On the steps of the Barton Arms an hour later Hood and Deering ran into
two men who were just leaving the inn. Hood greeted them heartily as old
acquaintances and remained talking to them while Deering went to ask for
rooms.
"The suspicions of those fellows always tickle me," he remarked as he
joined Deering at the desk, where he scrawled "R. Hood, Sherwoodville,"
on the register. "Detectives--rather good as the breed goes, but not men
of true vision. Now and then I've been able to give them a useful
hint--the slightest, mind you, and only where I could divert suspicion
from some of my friends in the underworld. I always try to be of
assistance to predatory genius; there are clever crooks and stupid ones;
the kind who stoop to vulgar gun-work when their own stupidity gets them
into a tight pinch don't appeal to me. My artistic sensibilities are
affronted by clumsy work."
"Perhaps--" Deering suggested with a hasty glance at the door--"maybe
they're looking for me!"
"Bless you, no," Hood replied as they followed a boy with their bags;
"nothing so intelligent as that. On the contrary"--he paused at the
landing and laid his hand impressively on Deering's arm--"on the
contrary, they're looking for _me_!"
He went on with a chuckle and a shake of the head, as though the thought
of being pursued by detectives gave him the keenest pleasure. When he
reached their rooms he sat down and struck his knee sharply and chuckled
again. Deering turned frowningly for an explanation of his mirth.
"Oh, don't bother about those chaps! I repeat, that they are looking for
me, but"--he knit his fingers behind his head and grinned--"they don't
_know_ it!"
"Don't know you are you!" exclaimed Deering.
"You never said a truer word! More than that, they're not likely to!
There are things, son, I--Hood, the frankest of mortals--can't tell even
you! I, Hood, the inexplicable; Hood, the prince of tramps, the
connoisseur in all the arts--even I must have my secrets; but in time, my
dear boy, in time you shall know everything! But there's work before us!
The long arm of coincidence beckons us. We shall test for ourselves all
the claptrap of the highest-priced novelists."
Deering walked to the window and stared out at the landscape, then strode
toward Hood angrily.
"I don't like this!" he wailed despairingly. "You promised to help me
find those stolen bonds, and now you're talking like a lunatic again. If
I can't find the bonds, I've got to find Ranscomb, and get back that
first two hundred thousand I gave him. I can't stand this--detectives
waiting for us wherever we stop, and you babbling rot--rot--" Words
failed him; he clinched his hands and glared.
"Don't bluster, son, or I shall grow peevish," Hood replied tolerantly.
"At the present moment I feel like taking a walk under the mystical May
stars. The night invites the soul to meditation; the stars may have the
answer to all our perplexities. Stop fretting about your bonds and your
friend Ranscomb; very likely he's busted, clean broke; that's what usually
happens to fellows who take money from their friends and put it into the
metals. Possibly he swallowed poison, and went to sleep forever just to
escape your wrath. Let us take counsel of the heavens and try to forget
your sins. We must still move the way the slipper pointed--northeast. The
road bends away from the inn just right for a fresh start. We depart, we
skip, we are on our way, my dear boy!"
They had walked nearly a mile when Deering announced that he was tired,
and refused to go farther. He clambered upon a stone wall at the
roadside. On a high ridge some distance away and etched against the stars
was a long, low house.
"Splendid type of bungalow," Hood commented, throwing his legs over the
wall. "I'm glad you have an eye for nice effects--the roof makes a pretty
line against the stars, and those pines beyond add a touch--a distinct
touch. Bungalows should always be planned with a view to night effects;
too bad architects don't always consider little points like that."
Deering growled angrily. Suddenly as his eyes gazed over the long,
sloping meadow that rose to the house he started and laid his hand on
Hood's knee.
"Steady, steady! Always give a ghost a chance," murmured Hood.
If the figure that danced across the meadow was a ghost, it was an agile
one, and its costume represented a radical departure from the traditional
garb of spirits doomed to walk the night.
"A boy, kicking up before he goes to bed," suggested Deering, forgetting
his sorrows for the moment as he contemplated the dancing apparition.
"In a clown's suit, if I'm any judge," said Hood, jumping down from the
wall and moving cautiously up the slope. The dancing figure suddenly
darted away through a clump of trees.
"Of course," remarked Hood when they had reached the level where the
figure had executed its fantastic gyrations, "of course, it's none of our
affair; but, in that story I was telling you about, the heroine danced
around at night in strange costumes scaring people to death. I'm not
saying this ghost has read that book--I'm merely stating a fact."
They found a path that zigzagged across the meadow and followed it to the
edge of a ravine. Below they heard the ripple of running water; and as an
agreeable accompaniment some one was whistling softly.
In a moment the rattle of loosened gravel caused them to drop down by the
path. The pantalooned figure came up, still whistling, and paused for a
moment to take breath. Deering, throwing himself back from the path,
grasped a bush. The twigs rattled noisily, and with a frightened "Oh!"
the clown darted away, nimbly and fleetly. They followed a white blur in
the starlight for an instant and heard the patter of light feet.
"A girl," whispered Deering.
"I believe you are right," remarked Hood, feeling about in the grass,
"and here's a part of her costume." He picked up something white and held
it to his face. "She dropped her clown's cap when you began shaking the
scenery. I seem to remember that a girl's hair is sweet like that! In old
times the clown's cap was supposed to possess magic. Son, we have begun
well! A girl masquerading, happy victim of the May madness--this is the
jolliest thing I've struck in years--a girl, out dancing all by her
lonesome under the stars--Columbine playing Harlequin!"
"We might as well be off," he added, relighting his pipe. "We frightened
her ladyship, and she will dance no more to-night. However, we have her
cap, which points the way for to-morrow's work."
"You're going to hang around here watching a girl cut monkey-shines!"
moaned Deering. "You haven't forgotten what we're looking for, have you!"
he demanded, shaking his fist in Hood's face.
"Once more, be calm! Don't you see that you're on the verge of a new
'Midsummer Night's Dream'; that the world's tired of work and gone back
to play! Don't talk like a tired business man whose wife has dragged him
to see one of Ibsen's frolics--'Rosmersholm,' for example--where they
talk for three hours and then jump in the well! The fact that there's one
girl left in the world to dance under stars ought to hearten you for
anything. We don't find in this world the things we're looking for,
Deering; we've got to be ready for surprises. I won't say that that's the
girl who ran off with your bonds; all I can say is that she's as likely
to be the one as any girl I can think of. Tut! Don't imagine I don't
sympathize with you in your troubles; but forget them, that's the ticket.
This will do for to-night. We'd better go back to the Barton and to bed."
He yawned sleepily and started toward the road. Deering caught him by the
arm.
"I was just thinking--" he began.
"Thinking is a bad habit, my boy. Thought is the curse of the world. The
less thinking we do the better off we are. Down at Pass Christian last
winter I sat under a tree for a solid month and never thought a think.
Most profitable time I ever spent in my life. Camped with a sneak-thief
who was making a tour of the Southern resorts--nice chap; must tell you
about him sometime."
He chuckled as though the recollection of his larcenous companion pleased
him tremendously.
"I don't believe I'll go back to the Barton just yet," Deering suggested
timidly. "It's possible, you know, that that girl _might_----"
"You've got it!" exclaimed Hood eagerly, clapping his hands upon
Deering's shoulders. "The spell is taking hold! Wait here a thousand
years if you like for that kid to come back, and don't bother about me.
But cut out your vulgar bond twaddle, and don't ask her if she stole your
suitcase! As like as not she'll lead you to the end of the rainbow, and
show you a meal sack bulging with red, red gold. Here's her cap--better
keep it for good luck."
Deering stood, with the clown's cap in his hand, staring after Hood's
retreating figure. It was not wholly an illusion that he had experienced
a change of some sort, and he wondered whether there might not be
something in Hood's patter about the May madness. At any rate, his
troubles had slipped from him, and he was conscious of a new and
delightful sense of freedom. Moreover, he had been kidnapped by the
oddest man he had ever met, and he didn't care!