A NOTE, SOME FANCIES, AND AN EXPEDITION IN QUEST OF FACTS
Dillingford gave him a lighted candle at the desk and he started
upstairs, his mind full of the events and conjectures of the day.
Uppermost in his thoughts was the dazzling vision of the afternoon, and
the fleeting smile that had come to him through the leafy interstices.
As he entered the room, his eyes fell upon a white envelope at his
feet. It had been slipped under the door since he left the room an hour
before.
Terse reminder from the prudent Mr. Jones! His bill for the day! He
picked it up, glanced at the inscription, and at once altered his
opinion. His full name was there in the handwriting of a woman. For a
moment he was puzzled; then he thought of Miss Thackeray. A note of
thanks, no doubt, unpleasantly fulsome! Vaguely annoyed, he ripped open
the envelope and read:
"In case I do not have the opportunity to speak with you to-night, this
is to let you know that the little man who says he is a book-agent was
in your room for three-quarters of an hour while you were away this
afternoon. You'd better see if anything is missing.
M.T."
He read the note again, and then held it over the candle flame.
Surprise and a temporary indignation gave way before the thrill of
exultation as the blazing paper fell upon the hearth.
"'Gad, it grows more and more interesting," he mused, and chuckled
aloud. "They're not losing a minute's time in finding out all they can
about me, that's certain. Thanks, my dear Miss Thackeray. You are
undoubtedly deceived but I am not. This chap may be a detective but he
isn't looking for evidence to connect me with last night's murders. Not
a bit of it. He is trying to find out whether I ought to be shot the
next time I go snooping around Green Fancy. I'd give a good deal to
know what he put into the report he sent off a little while ago. And
I'd give a good deal more to know just where Mr. Jones stands in this
business. Selling sets of Dickens, eh? Book-agent by day, secret agent
by night,--'gad, he may even be a road-agent!"
He made a hasty but careful examination of his effects. There was not
the slightest evidence that his pack had been opened or even disturbed.
Naturally he travelled without surplus impedimenta; he carried the
lightest outfit possible. There were a few papers containing notes and
memoranda; a small camera and films; a blank book to which he
transferred his daily experiences, observations and impressions; a
small medicine case; tobacco and cigarettes; a flask of brandy; copies
of Galworthy's "Man of Property" and Hutchinson's "Happy Warrior";
wearing apparel, and a revolver. His purse and private papers rarely
were off his person. If the little book-agent spent three-quarters of
an hour in the room he managed most effectually to cover up all traces
of his visit.
Barnes did not go to sleep until long after midnight. He now regarded
himself as definitely committed to a combination of sinister and
piquant enterprises, not the least of which was the determination to
find out all there was to know about the mysterious young woman at
Green Fancy.
His operations along any line of endeavour were bound to be difficult,
perhaps hazardous. Every movement that he made would be observed and
reported; his every step followed. He could hope to disarm suspicion
only by moving with the utmost boldness and unconcern. Success rested
in his ability to convince O'Dowd, Jones and the rest of them that they
had nothing to fear from his innocuous wanderings.
His interest in the sensational affair that had disturbed his first
night's rest at Hart's Tavern must remain paramount. His theories,
deductions and suggestions as to the designs and identity of Roon and
Paul; the stated results of personal and no doubt ludicrous
experiments; sly and confidential jabs at the incompetent
investigators, uttered behind the hand to Putnam Jones and, if
possible, to the book-agent;--a quixotic philanthropy in connection
with the fortunes of Rushcroft and his players; all these would have to
be put forward in the scheme to dispel suspicion at Green Fancy.
It did not occur to him that he ought to be furthering the ends of
justice by disclosing to the authorities his secret opinion of Putman
Jones, the strange behaviour of Roon as observed by Miss Thackeray, and
his own adventure with the lady of the cross-roads. The chance that
Jones, subjected to third degree pressure, might break down and reveal
all that he knew was not even considered.
Back of all his motives was the spur of Romance: his real interest was
centred in the lovely lady of Green Fancy.
He was confident that O'Dowd's system of espionage would quickly
absolve him of all interest in or connection with the plans of Albert
Roon; it remained therefore for him to convince the Irishman that he
had no notions or vagaries inimical to the well-being of Green Fancy or
its occupants. With that result achieved, he need have no fear of
meeting the fate that had befallen Roon and his lieutenant; nothing
worse could happen than an arrest and fine for trespass.
The next day he, with other lodgers in the Tavern, was put through an
examination by police and county officials from Saint Elizabeth, and
notified that, while he was not under suspicion or surveillance, it
would be necessary for him to remain in the "bailiwick" until
detectives, already on the way, were satisfied that he possessed no
knowledge that would be useful to them in clearing up what had now
assumed the dignity of a "national problem."
O'Dowd rode down from Green Fancy and created quite a sensation among
the officials by announcing that Mr. Curtis desired them to feel that
they had a perfect right to extend their search for clues to all parts
of his estate, and that he was deeply interested in the outcome of
their investigations.
"The devils may have laid their ambush on his property," said O'Dowd,
"and they may have made their escape into the hills back of his place
without running the risk of tackling the highways. Nothing, Mr. Curtis
says, should stand in the way of justice. While he knows that you have
a legal right to enter his grounds, and even his house, in the pursuit
of duty, he urges me to make it clear to you gentlemen, that you are
welcome to come without even so much as a demand upon him. If I may be
so bold as to offer my services, you may count on me to act as guide at
any time you may elect. I know the lay of the land pretty well, and
what I don't know the gardeners and other men up there do. You are to
call upon all of us if necessary. Mr. Curtis, as you know, is an
invalid. May I suggest, therefore, that you conduct your examination of
the grounds near his home with as little commotion as possible?
Incidentally, I may inform you, but one person at Green Fancy heard the
shots. That person was Mr. Curtis himself. He rang for his attendant
and instructed him to send some one out to find out what it was all
about. The chauffeur went down to Conley's, as you know. If you
consider it absolutely necessary to question Mr. Curtis as to the time
the shots were fired, he will receive you; but I think you may properly
establish that fact by young Conley without submitting a sick man to
the excitement and distress of a--"
The sheriff hastily broke in with the assurance that it was not at all
necessary to disturb Mr. Curtis. It wasn't to be thought of for a
moment. He would, however, like to "run over the ground a bit" that
very afternoon, if it was agreeable to Mr. O'Dowd.
It being quite agreeable, the genial Irishman proposed that his friend,
Mr. Barnes,--(here he bestowed an almost imperceptible wink upon the
New Yorker),--should join the party. He could vouch for the
intelligence and discretion of the gentleman.
Barnes, concealing his surprise, expressed himself as happy to be of
any service. He glanced at Putnam Jones as he made the statement. It
was at once borne in upon him that the landlord's attitude toward him
had undergone a marked change in the last few minutes. The furtive,
distrustful look was missing from his eyes and in its place was a
friendly, approving twinkle.
O'Dowd stayed to dinner. (Dinner was served in the middle of the day at
Hart's Tavern.) He made a great impression upon Lyndon Rushcroft, who,
with his daughter, joined the two men. Indeed, the palavering Irishman
extended himself in the effort to make himself agreeable. He was vastly
interested in the stage, he declared. As a matter of fact, he had been
told a thousand times that he ought to go on the stage. He had decided
talent....
"If you change your mind," said Mr. Rushcroft, "and conclude to try a
whirl at it, just let me know. I can find a place for you in my company
at any time. If there isn't a vacancy, we can always write in an Irish
comedy part."
"But I never wanted to be a comedian," said O'Dowd. "I've always wanted
to play the young hero,--the fellow who gets the girl, you know." He
bestowed a gallant smile upon Miss Thackeray.
"You may take my word for it, sir," said Mr. Rushcroft with feeling,
"heroism, and nothing less, is necessary to the man who has to play
opposite most of the harridans you, in your ignorance, speak of as
girls." And he launched forth upon a round of soul-trying experiences
with "leading-ladies."
The little book-agent came in while they were at table. He sat down in
a corner of the dining-room and busied himself with his subscription
lists while waiting for the meal to be served. He was still poring over
them, frowning intently, when Barnes and the others left the room.
Barnes walked out beside Miss Thackeray.
"The tailor-made gown is an improvement," he said to her.
"Does that mean that I look more like a good chambermaid than I did
before?"
"If you would consider it a compliment, yes," he replied, smiling. He
was thinking that she was a very pretty girl, after all.
"The frock usually makes the woman," she said slowly, "but not always
the lady."
He thought of that remark more than once during the course of an
afternoon spent in the woods about Green Fancy.
O'Dowd virtually commanded the expedition. It was he who thought of
everything. First of all, he led the party to the corner of the estate
nearest the point where Paul was shot from his horse. Sitting in his
own saddle, he called the attention of the other riders to what
appeared to be a most significant fact in connection with the killing
of this man.
"From what I hear, the man Paul was shot through the lungs, directly
from in front. The bullet went straight through his body. He was riding
very rapidly down this road. When he came to a point not far above
cross-roads, he was fired upon. It is safe to assume that he was
looking intently ahead, trying to make out the crossing. He was not
shot from the side of the road, gentlemen, but from the middle of it.
The bullet came from a point almost directly in front of him, and not
from Mr. Curtis's property here to the left, or Mr. Conley's on the
right. Understand, this is my whimsey only. I may be entirely wrong. My
idea is that the man who shot him waited here at the cross-roads to
head off either or both of them in case they were not winged by men
stationed farther up. Of course, that must be quite obvious to all of
you. My friend De Soto is inclined to the belief that they were trying
to get across the border. I don't believe so. If that were the case,
why did they dismount above Conley's house, hitch their horses to the
fence, and set forth on foot? I am convinced in my own mind that they
came here to meet some one to whom they were to deliver a verbal report
of vital importance,--some one from across the border in Canada. This
message was delivered. So far as Roon and Paul were concerned their
usefulness was ended. They had done all that was required of them. The
cause they served was better off with them dead than alive. Without the
slightest compunction, without the least regard for faithful service,
they were set upon and slain by their supposed friends. Now, you may
laugh at my fancy if you like, but you must remember that frightful
things are happening in these days. The killing of these men adds but a
drop to the ocean of blood that is being shed. Roon and Paul, suddenly
confronted by treachery, fled for their lives. The trap had been set
with care, however; they rushed into it."
"I am inclined to your hypothesis, O'Dowd," said Barnes. "It seems
sound and reasonable. The extraordinary precautions taken by Roon and
Paul to prevent identification, dead or alive, supports your whimsey,
as you call it. The thing that puzzles me, however, is the singular
failure of the two men to defend themselves. They were armed, yet
neither fired a shot. You would think that when they found themselves
in a tight place, such as you suggest, their first impulse would be to
shoot."
"Well," mused O'Dowd, squinting his eyes in thought, "there's something
in that. It doesn't seem reasonable that they'd run like whiteheads
with guns in--By Jove, here's a new thought!" His eyes glistened with
boyish elation. "They had delivered their message,--we'll assume that
much, of course,--and were walking back to their horses when they were
ordered to halt by some one hidden in the brush at the roadside. You
can't very well succeed in hitting a man if you can't see him at all,
so they made a dash for it instead of wasting time in shooting at the
air. What's more, they may have anticipated the very thing that
happened: they were prepared for treachery. Their only chance lay in
getting safely into their saddles. Oh, I am a good romancer! I should
be writing dime novels instead of living the respectable life I do.
Conley heard them running for their lives. Assassins had been stationed
along the road to head them off, however. The man who had his place
near the horses, got Roon. The chances are that Paul did not accompany
Roon to the meeting place up the road. He remained near the horses.
That's how he managed to get away so quickly. It remained for the man
at the cross-roads to settle with him. But, we're wasting time with all
this twaddle of mine. Let us be moving. There is one point on which we
must all agree. The deadliest marksmen in the world fired those shots.
No bungling on that score, bedad."
In course of time, the party, traversing the ground contiguous to the
public road, came within sight of the green dwelling among the trees.
Barnes's interest revived. He had, from the outset, appreciated the
futility of the search for clues in the territory they had covered. The
searchers were incapable of conducting a scientific examination. It was
work for the most skilful, the most practised, the most untiring of
tracers. His second view of the house increased his wonder and
admiration. If O'Dowd had not actually located it among the trees for
him, he would have been at a loss to discover it, although it was
immediately in front of him and in direct line of vision.
"Astonishing, isn't it?" said the Irishman, as they stood side by side,
peering ahead.
"Marvellous is the better word," said Barnes.
"The fairies might have built it," said the other, with something like
awe in his voice. He shook his head solemnly.
"One could almost fancy that a fairy queen dwelt there, surrounded by
Peter Pans and Aladdins," mused Barnes.
"Instead of an ogre attended by owls and nightbirds and the devil knows
what,--for I don't."
Barnes looked at him in amazement, struck by the curious note in his
voice.
"If you were a small boy in knickers, O'Dowd, I should say that you
were mortally afraid of the place."
"If I were a small boy," said O'Dowd, "I'd be scairt entirely out of me
knickers. I'd keep me boots on, mind ye, so that I could run the
better. It's me Irish imagination that does the trick. You never saw an
Irishman in your life that wasn't conscious of the 'little people' that
inhabit the places that are always dark and green."
De Soto was seen approaching through the green sea, his head appearing
and disappearing intermittently in the billows formed by the undulating
underbrush. He shook hands with Barnes a moment later.
"I'm glad you had the sense to bring Mr. Barnes with you, O'Dowd," said
he. "You didn't mention him when you telephoned that you were
personally conducting a sight-seeing party. I tried to catch you
afterwards on the telephone, but you had left the tavern. Mrs. Collier
wanted me to ask you to capture Mr. Barnes for dinner to-night."
"Mrs. Collier is the sister of Mr. Curtis," explained O'Dowd. Then he
turned upon De Soto incredulously. "For the love of Pat," he cried
"what's come over them? When I made so bold as to suggest last night
that you were a chap worth cultivating, Barnes,--and that you wouldn't
be long in the neighbourhood,--But, to save your feelings I'll not
repeat what they said, the two of them. What changed them over, De
Soto?"
"A chance remark of Miss Cameron's at lunch to-day. She wondered if
Barnes could be the chap who wrote the articles about Peru and the
Incas, or something of the sort, and that set them to looking up the
back numbers of the geographic magazine in Mr. Curtis's library. Not
only did they find the articles but they found your picture. I had no
difficulty in deciding that you were one and the same. The atmosphere
cleared in a jiffy. It became even clearer when it was discovered that
you have had a few ancestors and are received in good society--both
here and abroad, as the late Frederic Townsend Martin would have said.
I hereby officially present the result of subsequent deliberation. Mr.
Barnes is invited to dine with us to-night."
Barnes's heart was still pounding rapidly as he made the rueful
admission that he "didn't have a thing to wear." He couldn't think of
accepting the gracious invitation--
"Don't you think the clothes you have on your back will last through
the evening?" inquired O'Dowd quaintly.
"But look at them!" cried Barnes. "I've tramped in 'em for two weeks
and--"
"All the more reason why you should be thankful they're good and
stout," said O'Dowd.
"We live rather simply up here, Mr. Barnes," said De Soto. "There isn't
a dinner jacket or a spike tail coat on the place. It's strictly
against the law up here to have such things about one's person. Come as
you are, sir. I assure you I speak the truth when I say we don't dress
for dinner."
"Bedad," said O'Dowd enthusiastically, "if it will make ye feel any
more comfortable I'll put on the corduroy outfit I go trout fishing in,
bespattered and patched as it is. And De Soto will appear in the white
duck trousers and blazer he tries to play tennis in,--though, God bless
him, poor wretch, he hates to put them on after all he's heard said
about his game."
"If they'll take me as I am," began Barnes, doubtfully.
"I say," called out O'Dowd to the sheriff, who was gazing longingly at
the horses tethered at the bottom of the slope; "would ye mind leading
Mr. Barnes's nag back to the Tavern? He is stopping to dinner. And,
while I think of it, are you satisfied, Mr. Sheriff, with the day's
work? If not, you will be welcome again at any time, if ye'll only
telephone a half minute in advance." To Barnes he said: "We'll send you
down in the automobile to-night, provided it has survived the day.
We're expecting the poor thing to die in its tracks at almost any
instant."
Ten minutes later Barnes passed through the portals of Green Fancy.