They resumed the conversation where they had left off.
“It seems to me,” said Bob, “from all you say, that monocle-man has been
a mighty busy person.”
“Of course you knew right along what he is. You didn’t need any
information from poor little me about him. He couldn’t fool great big
You!” she affirmed admiringly.
“I can imagine what he is—now,” observed Bob meditatively. He was
turning over in his mind what she had said about that substituted
brooch. The some one Bob had imagined he had seen in the hall, after
leaving Miss Dolly’s room, might not have been the real thief, after
all; it might have been the monocle-man on the lookout for the thief.
And perhaps the monocle-man had seen Bob. That was the reason he was
“coming for him.” Bob could imagine dear old dad’s feelings, if he (Bob)
got sent to Sing Sing. What if, instead of rustling and rising to the
occasion, in that fine, old honorable Japanese way, Bob should bring
irretrievable disgrace on an eminently respectable family name?
He could see himself in stripes now, with his head shaved, and doing the
lock-step. Perhaps, even at that moment, descriptions of him were being
sent broadcast. And if so, it would look as if he were running away from
the officers of the law, which would be tantamount to a confession of
guilt. Bob shivered. The temperamental young thing did not share his
apprehensions.
“Of course, Lord Stanfield only _thinks_ he has evidence enough to
convict you,” she said confidently. “But you’ll meet him at every point
and turn the laugh on him.”
“Oh, will I?” said Bob ironically.
“And you’ll make him feel so cheap! Of course, you’ve got something up
your sleeve—”
“Wish I had,” he muttered.
“Something deep and mysterious,” she went on in that confident tone.
“That’s why you acted so queer toward some people. You had a purpose. It
was a ruse. Wasn’t it now?” she concluded triumphantly.
“It was not.” Gruffly.
“Fibber! every time you fib, you’ve got to—” She put up her lips.
“This is getting monotonous,” grumbled Bob.
“On the contrary!” breathed the temperamental young thing. “I find it
lovely. Maybe you’ll learn how sometime.”
“Don’t want to,” he snapped.
“Oh, yes, you do. But as I was saying, you got yourself put in that
sanatorium to mislead everybody. It, too, was a ruse—a part of the
game. It’s all very clear—at least, to me!”
He stared at her. And she called _that_ clear? “When did you leave Mrs.
Ralston’s?” he demanded.
“About three hours ago. Said I’d a headache and believed I’d go to my
room. But I didn’t. I just slipped down to the village and hired a taxi.
Maybe we’d better keep our marriage a secret, at first.” Irrelevantly.
“Maybe we had,” answered Bob. And then he called out to the man in
front. “Stop a moment.”
Before Miss Dolly had time to expostulate, the driver obeyed. Bob sprang
out.
“You aren’t going to leave me, are you?” said the temperamental little
thing. “If so—” She made as if to get out, too.
“No; I’m not going to leave you just yet,” answered Bob. Then to the
driver: “See here! Your blamed machine is turned in the wrong direction.
You know where you’re going to take us?”
“New York.”
“No; back to Mrs. Ralston’s. You take the first cross-road you come to
and steer right for there.”
“You’re not to do any such thing,” called out Miss Dolly. “You’re to go
where _I_ tell you.”
“You’re to do nothing of the sort,” said Bob. “You’re to go where _I_
tell you.”
The driver scratched his head.
“Which is it to be?” asked Bob. “This is the place to have an
understanding.”
“The lady hired me,” he answered.
“Yes, and I won’t pay you at all, if you don’t mind,” said Miss Dolly in
firm musical accents.
“Guess that settles it,” observed the driver.
“You mean—?” began Bob, eying him.
“It means I obey orders. She’s my ‘fare,’ not you. We just picked you
up.”
“And that’s your last word?” Ominously.
“Say, lady”—the driver turned wearily—“have I got to suppress this
crazy man you got out of the bughouse?”
“Maybe that would be a good plan,” answered Miss Dolly, militancy now in
her tone. “That is, if he doesn’t get in, just sweet and quiet-like.”
“It’ll be twenty dollars extra,” said the man, rising. He was a big
fellow, too.
“Make it thirty,” returned Miss Dolly spiritedly. It was an issue and
had to be met. There was an accent of “On-to-Parliament!” in her voice.
One can’t show too much mercy to a “slave” when he revolts. One has to
suppress him. One has to teach him who is mistress. A stern lesson, and
the slave learns and knows his place.
“Now mind the lady and get back where you belong,” said the driver
roughly to Bob. “Your tiles are loose, and the lady knows what is good
for a dingbat like you.” Possibly he thought the display of a little
authority would be quite sufficient to intimidate a recent “patient.”
They usually became quite mild, he had heard, when the keepers talked
right up to them, like that. The effect of his language and attitude
upon Bob was not, however, quieting; something seemed to explode in his
brain and he made one spring and got a football hold; then he heaved and
the big man shot over his shoulder as if propelled from a catapult. He
came down in a ditch, where the breath seemed to be knocked out of him.
Bob got on in front. As he started the machine, the man sat up and
looked after him. He didn’t try to get up though; he just looked. No
doubt he had had the surprise of his life.
“I’ll leave the car in the village when I’m through with it,” Bob called
back. “A little walk won’t hurt you.”
The man didn’t answer. “Gee! but that’s a powerful lunatic for a poor
young lady to have on her hands!” he said to himself.
An hour or so later Bob drew up in front of Mrs. Ralston’s house. He
opened the door politely for Miss Dolly and the temperamental young
thing sprang out. The guests were still up, indulging in one of those
late dances that begin at the stroke of twelve, and the big house showed
lights everywhere. There were numerous other taxis and cars in front and
Bob’s arrival attracted no particular attention. Miss Dolly gave him a
look, militant, but still adoring. She let him see she had claws.
“Maybe I’ll tell,” she said.
“Go ahead,” he answered.
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“No.” He hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Aren’t you even sorry?” she asked, lingering.
“For what?”
“Being so rough to that poor man?”
“I’m not. Good night.”
“Good night—darling.” She threw out that last word as a challenge. It
had a tender but sibilant sound. It was a mixture of a caress and a
scratch. It meant she hadn’t given up her hold on him. He might have
defeated her in one little contest, but she would weave new ways to
entrap him. She might even manage to make him out a murderer—he had
been so many things since embarking on that mercurial truth-telling
career—and then she would give him the choice of the altar or the
chair.
He started the machine and she watched him disappear, musingly. There
was a steely light, too, in her eyes. He was a mutineer and mutineers
should, figuratively, be made to walk the plank. Should she put him in
jail and then come and weep penitently? At least, it would be thrilling.
Certainly anything was better than that cast-off feeling. She felt no
better than cast-off clothes. This great big brute of a handsome man,
instead of jumping at the chance to elope with one who had everything to
offer such a one as he, had just turned around and brought her back
home.
Maybe he thought she wasn’t worthy of him. Oh, wasn’t she? Her small
breast arose mutinously, while that cast-off sensation kept growing and
growing. After rescuing him and saving him, instead of calling her “his
beautiful doll” or other pet names, and humming glad songs to her—how
they would “row, row, row” on some beautiful river of love—or stroll,
stroll, stroll through pathways of perfume and bliss—instead of
regaling her with these and other up-to-date expressions, appropriate to
the occasion, he had repudiated her, cast her off, deposited her here on
the front steps, unceremoniously, carelessly, indifferently.
Her cheeks burned at the affront. It was too humiliating. The little
hands closed. The temperamental fingernails bit into the tender palms.
At that moment the monocle-man sauntered out of the house and on to the
veranda, near where Miss Dolly was standing. She turned to him quickly.
Her temperament had about reached the Borgia pitch.
* * * * *
Bob went on down to the village and to the taxi stand near the station
where he had promised to leave the machine. The last train had just
passed by, after depositing the last of late-comers from the gay
metropolis. Most of them looked fagged; a few were mildly “corned.” Bob
regarded them absently and then gave a violent start.
“Gee-gee!” he gasped.
There she was, in truth, the beauteous Gee-gee, and the fair Gid-up,
too! Bob gazed in consternation from reddish hair to peroxide. The two
carried grips and were dressed in their best—that is to say, each wore
the last thing in hats and the final gasp in gowns.
“Guess none of those society dames will have a thing on us, when it
comes to rags,” Gid-up murmured to Gee-gee, as they crossed the platform
with little teeny-weeny steps and headed toward a belated hack or two
and Bob’s machine. That young man yet sat on the driver’s seat of the
taxi; he was too paralyzed to move as he watched them approach. Where on
earth were Gee-gee and Gid-up going? He feared to learn. He had an awful
suspicion.
“Chauffeur!” Gee-gee raised a begloved finger as she hailed Bob. The
glove had seen better days, but Gee-gee didn’t bother much about gloves.
When she had attained the finality in hats and the _ne plus ultra_ in
skirts, hosiery and stilts (you asked for “shoes”) she hadn’t much time,
or cash, left for gloves which were always about the same old thing over
and over again, anyway. “Chauffeur!” repeated Gee-gee.
“Meaning me?” inquired Bob in muffled tones. Why didn’t she take a hack?
He had drawn up his taxi toward the dark end of the platform.
“Yes, meaning you!” replied Gee-gee sharply. “Can’t say I see any other
human spark-plug in this one-night burg.”
“What can I do for you?” stammered Bob. He was glad it was so shadowy
where he sat, and he devoutly hoped he would escape recognition.
“What can he do? Did you hear that?” Gee-gee appealed indignantly to
Gid-up. “I don’t suppose a great jink like you knows enough to get down
and take a lady’s bag? Or, to open the door of the limousine?”
“Well, you see this machine’s engaged,” mumbled Bob. “No, I don’t mean
that.” Hastily. “I mean I’m not the driver of this car. It doesn’t
belong to me. And that’s the truth.”
“Where is the driver?” Haughtily. “Send for him at once.” Gee-gee did
not like to be crossed. Gid-up was more good-natured; she only shifted
her gum.
“I can’t send for him,” said Bob drawing his hat down farther over his
face. “He’s down the road.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, he’s walking; maybe, he’s sitting in the ditch.”
Gee-gee stared, but she could see only a big shadowy form; she couldn’t
make out Bob’s features. “The boob’s got bees,” she confided to Gid-up,
and then more imperatively: “Are you going to get off your perch and let
us in?”
“Beg to be excused,” muttered Bob. “Hack over there! Quick! Before some
one else gets it.”
That started them away. The teeny-weeny steps encompassed, accelerando,
the distance between Bob and his old friend, the hackman who had laughed
at what he supposed were Bob’s eccentricities. The hackman got down and
hoisted in the grips.
“Where to?” he said.
Bob listened expectantly. He feared what was coming.
“Mrs. Ralston’s,” answered Gee-gee haughtily. At the same time Gid-up
threw away her gum. She would have to practise being without it.
Bob drearily watched the hack roll away. He refused another offer of a
fare—this time from a bibulous individual who had supped, not wisely,
but too well—and nearly got into a fight because the bibulous
individual was persistent and discursive. Then Bob walked away; he
didn’t think where he was going; he only wanted to get away from that
chauffeur job. What would come of these new developments, he wondered?
The temperamental young thing was “peeved,” and the ponies (not equine)
had come galloping into the scene at the critical moment.
He tried to account for their presence. Undoubtedly it was a coup of
Mrs. Dan’s. When she learned that dear Dan was bringing
counter-influence to bear upon her witnesses, she arranged to remove
them. She brought them right into her own camp. How? Gee-gee and Gid-up
did a really clever and fairly refined musical and dancing act together.
Mrs. Ralston frequently called upon professional talent to help her out
in the entertaining line. It is true, Gee-gee and Gid-up were hardly
“high enough up,” or well enough known, to commend themselves ordinarily
to the good hostess in search of the best and most expensive artists,
but then Mrs. Dan may have brought influence to bear upon Mrs. Ralston.
And Mrs. Clarence may have seconded Mrs. Dan’s efforts. They may have
said Gee-gee and Gid-up were dashing and different, and would be, at
least, a change. They may have exaggerated the talents of the pair and
pictured them as rising stars whom it would be a credit for Mrs. Ralston
to discover. The hostess was extremely good-natured and liked to oblige
her friends, or to comply with their requests.
Of course, the young ladies would not appear on the scene as Gee-gee and
Gid-up, in all probability. No doubt, they would assume other and more
appropriate cognomens (non equine). The last show they had played in,
had just closed, so a little society engagement, with strong publicity
possibilities, on the side, could not be anything but appealing,
especially to Gee-gee with her practical tendencies. Of course, they
would have to make a brave effort to put on their society manners, but
Gid-up had once had a home and Gee-gee knew how people talked in the
society novels. Trust Gee-gee to adapt herself!
Bob felt he could figure it all out. Their coming so late would seem to
indicate they had been sent for in haste. Mrs. Dan, perhaps, had become
alarmed and wasn’t going to take any more chances with the commodore who
was capable of sequestering her witnesses, of inveigling them on board
one of his friend’s yachts, for example, and then marooning them on a
desert isle, or transporting them to one of those cafe chantants of
Paris. Besides, with that after-midnight “hug” and “grizzly” going on,
Mrs. Dan knew it wouldn’t much matter how late the pair arrived.
By the time Bob had argued this out, he was a long way from the village.
He had been walking mechanically toward the Ralston house and now found
himself on the verge of the grounds. After a moment’s hesitation, he
went in and walked up to the house. The dancing had, at length, ceased
and the big edifice was now almost dark. The inmates, or most of them,
seemed to have retired. A few of the men might yet be lingering in the
smoking-room or over billiards. For a minute or two Bob stood in silent
meditation. Then his glance swept toward a certain trellis, and a sudden
thought smote him.
Wasn’t he still Mrs. Ralston’s guest? The period for which he had been
invited hadn’t expired and he hadn’t, as yet, been asked to vacate the
premises. True, some people had forcibly, and in a most highhanded
manner, removed him for a brief period, but they had not been acting for
Mrs. Ralston, or by her orders. He was, therefore, legitimately still a
guest and it was obviously his duty not to waive the responsibility. He
might not want to come back but he had to. That even-tenor-of-his-way
condition demanded it. Besides, manhood revolted against retreat under
fire. To run away, as he had told himself in the car with Miss Dolly,
was a confession of guilt. He must face them once more—even Miss Gerald
and the hammer-thrower. He could in fancy, see himself handcuffed in her
presence, but he couldn’t help it. Better that, than to be hunted in the
byways and hovels of New York! Oddly, too, the idea of a big comfortable
bed appealed to him.
He climbed up the trellis and stood on the balcony upon which his room
opened. Pushing up a window, he entered and feeling around in the
darkness he came upon his grip where he had left it. He drew the
curtains, turned on the lights and undressed. He acted just as if
nothing had happened. Then, donning his pajamas, he turned out the
lights, drew back the curtains once more, and tumbled into the downy.