AN EVENING IN THE RIVER
Though San Marco is a particularly gaudy tassel on the fringe of the
tourist's South, it was to the north that Mr. Richard Minot first
turned. One hour later he made his appearance amid the gold braid and
dignity of the Plaza lobby.
The young man behind the desk--an exquisite creature done in Charles
Dana Gibson's best manner--knew when to be affable. He also knew when
not to be affable. Upon Mr. Minot he turned the cold fishy stare he
kept for such as were not guests under his charge.
"What is your business with Lord Harrowby?" he inquired suspiciously.
"Since when," asked Mr. Minot brightly, "have you been in his
lordship's confidence?"
This was the young man's cue to wince. But hotel clerks are
notoriously poor wincers.
"It is customary--" he began with perfect poise.
"I know," said Mr. Minot. "But then, I'm a sort of a friend of his
lordship."
"A sort of a friend?" How well he lifted his eyebrows!
"Something like that. I believe I'm to be best man at his wedding."
Ah, yes; that splendid young man knew when to be affable. Affability
swamped him now.
"Boy!" he cried. "Take this gentleman's card to Lord Harrowby."
A bell-boy in a Zenda uniform accepted the card, laid it upon a silver
tray, glued it down with a large New York thumb, and strayed off down
gilded corridors shouting, "Lord Harrowby."
Whereat all the pretty little debutantes who happened to be decorating
the scene at the moment felt their pampered hearts go pit-a-pat and,
closing their eyes, saw visions and dreamed dreams.
Lord Harrowby was at luncheon, and sent word for Mr. Minot to join him.
Entering the gay dining-room, Minot saw at the far end the blond and
noble head he sought. He threaded his way between the tables.
Although he was an unusually attractive young man, he had never
experienced anything like the array of stares turned upon him ere he
had gone ten feet. "What the devil's the matter?" he asked himself.
"I seem to be the cynosure of neighboring eyes, and then some." He did
not dream that it was because he was passing through a dining-room of
democrats to grasp the hand of a lord.
"My dear fellow, I'm delighted, I assure you--" Really, Lord
Harrowby's face should have paid closer attention to his words. Just
now it failed ignominiously in the matter of backing them up.
"Thank you," Mr. Minot replied. "Your lordship is no doubt surprised
at seeing me so soon--"
"Well--er--not at all. Shall I order luncheon?"
"No, thanks. I had a bite on the way up." And Mr. Minot dropped into
the chair which an eager waiter held ready. "Lord Harrowby, I trust
you are not going to be annoyed by what I have to tell you."
His lordship's face clouded, and worry entered the mild blue eyes.
"I hope there's nothing wrong about the policy."
"Nothing whatever. Lord Harrowby, Mr. Jephson trusts you--implicitly."
"So I perceived this morning. I was deeply touched."
"It was--er--touching." Minot smiled a bit cynically. "Understanding
as you do how Mr. Jephson feels toward you, you will realize that it is
in no sense a reflection on you that our office, viewing this matter in
a purely business light, has decided that some one must go to San Marco
with you. Some one who will protect Mr. Jephson's interests."
"Your office," said his lordship, reflecting. "You mean Mr. Thacker,
don't you?"
Could it be that the fellow was not so slow as he seemed?
"Mr. Thacker is the head of our office," smiled Mr. Minot. "It has
been thought best that some one go with you, Lord Harrowby. Some one
who will work night and day to see to it that Miss Meyrick does not
change her mind. I--I am the some one. I hope you are not annoyed."
"My dear chap! Not in the least. When I said this morning that I was
quite set on this marriage, I was frightfully sincere." And now his
lordship's face, frank and boyish, in nowise belied his words. "I
shall be deeply grateful for any aid Lloyds can give me. And I am
already grateful that Lloyds has selected you to be my ally."
Really, very decent of him. Dick Minot bowed.
"You go south to-night?" he ventured.
"Yes. On the yacht _Lileth_, belonging to my friend, Mr. Martin Wall.
You have heard of him?"
"No. I can't say that I have."
"Indeed! I understood he was very well-known here. A big, bluff,
hearty chap. We met on the steamer coming over and became very good
friends."
A pause.
"You will enjoy meeting Mr. Wall," said his lordship meaningly, "when I
introduce you to him--in San Marco."
"Lord Harrowby," said Minot slowly, "my instructions are to go south
with you--on the yacht."
For a moment the two men stared into each other's eyes. Then Lord
Harrowby pursed his thin lips and gazed out at Fifth Avenue, gay and
colorful in the February sun.
"How extremely unfortunate," he drawled. "It is not my boat, Mr.
Minot. If it were, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to
extend an invitation to you."
"I understand," said Minot. "But I am to go--invited or uninvited."
"In my interests?" asked Harrowby sarcastically.
"As the personal conductor of the bride-groom."
"Mr. Minot--really--"
"I have no wish to be rude, Lord Harrowby. But it is our turn to be a
little fantastic now. Could any thing be more fantastic than boarding
a yacht uninvited?"
"But Miss Meyrick--on whom, after all, Mr. Jephson's fate depends--is
already in Florida."
"With her lamp trimmed and burning. How sad, your lordship, if some
untoward event should interfere with the coming of the bridegroom."
"I perceive," smiled Lord Harrowby, "that you do not share Mr.
Jephson's confidence in my motives."
"This is New York, and a business proposition. Every man in New York
is considered guilty until he proves himself innocent--and then we move
for a new trial."
"Nevertheless"--Lord Harrowby's mouth hardened--"I must refuse to ask
you to join me on the _Lileth_."
"Would you mind telling me where the boat is anchored?"
"Somewhere in the North River, I believe. I don't know, really."
"You don't know? Won't it be a bit difficult--boarding a yacht when
you don't know where to find it?"
"My dear chap--" began Harrowby angrily.
"No matter." Mr. Minot stood up. "I'll say au revoir, Lord
Harrowby--until to-night."
"Or until we meet in San Marco." Lord Harrowby regained his good
nature. "I'm extremely sorry to be so impolite. But I believe we're
going to be very good friends, none the less."
"We're going to be very close to each other, at any rate," Minot
smiled. "Once more--au revoir, your lordship."
"Pardon me--good-by," answered Lord Harrowby with decision.
And Richard Minot was again threading his way between awed tables.
Walking slowly down Fifth Avenue, Mr. Minot was forced to admit that he
had not made a very auspicious beginning in his new role. Why had Lord
Harrowby refused so determinedly to invite him aboard the yacht that
was to bear the eager bridegroom south? And what was he to do now?
Might he not discover where the yacht lay, board it at dusk, and
conceal himself in a vacant cabin until the party was well under way?
It sounded fairly simple.
But it proved otherwise. He was balked from the outset. For two
hours, in the library of his club, in telephone booths and elsewhere,
he sought for some tangible evidence of the existence of a wealthy
American named Martin Wall and a yacht called the _Lileth_. City
directories and yacht club year books alike were silent. Myth, myth,
myth, ran through Dick Minot's mind.
Was Lord Harrowby--as they say at the Gaiety--spoofing him? He mounted
to the top of a bus, and was churned up Riverside Drive. Along the
banks of the river lay dozens of yachts, dismantled, swathed in winter
coverings. Among the few that appeared ready to sail his keen eye
discerned no _Lileth_.
Somewhat discouraged, he returned to his club and startled a waiter by
demanding dinner at four-thirty in the afternoon. Going then to his
rooms, he exchanged his overcoat for a sweater, his hat for a golf cap.
At five-thirty, a spy for the first time in his eventful young life, he
stood opposite the main entrance of the Plaza. Near by ticked a taxi,
engaged for the evening.
An hour passed. Lights, laughter, limousines, the cold moon adding its
brilliance to that already brilliant square, the winter wind sighing
through the bare trees of the park--New York seemed a city of dreams.
Suddenly the chauffeur of Minot's taxi stood uneasily before him.
"Say, you ain't going to shoot anybody, are you?" he asked.
"Oh, no--you needn't be afraid of that."
"I ain't afraid. I just thought I'd take off my license number if you
was."
Ah, yes--New York! City of beautiful dreams!
Another hour slipped by. And only the little taxi meter was busy,
winking mechanically at the unresponsive moon.
At eight-fifteen a tall blond man, in a very expensive fur coat which
impressed even the cab starter, came down the steps of the hotel. He
ordered a limousine and was whirled away to the west. At eight-fifteen
and a half Mr. Minot followed.
Lord Harrowby's car proceeded to the drive and, turning, sped north
between the moonlit river and the manlit apartment-houses. In the
neighborhood of One Hundred and Tenth Street it came to a stop, and as
Minot's car passed slowly by, he saw his lordship standing in the
moonlight paying his chauffeur. Hastily dismissing his own car, he ran
back in time to see Lord Harrowby disappear down one of the stone
stairways into the gloom of the park that skirts the Hudson. He
followed.
On and on down the steps and bare wind-swept paths he hurried, until
finally the river, cold, silvery, serene, lay before him. Some thirty
yards from shore he beheld the lights of a yacht flashing against the
gloomy background of Jersey. The _Lileth_!
He watched Lord Harrowby cross the railroad tracks to a small landing,
and leap from that into a boat in charge of a solitary rower. Then he
heard the soft swish of oars, and watched the boat draw away from
shore. He stood there in the shadow until he had seen his lordship run
up the accommodation ladder to the _Lileth's_ deck.
He, too, must reach the _Lileth_, and at once. But how? He glanced
quickly up and down the bank. A small boat was tethered near by--he
ran to it, but a chain and padlock held it firmly. He must hurry.
Aboard the yacht, dancing impatiently on the bosom of Hendrick Hudson's
important discovery, he recognized the preparations for an early
departure.
Minot stood for a moment looking at the wide wet river. It was
February, yes, but February of the mildest winter New York had
experienced in years. At the seashore he had always dashed boldly in
while others stood on the sands and shivered. He dashed in now.
The water was cold, shockingly cold. He struck out swiftly for the
yacht. Fortunately the accommodation ladder had not yet been taken up;
in another moment he was clinging, a limp and dripping spectacle, to
the rail of the _Lileth_.
Happily that side of the deck was just then deserted. A row of outside
cabin doors in the bow met Minot's eye. Stealthily he swished toward
them.
And, in the last analysis, the only thing between him and them proved
to be a large commanding gentleman, whose silhouette was particularly
militant and whose whole bearing was unfavorable.
"Mr. Wall, I presume," said Minot through noisy teeth.
"Correct," said the gentleman. His voice was sharp, unfriendly. But
the moonlight, falling on his face, revealed it as soft, genial,
pudgy--the inviting sort of countenance to which, under the melting
influence of Scotch and soda, one feels like relating the sad story of
one's wasted life.
Though soaked and quaking, Mr. Minot aimed at nonchalance.
"Well," he said, "you might be good enough to tell Lord Harrowby that
I've arrived."
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"I'm a friend of his lordship. He'll be delighted, I'm sure. Just
tell him, if you'll be so kind."
"Did he invite you aboard?"
"Not exactly. But he'll be glad to see me. Especially if you mention
just one word to him."
"What word?"
Mr. Minot leaned airily against the rail.
"Lloyds," he said
An expression of mingled rage and dismay came into the pudgy face. It
purpled in the moonlight. Its huge owner came threateningly toward the
dripping Minot.
"Back into the river for yours," he said savagely.
Almost lovingly--so it might have seemed to the casual observer--he
wound his thick arms about the dripping Minot. Up and down the deck
they turkey-trotted.
"Over the rail and into the river," breathed Mr. Wall on Minot's damp
neck.
Two large and capable sailormen came at sound of the struggle.
"Here, boys," Wall shouted. "Help me toss this guy over."
Willing hands seized Minot at opposite poles.
"One--two--" counted the sailormen.
"Well, good night, Mr. Wall," remarked Minot.
"Three!"
A splash, and he was ingloriously in the cold river again. He turned
to the accommodation ladder, but quick hands drew it up. Evidently
there was nothing to do but return once more to little old New York.
He rested for a moment, treading water, seeing dimly the tall homes of
the cave dwellers, and over them the yellow glare of Broadway. Then he
struck out. When he reached the shore, and turned, the _Lileth_ was
already under way, moving slowly down the silver path of the moon. An
old man was launching the padlocked rowboat.
"Great night for a swim," he remarked sarcastically.
"L-lovely," chattered Minot. "Say, do you know anything about the
yacht that's just steamed out?"
"Not as much as I'd like ter. Used ter belong to a man in Chicago.
Yesterday the caretaker told me she'd been rented fer the winter. Seen
him to-night in a gin mill with money to throw to the birds. Looks
funny to me."
"Thanks."
"Man came this afternoon and painted out her old name. Changed it t'
_Lileth_. Mighty suspicious."
"What was the old name?"
"The _Lady Evelyn_. If I was you, I'd get outside a drink, and quick.
Good night."
As Minot dashed up the bank, he heard the swish of the old man's oars
behind. He ran all the way to his rooms, and after a hot bath and the
liquid refreshment suggested by the waterman, called Mr. Thacker on the
telephone.
"Well, Richard?" that gentleman inquired.
"Sad news. Little Cupid's had a set-back. Tossed into the Hudson when
he tried to board the yacht that is taking Lord Harrowby south."
"No? Is that so?" Mr. Thacker's tone was contemplative. "Well,
Richard, the Palm Beach Special leaves at midnight. Better be on it.
Better go down and help the bride with her trousseau."
"Yes, sir. I'll do that. And I'll see to it that she has her lamp
trimmed and burning. Considering that her father's in the oil
business, that ought not to be--"
"I can't hear you, Richard. What are you saying?"
"Nothing--er--Mr. Thacker. Look up a yacht called the _Lady Evelyn_.
Chicago man, I think--find out if he's rented it, and to whom. It's
the boat Harrowby went south on."
"All right, Richard. Good-by, my boy. Write me whenever you need
money."
"Perhaps I can't write as often as that. But I'll send you bulletins
from time to time."
"I depend on you, Richard. Jephson must not lose."
"Leave it to me. The Palm Beach Special at midnight. And after
that--Miss Cynthia Meyrick!"