Miss Elliott's expression, when I turned to observe the effect of the
intruder upon her, was found to be one of brilliant delight. With
glowing eyes, her lips parted in a breathless ecstasy, she gazed upon
the newcomer, evidently fearing to lose a syllable that fell from his
lips. Moving closer to me she whispered urgently:
"Keep him. Oh, keep him!"
To detain him, for a time at least, was my intention, though my motive
was not merely to afford her pleasure. The advent of the young man had
produced a singularly disagreeable impression upon me, quite apart from
any antagonism I might have felt toward him as a type. Strange
suspicions leaped into my mind, formless--in the surprise of the
moment--but rapidly groping toward definite outline; and following hard
upon them crept a tingling apprehension. The reappearance of this
rattish youth, casual as was the air with which he strove to invest it,
began to assume, for me, the character of a theatrical entrance of
unpleasant portent--a suggestion just now enhanced by an absurdly
obvious notion of his own that he was enacting a part. This was written
all over him, most legibly in his attitude of the knowing amateur, as
he surveyed Miss Elliott's painting patronisingly, his head on one
side, his cane in the crook of his elbows behind his back, and his body
teetering genteelly as he shifted his weight from his toes to his heels
and back again, nodding meanwhile a slight but judicial approbation.
"Now, about how much," he said slowly, "would you expec' t' git f'r a
pitcher that size?"
"It isn't mine," I informed him.
"You don't tell me it's the little lady's--what?" He bowed genially and
favoured Miss Elliott with a stare of warm admiration. "Pretty a thing
as I ever see," he added.
"Oh," she cried with an ardour that choked her slightly. "THANK you!"
"Oh, I meant the PITCHER!" he said hastily, evidently nonplussed by a
gratitude so fervent.
The incorrigible damsel cast down her eyes in modesty. "And I had
hoped," she breathed, "something so different!"
I could not be certain whether or not he caught the whisper; I thought
he did. At all events, the surface of his easy assurance appeared
somewhat disarranged; and, perhaps to restore it by performing the
rites of etiquette, he said:
"Well, I expec' the smart thing now is to pass the cards, but mine's in
my grip an' it ain't unpacked yet. The name you'd see on 'em is Oil
Poicy."
"Oil Poicy," echoed Miss Elliott, turning to me in genuine astonishment.
"Mr. Earl Percy," I translated.
"Oh, RAPTUROUS!" she cried, her face radiant. "And WON'T Mr. Percy give
us his opinion of my Art?"
Mr. Percy was in doubt how to take her enthusiasm; he seemed on the
point of turning surly, and hesitated, while a sharp vertical line
appeared on his small forehead; but he evidently concluded, after a
deep glance at her, that if she was making game of him it was in no
ill-natured spirit--nay, I think that for a few moments he suspected
her liveliness to be some method of her own for the incipient stages of
a flirtation.
Finally he turned again to the easel, and as he examined the painting
thereon at closer range, amazement overspread his features. However,
pulling himself together, he found himself able to reply--and with
great gallantry:
"Well, on'y t' think them little hands cud 'a' done all that rough
woik!"
The unintended viciousness of this retort produced an effect so marked,
that, except for my growing uneasiness, I might have enjoyed her
expression.
As it was, I saved her face by entering into the conversation with a
question, which I put quickly:
"You intend pursuing your historical researches in the neighborhood?"
The facial contortion which served him for a laugh, and at the same
time as a symbol of unfathomable reserve, was repeated, accompanied by
a jocose manifestation, in the nature of a sharp and taunting cackle,
which seemed to indicate a conviction that he was getting much the best
of it in some conflict of wits.
"Them fairy tales I handed you about ole Jeanne d'Arc and William the
Conker," he said, "say, they must 'a' made you sore after-WOIDS!"
"On the contrary, I was much interested in everything pertaining to
your too brief visit," I returned; "I am even more so now."
"Well, m'friend"--he shot me a sidelong, distrustful glance--"keep yer
eyes open."
"That is just the point!" I laughed, with intentional significance, for
I meant to make Mr. Percy talk as much as I could. To this end,
remembering that specimens of his kind are most indiscreet when
carefully enraged, I added, simulating his own manner:
"Eyes open--and doors locked! What?"
At this I heard a gasp of astonishment from Miss Elliott, who must have
been puzzled indeed; but I was intent upon the other. He proved
perfectly capable of being insulted.
"I guess they ain't much need o' lockin' YOUR door," he retorted
darkly; "not from what I saw when I was in your studio!" He should have
stopped there, for the hit was palpable and justified; but in his
resentment he overdid it. "You needn't be scared of anybody's cartin'
off THEM pitchers, young feller! WHOOSH! An' f'm the luks of the CLO'ES
I saw hangin' on the wall," he continued, growing more nettled as I
smiled cheerfully upon him, "I don' b'lieve you gut any worries comin'
about THEM, neither!"
"I suppose our tastes are different," I said, letting my smile broaden.
"There might be protection in that."
His stare at me was protracted to an unseemly length before the sting
of this remark reached him; it penetrated finally, however, and in his
sharp change of posture there was a lightning flicker of the
experienced boxer; but he checked the impulse, and took up the task of
obliterating me in another way.
"As I tell the little dame here," he said, pitching his voice higher
and affecting the plaintive, "I make no passes at a friend o' her--not
in front o' her, anyways. But when it comes to these here ole, ancient
curiosities"--he cackled again, loudly--"well, I guess them clo'es I
see, that day, kin hand it out t' anything they got in the museums!
'Look here,' I says to the waiter, 'THESE must be'n left over f'm ole
Jeanne d'Arc herself,' I says. 'Talk about yer relics,' I says. Whoosh!
I'd like t' died!" He laughed violently, and concluded by turning upon
me with a contemptuous flourish of his stick. "You think I d'know what
makes YOU so raw?"
The form of repartee necessary to augment his ill humour was, of
course, a matter of simple mechanism for one who had not entirely
forgotten his student days in the Quarter; and I delivered it airily,
though I shivered inwardly that Miss Elliott should hear.
"Everything will be all right if, when you dine at the inn, you'll sit
with your back toward me."
To my shamed surprise, this roustabout wit drew a nervous, silvery
giggle from her; and that completed the work with Mr. Percy, whose face
grew scarlet with anger.
"You're a hot one, you are!" he sneered, with shocking bitterness.
"You're quite the teaser, ain't ye, s'long's yer lady-friend is lukkin'
on! I guess they'll be a few surprises comin' YOUR way, before long.
P'raps I cudn't give ye one now 'f I had a mind to."
"Pshaw," I laughed, and, venturing at hazard, said, "I know all YOU
know!"
"Oh, you do!" he cried scornfully. "I reckon you might set up an' take
a little notice, though, if you knowed 'at I know all YOU know!"
"Not a bit of it!"
"No? Maybe you think I don't know what makes you so raw with ME? Maybe
you think I don't know who ye've got so thick with at this here Pigeon
House; maybe you think I don't know who them people ARE!"
"No, you don't. You have learned," I said, trying to control my
excitement, "nothing! Whoever hired YOU for a spy lost the money. YOU
don't know ANY-thing!"
"I DON'T!" And with that his voice went to a half-shriek. "Maybe you
think I'm down here f'r my health; maybe you think I come out f'r a
pleasant walk in the woods right now; maybe you think I ain't seen no
other lady-friend o' yours besides this'n to-day, and maybe I didn't
see who was with her--yes, an' maybe you think I d'know no other times
he's be'n with her. Maybe you think I ain't be'n layin' low over at
Dives! Maybe I don't know a few real NAMES in this neighbourhood! Oh,
no, MAYBE not!"
"You know what the maitre d'hotel told you; nothing more."
"How about the name--OLIVER SAFFREN?" he cried fiercely, and at last,
though I had expected it, I uttered an involuntary exclamation.
"How about it?" he shouted, advancing toward me triumphantly, shaking
his forefinger in my face. "Hey? THAT stings some, does it? Sounds kind
o' like a FALSE name, does it? Got ye where the hair is short, that
time, didn't I?"
"Speaking of names," I retorted, "'Oil Poicy' doesn't seem to ring
particularly true to me!"
"It'll be gud enough fer you, young feller," he responded angrily. "It
may belong t' me, an' then again, it maybe don't. It ain' gunna git me
in no trouble; I'll luk out f'r that. YOUR side's where the trouble is;
that's what's eatin' into you. An' I'll tell you flat-foot, your
gittin' rough 'ith me and playin' Charley the Show-Off in front o' yer
lady-friends'll all go down in the bill. These people ye've got so
chummy with--THEY'LL pay f'r it all right, don't you shed no tears over
that!"
"You couldn't by any possibility," I said deliberately, with as much
satire as I could command, "you couldn't possibly mean that any sum of
mere money might be a salve for the injuries my unkind words have
inflicted?"
Once more he seemed upon the point of destroying me physically, but,
with a slight shudder, controlled himself. Stepping close to me, he
thrust his head forward and measured the emphases of his speech by his
right forefinger upon my shoulder, as he said:
"You paint THIS in yer pitchers, m' dear friend; they's jest as much
law in this country as they is on the corner o' Twenty-thoid Street an'
Fif' Avenoo! You keep out the way of it, or you'll git runned over!"
Delivering a final tap on my shoulder as a last warning, he wheeled
deftly upon his heel, addressed Miss Elliott briefly, "Glad t' know
YOU, lady," and striking into the by-path by which he had approached
us, was soon lost to sight.
The girl faced me excitedly. "What IS it?" she cried. "It seemed to me
you insulted him deliberately--"
"I did."
"You wanted to make him angry?"
"Yes."
"Oh! I thought so!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "I knew there was
something serious underneath. It's about Mr. Saffren?"
"It is serious indeed, I fear," I said, and turning to my own easel,
began to get my traps together. "I'll tell you the little I know,
because I want you to tell Mrs. Harman what has just happened, and
you'll be able to do it better if you understand what is understandable
about the rest of it."
"You mean you wouldn't tell me so that I could understand for myself?"
There was a note of genuine grieved reproach in her voice. "Ah, then
I've made you think me altogether a hare-brain!"
"I haven't time to tell you what I think of you," I said brusquely,
and, strangely enough, it seemed to please her. But I paid little
attention to that, continuing quickly: "When Professor Keredec and Mr.
Saffren came to Les Trois Pigeons, they were so careful to keep out of
everybody's sight that one might have suspected that they were in
hiding--and, in fact, I'm sure that they were--though, as time passed
and nothing alarming happened, they've felt reassured and allowed
themselves more liberty. It struck me that Keredec at first dreaded
that they might be traced to the inn, and I'm afraid his fear was
justified, for one night, before I came to know them, I met Mr. 'Percy'
on the road; he'd visited Madame Brossard's and pumped Amedee dry, but
clumsily tried to pretend to me that he had not been there at all. At
the time, I did not connect him even remotely with Professor Keredec's
anxieties. I imagined he might have an eye to the spoons; but it's as
ridiculous to think him a burglar as it would be to take him for a
detective. What he is, or what he has to do with Mr. Saffren, I can
guess no more than I can guess the cause of Keredec's fears, but the
moment I saw him to-day, saw that he'd come back, I knew it was THAT,
and tried to draw him out. You heard what he said; there's no doubt
that Saffren stands in danger of some kind. It may be inconsiderable,
or even absurd, but it's evidently imminent, and no matter what it is,
Mrs. Harman must be kept out of it. I want you to see her as soon as
you can and ask her from me--no, persuade her yourself--not to leave
Quesnay for a day or two. I mean, that she absolutely MUST NOT meet Mr.
Saffren again until we know what all this means. Will you do it?"
"That I will!" And she began hastily to get her belongings in marching
order. "I'll do anything in the world you'll let me--and oh, I hope
they can't do anything to poor, poor Mr. Saffren!"
"Our sporting friend had evidently seen him with Mrs. Harman to-day," I
said. "Do you know if they went to the beach again?"
"I only know she meant to meet him--but she told me she'd be back at
the chateau by four. If I start now--"
"Wasn't the phaeton to be sent to the inn for you?"
"Not until six," she returned briskly, folding her easel and strapping
it to her camp-stool with precision. "Isn't it shorter by the woods?"
"You've only to follow this path to the second crossing and then turn
to the right," I responded. "I shall hurry back to Madame Brossard's to
see Keredec--and here"--I extended my hand toward her traps, of which,
in a neatly practical fashion, she had made one close pack--"let me
have your things, and I'll take care of them at the inn for you.
They're heavy, and it's a long trudge."
"You have your own to carry," she answered, swinging the strap over her
shoulder. "It's something of a walk for you, too."
"No, no, let me have them," I protested, for the walk before her WAS
long and the things would be heavy indeed before it ended.
"Go your ways," she laughed, and as my hand still remained extended she
grasped it with her own and gave it a warm and friendly shake. "Hurry!"
And with an optimism which took my breath, she said, "I know YOU can
make it come out all right! Besides, I'll help you!"
With that she turned and started manfully upon her journey. I stared
after her for a moment or more, watching the pretty brown dress
flashing in and out of shadow among the ragged greeneries, shafts of
sunshine now and then flashing upon her hair. Then I picked up my own
pack and set out for the inn.
Every one knows that the more serious and urgent the errand a man may
be upon, the more incongruous are apt to be the thoughts that skip into
his mind. As I went through the woods that day, breathless with haste
and curious fears, my brain became suddenly, unaccountably busy with a
dream I had had, two nights before. I had not recalled this dream on
waking: the recollection of it came to me now for the first time. It
was a usual enough dream, wandering and unlifelike, not worth the
telling; and I had been thinking so constantly of Mrs. Harman that
there was nothing extraordinary in her worthless ex-husband's being
part of it.
And yet, looking back upon that last, hurried walk of mine through the
forest, I see how strange it was that I could not quit remembering how
in my dream I had gone motoring up Mount Pilatus with the man I had
seen so pitiably demolished on the Versailles road, two years
before--Larrabee Harman.