[Frontispiece: "All had gone well the first day"]
The Intriguers
By HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Ranching for Sylvia," "Alton of Somasco,"
"Thurston of Orchard Valley," "By Right of Purchase,"
Etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors By
D. C. HUTCHISON
A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
114-120 East Twenty-third Street New York
Published by Arrangement With Frederick A. Stokes Company
Copyright, 1914, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
All rights reserved
February, 1914
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE BLAKE AFFAIR
II ON THE RIVER BOAT
III THE COUSINS
IV THE MAN FROM CONNECTICUT
V CORNERING THE BOBCAT
VI THE PRAIRIE
VII THE OCCULT MAN
VIII TROUBLE
IX A SUSPICIOUS MOVE
X THE MUSKEG
XI KIDNAPPED
XII THE FEVER PATIENT
XIII A STAUNCH ALLY
XIV DEFEAT
XV THE FROZEN NORTH
XVI THE TRAIL OF THE CARIBOU
XVII A RESPITE
XVIII THE BACK TRAIL
XIX THE DESERTED TEPEES
XX A STARTLING DISCOVERY
XXI A MATTER OF DUTY
XXII THE GIRL AND THE MAN
XXIII SOLVING THE PROBLEM
XXIV LOVE AND VICTORY
THE INTRIGUERS
CHAPTER I
THE BLAKE AFFAIR
On a fine morning early in July Mrs. Keith sat with a companion,
enjoying the sunshine, near the end of Dufferin Avenue, which, skirts
the elevated ground above the city of Quebec. Behind her rose the
Heights of Abraham where the dying Wolfe wrested Canada from France; in
front, churches, banks, offices and dwellings, curiously combining the
old and the very new, rose tier on tier to the great red Frontenac
Hotel. It is a picturesque city that climbs back from its noble river;
supreme, perhaps, in its situation among Canadian towns, and still
retaining something of the exotic stamp set upon it by its first
builders whose art was learned in the France of long ago.
From where she sat Mrs. Keith could not see the ugly wooden wharves.
Her glance rested on the flood that flowed toward her, still and deep,
through a gorge lined with crags and woods, and then, widening rapidly,
washed the shores of a low, green island. Opposite her white houses
shone on the Levis ridge, and beyond this a vast sweep of country,
steeped in gradations of color that ended in ethereal blue, rolled away
toward the hills of Maine.
Mrs. Keith and her companion were both elderly. They had played their
part in the drama of life, one of them in a strenuous manner, and now
they were content with the position of lookers-on. So far, however,
nothing had occurred since breakfast to excite their interest.
"I think I'll go to Montreal by the special boat tonight," Mrs. Keith
said with characteristic briskness. "The hotel's crowded, the town's
full, and you keep meeting people whom you know or have heard about. I
came here to see Canada, but I find it hard to realize that I'm not in
London; I'm tired of the bustle."
Mrs. Ashborne smiled. She had met Margaret Keith by chance in Quebec,
but their acquaintance was of several years' standing.
"Tired?" she said. "That is sorely a new sensation for you. I've
often envied you your energy."
Age had touched Mrs. Keith lightly, though she had long been a
childless widow and had silvery hair. Tall and finely made, with
prominent nose and piercing eyes, she was marked by a certain
stateliness and a decided manner. She was blunt without rudeness, and
though often forceful was seldom arrogant.
Careless of her dress, as she generally was, Margaret Keith bore the
stamp of refinement and breeding, "Ah!" she said; "I begin to feel I'm
old. But will you come to Montreal with me to-night?"
"I suppose I'd better, though the boat takes longer than the train, and
I hear that the Place Viger is full. I don't know anything about the
other hotels; they might not be comfortable."
"They'll no doubt be able to offer us all that we require, and I never
pamper myself," Mrs. Keith replied. "In fact, it's now and then a
relief to do something that's opposed to the luxuriousness of the age."
'This was a favorite topic, but she broke off as a man came toward her,
carrying one or two small parcels which apparently belonged to the girl
at his side. He was a handsome man, tall and rather spare, with dark
eyes and a soldierly look. His movements were quick and forceful, but
a hint of what Mrs. Keith called swagger somewhat spoiled his bearing.
She thought he allowed his self-confidence to be seen too plainly. The
girl formed a marked contrast to him; she was short and slender, her
hair and eyes were brown, while her prettiness, for one could not have,
called her beautiful, was of an essentially delicate kind. It did not
strike one at first sight, but grew upon her acquaintances. Her manner
was quiet and reserved and she was plainly dressed in white, but when
she turned and dismissed her companion her pose was graceful. Then she
handed Mrs. Keith some letters and papers.
"I have been to the post-office, and Captain Sedgwick made them search
for our mail," she said. "It came some time ago, but there was a
mistake through its not being addressed to the hotel."
Mrs. Keith took the letters and gave Mrs. Ashborne an English newspaper.
"The bobcat has torn a hole in the basket," the girl went on, "and I'm
afraid it's trying to get at the mink."
"Tell some of the hotel people to take it out at once and see that the
basket is sent to be mended."
The girl withdrew and Mrs. Ashborne looked up.
"Did I hear aright?" she asked in surprise. "She said a bobcat?"
Mrs. Keith laughed.
"I am making a collection of the smaller American animals. A bobcat is
something like a big English ferret. It has high hindquarters, and
walks with a curious jump--I suppose that is how it got its name. I'm
not sure it lives in Canada; an American got this one for me. I find
natural history very interesting."
"I should imagine you found it expensive. Aren't some of the creatures
savage?"
"Millicent looks after them; and I always beat the sellers down.
Fortunately, I can afford to indulge in my caprices. You can consider
this my latest fad, if you like. I am subject to no claims, and my
means are hardly large enough to make me an object of interest to
sycophantic relatives."
"Is your companion fond of attending to wild animals?" Mrs. Ashborne
inquired. "I have wondered where you got her. You have had a number,
but she is different from the rest."
"I suppose you mean she is too good for the post?" Mrs. Keith
suggested. "However, I don't mind telling you that she is Eustace
Graham's daughter; you must have heard of him."
"Eustace Graham? Wasn't he in rather bad odor--only tolerated on the
fringe of society? I seem to recollect some curious tales about him."
"Toward the end he was outside the fringe; indeed, I don't know how he
kept on his feet so long; but he went downhill fast. A plucker of
plump pigeons, an expensive friend to smart young subalterns and boys
about town. Cards, bets, loans arranged, and that kind of thing. All
the same, he had his good points when I first knew him."
"But after such a life as his daughter must have led, do you consider
her a suitable person to take about with you? What do your friends
think? They have to receive her now and then."
"I can't say that I have much cause to respect my friends' opinions,
and I'm not afraid of the girl's contaminating me," Mrs. Keith replied.
"Besides, Millicent lost her mother early and lived with her aunts
until a few months before her father's death. I expect Eustace felt
more embarrassed than grateful when she came to take care of him, but,
to do him justice, he would see that none of the taint of his
surroundings rested on the girl. He did wrong, but I think he paid for
it, and it is better to be charitable."
She broke off, and glanced down at the big liner with cream-colored
funnel that was slowly swinging across the stream.
"I must send Millicent to buy our tickets for Montreal," she said.
"The hotel will be crowded before long with that steamer's noisy
passengers. I shall be glad to escape from it all. Let us hope that
Montreal will be quieter, and we shall have a chance to see a bit of
Canada."
Mrs. Ashborne opened the _Morning Post_, and presently looked up at her
companion.
"'A marriage--between Blanche Newcombe and Captain Challoner--at
Thornton Holme, in Shropshire,'" she read out. "Do you know the bride?"
"I know Bertram Challoner better," Mrs. Keith replied, and was silent
for a minute or two, musing on former days. "His mother was an old
friend of mine--a woman of imagination, with strong artistic tastes;
and Bertram resembles her. It was his father, the Colonel, who forced
him into the army, and I'm somewhat astonished that he has done so
well."
"They were all soldiers, I understand. But wasn't there some scandal
about a cousin?"
"Richard Blake?" said Mrs. Keith, making room for Millicent Graham, her
companion, who rejoined them. "It's getting an old story, and I always
found it puzzling. So far as one could Judge, Dick, Blake should have
made an excellent officer; his mother, the Colonel's sister, was true
to the Challoner strain, his father a reckless Irish sportsman."
"But what was the story? I haven't heard it."
"After Blake broke his neck when hunting, the Colonel brought Dick up,
and, as a matter of course, sent him into the army. He became a
sapper, entering the Indian service. There he met his cousin, Bertram,
who was in the line, somewhere on the frontier. They were both sent
with an expedition into the hills, and there was a night attack. It
was important that an advanced post should be defended, and Dick had
laid out the trenches. In the middle of the fight an officer lost his
nerve, the position was stormed, and the expedition terribly cut up.
Owing to the darkness and confusion there was a doubt about who had led
the retreat, but Dick was blamed and made no defense. In spite of
this, he was acquitted at the inquiry, perhaps because he was a
favorite and Colonel Challoner was well known upon the frontier; but
the opinion of the mess was against him. He left the service, and the
Challoners never speak of him."
"I once met Lieutenant Blake," Millicent broke in, with a flush in her
face. "Though he spoke only a word or two to me, he did a very
chivalrous thing; one that needed courage and coolness. I find it hard
to believe that such a man could ever be a coward."
"So do I," Mrs. Keith agreed. "Still, I haven't seen him since he was
a boy."
"I saw him in London just before he went to India," Mrs. Ashborne said.
"It's strange I have never heard the story before; although I have had
whispers of the scandal from several quarters. It seems to be a sort
of skeleton in the closet' for the Challoners."
"The disgrace was a great blow to the Colonel. He has never got over
it."
"I saw some one in the hotel last night that reminded me strongly of
young Blake. But I suppose it couldn't have been."
"No one knows where he is," Mrs. Keith replied. "I believe he went to
East Africa, and from there he may have drifted to America. The
Colonel never hears from him."
She picked up one of her letters which had not yet been opened.
"This," she said, "is from Frances Foster--you know her. I'm sure it
will contain news of the Challoner wedding."
She tore open the envelope and Mrs. Ashborne turned again to her
English newspaper. Millicent sat looking out over the gorge, while her
thoughts went back to a dimly lighted drawing-room in a small London
apartment, where she was feeling very lonely and half dismayed, one
evening soon after she had joined her father. A few beautiful objects
of art were scattered among the shabby furniture; there were stains of
wine on the fine Eastern rug, an inlaid table was scraped and damaged,
and one chair had a broken leg. All she saw spoke of neglect and
vanished prosperity. Hoarse voices and loud laughter came from an ad
joining room, and a smell of cigar smoke accompanied them. Sitting at
the piano, she restlessly turned over some music and now and then
played a few bars to divert her troubled thoughts. Until a few weeks
before, she had led a peaceful life in the country, and it had been a
painful surprise to her to find her father of such doubtful character
and habits. She was interrupted by the violent opening of the door,
and a group of excited men burst into the room. They were shouting
with laughter at a joke which made her blush, and one dragged a
companion in by the arm. Another, breaking off from rude horse-play,
came toward her with a drunken leer. She shrank from his hot face and
wine-laden breath as she drew back, wondering how she could reach her
father, who stood in the doorway trying to restrain his guests. Then a
young man sprang forward, with disgust and anger in his brown face, and
she felt that she was safe. He looked clean and wholesome by contrast
with the rest, and his movements were swift and athletic. Millicent
could remember him very well, for she had often thought of Lieutenant
Blake with gratitude. Just as the tipsy gallant stretched out his hand
to seize her, the electric light went out; there was a brief scuffle in
the darkness, the door banged, and when the light flashed up again only
Blake and her father were in the room. Afterward her father told her,
with a look of shame on his handsome, dissipated face, that he had been
afraid of something of the kind happening, and she must leave him.
Millicent refused, for, worn as he was by many excesses, his health was
breaking down; and when he fell ill she nursed him until he died. She
had not seen Lieutenant Blake since.
Mrs. Keith's voice broke in upon her recollections. "It's possible we
may see Bertram and the new Mrs. Challoner. She is going out with him,
but they are to travel by the Canadian Pacific route and spend some
time in Japan before proceeding to his Indian station." Referring to
the date of her letter she resumed, "They may have caught the boat that
has just come in; she's one of the railway Empresses, and there's an
Allan liner due to-morrow. We will go to the hotel and try to get a
list of the passengers."
She rose, and they walked slowly back along the avenue.