyes as he strained his vision to note how fast the horse
was going. Oh, if the driver would only turn off at the next corner
into the side street they could not watch the carriage so far, but it
was not likely, for this was the most direct road, and yet--yes, he
had turned! Joy! The street here was so crowded that he had sought the
narrower, less crowded way that he might go the faster.
It seemed an age to him before they stopped at his apartments. To
Celia, it had been but a short ride, in which familiar scenes had
brought her pleasure, for she recognized that she was not in strange
Chicago, but in Washington, a city often visited. Somehow she felt it
was an omen of a better future than she had feared.
“Oh, why didn’t you tell me?” she smiled to Gordon. “It is Washington,
dear old Washington.”
Somehow he controlled the tumult in his heart and smiled back, saying
in a voice quite natural:
“I am so glad you like it.”
She seemed to understand that they could not talk until they reached
a quiet place somewhere, and she did not trouble him with questions.
Instead--she looked from the window, or watched him furtively,
comparing him with her memory of George Hayne, and wondering in her
own thoughts. She was glad to have them to herself for just this
little bit, for now that the morning had come she was almost afraid of
revelation, what it might bring forth. And so it came about that they
took the swift ride in more or less silence, and neither thought it
strange.
As the carriage stopped, he spoke with low, hurried voice, tense with
excitement, but her own nerves were on a strain also, and she did not
notice.
“We get out here.”
He had the fare ready for the driver, and, stepping out, hurried Celia
into the shelter of the hallway. It happened that an elevator had just
come down, so it was but a second more before they were up safe in the
hall before his own apartment.
Taking a latch-key from his pocket, he applied it to the door, flung
it open, and ushered Celia to a large leather chair in the middle of
the room. Then, stepping quickly to the side of the room, he touched a
bell, and from it went to the telephone, with an “Excuse me, please,
this is necessary,” to the girl, who sat astonished, wondering at the
homelikeness of the room and at the “at-homeness” of the man. She had
expected to be taken to a hotel. This seemed to be a private apartment
with which he was perfectly acquainted. Perhaps it belonged to some
friend. But how, after an absence of years, could he remember just
where to go, which door and which elevator to take, and how to fit the
key with so accustomed a hand? Then her attention was arrested by his
voice:
“Give me 254 L please,” he said.... “Is this 254 L?... Is Mr. Osborne
in?... You say he has _not_ gone to the office yet?... May I speak
with him?... Is this Mr. Osborne?... I did not expect you to know
my voice.... Yes, sir; just arrived, and all safe so far. Shall I
bring it to the house or the office?... The house?... All right,
sir. Immediately.... By the way, I am sure Hale and Burke are on my
track. They saw me at the station.... To your house?... You will wait
until I come?... All right, sir. Yes, immediately.... Sure, I’ll take
precaution.... Good-by.”
With the closing words came a tap at the door.
“Come, Henry,” he answered, as the astonished girl turned toward the
door. “Henry, you will go down, please, to the restaurant, and bring up
a menu card. This lady will select what she would like to have, and you
will serve breakfast for her in this room as soon as possible. I shall
be out for perhaps an hour, and, meantime, you will obey any orders she
may give you.”
He did not introduce her as his wife, but she did not notice the
omission. She had suddenly become aware of a strange, distraught haste
in his manner, and when he said he was going out alarm seized her, she
could not tell why.
The man bowed deferentially to his master, looked his admiration and
devotion to the lady, waited long enough to say:
“I’se mighty glad to see you safe back, sah--” and disappeared to obey
orders.
Celia turned toward Gordon for an explanation, but he was already at
the telephone again:
“46!... Is this the Garage?... This is The Harris Apartments.... Can
you send Thomas with a closed car to the rear door immediately?...
Yes.... No, I want Thomas, and a car that can speed.... Yes, the rear
door, _rear_, and at once.... What?... What’s that?... But I _must_....
It’s _official_ business.... Well, I thought so. Hurry them up.
Good-by.”
He turned and saw her troubled gaze following him with growing fear in
her eyes.
“What is the matter?” she asked anxiously. “Has something happened?”
Just one moment he paused, and, coming toward her, laid his hands on
hers tenderly.
“Nothing the matter at all,” he said soothingly. “At least nothing
that need worry you. It is just a matter of pressing business. I’m
sorry to have to go from you for a little while, but it is necessary. I
cannot explain to you until I return. You will trust me? You will not
worry?”
“I will try!”
Her lips were quivering, and her eyes were filled with tears. Again he
felt that intense longing to lay his lips upon hers and comfort her,
but he put it from him.
“There is nothing to feel sad about,” he said, smiling gently. “It is
nothing tragic only there is need for haste, for if I wait, I may fail
yet---- It is something that means a great deal to me. When I come back
I will explain all.”
“Go!” she said, putting out her hands in a gesture of resignation, as
if she would hurry him from her. And though she was burning to know
what it all meant there was that about him that compelled her to trust
him and to wait.
Then his control almost went from him. He nearly took those hands in
his and kissed them, but he did not. Instead, he went with swift steps
to his bedroom door, threw open a chiffonier drawer, and took therefrom
something small and sinister. She could see the gleam of its polished
metal, and she sensed a strange little menace in the click as he did
something to it, she could not see what, because his back was to her.
He came out with his hand in his pocket, as if he had just hidden
something there.
She was not familiar with firearms. Her mother had been afraid of them
and her brother had never flourished any around the house, yet she knew
by instinct that some weapon of defence was in Gordon’s possession;
and a nameless horror rose in her heart and shone from her blue eyes,
but she would not speak a word to let him know it. If he had not been
in such haste, he would have seen. Her horror would have been still
greater if she had known that he already carried one loaded revolver
and was taking a second in case of an emergency.
“Don’t worry,” he called as he hurried out the door. “Henry will get
anything you need, and I shall soon be back.”
The door closed and he was gone. She heard his quick step down the
hall, heard the elevator door slide and slam again, and then she knew
he was gone down. Outside an automobile sounded and she seemed to hear
again his words at the phone, “The rear door.” Why had he gone to the
rear door? Was he in hiding? Was he flying from some one? What, oh
what, did it mean?
Without stopping to reason it out, she flew across the room and opened
the door of the bedroom he had just left, then through it passed
swiftly to a bath-room beyond. Yes, there was a window. Would it be the
one? Could she see him? And what good would it do her if she could?
She crowded close to the window. There was a heavy sash with stained
glass, but she selected a clear bit of yellow and put her eye close.
Yes, there was a closed automobile just below her, and it had started
away from the building. He had gone, then. Where?
Her mind was a blank for a few minutes. She went slowly, mechanically
back to the other room without noticing anything about her, sat down in
the chair, putting her hands to her temples, and tried to think. Back
to the moment in the church where he had appeared at her side and the
service had begun. Something had told her then that he was different,
and yet there had been those letters, and how could it possibly be
that he had not written them? He was gone on some dangerous business.
Of that she felt sure. There had been some caution given him by the
man to whom he first ’phoned. He had promised to take precaution--that
meant the little, wicked, gleaming thing in his pocket. Perhaps some
harm would come to him, and she would never know. And then she stared
at the opposite wall with wonder-filled eyes. Well, and suppose it
did? Why did she care? Was he not the man whose power over her but two
short days ago would have made her welcome death as her deliverer? Why
was all changed now? Just because he had smiled upon her and been kind?
Had given her a few wild flowers and said her eyes were like them? Had
hair that waved instead of being straight and thin? And where was all
her loyalty to her dear dead father’s memory? How could she mind that
danger should come to one who had threatened to tell terrible lies that
should blacken him in the thoughts of people who had loved him? Had
she forgotten the letters? Was she willing to forgive all just because
he had declared that he did not write them? How foolish! He said he
could prove that he did not, but of course that was all nonsense. He
must have written them. And yet there was the wave in his hair, and the
kindness in his eyes. And he had looked--oh, he had looked terrible
things when he had read that letter; as if he would like to wreak
vengeance on the man who had written it. Could a man masquerade that
way?
And then a new solution to the problem came to her. Suppose
this--whoever he was--this man who had married her, had gone out to
find and punish George Hayne? Suppose---- But then she covered her eyes
with her hands and shuddered. Yet why should she care? But she did.
Suppose he should be killed, himself! Who was he if not George Hayne
and how did he come to take his place? Was it just another of George’s
terrible tricks upon her?
A quick vision came of their bringing him back to her. He would lie,
perhaps, on that great crimson leather couch over there, just as he had
lain in the dawning of the morning in the stateroom of the train, with
his hands hanging limp, and one perhaps across his breast, as if he
were guarding something, and his bright waves of brown hair lying heavy
about his forehead--only, his forehead would be white, so white and
cold, with a little blue mark in his temple perhaps.
The footsteps of the man Henry brought her back to the present again.
She smiled at him pleasantly as he entered, and answered his questions
about what she would have for breakfast; but it was he who selected the
menu, not she, and after he had gone she could not have told what she
had ordered. She could not get away from the vision on the couch. She
closed her eyes and pressed her cold fingers against her eyeballs to
drive it away, but still her bridegroom seemed to lie there before her.
The colored man came back presently with a loaded tray, and set it down
on a little table which he wheeled before her, as though he had done
it many times before. She thanked him, and said there was nothing else
she needed, so he went away.
She toyed with the cup of delicious coffee which he had poured for her,
and the few swallows she took gave her new heart. She broke a bit from
a hot roll, and ate a little of the delicious steak, but still her mind
was at work at the problem, and her heart was full of nameless anxiety.
He had gone away without any breakfast himself, and he had had no
supper the night before, she was sure. He probably had given to her
everything he could get on the train. She was haunted with regret
because she had not shared with him. She got up and walked about the
room, trying to shake off the horror that was upon her, and the dread
of what the morning might bring forth. Ordinarily she would have
thought of sending a message to her mother and brother, but her mind
was so troubled now that it never occurred to her.
The walls of the room were tinted a soft greenish gray, and above the
picture moulding they blended into a woodsy landscape with a hint
of water, greensward, and blue sky through interlacing branches. It
reminded her of the little village they had seen as they started from
the train in the early morning light. What a beautiful day they had
spent together and how it had changed her whole attitude of heart
toward the man she had married!
Two or three fine pictures were hung in good lights. She studied them,
and knew that the one who had selected and hung them was a judge of
true art; but they did not hold her attention long, for as yet, she had
not connected the room with the man for whom she waited.
A handsome mahogany desk stood open in a broad space by the window. She
was attracted by a little painted miniature of a woman. She took it up
and studied the face. It was fine and sweet, with brown hair dressed
low, and eyes that reminded her of the man who had just gone from her.
Was this, then, the home of some relative with whom he had come to stop
for a day or two, and, if so, where was the relative? The dress in the
miniature was of a quarter of a century past, yet the face was young
and sweet, as young, perhaps, as herself. She wondered who it was. She
put the miniature back in place with caressing hand. She felt that she
would like to know this woman with the tender eyes. She wished her here
now, that she might tell her all her anxiety.
Her eye wandered to the pile of letters, some of them official-looking
ones, one or two in square, perfumed envelopes, with high, angular
writing. They were all addressed to Mr. Cyril Gordon. That was
strange! Who was Mr. Cyril Gordon? What had they--what had she--to do
with him? Was he a friend whom George--whom they--were visiting for a
few days? It was all bewildering.
Then the telephone rang.
Her heart beat wildly and she looked toward it as if it had been a
human voice speaking and she had no power to answer. What should she do
now? Should she answer? Or should she wait for the man to come? Could
the man hear the telephone bell or was she perhaps expected to answer?
And yet if Mr. Cyril Gordon--well, somebody ought to answer. The ’phone
rang insistently once more, and still a third time. What if _he_ should
be calling her! Perhaps he was in distress. This thought sent her
flying to the ’phone. She took down the receiver and called:
“Hello!” and her voice sounded far away to herself.
“Is this Mr. Gordon’s apartment?”
“Yes,” she answered, for her eyes were resting on the pile of letters
close at hand.
“Is Mr. Gordon there?”
“No, he is not,” she answered, growing more confident now and almost
wishing she had not presumed to answer a stranger’s ’phone.
“Why, I just ’phoned to the office and they told me he had returned,”
said a voice that had an imperious note in it. “Are you sure he isn’t
there?”
“Quite sure,” she replied.
“Who is this, please?”
“I beg your pardon,” said Celia trying to make time and knowing not
how to reply. She was not any longer Miss Hathaway. Who was she? Mrs.
Hayne? She shrank from the name. It was filled with horror for her.
“Who is this, I said,” snapped the other voice now. “Is this the
chambermaid? Because if it is I’d like you to look around and inquire
and be quite sure that Mr. Gordon isn’t there. I wish to speak with him
about something very important.”
Celia smiled.
“No, this is not the chambermaid,” she said sweetly, “and I am quite
sure Mr. Gordon is not here.”
“How long before he will be there?”
“I don’t know really, for I have but just come myself.”
“Who is this to whom I am talking?”
“Why--just a friend,” she answered, wondering if that were the best
thing to say.
“Oh!” there was a long and contemplative pause at the other end.
“Well, could you give Mr. Gordon a message when he comes in?”
“Why certainly, I think so. Who is this?”
“Miss Bentley. Julia Bentley. He’ll know,” replied the imperious one
eagerly now. “And tell him please that he is expected here to dinner
to-night. We need him to complete the number, and he simply mustn’t
fail me. I’ll excuse him for going off in such a rush if he comes early
and tells me all about it. Now you won’t forget, will you? You got the
name, Bentley, did you? B, E, N, T, L, E, Y, you know. And you’ll tell
him the minute he comes in?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you! What did you say your name was?”
But Celia had hung up. Somehow the message annoyed her, she could not
tell why. She wished she had not answered the ’phone. Whoever Mr. Cyril
Gordon was what should she do if he should suddenly appear? And as for
this imperious lady and her message she hoped she would never have to
deliver it. On second thought why not write it and leave it on his desk
with the pile of letters? She would do it. It would serve to pass away
a few of these dreadful minutes that lagged so distressfully.
She sat down and wrote: “Miss Bentley wishes Mr. Gordon to dine with
her this evening. She will pardon his running away the other day if he
will come early.” She laid it beside the high angular writing on the
square perfumed letters and went back to the leather chair too restless
to rest yet too weary to stand up.
She went presently to the back windows to look out, and then to the
side ones. Across the housetops she could catch a glimpse of domes and
buildings. There was the Congressional Library, which usually delighted
her with its exquisite tones of gold and brown and white. But she had
no eyes for it now. Beyond were more buildings, all set in the lovely
foliage which was much farther developed than it had been in New York
State. From another window she could get a glimpse of the Potomac
shining in the morning sun.
She wandered to the front windows and looked out. There were people
passing and repassing. It was a busy street, but she could not make out
whether it was one she knew or not. There were two men walking back and
forth on the opposite side. They did not go further than the corner of
the street either way. They looked across at the windows sometimes and
pointed up, when they met, and once one of them took something out of
his pocket and flashed it under his coat at his side, as if to have it
ready for use. It reminded her of the thing her husband had held in his
hand in the bedroom and she shuddered. She watched them, fascinated,
not able to draw herself away from the window.
Now and then she would go to the rear window, to see if there was any
sign of the automobile returning, and then hurry back to the front, to
see if the men were still there. Once she returned to the chair, and,
lying back, shut her eyes, and let the memory of yesterday sweep over
her in all its sweet details, up to the time when they had got into the
way train and she had seemed to feel her disloyalty to her father. But
now her heart was all on the other side, and she began to feel that
there had been some dreadful mistake, somewhere, and he was surely all
right. He could not, could not have written those terrible letters.
Then again the details of their wild carriage ride in Pittsburgh
and miraculous escape haunted her. There was something strange and
unexplained about that which she must understand.