BETTY WALES, DETECTIVE
BILLY BENSON lost no time in accepting the girls’ invitation
to call on them. On the evening of the day after the ghost-hunt that
developed into a tea-drinking, Billy appeared, arrayed in the “glad
rags” that he had cajoled his Bond Street tailor into finishing long
before the stipulated time. Finding that Mrs. Hildreth was hesitating
a little about including the Harvard-Cambridge race in her itinerary,
he set himself to cajole her--with equal success. First he told funny
stories to make her laugh; then he unearthed the fact that his mother
and she had been girlhood friends; then he alluded casually to English
sports, and offered to take her to a cricket-match the next afternoon;
finally he smiled his famous smile and asked her if she honestly
wouldn’t like to see that race he had told the girls about. Of course
he wanted to row his very best, for the honor of Harvard and the
United States of America; and he could do any amount better if he knew
that some good friends of his would be watching him and cheering for
the crimson. Whereupon Mrs. Hildreth laughed at his ingenious reasoning
and commissioned Babbie and Madeline to see about engaging passage back
from an English port. And Billy, thanking her with charming deference,
and taking an early and ceremonious leave, reflected, as he often had
before, that it was easy enough to get things your way if you only took
a little pains to be agreeable.
John Morton, on the other hand, bitterly regretted the girls’ change
of plan. “I know I shan’t be here for the race,” he told Babe, “and I
can’t go over to Paris when you do, because old Dwight won’t be through
with his reading at the British Museum. I might skip off with Billy, I
suppose, but my father would be furious if he ever found it out.”
“You mustn’t do that,” Babe advised him. “It wouldn’t be the square
thing at all. Besides, we’re not going straight to Paris. We’re going
to Saint something. I forget the name, but it’s a seaside place up in
Brittany. Madeline says it’s lovely. So you may get to Paris as soon as
we do after all.”
“I hope so. Anyway I think you ought to go sight-seeing in London now
and not waste time over shopping. You can do that just as well in
September when I’m not here.”
“And in that way we won’t have the things we buy to lug around in
the meantime,” added Babe; but it is doubtful if this practical
consideration had very much to do with the sudden subsidence of her
shopping mania.
Of course Babe told all the girls that Jasper J. Morton, the Grasmere
automobilist, and John’s father were one and the same person. But
only to Betty did she confide the story of the letter that had so
disheartened John.
“I wish I were like you,” she said; “then I should know how to give him
the right kind of advice.”
“Why, I should think the only thing to say was that he ought to try to
make his father see that he’s trying,” began Betty doubtfully. “You
can’t expect a person to believe right off that you are going to work
hard, when you’ve always wasted your time before. Goodness, don’t you
remember how long it took Eleanor Watson to get back her reputation?
You just wouldn’t believe in her yourself, Babe.”
“That was very different. She--she wasn’t honest. Besides, if I’d been
her father I’d have stuck by her.”
Betty smiled at Babe’s easy assumptions. “You can’t tell what you’d
have done. But, anyhow, don’t feel so bad about it. They’ll just have
to get along as they always have before.”
“Oh, no, they won’t!” Babe’s tone was tragic. “They---- Oh, Betty,
I’ve just got to tell some one. John says he simply can’t stand it any
longer. He’s talked to Mr. Benson about it, and he has been asking Mr.
Trevelyan about the chances for a young man in Australia. Mr. Benson
has some kind of a big business that his guardian is managing for him
until he’s through college, and he says he will ask the guardian to
give John a position there. But John thinks Australia would be better,
because you can always earn more in a wild country, and then besides,
if his father objected, he would be away off there and he could just
go ahead with his plans.”
“Oh, Babe, how silly! Then he doesn’t want to finish his college
course, after all the time he’s spent tutoring?”
Babe shook her head. “He doesn’t want to do that anyway. He says it
will be only a waste of time. Whatever he does, he wants to go right
to work. He’d be perfectly satisfied if his father would let him go to
work in his business.”
“But what’s his dreadful hurry?” demanded Betty. “As long as his father
wants him to finish college why doesn’t he do it, and then go to work?
If he’s really in earnest about trying to please his father that’s what
he ought to do.”
“Yes, but you see a year is a lot of time to lose, when you might be
getting started in business. He wouldn’t expect his father to support
him--that is, we wouldn’t want--we couldn’t----” Babe paused, blushing
furiously. “Oh, Betty, don’t you see how it is? You’ve just screwed it
out of me. Promise you won’t tell anybody.”
“Of course not,” laughed Betty. “A nice consistent man-hater you are,
Babe.”
“But Betty, I haven’t decided anything yet,” Babe protested hastily.
“I may decide to go on being a man-hater just the same. Anyway John is
only the exception that proves the rule.”
“Well, certainly, Babe,” Betty went on seriously, “you wouldn’t want
him to have any trouble with his father on your account.”
“Of course not,” said Babe earnestly. “I couldn’t bear to have him do
that. That’s why it all worries me so.”
“Then why not tell him that you think he ought to stick to college and
try to please his father, whatever happens?”
Babe considered, frowning. “I will. A year isn’t so terribly long, when
you’re young. I’ll--yes, I’ll tell him that if he doesn’t decide to go
back to college and do his best to make his father happy why I’ll just
return his cairngorm pin.”
The few remaining days of the girls’ stay in London flew swiftly by.
It was the regular thing for John to join them for a part of each
day. Sometimes when he was not too busy at the British Museum, Mr.
Dwight came too. Billy Benson, who was an indefatigable sight-seer,
divided his time between John and the girls and Mr. Trevelyan, who kept
modestly in the background, always ready if Billy wanted his society,
and always having “business” to attend to when Billy was otherwise
engaged. Billy, who was an impressionable youth, was forever singing
his new friend’s praises.
“He’s so thoughtful and considerate,” he declared to Babbie one
morning. “My invitation to the countess’s dance came this morning.” He
held out a daintily engraved card. “What did he do but write to his
sister to see if I might bring you along. No, I didn’t suggest it. It
was all his own idea. He said that his sister would be the only woman
there who spoke English, and as the guest of honor she’ll be busy of
course. And as I can’t ‘parlez-vous’ one small word, he’s afraid I’ll
be bored--or a bore. Would you come?”
Babbie wasn’t sure that they would be in Paris in time for the dance.
Even if they were she hadn’t any evening dress with her, and anyway,
she was afraid her mother wouldn’t be willing that she should go. “But
it was fine of him to think of it,” she ended. “I’m going to ask mother
if she minds his joining us on the trip to Hampton Court.”
The Hampton Court expedition was to furnish the grand finale for the
London chapter of “B. A.’s Abroad.” They were to go up to Hampton by an
early afternoon train, see the palace and gardens, have dinner at an
inn with a fascinating name just outside the palace gates, and row down
the river at sunset, taking a train back to London somewhere further
down the line. Mrs. Hildreth was going to chaperon the party, and she
had no objection to Babbie’s asking Mr. Trevelyan to join it. She shook
her head, however, over the invitation to the countess’s dance. “You
couldn’t go without a chaperon, dear,” she said. “And if the idea is
that Mr. Trevelyan’s sister is to chaperon you, why I shouldn’t be at
all willing unless I had met her beforehand.”
Billy assured her easily that all those details could be arranged.
“Don’t say no until you have to,” he begged. “I’m afraid Trevelyan will
be discouraged at the prospect of my dumbness and try to get out of
taking me. Besides, it would be such a jolly lark if you came.”
So the matter was left in abeyance for the moment. Billy, in his casual
way, told Mr. Trevelyan that Mrs. Hildreth hoped she could meet his
sister before the dance, and Mr. Trevelyan bowed gravely and said his
sister would certainly do herself the honor of calling on Mrs. Hildreth.
He bowed gravely again as he accepted Babbie’s invitation to go with
them to Hampton Court. He seemed very familiar with the place, and John
and Billy, who found English time-tables and tram-lines very confusing,
sighed relieved sighs and let him direct the party.
“It’s fine having him along,” Billy declared. “He always knows where
things are and how you get there and what there is to see. He’s as good
as a regular guide, and at the same time he’s an addition to the party.”
“Without being an additional expense,” laughed John. “Pays his own way,
doesn’t he?”
Billy nodded. “We sort of take turns. If I pay for our luncheons, he
pays for dinner. Then I pay for the theatre and so on. It evens up in
the end, and it’s less trouble among friends.”
“This expedition is to be a Dutch treat, you know,” John explained.
“Babbie insisted that it must be that way.”
Billy felt in his pockets absently. “By George, that’s lucky for me,
because I forgot to get a check cashed this morning. Can you lend me a
little?”
John laughed. “I can’t. I forgot too, and I shall be doing well if I
get back to London with a ’bus fare.”
They were standing on the terrace at Hampton Court, overlooking the
river, with its gay row of house-boats anchored to the opposite shore.
Trevelyan was with the girls and Mrs. Hildreth, pointing out the
different boats and telling the names of their owners.
“I say, Trevelyan,” Billy hailed him, “can you finance me for the day,
and maybe John, too? We’ve forgotten to get any checks cashed.”
Trevelyan smiled. “I think I can accommodate you, if you don’t want too
much. You carry express checks, too?” He looked at John.
“All good Americans do,” declared John.
“Except me,” Babbie put in. “I carry gold certificates.”
“You’d better not say that too loud,” laughed John. “With your gold
certificates, and that ring”--pointing at the sparkling hoop of
diamonds that had been Babbie’s father’s last present to her and that
she always wore--“you’d be a valuable prey for brigands.” He pointed to
the shadowy length of Queen Mary’s “pleached walk” just behind them.
“These European show-places swarm with adventurers. How do you know
that Trevelyan isn’t one, and that he isn’t planning to drag you off to
that pleached walk after dinner and rob you?”
Babbie laughed. “I’m not afraid. But it is queer, isn’t it, how the
first subject of conversations among travelers is always, ‘How do you
carry your money?’ I’ve told lots of people how I carry mine.” She
turned to Trevelyan. “I told you the very first time I met you.”
“Did you?” asked Trevelyan absently. “I don’t remember. Shall we go
and walk in Mary’s bower, Miss Hildreth?”
Babbie had not liked Mr. Trevelyan particularly before, but he was so
entertaining this afternoon that she was secretly annoyed when she
found herself paired off with Mr. Dwight for the long row down the
river. Mr. Trevelyan was with Betty, who always got on beautifully with
Mr. Dwight. But it couldn’t be helped, so Babbie settled herself to
enjoy the river and make the best of her rather prosy companion. The
river was crowded with pleasure-craft--motor-boats, launches, rowboats,
and punts. These last fascinated Betty, because they were different
from anything in America.
“I like all these nice slow English things,” she told Mr. Trevelyan.
“Can you punt?”
He nodded. “But don’t you notice that in punting the girl nearly always
does the work?” He held his oars in one hand and pointed to a boat that
was coming up-stream near the other bank. As he did so, he turned to
face it and the man who was lolling on the cushions recognized him and
sat up suddenly.
“How are you, Lestrange?” he called across the water. “Haven’t seen you
in weeks.”
“Quite well, thanks. I’ve been awfully busy,” Trevelyan called back,
and picking up his oars began pulling off with long steady strokes
that speedily put distance between himself and the punt. But he could
row and talk, too. He seemed bent on being as agreeable to Betty as,
earlier in the afternoon, he had to Babbie. When they reached the
landing-place that had been appointed as a rendezvous he still kept
close beside her, and on the train and the ’bus he was a most attentive
escort. Betty, who was very sleepy, wished at last that he would talk
to somebody else and let her have a little cat-nap in peace. She
also wanted to ask John or Billy Benson whether his first name was
Lestrange, but she couldn’t, with him close beside her. Very likely
Babbie or Babe would know. It was certainly a queer first name.
“Who’s going to see us off in the morning?” asked Babbie, as the men
made ready to say good-night. “John, you will, of course.”
“I’m not sure,” returned John stiffly, avoiding Babbie’s eyes.
“Quarter to ten is very early for London.”
“Nonsense!” retorted Billy Benson cheerfully. “I’ll get you up in time.
I’m coming to the station, and so is Trevelyan, aren’t you, old man?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Trevelyan, who was still standing close by Betty.
“Well, did everybody have a good time?” asked Madeline, when they were
indoors.
“I did,” said Babbie quickly, “until I got caught with Mr. Dwight.”
“I did,” agreed Betty, “until I got sleepy and kept yawning in Mr.
Trevelyan’s face, in spite of myself. By the way, a queer thing
happened while we were rowing down the river. Do any of you happen to
know his first name?”
“It’s Arthur,” said Babbie promptly. “I saw it on the invitation that
Mr. Benson had to the countess’s ball. It was addressed in care of Mr.
Arthur Trevelyan.”
“That’s queer.” Betty repeated what the man in the punt had said.
“Probably Lestrange is his second name,” suggested Madeline. “The
invitation might have read L. Arthur or Arthur L. Babbie wouldn’t have
noticed the initial.”
“But just suppose it isn’t,” Betty argued. “I thought he looked queer,
and tried to hurry away, though that may all have been my imagination;
but anyhow it would have been the most natural thing in the world for
him to have explained.”
“But he wouldn’t think of explaining if it is his other name,” Madeline
persisted, “any more than Babe would think of explaining if some one
happened to call her Sarah. However, of course Mr. Benson doesn’t
really know anything about him. Let’s suppose he is an adventurer, with
aliases and deep-laid schemes for separating the boys from their money.
You’d better write and warn them, Betty.”
“Honestly, Betty, you ought,” added Babe, thinking of John’s Australian
schemes, which depended more or less on Mr. Trevelyan’s coöperation.
“We shall see them all in the morning,” Babbie reminded them. “And
please don’t say anything to mother until you’re sure. She’ll be so
horrified to think that she allowed her innocent young daughter and
her daughter’s little friends to go around London in such dreadful
company.”
So Betty decided to wait until morning. But though the girls scanned
the platform anxiously until the train pulled out of the station no one
appeared to see them off.
“I knew they wouldn’t come,” Babe confided in savage tones to Betty.
“At least I knew John wouldn’t. I did what I told you I would, and he
was perfectly horrid--said it was just like a girl to want to decide
everything, and that of course he’d like to please me, but he must do
what he thought was best. So I gave him back his old cairngorm, and
there isn’t any exception to the rule of man-hating, after all. And I’m
perfectly miserable, so there now!”
Several days later Babbie got a note from John, forwarded from her
Paris address, which seemed to disprove Babe’s theory. They had all
three gone to see the girls off, he explained, but Mr. Trevelyan had
for once proved unreliable; he had made an unaccountable mistake about
the station, which John had discovered too late to correct. So they
had waited for the girls at Paddington while the girls watched for them
in Waterloo. “He got us there an hour early too,” John wrote. “Insisted
that you said eight forty-five instead of nine. And we were all awfully
sleepy, because after we left you we took a long ’bus ride through the
East End and then stopped on the Embankment for supper. Dwight hasn’t
finished reading through the British Museum, so I don’t know when we
may get to Paris. However, I still find London very interesting”--a
conclusion which made everybody but Babe smile.
This letter crossed with Betty’s note, telling John about the name by
which some of Mr. Trevelyan’s English friends knew him; so of course it
threw no light on the subject. The girls watched eagerly for another
letter, all through the week they spent at Saint Malo, but none came.
However, as Madeline remarked, Saint Malo was quite fascinating enough
without any adventurer stalking through its streets, and besides, one
didn’t need to speculate about imaginary adventures when you were
living in the midst of real ones.