STUMBLING IN THE DARK
After all, Severance had hardly expected a more brilliant result from
his bluff. The one real failure was in losing his temper, which, when
discussing his plan with Mums, he'd meant to preserve like a jewel of
price.
Only the short preliminary round had been played. The game proper was
all before him. He'd tested Marise to begin with. She had not been
completely satisfying. That is, she hadn't thrown herself into his arms
and sighed, "Take me away, darling Tony!" which would have been the
ideal thing. But on the other hand, she hadn't very actively repelled
him. If Garth had not appeared on the scene like a stage demon, all
might have been different. The fellow was a bully, and had cowed the
girl. Heaven knew to what means he had resorted in these last weeks to
break her high spirit. But of course there was no doubt that she wanted
to free herself, and the best service Severance could give his dear
lady-love was to take her (ostensibly) against her will.
That brought him back mentally to the plan he had explained to Mary
Sorel at Bell Towers--the plan she had approved. He must carry it out at
once. And Zelie Marks's presence at the hotel might help, he began dimly
to see now.
By the time he had reached El Toyar he saw with more clearness. At the
hotel desk he scribbled on one of his visiting cards, "Please grant me a
short interview. I come to you from Mrs. John Garth." This card he
slipped into an envelope and closed down the flap. Then he addressed it,
and requested the clerk, "Kindly have this sent up immediately to Miss
Marks."
While he awaited an answer, or the arrival of Zelie, Severance debated
whether or no to wire Mary Sorel.
She had suggested his doing so, to prevent any danger of scandal in the
working out of the plan. But in his heart Tony had no longer the holy
terror of that bogey which had chilled him while OEnone was alive.
Then, the least whisper of gossip connecting him with Miss Sorel, or
even Mrs. Garth, might have ruined the prospect of marriage with his
cousin: and that would have been, indirectly, as harmful to Marise as
himself. Now, however, when there was nothing further to be gained or
lost for either of them from Constantine Ionides, Severance need think
only of himself and Marise; and he thought of himself first.
His intention was to take Marise away from Garth, who had no right to
the girl and was keeping her against her true wish. If necessary,
Severance would take her by force, for her own good, because then the
thing would be done and over with: there would be no going back.
But--anyhow--he would take her!
Mums had urged him to wire, if his first attempt failed, and Garth
refused to see reason as presented to him with mild bluff. She wanted to
fly to the Grand Canyon and be on the spot--ready for emergencies--to
stand by her daughter. But Severance wasn't sure even now, as things had
turned out, whether he would be wise in furthering this wish.
It was natural, of course. But just as scandal would have been fatal
before, it might be useful in the present situation. If her "Mums" were
close at hand, Marise might in the first confusion of her mind seek
refuge under the maternal wing, from the man she loved. If she did
anything futile like that, it would give Garth time to act: whereas, if
Marise had no refuge but her lover--oh, distinctly it would be tempting
Providence to telegraph to Mums!
* * * * *
"Well?" said Garth, when Marise stood statuelike in the blue dusk.
"I don't think it _is_ very well," she answered slowly.
"I warned you fairly that I'd not stand out of Severance's way," Garth
reminded her, his face so grey and grim in the twilight that the girl
remembered how she had thought it looked carved from rock.
"Yet only a few minutes ago you offered to leave me, for a bribe of a
second million."
"There can't be a 'second' million till there's been a first."
"The principle is the same."
"There's where you're mistaken. I think now the time has come for you to
understand. But I had a sneaking idea that perhaps you did understand,
already. You have a sense of humour--a strong one, for a woman."
"Has a sense of humour anything to do with--this affair?"
"Yes. A grim one. But if you don't see it----"
"Sometimes for a minute I've wondered if I did see--something."
"What did you think you saw?"
"I--hardly care to put it into words."
"All right. I'll do it for you. But if I do, you must answer honestly."
"I will--if I answer at all."
"Very well, I'll risk your answering. You wondered pretty often and by
flashes if the question of money ever had anything to do with my
accepting the damnable and disgusting offer Severance made to me. Was
that it?"
"Ye-es. Though what else could it be, when you showed in every way that
your love--if it was love--had turned to--to actual _hate_, before you
married me?"
"Oh, not so bad as that!" Garth protested, something like a queer,
suppressed laugh, shaking his voice.
"Dislike, then."
"That sounds as if I hadn't treated you decently."
"No, for you _have_. You've been very decent indeed--except that you've
forced me to do lots of things I haven't wanted to do, like living in
that suite at the Plaza and--and coming out here, and all that."
"Wasn't it necessary, as you were so anxious to avoid scandal?"
"There might have been other ways."
"I didn't see them. Anyhow, it's done now. It can't be undone. And as
things were, I've tried to treat you as you want to be treated, all
through. As to the money, I will defend myself there, since it seems
that you have seen to the bottom of the well--where truth lies!--only in
those short flashes. If Severance had ever tried to hand me a million
dollars or any other sum for what I've done, I'd have thrown it in his
face, and knocked the face in after it. That's what I meant from the
first. So now you know."
"But--if you'd stopped wanting me? Why--why? You said yourself I didn't
seem to be a judge of how much it took to kill love."
"Yes, I said that."
"And you said other things. You said a million was always useful to
anyone----"
"There I banked again on your sense of humour. Or perhaps a little on
your judgment of character."
"I must confess I've tried to judge yours!" Marise exclaimed, almost in
spite of herself. "But I can't--I'm always stumbling against things--in
the dark."
"Well, there's plenty of 'dark'! I admit that," said Garth. "Many people
would say that of me. Perhaps the only one who wouldn't is little
Mothereen, and we can't count her, can we? There are all sorts of horrid
possibilities in the dark, where a character's concerned. My motive,
though _not_ mercenary, might have been revenge punishment!"
"That's often seemed to me the most likely!" cried Marise. "Especially
_now_."
"Especially now? Explain, please."
"Now, when you've brought _that girl_ out here, close to this house. You
did bring her, didn't you? You asked me to be honest. Be honest
yourself!"
"By my request she came."
"You paid for her to come?"
"Yes, I couldn't let her give up a good job in New York, even for
awhile, and travel so far on my business, at her own expense--could I?"
"On your business?"
"Yes. I told you once that Miss Marks was an old friend. We've known
each other for years. She used to live at Albuquerque. Cath and Bill,
whom you met, are her cousins--or rather, Cath is. Mothereen is
fond----"
"Ah, now I'm _sure_ of something I only wondered about before!"
"Will you tell me what that is?"
"A note for Meesis Garth from the Hotel El Tovar," announced the voice
of the half-breed maid.
"Bring it to me!" Marise ordered.
The girl, instinctively aware that she'd interrupted a "scene," tripped
across the terrace with an apologetic air. Marise almost snatched an
envelope from a little silver tray and tore it open. Her strong young
eyes could just make out through the dusk a few lines of written words.
"This is from Zelie Marks!" she exclaimed, looking up at Garth. "She
wants me to come over at once and see her at the hotel. She says she has
been ill, and that's the reason she's staying on there."
"She tells the truth. She had appendicitis. They thought there'd have to
be an operation, but they cured her up--or nearly--without. Why does she
ask to see you?"
"She says she'll explain everything when I get there."
"Do you intend to go?"
"Yes. I'd like to hear--her story."
"All right--go. You shall have the car, of course. But there are a few
things I'd prefer to tell you myself first."
"I'd rather hear everything from her."
Garth gave a shrug. "Very well. As you please. But you and she both seem
to forget dinner-time. You'll be hungry if----"
"I won't be hungry!" cried Marise. "I want to start now."
"I'll see to it for you," said Garth, with that quiet, rather heavy air
which irritated Marise sometimes and always puzzled her. For that was
one of the things about him which upset her judgment of his character.