"Doubtless. I've long since learned never to expect any reward
commensurate with my merits."
Ember pushed back his chair and, rising, strolled to the door. "Moonrise
and a fine, clear night," he said, staring through the wire mesh of the
screen. "Wish you were well enough to go riding with me. However, you
won't be laid up long, I fancy. And I'll be back day after to-morrow.
Now I must cut along."
And within ten minutes Whitaker heard the motor-car rumble off on the
woodland road.
He wasn't altogether sorry to be left to his own society. He was, in
fact, rather sharp-set for the freedom of solitude, that he might pursue
one or two self-appointed tasks without interruption.
For one of these Sum Fat, not without wonder, furnished him materials:
canvas, stout thread, scissors, a heavy needle, a bit of beeswax: with
which Whitaker purposed manufacturing an emergency ankle-strap. And at
this task he laboured diligently and patiently for the better part of
two hours, with a result less creditable to his workmanship than to a
nature integrally sunny and prone to see the bright side of things.
Whitaker himself, examining the finished product with a prejudiced eye,
was fain to concede its crudity. It was not pretty, but he believed
fatuously in its efficiency.
His other task was purely one of self-examination. Since afternoon he
had found reason gravely to doubt the stability of his emotional poise.
He had of late been in the habit of regarding himself as one whose mind
retained no illusions; a bit prematurely aged, perhaps, but wise with a
wisdom beyond his years; no misogynist, but comfortably woman-proof; a
settled body and a sedate, contemplating with an indulgent smile the
futile antics of a mad, mad world. But now he was being reminded that no
man is older than his heart, and that the heart is a headstrong member,
apt to mutiny without warning and proclaim a youth quite inconsistent
with the years and the mentality of its possessor. In fine, he could not
be blind to the fact that he was in grave danger of making an ass of
himself if he failed to guide himself with unwonted circumspection.
And all because he had an eye and a weakness for fair women, a lonely
path to tread through life, and a gregarious tendency, a humorous
faculty and a keen appreciation of a mind responsive to it....
And all in the face of the fact that he was not at liberty to make
love....
And all this problem the result of a single day of propinquity!
He went to bed, finally, far less content with himself than with the
crazy issue of his handicraft. The latter might possibly serve its
purpose; but Hugh Whitaker seemed a hopeless sort of a proposition, not
in the least amenable to the admonitions of common sense. If he were,
indeed, he would have already been planning an abrupt escape to Town. As
matters stood with him, he knew he had not the least intention of doing
anything one-half so sensible.
But in spite of his half-hearted perturbation and dissatisfaction, the
weariness of a long, full day was so heavy upon him that he went to
sleep almost before Sum Fat had finished making him comfortable.
Extinguishing the candle, the Chinaman, moving with the silent assurance
of a cat in the dark, closed and latched the shutters, then sat down
just outside the living-room door, to wait and watch, sleeplessly alert.
An hour passed in silence, and another, and yet another: Sum Fat sat
moveless in the shadow, which blended so perfectly with his dark
blue-silk garments as to render him almost indistinguishable: a figure
as patient and imperturbable as any bland, stout, graven god of his
religion. Slowly the moonlight shifted over the floor, lengthened until
it almost touched the toe of one of his felt-soled shoes, and
imperceptibly withdrew. The wind had fallen, and the night was very
quiet; few sounds disturbed the stillness, and those inconsiderable: the
steady respiration of the sleeping man; such faint, stealthy creakings
as seemingly infest every human habitation through the night; the dull
lisp and murmur of the tide groping its way along the shore; the muted
grumble of the distant surf; hushed whisperings of leaves disturbed by
wandering airs.
Sum Fat heard all and held impassive. But in time there fell upon his
ears another sound, to which he stirred, if imperceptibly--drawing
himself together, tensing and flexing his tired muscles while his eyes
shifted quickly from one quarter to another of the darkened living-room
and the still more dark bedchamber.
And yet, apparently all that had aroused him was the drowsy whistle of a
whippoorwill.
Then, with no other presage, a shadow flitted past one of the side
windows, and in another reappeared more substantially on the veranda.
Sum Fat grew altogether tense, his gaze fixed and exclusively focussed
upon that apparition.
Cautiously, noiselessly, edging inch by inch across the veranda, the man
approached the door. It was open, hooked back against the wall; only the
wire screen was in his way. Against this he flattened his face; and a
full, long minute elapsed while he carefully surveyed what was visible
of the interior. Even Sum Fat held his breath throughout that
interminable reconnoissance.
At length, reassured, the man laid hold of the screen and drew it open.
It complained a little, and he started violently and waited another
minute for the alarm which did not ensue. Then abruptly he slipped into
the room and slowly drew the screen shut behind him. Another minute: no
sound detectable more untoward than that of steady respiration in the
bedroom; with a movement as swift and sinister as the swoop of a vulture
the man sprang toward the bedroom door.
Leaping from a sitting position, with a bound that was little less than
a flight through the air, the Chinaman caught him halfway. There
followed a shriek, a heavy fall that shook the bungalow, the report of a
revolver, sounds of scuffling....
Whitaker, half dazed, found himself standing in the doorway, regardless
of his injury.
He saw, as one who dreams and yet is conscious that he does but dream,
Ember lighting candles--calmly applying the flame of a taper to one
after another as he made a round of the sconces. The moonlight paled and
the windows turned black as the mellow radiance brightened.
Then a slight movement in the shadow of the table drew his attention to
the floor. Sum Fat was kneeling there, on all fours, above something
that breathed heavily and struggled without avail.
Whitaker's sleep-numbed faculties cleared.
"Ember!" he cried. "What in the name of all things strange--!"
Ember threw him a flickering smile. "Oh, there you are?" he said
cheerfully. "I've got something interesting to show you. Sum Fat"--he
stooped and picked up a revolver--"you may let him up, now, if you think
he's safe."
"Safe enough." Sum Fat rose, grinning. "Had damn plenty."
He mounted guard beside the door.
For an instant his captive seemed reluctant to rise; free, he lay
without moving, getting his breath in great heaving sobs; only his gaze
ranged ceaselessly from Ember's face to Whitaker's and back again, and
his hands opened and closed convulsively.
Ember moved to his side and stood over him, balancing the revolver in
his palm.
"Come," he said impatiently. "Up with you!"
The man sat up as if galvanized by fear, got more slowly to his knees,
then, grasping the edge of the table, dragged himself laboriously to a
standing position. He passed a hand uncertainly across his mouth,
brushed the hair out of his eyes and tried to steady himself, attempting
to infuse defiance into his air, even though cornered, beaten and
helpless.
Whitaker's jaw dropped and his eyes widened with wonder and pity. He
couldn't deny the man, yet he found it hard to believe that this
quivering, shaken creature, with his lean and pasty face and desperate,
glaring eyes, this man in rough, stained, soiled and shapeless garments,
could be identical with the well set-up, prosperous and confident man of
affairs he remembered as Drummond. And yet they were one. Appalling to
contemplate the swift devastating course of moral degeneration, that had
spread like gangrene through all the man's physical and mental fibre....
"Take a good look," Ember advised grimly. "How about that pet myth
thing, now? What price the astute sleuth--eh? Perhaps you'd like to take
a few more funny cracks at my simple faith in hallucinations."
"Good God!" said Whitaker in a low voice, unable to remove his gaze from
Drummond.
"I had a notion he'd be hanging round," Ember went on; "I thought I saw
somebody hiding in the woods this afternoon; and then I was sure I saw
him skulking round the edges of the clearing, after dinner. So I set Sum
Fat to watch, drove back to the village to mislead him, left my car
there and walked back. And sure enough--!"
Without comment, Whitaker, unable to stand any longer without
discomfort, hobbled to a chair and sat down.
"Well?" Drummond demanded harshly in a quavering snarl. "Now that you've
got me, what're you going to do with me?"
There was a high, hysterical accent in his voice that struck
unpleasantly on Ember's ear. He cocked his head to one side, studying
the man intently.
Drummond flung himself a step away from the table, paused, and again
faced his captors with bravado.
"Well?" he cried again. "Well?"
Ember nodded toward Whitaker. "Ask him," he said briefly.
Whitaker shook his head. It was difficult to think how to deal with this
trapped animal, so wildly different from the cultivated gentleman he
always had in mind when he thought of Drummond. The futility of
attempting to deal with him according to any code recognized by men of
honour was wretchedly apparent.
"Drummond," he said slowly, "I wish to God you hadn't done this thing."
Drummond laughed discordantly. "Keep your mealy-mouthed compassion for
yourself," he retorted, sneering. "I'm no worse than you, only I got
caught." He added in a low tone, quivering with uncontrollable hatred:
"Damn you!"
Whitaker gave a gesture of despair. "If you'd only been content to keep
out of the way...! If only you'd let me alone--"
"Then _you_ let Sara Law alone, d'you hear?"
Surprised, Whitaker paused before replying. "Please understand," he said
quietly, "that Mrs. Whitaker is seeking a divorce from me. After that,
if she has any use for you, I have no objection to her marrying you. And
as for the money you stole, I have said nothing about that--intend to
say nothing. If you'd had the sense to explain things to me--if I could
count on you to leave me alone and not try again to murder me--"
"Oh, go to hell!"
The interruption was little short of a shriek. Ember motioned to Sum
Fat, who quietly drew nearer.
"I swear I don't know what to do or say--"
"Then shut up--"
"That'll be about all," Ember interposed quietly. At a glance from him,
Sum Fat closed in swiftly and caught and pinioned Drummond's arms from
behind.
A disgusting change took place in Drummond. In an instant he was
struggling, screaming, slavering: his face congested, eyes starting,
features working wildly as he turned and twisted in his efforts to free
himself.
Sum Fat held him as he would have held an unruly child. Whitaker looked
away, feeling faint and sick. Ember looked on with shrewd and
penetrating interest, biding the time when a break in Drummond's ravings
would let him be heard. When it came at length, together with a gradual
weakening of the man's struggles, the detective turned to Whitaker.
"Sorry," he said. "I didn't dare take any further chances. He'd've been
at your throat in another minute. I could see him working himself up to
a frenzy. If Sum Fat hadn't grabbed him in time, there's no telling what
might not have happened."
Whitaker nodded.
"It isn't as if we had simply an everyday crook to deal with," Ember
went on, approaching the man. "He's not to be trusted or reasoned with.
He's just short of a raving morphomaniac, or I miss my guess."
With a quick movement he caught Drummond's left arm, pulled the sleeve
of his coat back to the elbow, unbuttoned and turned back his cuff.
"_Hmm_--yes," he continued bending over to inspect the exposed forearm,
in spite of Drummond's efforts to twist away. "Deadly work of the busy
little needle. Good Lord, he's fairly riddled with punctures!"
"That explains...." Whitaker muttered, sickened.
"It explains a lot." Ember readjusted the sleeve and turned away. "And
it shows us our path of duty, clear," he continued, despite
interruptions from the maddened drug fiend. "I think a nice little
sojourn in a sanatorium--what?"
"Right," Whitaker agreed, relieved.
"We'll see what a cure does for him before we indulge in criminal
proceedings--shall we?"
"By all means."
"Good." Ember glanced at his watch. "I'll have to hurry along now--must
be in town not later than nine o'clock this morning. I'll take him with
me. No, don't worry--I can handle him easily. It's a bit of a walk to
the village, but that will only help to quiet him down. I'll be back
to-morrow; meanwhile you'll be able to sleep soundly unless--"
He checked, frowning thoughtfully.
"Unless what?"
Ember jerked his head to indicate the prisoner. "Of course, this isn't
by any chance the fellow you mixed it up with over on the beach--and so
forth?"
"Nothing like him."
"Queer. I can't find any trace of him--the other one--nor can I account
for him. He doesn't seem to fit in anywhere. However"--his expression
lightened--"I daresay you were right; he's probably only some idle,
light-fingered prowler. I'd keep my eyes open for him, but I don't
really believe you need worry much."
Within ten minutes he was off on his lonely tramp through two miles of
woodland and as many more of little travelled country road, at dead of
night, with a madman in handcuffs for sole company.
XIII
OFFSHORE
"You ask me, I think very excellent damn quick cure."
Sum Fat having for the third time since morning anointed with liniment
and massaged Whitaker's ankle, tenderly adjusted and laced the makeshift
canvas brace, drew a sock over it, and then with infinite care inserted
the foot in a high-cut canvas tennis shoe.
He stood up, beaming.
Whitaker extended his leg and cast a critical eye over the heavily
bandaged ankle.
"Anyway," he observed, "the effect is arresting. I look like a half
Clydesdale."
Sum Fat's eyes clouded, then again gleamed with benevolent interest.
"You take it easy one day or two--no walk much--just loaf--no go see
pretty ladies--"
"Go 'way, you heathen--go clean your teeth!" cried Whitaker,
indignantly.
"--and I think be all well and sound," concluded Sum Fat.
He waddled away, chuckling.
Waiting till he was well out of sight, Whitaker got up, and with the aid
of a cane made a number of tentative experiments in the gentle art of
short-distance pedestrianism. The results were highly satisfactory: he
felt little or no pain, thanks to Sum Fat's ice-packs and assiduous
attentions in general; and was hampered in free movement solely by the
stiff brace and high-laced shoe.
On the other hand, he felt that the advice to which he had just listened
was sound; it would be unwise to attempt a neighbourly call within at
least another twenty-four hours.
He resumed his chair on the veranda, and sighed. It was late afternoon,
and he was lonely. After the interest and excitement of the preceding
day and night, to-day seemed very dull and uneventful; it had been, in
truth, nothing less than stupid--a mere routine of meals and pipes
interrupted by no communication from the outer world more blood-stirring
than the daily calls of the village grocer and butcher. Ember had not
telephoned, as Whitaker had hoped he would; and the chatelaine of the
neighbouring cottage had not manifested any interest whatever in the
well-being of the damaged amateur squire of dames.
Whitaker felt himself neglected and abused. He inclined to sulks. The
loveliness of a day of unbroken calm offered him no consolation.
Solitude in a lonely lodge is all very well, if one cares for that sort
of thing; but it takes two properly to appreciate the beauties of the
wilderness.
The trouble with him was (he began to realize) that he had lived too
long a hermit. For six years he had been practically isolated and cut
off from the better half of existence; femininity had formed no factor
in his cosmos. Even since his return to America his associations had
been almost exclusively confined to the wives and daughters of old
friends, the former favouring him only with a calm maternal patronage,
the daughters obviously regarding him as a sort of human curio old
enough to be entitled to a certain amount of respectful consideration,
but not to be taken seriously--"like a mummy," Whitaker told himself,
not without sympathy for the view-point of the younger generation.
But now, of a sudden, he had been granted a flash of insight into the
true significance of companionship between a man and a woman who had
something in common aside from community in their generation. Not two
hours altogether of such intercourse had been his, but it had been
enough to infuse all his consciousness with a vague but irking
discontent. He wanted more, and wanted it ardently; and what Whitaker
desired he generally set himself to gain with a single-hearted
earnestness of purpose calculated to compass the end in view with the
least possible waste of time.
In this instance, however, he was handicapped to exasperation by that
confounded ankle!
Besides, he couldn't in decency pursue the woman; she was entitled to a
certain amount of privacy, of freedom from his attentions.
Furthermore, he had no right as yet to offer her attentions. It seemed
necessary frequently to remind himself of that fact, in spite of the
vile humour such reminders as a rule aroused.
He passed into one such now, scowling darkly in the face of an
exquisite, flawless day.
One thing was settled, he assured himself: as soon as he was able to get
about with comfort, he would lose no time in hunting up his wife's
attorneys and finding out why they were slow about prosecuting her case.
Failing satisfaction in that quarter--well, he would find some way to
make things move. It wasn't fair to him to keep him bound to the vows of
a farcical union. He was not prepared to submit to such injustice. He
would, if needs must, hire detectives to find him his wife, that he
might see and in person urge upon her his equal right to release from an
unnatural bondage!
He had lashed himself into a very respectable transport of resentful
rage before he realized what way his thoughts were leading him; but he
calmed down as quickly when, chancing to lift his eyes from their
absorbed study of the planks composing the veranda floor, he discovered
a motor-boat drawing in toward the landing-stage.
At once a smile of childlike serenity displaced the scowl. Instinctively
he gathered himself together to rise, but on reconsideration retained
his seat, gallantry yielding to an intuitive sense of dramatic values; a
chair-bound invalid is a much more sympathetic object than a man
demonstrating a surprisingly quick recovery from an incapacitating
accident.
Nevertheless, there seemed no objection to his returning a cheerful
flourish to the salute of a slender arm, brown and bare to the point
where a turned-back shirtwaist sleeve met a rounded elbow.
At precisely the proper distance from the dock, the motor ceased its
purring; the boat swept on, white water crisping beneath its stem,
ripples widening fanlike from its flanks and sketching sweeping plumes
of purple on the calm ultra-marine surface--its speed at first not
perceptibly moderated. Gradually, then, it yielded to the passive
resistance of the waters, moving slower and more slow until at length it
nosed the landing-stage with a touch well-nigh as gentle as a caress.
Poised lightly over the bows, the woman waited, her figure all in white
sharp-cut against the blue of sky and water, with an effect as vital as
it was graceful. Then at the right instant leaping to the dock with the
headwarp, she made the little vessel fast with two deft half-hitches
round the out-most pile, and turning came swinging to dry land and up
the gentle slope to the veranda, ease and strength and joy of living
inherent in every flowing movement, matching well the bright comeliness
of her countenance and the shining splendour of her friendly eyes.
No imaginable consideration, however selfish, could have kept Whitaker
any longer in his chair.
"The most amiable person I know!" he cried, elated. "Greetings!"
She paused by the steps, looking up, a fascinating vision.
"No--please! I've only stopped for an instant. Do sit down."
"Shan't--until you do."
"But I really can't stop."
She ascended the steps and dropped coolly into a chair, laughing at her
own lack of consistency. Whitaker resumed his seat.
"You're really able to stand without assistance?"
"I'm ashamed to admit it. Between you and me--a dead secret--there's
nothing really the matter with me any more. Sum Fat's a famous
physician. I could run a race--only it's pleasanter to pretend I
mustn't."
"Very well. Then I shan't waste any more sympathy on you."
"As a matter of fact, I can move only at the cost of excruciating
agony."
She considered him with a sober face and smiling eyes. "I don't believe
you. You're a fraud. Besides, I didn't come to see you at all; I came to
find out why Mr. Ember dares so to neglect me. Did you deliver my
invitation?"
"I did, unwillingly. He was desolated, but he couldn't accept--had to
run back to town immediately after dinner."
"He's as great a fraud as you. But since he isn't here, I shall go."
She got up with a very evident intention of being as good as her word.
Whitaker in despair sought wildly for an excuse to detain her.
"Please--I'm famished for human society. Have pity. Sit down. Tell me
where you've been with the boat."
"Merely to the head of the bay to have the gasoline tanks filled. A most
boresome errand. They've no proper facilities for taking care of
motor-boats. Imagine having to sit with your hands folded while
garrulous natives fill a sixty-gallon tank by hand."
"Expressions of profound sympathy. Tell me some more. See, I even
consent not to talk about myself as an extra inducement--if you'll only
stay."
"No--really--unique though the prospect be! I left Elise and the cook
alone, two poor defenceless women; the gardener is taking his weekly
day-off in the village. We won't see anything of him till morning,
probably--when he'll show up very meek and damp about the head."
"Aren't you afraid?"
"I? Nonsense! I'm shamelessly able-bodied--and not afraid to pull a
trigger, besides. Moreover, there aren't any dangerous characters in
this neighbourhood."
"Then I presume it's useless for me to offer my services as watch-dog?"
"Entirely so. And when I choose a protector, I shall pick out one sound
of limb as well as wind."
"Snubbed," he said mournfully. "And me that lonesome.... Think of the
long, dull evening I've got to live through somehow."
"I have already thought of it. And being kind-hearted, it occurred to me
that you might be one of those mean-spirited creatures who can enjoy
double-dummy."
"It's the only game I really care for with a deathless passion."
"Then, if I promise to come over this evening and play you a rubber or
two--will you permit me to go home now?"
"On such terms I'll do anything you can possibly suggest," he declared,
enchanted. "You mean it--honest Injun?"
"Cross my heart and hope to die--"
"But ... how will you get here? Not alone, through the woods! I can't
permit that."
"Elise shall row me down the shore and then go back to keep cook
company. Sum Fat can see me home--if you find it still necessary to keep
up the invalid pose."
"I'm afraid," he laughed, "I shall call my own bluff.... Must you really
go so soon?"
"Good afternoon," she returned demurely; and ran down the steps and off
to her boat.
Smiling quietly to himself, Whitaker watched her cast the boat off, get
under way, and swing it out of sight behind the trees. Then his smile
wavered and faded and gave place to a look of acute discontent.