They had breakfast together, Ross and Eddy and the child. And the rabbit
was there, too, propped up against the coffeepot; he was fed with
spoonfuls of water, and he got pretty wet in the process.
It was an amazing meal. It seemed to Ross sometimes that he was still
asleep, and this a dream--the little kitchen filled with that strange,
pale light, the snow falling steadily outside, and the child beside him.
“Why did I say I’d look after her?” he thought, with a sort of wonder.
“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?”
He didn’t know, and could not understand. He was hopelessly involved,
now, in this sorry muddle, and he saw, very clearly, that every step had
been taken deliberately, of his own free will. He could have got out,
long ago, but--here he was. And he was committed now to an undertaking
almost too fantastic, too preposterous to contemplate.
Yet he did not regret it. Just as, in a shipwreck, he would have given
his life for a tiny creature like this, so was he obliged now to offer
it his protection. Eddy said she had nobody in the world. Very well,
then; he had to stop, to turn aside from his own affairs, and lend a
hand to this forlorn little fellow traveler. He had to do it.
“More!” said the child, briskly.
“More what?” asked Ross.
“More--evvysing!” she cried, bouncing up and down perilously upon the
telephone directories he had piled on her chair. “More evvysing!”
“Give her some cawfee,” suggested Eddy.
“No,” said Ross. “Too young. They only have milk--things like that.”
And, with these words, the fantasy became real. He had actually assumed
the responsibility, now. He was taking care of the child. He looked down
at her, frowning a little, and she looked up into his face with cheerful
expectancy. She knew very well! He was the one appointed to serve her,
and she knew it. He was to supply her with “more evvysing.”
“Look here, Eddy!” he said. “There must be some one who’ll turn up later
to--to take care of the child. There’s bound to be _some one_.”
Eddy glanced up as if he were about to speak, but his face grew scarlet,
and he turned away.
“Well,” he said, after a time, “I dunno. It’s kind of hard to say. Only,
I thought you--I thought you’d be a good one to--take her.”
Ross was surprised and curiously touched by this, and somewhat
embarrassed. A good one, was he, for this charge? He looked at the child
again.
“Her face is dirty,” he observed, sternly. “She ought to be washed. Any
warm water in that kettle, Eddy?”
“Yep. But I got to hurry, before the rest of ’em get up. Go on and eat,
kid!” He turned to Ross. “Tell you what I thought. I know a place where
I can take her and keep her till you come and get her after dark. It’s a
cottage where there’s nobody living just now. You go up the Post Road
about eight miles, till you come to a church that’s being built on the
left side of the road. Then you turn--”
“Yes,” said Ross. “I--” He stopped, and Eddy sat staring blankly at him.
“What?” he cried. “D’you know?”
“Go on!” said Ross. “Go on! Tell me how to get there.”
“What made you say ‘yes,’ like that?”
“I meant I was listening to you. Go on, man!” And because of his
distaste for this lie, Ross spoke with a brusque impatience which
impressed Eddy.
“All right!” he said. “But lissen here! I--well--you’re a funny sort of
guy. I never seen any one so close-mouthed in my life. I can’t make out
yet who you are, or what you come here for. But--” He sighed, and
stroked his glossy hair. “I got to trust you, that’s all. Last night I
thought I’d go crazy, trying to think what I could do about the kid. I
couldn’t--I’ll tell you where this place is, and I hope to Gawd you’ll
keep still about it. ’Cause, if we get any one else monkeying around
there--well--there’ll be trouble, that’s all. Big trouble.”
“Go on!” said Ross.
So Eddy did go on, giving him careful directions for reaching the
cottage Ross had visited the day before with Amy.
“And for Pete’s sake, come as early as you can,” he ended. “Come before
it gets dark, will you? I--” He arose. “Come on, baby!”
She jumped down from her chair, with a piece of bread and butter in one
hand, and the rabbit in the other; she was quite ready to go anywhere,
with any one. Ross washed her sticky hands and tried to wash her face,
but this annoyed her so much that he was not successful. Eddy brought
out her coat and bonnet from a cupboard; put on his own very modish
overcoat, and a cap, picked up the child, and off they went.
From an upper window, Ross watched them go across the great white waste
that was so strange and yet somehow so familiar to him. Eddy stumbled
now and then, over some hidden unevenness in the ground, but the child
in his arms sat up straight and triumphant, her head, in the knitted
hood, turning briskly from side to side. Then they were lost to sight in
the falling snow and the gray morning light, and Ross turned back to the
empty rooms.
It was only half past seven; he had nearly an hour before Mr. Solway
expected him, and he thought he would use that time for investigating
the engine of the limousine. Both cars were in deplorably good
condition; there was little he could justifiably do to them, and he was,
moreover, a mechanic of more enterprise than experience. But he was
devoted to engines, and pretty well up in the theory of the internal
combustion type.
He put on a suit of overalls he found in the garage; he started the
engine and opened the hood; he was so pleased with that fine roar, that
powerful vibration which was like the beat of a great, faithful heart,
that he began to whistle. A superb motor; he would enjoy driving that
car.
“She’s a beauty, all right!” said a voice, so very close to his ear that
he jumped.
Standing at his elbow was a burly fellow of thirty-five or so, with a
bulldog jaw; his voice and his smile were friendly, but his blue eyes,
Ross thought, were not.
“Yes, sir!” he went on. “You’ve got a mighty fine car there.”
Ross said nothing. He did not care to continue his amateur explorations
under those cold blue eyes. He shut off the engine, closed the hood, and
turned toward the stranger with a challenging glance.
But the stranger was not at all abashed.
“Have a smoke,” he asked, proffering a packet of cigarettes.
“No, thanks!” said Ross, and stood there, facing the other, and
obviously waiting for an explanation.
“Dirty weather!” said the stranger.
“All right!” said Ross sullenly. “What about it?”
His tone was very nearly savage, for, to tell the truth, his position
was having a bad effect upon his temper. Having so much to conceal, so
many unwelcome secrets intrusted to him, he had begun to suspect every
one. He didn’t like this fellow.
“Well, I’ll tell you,” said the stranger, in an easy and confidential
manner. “I came up this way, looking for a man. And I thought I’d drop
in here and see if you could give me any information.” He stopped to
light a cigarette, and his blue eyes were fixed upon Ross. “Fellow by
the name of Ives,” he said. “Ever hear of him, eh?”
“No!” said Ross.
“Ives,” said the other, slowly. “Martin Ives. Fellow about your age.
About your build. Dark complexioned--like you.”
“D’you think I’m your Martin Ives?” demanded Ross, angrily.
“I wish you were,” said the stranger, and his tone was so grave that
Ross had a sudden feeling of profound uneasiness.
“Well, I’m not,” he said, “and I never heard of him. I’m new here--just
came two days ago.”
“Two days, eh?” said the stranger. “That was Wednesday, eh?”
“I shouldn’t have told him that,” thought Ross, dismayed. “But, good
Lord, I can’t remember to lie all the time! And, anyhow, what difference
can it make--when I came here?”
But he could see, from the stranger’s face, that it had made a
difference.
“You came here on Wednesday,” he continued. “I wonder, now, did you
happen to see any one--”
“No!” shouted Ross. “I didn’t see any one. I didn’t see anything. I
never heard of your Ives. Go and ask some one else. I’m busy!”
“I don’t want to bother you,” said the stranger, grown very mild. “I can
see you’re busy. But it’s a pretty serious thing. You see, Ives came to
Stamford on Tuesday. I’ve traced him that far. And after that--he’s
disappeared.”
“Well, do you think I’ve got him hidden here?”
“My name’s Donnelly,” the stranger went on. “And I’ve come out here to
find Ives.”
“All right! I wish you luck!”
“I don’t know,” said Donnelly, thoughtfully. “Maybe it won’t be so
lucky--for some people.”
He was not looking at Ross now; his cold blue eyes were staring straight
before him.
“But I think I’ll find him, all the same,” he declared, gently.
“Ives was the man under the sofa,” thought Ross.