By this time Ross was prepared for almost anything, yet the room that he
now stepped into was even more astounding than the bedroom.
In the center stood a table arranged for four. It fairly sparkled with
glassware, silver and spotless linen. At one side of the room stood a
huge buffet. Its top was well covered with glasses, liquor shakers and
sundry bottles, the contents of which were obvious.
The occupants of the room chiefly held his attention, though. They were
three, two men and a woman. Here, at last, he was to know the meaning of
the strange events of the preceding twenty-four hours.
The two men were standing close together and had evidently been
conversing. Both were in faultless evening dress. The girl stood apart;
aloof, so it seemed. Despite her evening dress, Ross instantly recognized
her as the girl he had found in the canon.
One of the men was young and exceedingly well built. His wide, heavily
muscled shoulders suggested out-of-the-ordinary strength. His hair was
wiry and red; its color was amply reflected in his ruddy complexion. The
face was strong and would have been attractive but for one feature—the
eyes. The eyes were small, deep-set, and far too close together. They
might have been said to be piggish. The dull glint in them was not
reassuring. Ross knew at once that he did not like this man.
It was the second of the two men, however, who was really striking.
He was, in fact, an amazing figure. His stature was above the average
height, over six feet, and he was thin to emaciation. Ross thought he
had never seen so tall and yet so slender a man. He was so thin as to be
ludicrous, yet there seemed to be a remarkable whipcord strength about
him.
His face was narrow and as lean as his body. A thin, high nose divided
a pair of piercing black eyes. It was the eyes that struck instant
attention. Their everchanging lights fairly gleamed. They seemed to be
alive with a thousand fires.
The impression was instantly registered with Ross that here was a man who
was possessed of unusual personal power, or who was stark mad. Those eyes
could allow of no other conclusion.
As Ross was ushered into the room it was this strange individual who
instantly stepped forward.
“Ah, our guest has arrived,” he said. His voice was soft as velvet, yet
it carried an irritating quality that was thin-edged and biting, and
scarcely concealed. “Step right up, Mr. Waring; dinner will be served at
once. Wong, the wine.”
From somewhere the Chinese, Wong, had glided forth and, drawing out a
chair, indicated Ross’s place at the table. Immediately he had filled the
glasses with a sparkling liquid. Ross recognized it as champagne.
There was no chance to reply. In fact, Ross was too bewildered to think
of anything adequate to say. In a moment he would be himself again, but
just now his wits were all at cross purposes.
As the elderly man greeted Ross, the girl and younger man took their
places at the table as if they had only been waiting his arrival to
proceed with the meal. As Ross stepped forward, at the servant’s
indication, his host reached out and lifted the wine glass at his plate.
“We will drink to the health of our guest,” he said evenly.
Automatically, Ross lifted his glass. The others did likewise. For an
instant the four glasses were held aloft, the lights playing on their
sparkling depths. Then the elderly man turned to Ross with a rather
elaborate low bow and said in a voice that was like gray steel:
“Mr. Waring, allow us to drink to your most excellent good health——_for
tomorrow you hang_!”
The words were like an icy blast. Up to that moment the whole affair had
been rather ludicrous to Ross. He had realized that he was in danger at
times, but that this danger would involve the loss of his life he had not
for a moment imagined.
Now he realized that his very life was at stake; more than that, unless
he could find some way to extract himself from his predicament, that
he was sure to forfeit it. There could be no denying the import of the
toast. Ross did not know why, but he did know that this tall, lean
stranger with the mad eyes meant to kill him as sure as he stood there.
For a moment, the young New Yorker lost his complacency. He stood with
the glass poised in his hand, his brain whirling. But this was only for
a moment. In a second he had regained his poise. Raising the glass to his
lips, he drained it to the bottom and turned to his host.
“Thank you, sir,” he said carelessly, “for your kind wishes for my good
health. I hate to dispute you, but I _don’t_ believe you will hang me in
the morning. And my name is not Waring, either. It happens to be Ross.”
“As you will, Mr. Waring, as you will. Any name would do as well. And
I assure you I shall have the pleasure of hanging you in the morning.
Let me warn you, too, Mr. Waring, not to attempt anything. I want this
dinner peaceful. It is an engagement dinner,” turning with an exaggerated
bow to the girl, “the occasion of the betrothal of my dear niece to Mr.
Beebe here. I _know_ you will be interested in that, Mr. Waring. But
just to forestall any idea you might have of providing any unnecessary
entertainment I have stationed my friends, Mr. Garfin and Mr. Poole, at
the door with instructions to shoot if you get unruly. Now, let us eat.”
Ross glanced over his shoulder to find Garfin lounging in the door
by which he had entered, a malignant smile wrinkling his face. In an
opposite doorway lounged another individual fully as ugly looking as
Garfin. This was evidently Poole. Both had guns. It was obvious that for
the present no break for liberty was possible.
For the most part, that dinner was a nightmare to Ross. Afterward he
wondered how he had managed to get through it.
After the first effusion, the elderly man made no effort to include Ross
in the conversation. Glad of this respite, Ross attempted to collect his
wits and to form some estimate of his predicament and of the people with
whom he had to deal.
The elderly man carried on a continuous animated conversation, mostly
with the man whom he had designated as Beebe. Several times he addressed
himself to Ross, but always in such a manner that it was obvious no
answer was expected. A number of times he included the girl in his
conversation, but the only time she made reply was to answer a question,
and then it was merely to say, “No, Uncle Arthur.”
Once or twice Beebe addressed the elderly man as “Mr. Ward,” so Ross
concluded that his name was Arthur Ward. The girl’s identity he was not
able to learn, except that her first name was Virginia.
Beebe ignored Ross and by his attitude seemed to be currying favor with
Ward. As for the girl, she remained silent, her eyes downcast, palpably
holding herself aloof. Once or twice Ross caught a fleeting message from
her eyes. It seemed to him that she was in utter terror, yet in perfect
control of her nerves.
In those flashing telegrams from her eyes Ross was sure he caught a mute
appeal for help. If this was a betrothal dinner Ross felt sure that the
betrothal was without the consent of one of the parties concerned, and he
was determined then and there not only to effect his own escape but to
aid the girl as well.
The food was excellent and perfectly served by the Chinese, yet Ross
could not have told a single item, and he thought the dinner never would
end. The presence of Garfin and Poole was mute evidence that for the
present he could do nothing. When the meal finally came to an end and
Ward pushed back his chair, it brought a feeling of distinct relief to
the young man. Now at least was the beginning of the end.
“Now, Mr. Waring,” said Ward suavely, “we will repair to my study, where
I have a few things to say to you before we break up this very pleasant
little party. I hardly think my niece will care to accompany us.”
They rose from the table, and Ross was ushered into an adjoining room
which was even more striking in its way than either of the others he had
been in that evening.
A brisk fire burned on a wide hearth from above which looked down a
magnificent ram’s head. Other trophies of a similar nature adorned
the other walls. Interspersed with these were guns, Indian weapons,
horsehair lariats—in fact, every accoutrement and trophy of the old-time
West. It was a rather remarkable collection, one which under different
circumstances would have deeply interested Stanley Ross.
Instantly he knew where those curious antiquated shackles, which had
bound the girl, had come from. Here were several similar pairs.
Ross was directed to a chair in front of the fire. Ward took another,
facing him, while Beebe sat down on a wide bench on the far side of the
fire. Ross waited expectantly.
Ward offered his guest a cigar. Selecting one for himself, he clipped its
end very deliberately and lit it with aggravating leisure. Finally he
leaned back in his chair and gazed steadily at Ross with his mad eyes. A
tiny smile, cynical and cruel, crooked around his thin-lipped mouth.
“I could have had you killed at once, Mr. Waring,” he said deliberately,
his voice soft and well-modulated, yet biting, burning, “but I did not
choose to do that. Instead, I wanted to bring you here this evening so
that you could fully realize just what a serious thing it is, and how
useless it is to buck Arthur Ward. And then, too, I wanted my niece to
know that I am to be obeyed absolutely.”
“I suppose, Mr. Ward,” asked Ross, “that it would be quite useless to
tell you that my name is not Waring at all; that I do not even know
any one of that name, or that I have never seen your niece, until last
evening?”
“Quite useless, I can assure you, Mr. Waring. I am absolutely certain of
your identity. I do not make mistakes.
“Mr. Waring, I never forget an injury. I remember forever, and my one bad
trait is the fact that I always have revenge. I would have got you in the
end, Waring, anyway, but your fool stunt of following my niece here saved
me a lot of trouble. Waring, you should have known that of all people on
earth you would have the least chance of marrying my niece.
“Tonight you can have the extreme pleasure of reflecting that you will
hardly be dead before Virginia will be the wife of Beebe.”
“And suppose she refuses?” asked Ross.
“We are a hundred miles from anywhere, Waring. Things could happen that
would make Virginia glad to marry Beebe—or any one.
“One more thing, Waring, and then we will terminate this interview,”
Ward went on dispassionately. “I want you to know that this is only the
beginning. I shall not be satisfied until I have exterminated your entire
family. It may take me years, but I shall certainly have the pleasure of
killing your brother and your father. It does not pay to do injury to
Arthur Ward.
“You will have tonight to reflect on what might have been. In the morning
I shall hang you.
“That is all I have to say, and since it will be quite useless for you
to say anything you may as well return to your room. Mr. Garfin and Mr.
Poole will see that you have safe conduct.”
Ross knew that for the present he would have to submit. Resistance would
be useless just now. He was one against four. The odds were too great. He
could only wait, hoping that the night would bring opportunity.
However, before he went he could not resist a last display of
bravado—bravado which he did not by any means feel.
Rising from his seat, Ross bowed low to Ward.
“Good-night, Mr. Ward. Thank you for a most excellent dinner and a most
entertaining evening. And let me assure you that you will _not_ hang me
in the morning.”
Turning on his heel, Ross passed out of the room.
_CHAPTER SIX_