The policemen had been pried out of the ice and the search continued,
though the spirit seemed to have gone out of it. The scouting party had
scattered among the grim factories along the railway tracks. Bob had
presumably been borne out of the zone of danger and there was nothing
more to be done for him.
They waited to make sure they were not watched and then crawled up
the bank into Vevay Street. The rapidly falling snow enfolded them
protectingly. Now that life had grown more tranquil Burgess became
conscious that the scratch above his left ear had not ceased tingling.
It was with real emotion that Webster G. Burgess reflected that he
had escaped death by a hairbreadth. He meant to analyze that emotion
later at his leisure. The grazing of his head by that bullet marked
the high moment of his life; the memory of it would forever be the
chief asset among all his experiences. There was a wet line down his
cheek to his shirt collar that he had supposed to be perspiration;
but his handkerchief now told another story. He turned up the collar
of his buttonless ulster to hide any tell-tale marks of his sins and
knocked his battered cap into shape. Glancing down at Nellie, he saw
that the red feather had not lost its jauntiness, and she tripped along
placidly, as though nothing unusual had happened; but as they passed
opposite the Murdock house, where a lone policeman patrolled the walk,
her hand tightened on his arm and he heard her saying, as though to
herself:
“Goodby, house! Goodby, dad and mother! I’ll never be back any more.”
Burgess quickly shut the door of the tonneau upon Nellie; he had
cranked the machine and was drawing on the chauffeur’s gauntlets,
which he had found in the driver’s seat, when the druggist ran out and
accosted him.
“Hello, Miller! Seen anything of my chauffeur?”
“I guess he’s out with the police,” the man answered excitedly;
“they’ve been chasing a bunch o’ crooks over there somewhere. Two
or three people have been shot. There was a woman mixed up in the
scrimmage, but she got away.”
“Yes; it was a big fight--a whole gang of toughs! I took a short dash
with the police myself, and fell over a dead man and scratched my
ear. No, thanks; I’ll fix it up later. By-the-way, when my man turns
up you might tell him to come home--if that harmonizes with his own
convenience.” He stepped into the car. “Oh, has the plumber fixed that
drain for you yet? Well, the agent ought to look after such things.
Call me up in a day or two if he doesn’t attend to it.”
It was rather cheering, on the whole, to be in the open again, and he
lingered, relishing his freedom, his immunity from molestation. The
very brick building before which he stood gave him a sense of security;
he was a reputable citizen and property owner--not to be trifled with
by detectives and policemen. A newspaper reporter whom he knew jumped
from a passing street car, recognized him and asked excitedly where the
bodies had been taken.
“They’re stacked up like cordwood,” answered Burgess, “over in the
lumber-yard. Some of the cops went crazy and are swimming in the canal.
Young lady--guest of my wife--and I came over to look after sick
family, and ran into the show. I joined the hunt for a while, but it
wasn’t any good. You’ll find the survivors camped along the canal bank
waiting for reenforcements.”
He lighted a cigarette, jumped in and drove the car toward home for
half a dozen blocks--then lowered the speed so that he could speak
to the girl. He was half sorry the adventure was over; but there yet
remained his obligation to do what he could for Drake--if that person
could be found.
“You must let me go now,” said Nellie earnestly; “the police will wake
up and begin looking for me, and you’ve had trouble enough. And it
was rotten for me to work you to help get Bob off! You’d better have
stayed in the house; but I knew you would help--and I was afraid Bob
would kill somebody. Please let me out right here!”
Her hand was on the latch.
“Oh, never in this world! I have no intention of letting the police
take you--you haven’t done anything but try to help your brother, like
the fine girl you are; and that’s all over. Where’s Drake?”
Her gravity passed instantly and her laugh greeted his ears again. He
was running the car slowly along a curb, his head bent to hear.
“Listen! Robert telephoned just as I was leaving the office. I told
him to keep away from the house. When I saw you in the bank I knew Bob
was here, but I thought he’d be out of the way; but he wouldn’t go
until dark, and I would have telephoned you but I was afraid. I really
meant to tell you at the house that Robert wasn’t there and wouldn’t be
there; but Bob was so ugly I made you go with us, because I wanted your
help. I thought if they nailed us you would pull Bob through. And now
you don’t really mind--do you?” she concluded tearfully.
“Well, what about Drake? If he’s still----”
She bent closer and he heard her murmurous laugh again.
“I told Robert I’d meet him at the courthouse--by the steps nearest the
police station--at seven o’clock. That’s the safest place I could think
of.”
Burgess nodded and the machine leaped forward.
“We’ve got ten minutes to keep that date, Nellie. But I’m going to be
mighty late for dinner!”
V
As Nellie jumped from the car at the courthouse a young man stepped out
of the shadows instantly. Only a few words passed between them. Burgess
opened the door for them and touched his hat as he snapped on the
electric bulb in the tonneau. Glancing round when he had started the
car, Burgess saw that Drake had clasped Nellie’s hand; and there was
a resolute light in the young man’s eyes--his face had the convict’s
pallor, but he looked sound and vigorous. On the whole, Robert Drake
fulfilled the expectations roused by Gordon’s letter--he was neatly
dressed, and his voice and manner bespoke the gentleman. One or two
questions put by the banker he answered reassuringly. He had reached
the city at five o’clock and had not been interfered with in any way.
As they rolled down Washington Street a patrol passed them, moving
slowly toward the police station. Burgess fancied there was dejection
in the deliberate course of the wagon homeward, and he grinned to
himself; but when he looked around Nellie’s face was turned away from
the street toward the courthouse clock, to which she had drawn Drake’s
attention as the wagon passed.
“Are you and Nellie going to be married? That’s the first question.”
“Yes, sir; it’s all on the square. There’s a lawyer here who got me out
of a scrape once and he helped me get the license. If you’ll take us to
a minister--that’s all we want.”
“Oh, the minister will be easy!”
“Now,” he said as they reached his home, “come along with me and do
exactly what I tell you. And don’t be scared!”
The evening had been full of surprises, but he meant now to cap the
series of climaxes, that had mounted so rapidly, with another that
should give perfect symmetry to the greatest day of his life. They
entered the house through a basement door and gained the second floor
by the back stairs. Nora, his wife’s maid, came from one of the rooms
and he gave her some orders.
“This is Miss Murdock. She’s just come in from a long journey and I
wish you would help her touch up a bit. Go into Mrs. Burgess’s room and
get anything you need. Miss Murdock has lost her bag, and has to be off
again in half an hour; so fix up a suitcase for her--you’ll know how.
It will be all right with Mrs. Burgess. How far’s the dinner got? Just
had salad? All right. Come with me, Drake.”
In his own dressing room he measured the young man with his eye.
Mindful of Gordon’s injunction that Drake might be picked up by the
police, he went into the guest-room, tumbled over the effects of the
Bishop of Shoshone and threw out a worn sackcoat, a clerical waistcoat
and trousers, and handed them to his guest.
Webster G. Burgess prided himself on being able to dress in ten
minutes; in fifteen on this occasion he not only refreshed himself with
a shower but tended his bruises and fitted a strip of invisible plaster
to the bullet scratch above his ear. His doffed business suit and
ulster he flung into the laundry basket in the bathroom; then he went
into the guest-room to speak to Drake.
“It was bully of you to stand by Nellie in her trouble!” said Drake
with feeling. “I guess you came near getting pinched.”
“Oh, it was nothing,” remarked Burgess, shooting his cuffs with the
air of a gentleman to whom a brush with the police is only part of the
day’s work.
“Nellie told me about it, coming up in the machine. I guess you’re a
good sport, all right.”
Webster G. Burgess was conscious of the ex-convict’s admiration; he was
not only aware that Drake regarded him admiringly but he found that he
was gratified by the approbation of this man who had cracked safes and
served time for it.
“Nellie is a great girl!” said Burgess, to change the subject. “I
believe you mean to be good to her. You’re a mighty lucky boy to have
a girl like that ready to stand by you! Here’s some money Gordon
asked me to give you. And here’s something for Nellie, a check--one
thousand--Saxby will cash it for you at New Orleans. Please tell your
wife tomorrow that it’s my wife’s little wedding gift, in token of
Nellie’s kindness in keeping me out of jail. Now where’s that marriage
license? Good! There’s a bishop in this house who will marry you; we’ll
go down and pull it off in a jiffy. Then you can have a nibble of
supper and we’ll take you to the station. There’s a train for the South
at eight-twenty.”
Nellie was waiting in the hall when they went out. Nora had dressed her
hair, and bestowed upon her a clean collar and a pair of white gloves.
She had exchanged her shabby, wet tan shoes for a new pair Mrs. Burgess
had imported from New York. The mud acquired in the scramble through
the lumber-yard had been carefully scraped from her skirt. Voices were
heard below.
“They’ve just come in from dinner,” said the maid, “Shall I tell
Bridget to keep something for you?”
“Yes--something for three, to be on the table in fifteen minutes.”
* * * * *
Mrs. Webster G. Burgess always maintains that nothing her husband
may do can shock her. When her husband had not appeared at seven she
explained to her guest that he had been detained by an unexpected
meeting of a clearing-house committee, it being no harder to lie to a
bishop than to any one else when a long-suffering woman is driven to
it. She was discussing with the Bishop of Shoshone the outrageously
feeble support of missionaries in the foreign field when she heard
steps on the broad stair that led down to the ample hall. A second
later her husband appeared at the door with a young woman on his arm--a
young woman who wore a hat with a red feather. This picture had hardly
limned itself upon her acute intelligence before she saw, just behind
her husband and the strange girl, a broad-shouldered young clergyman
who bore himself quite as though accustomed to appearing unannounced in
strange houses.
The banker stepped forward, shook hands with the bishop cordially, and
carried off the introductions breezily.
“Sorry to be late, Gertie; but you know how it is!” Whereas, as a
matter of fact, Mrs. Burgess did not know at all how it was. “Bishop,
these young people wish to be married. Their time is short, as they
have a train to make. Just how they came to be here is a long story,
and it will have to wait. If you see anything familiar in Mr. Drake’s
clothes please don’t be distressed, I’ve always intended doing
something for your new cathedral, and you shall have a check and the
price of a new suit early in the morning. And, Gertie”--he looked at
his watch--“if you will find a prayerbook we can proceed to business.”
Mrs. Burgess always marveled at her husband’s plausibility, and now she
had fresh proof of it. She blinked as he addressed the girl as Nellie;
but this was just like Web Burgess!
The Bishop of Shoshone, having married cowboys and Indians in all
manner of circumstances in his rough diocese, calmly began the service.
At the supper table they were all very merry except Nellie, whose
face, carefully watched by Mrs. Burgess, grew grave at times--and
once her eyes filled with tears; her young bridegroom spoke hardly at
all. Burgess and the bishop, however, talked cheerfully of old times
together, and they rose finally amid the laughter evoked by one of the
bishop’s stories. Burgess said he thought it would be nice if they all
went to the station to give the young people a good sendoff for their
long journey; and afterward they could look in at a concert, for which
he had tickets, and hear Sembrich sing.
“After a busy day,” he remarked, meeting Nellie’s eyes at one of her
tearful moments, “there’s nothing like a little music to quiet the
nerves--and this has been the greatest day of my life!”