The earlier hours of that night aged without departure from its
programme as arranged by Morphew. With entire apathy Lanyard made
himself flexible to every maneuvre which that one or Pagan recommended
in bogus anxiety "to armour-plate his alibi"--Pagan's phrase, meaning so
to colour appearances in advance that nobody would have any excuse for
believing Lanyard had not been far from the theatre of the contemplated
crime at the hour of its commission. Unshaken assurance that the
intrigue had a single object, his permanent removal from Morphew's path
at the smallest cost in embarrassment to the latter, prevented Lanyard's
lending himself to the artful but meaningless dodges they proposed with
anything but the compliance of complete fatigue. It couldn't matter to
him what people might think and say of him after that event to whose
occurrence he was looking forward with a resignation that, alone of all
its preliminary business, afforded him a certain thrill of interest; he
wondered a little at the manifestation of such indifference to life in
one who had always ere now loved life so well . . .
The sequelae of that mental illness which had blotted seven months out
of memory no doubt had something to do with the psychic background to
the strange frame of mind which now was his--impossible to surmise how
much or how little, lacking as he did the true data of that eclipse,
having to guide speculation only Liane's account and Morphew's, each
fragmentary and replete with inherent discrepancies as well as in
conflict with the other on points of first importance. And even given a
faithful record of all those days and nights when the Lone Wolf had
walked and the mind of Michael Lanyard had been dark, still it would
need a psychoanalyst to say in what manner and to what degree the
after-effects of such an experience might be influencing his mental
processes of today.
Not that it mattered now, not that Lanyard really cared; for him it
sufficed to have in his heart tonight this living pain of longing for a
love forever forfeit through no conscious error or omission, through no
volition of his own.
Eight months ago he had reconciled himself to the thought of renouncing
his love that Eve might never be made to repent her response, that her
faith in him might endure. But since blind fate had conspired with human
malice to uproot faith, stamp it out in that kind bosom and destroy it
altogether, life held for him no more promise to make it worth the
living, he could look back into the very face of death and know never a
tremor of dismay. As even now . . .
It was quite true, he was not afraid. He searched his heart and found it
steadfast, was confident it would not fail him when his hour struck. He
was willing enough to go, only stipulating that when he went he would
not go alone, Morphew must go with him. Upon this he was determined, and
with so passionate a fixity of purpose that he wondered how Morphew
could be in his company and remain insensible to what was in his mind.
They sat together, otherwise alone, long after midnight, in a sector of
the veranda as dark as the house behind it. In the entrance-hall a
night-light burned, throwing its dim fan of rays down the steps to the
porte-cochère. Liane and Folly had some time since gone to bed, leaving
Lanyard to enjoy a "conference" with Morphew of the latter's allegation,
before leaving to return to town in the car that had fetched him. The
servants, too, were all presumably abed, since Morphew had faithfully
acted out the farce, for the benefit of Lanyard, of telling the butler
not to wait up and promising to close up the front part of the house in
person.
Not long after, the landaulet had ground its tyres upon the gravel of
the drive, had stopped beneath the porte-cochère long enough to permit
Pagan and Morphew to speed an imaginary parting guest with farewells
loud and clear, then had crunched noisily away with Pagan as its
passenger, under-studying Lanyard, to be set down outside the gates ere
the car proceeded to New York; while Lanyard and Morphew had settled
down to await his furtive return afoot.
A lengthy period of what would have been quiet had Morphew not been, as
usual, masticating an unlighted cigar, ended in a snort of complacence:
"Well! guess we're all set . . ."
"Not altogether."
"What's the matter? Haven't you had chance enough to study those
diagrams?"
"I know them by heart. Nevertheless, you have forgotten one essential of
my equipment."
"What's that? A jimmy?"
"I seldom use one, certainly shall have no use for one tonight."
"Don't see how you expect to get into the library without something of
the sort."
"O you of little faith!" Lanyard laughed softly. "That is a matter for
my skill."
"Well! maybe you do know your business best. But considering you don't
use tools or soup on a box, damned if I see what else it can be you
miss."
"A pistol, monsieur."
Distaste for the suggestion was evidenced by a delay which prefaced the
response: "Thought you didn't go in for that sort of thing."
"What sort of a thing?"
"Toting a gun on a job. Thought it was against your principles to be
fixed to shed blood if you got in a jam."
"It was. It was likewise contrary to the code of the Lone Wolf to work
with accomplices. You have prescribed a new technique for me altogether;
you can hardly object if I consent to adopt it only upon provisions
which seem to me wise. After all, it is my liberty that is
involved--very possibly my life, too."
"All rot. There isn't the slightest danger to you on this job,
everything like that has been looked out for."
"You feel sure, monsieur?"
"Positive."
After a pause Lanyard asked: "Tell me, monsieur: have you noticed that,
since we have been sitting here, a man has stolen up behind that clump
of shrubbery yonder and is keeping watch on us?"
"What's that?" The legs of Morphew's chair grated harshly on the
flooring. "What man? Where?"
"You didn't see him, then, as he came skulking across the lawns?"
"No--"
"Then you are not in a position to assert the fellow is not where I have
indicated?"
"No--but see here--"
"Be at ease--there is nobody." Lanyard laughed quietly. "But neither am
I in a position to assert--and stake my life on it--that I will find
nobody on guard in the Vandergrift library tonight. So I will have a
pistol for self-protection when I go to pay my call."
"You make that a positive condition?"
"Assuredly, monsieur. And if it comes to that--why not?"
"Suppose you'll have to have it, then."
"A supposition that does great credit to monsieur's efficiency of
apprehension. If, however, you are afraid to trust me with firearms, I
will cheerfully consent to a postponement till you have had time to
think the matter over."
"Why should I be afraid to trust you with a gat?"
"The very question I have been asking myself. Believe me, monsieur,
confidence alone can beget confidence."
"You've got me all wrong," Morphew sulkily insisted. "Oh, well! if
you've got to have the thing--here."
An automatic pistol changed hands. Making sure that the safety catch was
set--which proved that the weapon was loaded and ready for use--Lanyard
contentedly dropped it into his pocket.
His first small success to break that tedious tale of reverses . . .
"At last," he announced, "the faithful Pagan!"
"Where?" Morphew goggled blindly at the gloom that clothed the grounds.
"I don't see him . . ."
"If your sight by night is no better than that," Lanyard observed, "I
feel sure, for the first time, it wasn't you who played Lone Wolf while
my back was turned."
Morphew swung himself sharply--and cursed himself sotto-voce for the
constructive self-betrayal.
"What put that silly fool idea into your head?"
"Don't be angry, monsieur--it was not said seriously."
A shadow picked out with the white wedge of a shirt-bosom sped lightly
across the gravel and up the steps. Morphew's cluck brought it fawning
to his side.
"His master's voice," Lanyard chuckled.
"See here!" Pagan bristled belligerently under the lee of his patron,
"d'you know you're damned impertinent?"
"Yes."
If Pagan had a retort adequate to the insolence of that monosyllable,
Morphew forbade it.
"Here! that's enough. You've been a hell of a long time; what kept you?"
"You shouldn't risk leaving our good friend alone so long," Lanyard cut
in. "He's too trustful, people take advantage of his confidence in human
nature and over-reach him. Regard that even I have been able to wheedle
a pistol out of him while you were playing chuckfarthing on the
tombstones--or whatever the mischief was you've been up to."
"Is that right?" Consternation jarred the toady out of his mean rôle for
an instant. "What the devil--"
"Calm yourself, my good Pagan. If your terrors were not baseless, I
would be making good use of the weapon this instant--if I had waited so
long--instead of sitting here and playing the deuce with your nerves."
"Cut it out, can't you?" Morphew muttered. "This is no time to be
squabbling like a couple of kids. You need every minute you've got to
run over your plans--"
"Quite unnecessary, monsieur; my mind is already made up."
"All the same, it's better we should leave you to think things over--"
"I shall miss you like fun."
"Besides, it's only half an hour more now; and Pete and I want to be in
bed and sound asleep by the time you go into action. Anything more you
want to take up with me?"
"At this moment, monsieur--nothing."
"Then we'll be going." Morphew heaved out of his chair. "Good night,"
he mumbled in heavy effort to sound well-disposed. "Don't let 'em put
anything over on you--watch your step."
"I shall not fail to do so." Lanyard was so occupied with cigarette-case
and matches that he didn't see the hand which Morphew half-heartedly
offered and with ill-disguised relief withdrew. "And you, too,
monsieur--dream sweetly and--but surely there must be some appropriate
American expression--don't fall out of bed!"
Pagan offered slightly curdled noises of valediction. Lanyard accepted
them for what they were worth and dismissed their maker with the same
gesture. Like lion and jackal--like a corpulent sloth of a lion attended
by an exceptionally spry and pert jackal--the two familiars went into
the house.
The front doors were closed and bolted, the shine of their fan-light
grew more dull, the stairs complained of a weighty and deliberate tread,
windows in the second storey burned brightly for several minutes,
throwing saffron beams over the edge of the veranda roof to stain the
lawns, then were darkened, Lanyard imagined that he heard a
creak--Morphew's bed, or some door resenting an attempt to open it by
stealth--and heard nothing more from the interior of the house.
There was no real stillness where he sat, on the edge of the open night.
A wind soft and warm was blowing, gravid with presentiments of rain;
occasional gusts of sterner stuff wrung aeolian roars from tormented
tree tops, sharpened the rattle of leaves incessantly a-shiver, and sent
strange, shapeless shadows scurrying across the lawns like spirits of
darkness reft from their moorings in shrubbery and undergrowth. The moon
had set, the stars were few and far and faint, vast convoys of cloud
cruising beneath them drenched the world with Cimmerian mirk for minutes
at a time; a night made to the order of sinners and spies . . .
He knew very well he was spied upon even then, while he sat small and
still, his cigarette burning itself out a dozen feet away on the drive,
the phosphorescent dial of his watch in the close cup of his palm. A
quarter to three--five minutes more . . . He had told Morphew the truth
about the man whom he had seen steal up to stand watch over them--more
accurately, over Lanyard--from the cover of a mass of shrubbery; had
lied in denying the discovery; both for sheer mischievous enjoyment of
Morphew's loss of countenance when he saw the whole tissue of his scheme
imperiled by the mischance, as he must have reckoned it, of a botched
job of surveillance.
Taking fright of what he had overheard Lanyard say, likely enough, that
spy had made early occasion to seek a safer hiding place. But nothing
persuaded Lanyard that he had marked down the only man assigned to the
duty of seeing that he performed in faithful accord with his
commitments. He counted confidently on every step of his private via
dolorosa being dogged by a corporal's guard of shadows . . .
It was, however, in his mind to give them something less elusive than
_his_ shadow to prove their skill with . . .
At ten minutes to three he pocketed his watch, opened the large blade
of the pen-knife that had thoughtfully been provided him, and inched
forward in his chair, eyes to the sky. And when the next great continent
of cloud had blacked out the stars for a space and passed, Lanyard's
place was vacant; and he, standing on the inside of the french window
through which he had in effect dissolved, without causing a sound more
than the thin click of a latch prized back by the knife blade, would
have risked a round wager that nobody had seen him leave his chair.
He stood in the drawing-room, with every faculty at concert pitch, for
more than a minute. But nothing stirred in the entrance-hall, so far as
that was disclosed by a wide arched doorway, and he heard no sound from
upstairs. Another arched opening joined the drawing to the dining-room,
which last was quite black; but he chose that way to his goal rather
than brave the lights in the entrance-hall, passed on to the butler's
pantry and there hit upon what he had been seeking--the service
stairway, unlighted and, at least to the pressure of practiced feet,
agreeably taciturn.
Delivered by this route into the hallway of the second storey, and
guided by prior acquaintance with the location of Morphew's bedchamber,
Lanyard paused outside its door to unlatch the safety device on his
commandeered pistol, then with what was equivalent to a single supple
movement let himself into the room.
But the pistol, trained on the bed the moment his shoulders felt the
door behind them, fell immediately to his side; eyes that had faithfully
guided the errant footsteps of the Lone Wolf through many a blacker
night needed no light to assure them that the room was untenanted.
He reminded himself that Morphew's bedchamber was linked with Pagan's by
way of an intervening dressing-room, and found the communicating doors
not locked. But Pagan too, it appeared, had been perfidiously remiss in
the matter of going to bed. Neither could Lanyard see anything to prove
that either man had changed a garment or stopped in his room longer than
the lights had burned; which had been just long enough to cover the time
it ordinarily takes a man to shed his clothes and otherwise prepare for
bed.
In that first dash of disappointment Lanyard was tempted to believe that
Morphew's bag of tricks boasted as deep a bottom as his own. He was
criminally spendthrift with his time, however, every second that he
delayed there, scolding himself for his want of prevision, his idiocy in
trusting the pair of them an inch out of his sight--while they were
abroad, out there in the night, marshalling their forces, picketing
every possible avenue of escape, leaving open to him only the way he was
pledged to go--and setting their trap at its end.
He returned the way he had come, opened the door of Morphew's room,
slipped out with all haste compatible with prudence--and found his
retreat cut off.
In night dress and négligé Folly McFee stood between him and the head of
the main staircase, which he would have to pass to regain the service
stairs.
The hallway was without light other than leakage from the entrance-hall
by way of the staircase well, a faint diffusion, barely enough to
define the shadows, seemingly enough for Folly notwithstanding, since
she betrayed neither dread of the marauder nor doubt of his identity,
nor yet any astonishment to see him there who should have been twenty
miles away.
In accents circumspect but crisp and even she demanded: "What are you
doing there?"
With a shrug Lanyard put away his pistol. He had been wretchedly
premature, he perceived, when, having bluffed Morphew into giving him
that weapon, he had congratulated himself on the turn it signalized in
the tide of his luck.
"Dropping in on your dear betrothed," he replied, moving nearer, "just
by way of giving him a glad surprise."
She had no patience for such ill-timed levity. "What do you mean? What
did you want with Morphew?"
"If you must know, I meant to invite him to take a walk with me."
"At the pistol's point!"
"Precisely."
"Well!"--a note of scorn sounded in her voice, or Lanyard was
deceived--"why didn't you? Wouldn't he go?"
"I regret to report that the gentleman is not at home."
"Not--!" Acute dismay drove the woman back to the rail round the well. A
hand flew to her lips as if to muffle them. "Morphew isn't in his room?"
"Neither is Pagan; I'm afraid they are up to some sort of naughtiness."
"For God's sake! don't joke." Folly flew back to him, laid hold of his
arm with hands of almost savage entreaty. "Don't you see your danger?
Don't you _know_ what they intend?"
"Too well. That's why I wanted Morphew's company on my walk--not the
best life insurance one could wish, but better than none."
"Ah! but why"--now the woman was almost sobbing--"_why_ didn't you run
for it while you had a chance?"
"For the best of all reasons--I hadn't the chance."
"But they left you alone down there on the veranda--"
"Half a minute." Lanyard firmly freed his arm and caught her wrists
instead, applying pressure enough to command attention. "You knew that
much, knew I hadn't gone off in that car--"
"Of course."
"How much more do you know?"
"There isn't time to tell you. Be content that I know everything--"
"Why he brought me here tonight?" She nodded. "What he's forced me to
promise I'd do?"
"Everything, I tell you!"
"In the name of wonder! how?"
She gave no answer. The quiet of the hour took up their hurried,
low-pitched murmurs as blotting-paper takes up ink. They stood without
moving, close together, like lovers. He was aware of the hastened
movement of her bosom, and though the glow from below was too feeble to
read her face by, fancied that her eyes were louring.
"Tell me how you know . . ."
"Please! you hurt." She made him loose her wrists, yet did not move
beyond his reach. "Enough that I do know," her whisper insisted. "My
name may be Folly, but I'll prove to you yet I'm far from a fool."
"You claim that," Lanyard retorted, "yet you're going to marry
Morphew--"
"And you believe it!" She laughed bitterly. "Now you tell me, which of
us is the fool?"
"It was you who informed me. How do I know what or what not to believe?
I'm like a man newly blinded, groping my way round a strange house,
hoping against hope to find a friend's hand--"
"Here . . ."
Lanyard set his lips to the hand Folly flung him, and folded it between
his own.
"Then tell me--"
"I can't, there's no time. You must go--go at once--save yourself before
they can come back and catch you here."
"Not a step till I know."
"Oh, you will drive me mad!" Amazingly, on top of that, the slender body
shook with guarded laughter. "Very well, then! I'll tell you--but on two
conditions: You must promise me to go immediately after, and not to let
Morphew suspect. I want to be the first to tell him, and see his face
when he learns . . . I've had dictographs wired in all through the
house."
"But--good God--for what purpose?"
[Illustration: CRANE LEARNS THAT HIS CONFIDENCE IN THE LONE WOLF'S
CAPACITY FOR REGENERATION HAS NOT BEEN MISPLACED.]
"You're _so_ stupid!" The rug deadened the stamp of a frivolous slipper.
"Why do you think I care whether you go or stay? Why do you suppose I
ever let them think they'd got round me again? Only because I wanted to
help . . ."
"For my sake!"
"You're not really stupid, you know," Folly commented, and whipped her
hand back into her own keeping. "You've known all along . . . Now keep
your promise and go. Get as far away as you can and . . . Give me a ring
in the morning, I'll tell you what has happened."
"'What has happened'!" On the point of taking her at her word, Lanyard
checked in suspicion. "What can happen, if I let Morphew down?"
"You don't think that would stop him? You don't know that monster. I
heard him tell Pagan, if you should fail him tonight, refuse to go
through or succeed in escaping, there would be a robbery just the same,
and of course you'd get all the credit."
"You were right," Lanyard affirmed. "There's no time to waste."
Too late the young woman saw her error and sought to detain him by
putting herself in his path.
"What are you going to do?"
"Bid you good night."
Lanyard's hands clipped her elbows to her sides and lifted her bodily
till her face was level with his own. Soundly if hastily kissed, she was
set to one side, and when she recovered was alone.