Meantime, Gordon was speeding away to another part of the city by the
fastest time an experienced chauffeur dared to make. About the time
they turned the first corner into the avenue, two burly policemen
sauntered casually into the pretty square in front of the house where
lived the chief of the Secret Service. There was nothing about their
demeanor to show that they had been detailed there by special urgency,
and three men who hurried to the little park just across the street
from the house could not possibly know that their leisurely and
careless stroll was the result of a hurried telephone message from the
chief to police headquarters immediately after his message from Gordon.
The policemen strolled by the house, greeted each other, and walked
on around the square across the little park. They eyed the three men
sitting idly on a bench, and passed leisurely on. They disappeared
around a corner, and to the three men were out of the way. The latter
did not know the hidden places where the officers took up their watch,
and when an automobile appeared, and the three stealthily got up from
their park bench and distributed themselves among the shrubbery near
the walk, they knew not that their every movement was observed with
keen attention. But they did wonder how it happened that those two
policemen seemed to spring out of the ground suddenly, just as the auto
came to a halt in front of the chief’s house.
Gordon sprang out and up the steps with a bound, the door opening
before him as if he were expected. The two grim and apparently
indifferent policemen stood outside like two stone images on guard,
while up the street with rhythmic sound rode two mounted police, also
coming to a halt before the house as if for a purpose. The three men in
the bushes hid their instruments of death, and would have slunk away
had there been a chance; but, turning to make a hasty flight, they were
met by three more policemen. There was the crack of a revolver as one
of the three desperadoes tried a last reckless dash for freedom--and
failed. The wretch went to justice with his right arm hanging limp by
his side.
Inside the house Gordon was delivering up his message, and as he
laid it before his chief, and stood silent while the elder man read
and pondered its tremendous import, it occurred to him for the first
time that his chief would require some report of his journey, and
the hindrances that had made him a whole day late in getting back to
Washington. His heart stood still with sudden panic. What was he to
do? How could he tell it all? What right had he to tell of his marriage
to an unknown woman? A marriage that perhaps was not a marriage. He
could not know what the outcome would be until he had told the girl
everything. As far as he himself was concerned he knew that the great
joy of his life had come to him in her. Yet he could not hope that it
would be so with her. And he must think of her and protect her good
name in every way. If there should be such a thing ever as that she
should consent to remain with him and be his wife he must never let a
soul know but what the marriage had been planned long ago. It would not
be fair to her. It would make life intolerable for them both either
together or apart. And while he might be and doubtless was perfectly
safe in confiding in his chief, and asking him to keep silence about
the matter, still he felt that even that would be a breach of faith
with Celia. He must close his lips upon the story until he could talk
with her and know her wishes. He drew a sigh of weariness. It was a
long, hard way he had come, and it was not over. The worst ordeal would
be his confession to the bride who was not his wife.
The chief looked up.
“Could you make this out, Gordon?” he asked, noting keenly the young
man’s weary eyes, the strained, tense look about his mouth.
“Oh, yes sir; I saw it at once. I was almost afraid my eyes might
betray the secret before I got away with it.”
“Then you know what you have saved the country, and what you have been
worth to the Service.”
The young man flushed with pleasure.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, looking down. “I understood it was
important, and I am glad I was able to accomplish the errand without
failing.”
“Have you reason to suppose you were followed, except for what you saw
at the station in this city?”
“Yes, sir; I am sure there were detectives after me as I was leaving
New York. They were suspicious of me. I saw one of the men who had
been at the dinner with me watching me. The disguise--and--some
circumstances--threw him off. He wasn’t sure. Then, there was a
man--you know him, Balder--at Pittsburgh?----”
“Pittsburgh!”
“Yes, you wonder how I got to Pittsburgh. You see, I was shadowed
almost from the first I suspect, for when I reached the station in
New York I was sure I recognized this man who had sat opposite me a
few minutes before. I suppose my disguise, which you so thoughtfully
provided, bothered him, for though he followed me about at a little
distance he didn’t speak to me. I had to get on the first train that
circumstances permitted, and perhaps the fact that it was a Chicago
train made him think he was mistaken in me. Anyhow I saw no more of him
after the train left the station. Rather unexpectedly I found I could
get the drawing-room compartment, and went into immediate retirement,
leaving the train at daylight where it was delayed on a side track,
and walked across country till I found a conveyance that took me to a
Pittsburgh train. It didn’t seem feasible to get away from the Chicago
train any sooner as the train made no further stops, and it was rather
late at night by the time I boarded it. I thought I would run less risk
by making a détour. I never dreamed they would have watchers out for
me at Pittsburgh, and I can’t think yet how they managed to get on my
track, but almost the first minute I landed I spied Balder stretching
his neck over the crowds. I bolted from the station at once and finding
a carriage drawn up before the door just ready for me I got in and
ordered them to drive me to East Liberty station.
“I am afraid I shall always be suspicious of handy closed carriages
after this experience. I certainly have reason to be. The door was no
sooner closed on me than the driver began to race like mad through the
streets. I didn’t think much of it at first until he had been going
some time, fully long enough to have reached East Liberty, and the
horse was still rushing like a locomotive. Then I saw that we were in a
lonely district of the city that seemed unfamiliar. That alarmed me and
I tapped on the window and called to the driver. He paid no attention.
Then I found the doors were fastened shut, and the windows plugged so
they wouldn’t open.
“I discovered that an armed man rode beside the driver. I managed to
get one of the doors open after a good deal of work, and escaped when
we stopped for a freight train to pass; but I’m satisfied that I was
being kidnapped and if I hadn’t got away just when I did you would
never have heard of me again or the message either. I finally managed
to reach East Liberty station and jumped on the first train that came
in, but I caught a glimpse of Balder stretching his neck over the
crowd. He must have seen me and had Hale and Burke on the watch when I
got here. They just missed me by a half second. They went over to the
restaurant--didn’t expect me on a special, but I escaped them, and I’m
mighty glad to get that little paper into your possession and out of
mine. It’s rather a long story to tell the whole, but I think you have
the main facts.”
There was a suspicious glitter in the keen eyes of the kind old chief
as he put out his hand and grasped Gordon’s in a hearty shake; but all
he said was:
“And you are all worn out--I’ll guarantee you didn’t sleep much last
night.”
“Well, no,” said Gordon; “I had to sit up in a day-coach and share the
seat with another man. Besides, I was somewhat excited.”
“Of course, of course!” puffed the old chief, coughing vigorously, and
showing by his gruff attitude that he was deeply affected. “Well, young
man, this won’t be forgotten by the Department. Now you go home and
take a good sleep. Take the whole day off if you wish, and then come
down to-morrow morning and tell me all about it. Isn’t there anything
more I need to know at once that justice may be done?”
“I believe not,” said Gordon, with a sigh of relief. “There’s a list
of the men who were at the dinner with me. I wrote them down from
memory last night when I couldn’t sleep. I also wrote a few scraps of
conversation, which will show you just how deep the plot had gone. If
I had not read the message and known its import, I should not have
understood what they were talking about.”
“H-m! Yes. If there had been more time before you started I might have
told you all about it. Still, it seemed desirable that you should
appear as much at your ease as possible. I thought this would be best
accomplished by your knowing nothing of the import of the writing when
you first met the people.”
“I suppose it was as well that I did not know any more than I did. You
are a great chief, sir! I was deeply impressed anew with that fact as
I saw how wonderfully you had planned for every possible emergency. It
was simply great, sir.”
“Pooh! Pooh! Get you home and to bed,” said the old chief quite
brusquely.
He touched a bell and a man appeared.
“Jessup, is the coast clear?” he asked.
“Yessah,” declared the darky. “Dey have jest hed a couple o’ shots in
de pahk, an’ now dey tuk de villains off to der p’lice station. De
officers is out der waitin’ to ’scort de gemman.”
“Get home with you, Gordon, and don’t come to the office till ten in
the morning. Then come straight to my private room.”
Gordon thanked him, and left the room preceded by the gray-haired
servant. He was surprised to find the policemen outside, and wondered
still more that they seemed to be going one in front and the other
behind him as he rode along. He was greatly relieved that he had not
been called upon to give the whole story. His heart was filled with
anxiety now to get back to the girl, and tell her everything, and yet
he dreaded it more than anything he had ever had to face in all his
life. He sat back on the cushions, and, covering his face with his
hands, tried to think how he should begin, but he could see nothing but
her sweet eyes filled with tears, think of nothing but the way she had
looked and smiled during the beautiful morning they had spent together
in the little town of Milton. Beautiful little Milton. Should he ever
see it again?
Celia at her window grew more and more nervous as an hour and then
another half-hour slipped slowly away, and still he did not come.
Then two mounted policemen rode rapidly down the street following an
automobile, in which sat the man for whom she waited.
She had no eyes now for the men who had been lurking across the way,
and when she thought to look for them again she saw them running in the
opposite direction as fast as they could go, making wild gestures for a
car to stop for them.
She stood by the window and saw Gordon get out of the car, and
disappear into the building below, saw the car wheel and curve away
and the mounted police take up their stand on either corner; heard the
clang of the elevator as it started up, and the clash of its door as
it stopped at that floor; heard steps coming on toward the door, and
the key in the latch. Then she turned and looked at him, her two hands
clasped before her, and her two eyes yearning, glad and fearful all at
once.
“Oh, I have been so frightened about you! I am so glad you have come!”
she said, and caught her voice in a sob as she took one little step
toward him.
He threw his hat upon the floor, wherever it might land, and went
to meet her, a great light glowing in his tired eyes, his arms
outstretched to hers.
“And did you care?” he asked in a voice of almost awe. “Dear, did you
_care_ what became of _me_?”
He had come quite close to her now.
“Oh yes, I _cared_! I could not help it.” There was a real sob in her
voice now, though her eyes were shining.
His arms went around her hungrily, as if he would draw her to him in
spite of everything; yet he kept them so encircling, without touching
her, like a benediction that would enwrap the very soul of his beloved.
Looking down into her face he breathed softly:
“Oh, my dear, it seems as if I must hold you close and kiss you!”
She looked up with bated breath, and thought she understood. Then,
with a lovely gesture of surrender, she whispered, “I can trust you.”
Her lashes were drooping now over her eyes.
“Not until you know all,” he said, and put her gently from him into the
great arm-chair, with a look of reverence and self-abnegation she felt
she never would forget.
“Then, tell me quickly,” she said, a swift fear making her weak from
head to foot. She laid her hand across her heart, as if to help steady
its beating.
He wheeled forward the leather couch opposite her chair, and sat down,
his head drooping, his eyes down. He dreaded to begin.
She waited for the revelation, her eyes upon his bowed head.
Finally he lifted his eyes and saw her look, and a tender light came
into his face.
“It is a strange story,” he said. “I don’t know what you will think of
me after it is told, but I want you to know that, blundering, stupid,
even criminal, though you may think me, I would sooner die this minute
than cause you one more breath of suffering.”
Her eyes lit up with a wonderful light, and the ready tears sprang into
them, tears that sparkled through the sunshine of a great joy that
illumined her whole face.
“Please go on,” she said softly, and added very gently, “I believe you.”
But even with those words in his ears the beginning was not easy.
Gordon drew a deep breath and launched forth.
“I am not the man you think,” he said, and looked at her to see how she
would take it. “My name is not George Hayne. My name is Cyril Gordon.”
As one might launch an arrow at a beloved victim and long that it may
not strike the mark, so he sent his truth home to her understanding,
and waited in breathless silence, hoping against hope that this might
not turn her against him.
“Oh!” she breathed softly, as if some puzzle were solving itself.
“Oh!”--this time not altogether in surprise, nor as if the fact were
displeasing. She looked at him expectantly for further revelation, and
he plunged into his story headlong.
“I’m a member of the Secret Service,--headquarters here in
Washington,--and day before yesterday I was sent to New York on an
important errand. A message of great import written in a private code
had been stolen from one of our men. I was sent to get it before they
could decipher it. The message involved matters of such tremendous
significance that I was ordered to go under an assumed name, and on
no account to let anyone know of my mission. My orders were to get the
message, and let nothing hinder me in bringing it with all haste to
Washington. I went with the full understanding that I might even be
called upon to risk my life.”
He looked up. The girl sat wide-eyed, with hands clasped together at
her throat.
He hurried on, not to cause her any needless anxiety.
“I won’t weary you with details. There were a good many annoying
hindrances on the way, which served to make me nervous, but I carried
out the programme laid down by my chief, and succeeded in getting
possession of the message and making my escape from the house of the
man who had stolen it. As I closed the door behind me, knowing that it
could be but a matter of a few seconds at longest before six furious
men would be on my track, who would stop at nothing to get back what
I had taken from them, I saw a carriage standing almost before the
house. The driver took me for the man he awaited, and I lost no time in
taking advantage of his mistake. I jumped in, telling him to drive as
fast as he could. I intended to give him further directions, but he had
evidently had them from another quarter, and I thought I could call to
him as soon as we were out of the dangerous neighborhood. To add to
my situation I soon became sure that an automobile and a motor-cycle
were following me. I recognized one of the men in the car as the man
who sat opposite to me at the table a few minutes before. My coachman
drove like mad, while I hurried to secure the message so that if I were
caught it would not be found, and to put on a slight disguise--some
eyebrows and things the chief had given me. Before I knew where I was,
the carriage had stopped before a building. At first I thought it was
a prison--and the car and motor-cycle came to a halt just behind me. I
felt that I was pretty well trapped.”
The girl gave a low moan, and Gordon, not daring to look up, hurried on
with his story.
“There isn’t much more to tell that you do not already know. I soon
discovered the building was a church, not a prison. What happened
afterward was the result of my extreme perturbation of mind, I suppose.
I cannot account for my stupidity and subsequent cowardice in any other
way. Neither was it possible for me to explain matters satisfactorily
at any time during the whole mix-up, on account of the trust which I
carried, and which I could on no account reveal even in confidence,
or put in jeopardy in the slightest degree. Naturally at first my
commission and how to get safely through it all was the only thing of
importance to me. If you keep this in mind perhaps you will be able
to judge me less harshly. My only thought when the carriage came to a
halt was how to escape from those two pursuers, and that more or less
pervaded my mind during what followed so that ordinary matters which at
another time would have been at once clear to me, meant nothing at all.
You see, the instant that carriage came to a standstill some one threw
open the door, and I heard a voice call ‘Where is the best man?’ Then
another voice said, ‘Here he is!’ I took it that they thought I was
best man, but would soon discover that I wasn’t when I came into the
light. There wasn’t any chance to slip away, or I should have done so,
and vanished in the dark, but everybody surrounded me, and seemed to
think I was all right. The two men who had followed were close behind
eyeing me keenly. I’m satisfied that they were to blame for that wild
ride we took in Pittsburgh! I soon saw by the remarks that the man
I was supposed to be had been away from this country for ten years,
and of course then they would not be very critical. I tried twice to
explain that there was a mistake, but both times they misunderstood
me and thought I was saying I couldn’t go in the procession because
I hadn’t practised. I don’t just know how I came to be in such a
dreadful mess. It would seem as if it ought to have been a very easy
thing to say I had got into the wrong carriage and they must excuse me,
that I wasn’t their man, but, you see, they gave me no time to think
nor to speak. They just turned me over from one man to another and took
everything for granted, and I, finding that I would have to break loose
and flee before their eyes if I wished to escape, reflected that there
would be no harm in marching down the aisle as best man in a delayed
wedding, if that was all there was to do. I could disappear as soon as
the ceremony was over, and no one would be the wiser. The real best man
would probably turn up and then they might wonder as they pleased for I
would be far away and perhaps this was as good a place as any in which
to hide for half an hour until my pursuers were baffled and well on
their way seeking elsewhere for me. I can see now that I made a grave
mistake in allowing even so much deception, but I did not see any harm
in it then, and they all seemed in great distress for the ceremony to
go forward. Bear in mind also that I was at that time entirely taken up
with the importance of hiding my message until I could take it safely
to my chief. Nothing else seemed to matter much. If the real best man
was late to the wedding and they were willing to use me in his place
what harm could come from it? He certainly deserved it for being late
and if he came in during the ceremony he would think some one else had
been put in his place. They introduced me to your brother--Jefferson.
I thought he was the bridegroom, and I thought so until they laid your
hand in mine!”
“Oh!” she moaned, and the little hand went to help its mate cover her
face.
“I knew it!” he said bitterly. “I knew you would feel just that way
as soon as you knew. I don’t blame you. I deserve it! I was a fool, a
villain, a dumb brute--whatever you have a mind to call me! You can’t
begin to understand how I have suffered for you since this happened,
and how I have blamed myself.”
He got up suddenly and strode over to the window, frowning down into
the sunlit street, and wondering how it was that everybody seemed to
be going on in exactly the same hurry as ever, when for him life had
suddenly come to a standstill.