A FAN
The morning mail brought a letter from Searles acknowledging my
congratulations on his play. While my enthusiastic praise pleased him,
he was very scornful of my suggestions about available stars, and seemed
even more depressed than when he talked to me.
"It's impossible for me to plan other work. 'Lady Larkspur' ate the soul
out of me. I'm done; finished, clean out of the running. There's only
this to report. I had a letter from Dalton saying that some time ago he
asked at the hotel where he sent the script of 'Lady Larkspur' to know
whether Miss Dewing had sent a forwarding address. He had to see the
manager before he got any satisfaction, but he did learn that her
accumulated mail had been called for by some one whose identity was not
disclosed. Of course this isn't much to hang a hope on, but if that play
is what I think it is and Miss Violet Dewing ever reads it she's going
to jump for the telegraph office the moment she finishes the last act. I
have no plans for returning East; the folks at home let me do as I
please, and it's a relief to be in seclusion where I hear nothing of the
doings of Broadway. I hope your ancient globe-trotting aunt still
lingers in the Far East! Keep the ink flowing, son. That novel ought to
be well under way when I get back."
The tale I had begun seemed utter trash in comparison with the story of
Alice Bashford, in which, much against my will, I had become a minor
character. I had rather prided myself on my ability to see through a
plot in the first chapter of the most complicated mystery story, but
there were points in this unwritten tale that baffled me.
I kept away from the house until dinnertime, when I was received quite
as an old friend by Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth. The table talk was of
Celtic poetry, and proved less disturbing to Antoine than the previous
night's discussion of ghosts.
Their day had been spent, they explained, in a further examination of my
uncle's Japanese loot, and they had taken a long walk beyond the
estate's boundaries and were enthusiastic about the landscape.
"It's so beautifully peaceful all about here," Alice murmured. "I feel
that I never want to move again."
"That's a real tribute to America," Mrs. Farnsworth remarked; "for Alice
dearly loves new scenes. She inherited a taste for travel from her
father, who put some new places on the maps, you know."
I didn't know and I wanted to ask questions about Alice's father, but as
though anxious to frustrate such inquiries my aunt asked how close we
were to the place made famous by Israel Putnam's spectacular escape from
the British. She had read the story and would motor to the scene, she
declared. It was quite clear that there were chapters in her life that
were not to be opened for my perusal. No sooner had I caught a glimpse
of a promising page than the book was politely closed. A curtain hung
between the immediate present at Barton-on-the-Sound and other scenes
and incidents of the girl's life; and Mrs. Farnsworth was equally
detached from any tangible background. It seemed that I might meet them
daily for the rest of my life in this same friendly fashion without
adding a particle to my knowledge of them.
I became alert immediately when, as we rose from the table, Alice said,
with the air of asking an unimportant favor:
"We were speaking last night of a man who has been asking for us here.
His visits have alarmed the servants, but there is nothing to fear from
him. You know"--she smiled at Mrs. Farnsworth--"it's rather he who seems
to fear us; that, at least, is our impression, though we have no idea
why he should do so. Still, it's rather good fun to find yourself an
object of special attention and to be followed, even pursued. We've even
led him on a little, haven't we, Constance?"
Mrs. Farnsworth laughingly admitted that they had led the gentleman on a
trifle, "but with all circumspection," she protested.
"We met him here and there in Tokyo, and later were surprised to find
him crossing on our steamer. We threw him off in the Canadian Rockies,
where we stopped for a day, and eluded him in Chicago, where he was
evidently lying in wait for us."
"Delightful!" I exclaimed.
"But please don't get the idea that the man annoys us," interposed Mrs.
Farnsworth.
"Far from it!" cried Alice.
"You've seen enough of us perhaps to understand that we enjoy little
adventures," said Mrs. Farnsworth. "The man pretends to be interested in
Mr. Bashford's art treasures. Antoine's story about the disguise is
rather against that; but we will give him the benefit of the doubt. What
we are hoping is that something really amusing may come of his
persistent pursuit. With you and the army of servants here we feel
perfectly safe; so we're for giving him every chance to show his hand."
"He is the Count Giuseppe Montani," said my aunt, "who represents
himself as a connoisseur--a lover of the beautiful."
"The mystery is solved! It is easy to understand why he has haunted the
place."
"Yes; quite easy. Count Montani is very anxious to see the porcelains."
"I wasn't referring to the pottery; but I shan't press the matter."
"I advise you not to; your remark was highly improper from a nephew to
an aunt! I have told you about all I know of this Italian gentleman. I
am going to ask a favor. He telephoned from Stamford this afternoon to
know whether we had arrived, and I bade him call to-night. I should be
glad if you would remain until he leaves. I should like to know what you
make of him."
"Certainly," I assented, pleased that she had taken me into her
confidence and deeply curious as to the Italian connoisseur. What she
had told so frankly and plausibly did not, however, touch upon the
matter of the interest shown by the American State Department in my
aunt's arrival at Barton, which troubled me much more than the antics of
the Italian who had followed the women across the Pacific.
Count Montani arrived shortly and was received in the drawing-room. The
ladies greeted him with the greatest cordiality. As he crossed the room
I verified the limp and other points of Antoine's description. His
bearing was that of a gentleman; and in his very correct evening dress
he hardly looked like a man who would disguise himself and attempt to
rob a house. He spoke English all but perfectly and proceeded at once to
talk a great deal.
"I was sad when I found I had so narrowly missed you at Seattle, and
again at Chicago. You travel far too rapidly for one of my age!"
His age might have been thirty. He was a suave, polished, sophisticated
person. Nothing was more natural than that he should pause in his
travels to call upon two agreeable women he had met on a Pacific
steamer. Possibly he was in love with Alice Bashford; this was not a
difficult state of heart and mind for a man to argue himself into. She
was even more strikingly beautiful to-night than I had thought her
before. She was again in white--it was only in daytime that she wore
black--and white was exceedingly becoming to her. As we talked she plied
listlessly a fan--a handsome trinket of ostrich plumes. A pretty woman
and a fan are the happiest possible combination. There is no severer
test of grace than a woman's manner of using a fan. A clumsy woman
makes an implement of this plaything, flourishing it to emphasize her
talk, or, what is worse, pointing with it like an instructor before a
blackboard. But in graceful hands it is unobtrusive, a mere bit of
decoration that teases and fascinates the beholder's eye.
With all his poise and equanimity I was distinctly conscious that
Montani's dark eyes were intent upon the idly swaying fan. I thought at
first it was her hands that interested him as they unfailingly
interested me, but when, from time to time, she put down the fan his
gaze still followed it. And yet there was nothing novel in the delicate
combination of ivory and feathers. I had seen many fans that to all
appearances were just like it. Once, as she picked it up and lazily
opened it, I saw him bend forward eagerly, then, finding that I had
noted his eagerness, he rose, pretending that a brass screen before the
fireplace had caught his eye and asked whether it was not a Florentine
production, which shook my faith in his connoisseurship, as I had bought
the thing myself from a New York brassworker who had made it to my
order.
Montani spoke of the porcelains. "Oh, to be sure! They don't show to
best advantage in electric light, do they? But I can have a few of the
prize pieces taken into the dining-room," said Alice.
Mrs. Farnsworth had excused herself to finish a letter, and from my
chair I could see her head bent over the big desk in the library. Alice
rang for Antoine, and I followed her into the hall to offer my aid.
"Oh, don't trouble," she said. "Antoine can do anything necessary. Yes;
thanks; if you will turn on the dining-room lights."
I was gone hardly half a minute. When I reached the drawing-room door
Montani had crossed the room to the table on which Alice had dropped the
fan and was examining it closely. He faced the door, and the moment he
detected me exclaimed carelessly: "An exquisite little bauble! I am
always curious as to the source of such trifles. I was looking for the
maker's imprimatur. I know a Parisian who is the leading manufacturer of
the world. But it is not his, I see."
As we stood talking of other things he plied the fan carelessly as
though for the pleasure of the faint scent it exhaled, and when Alice
called us he put it down carefully where he had found it.
He really did seem to know something about ceramics and praised, with
lively enthusiasm, the pieces that had been set out on the table. One
piece, as to whose authenticity my uncle had entertained serious doubts,
Montani unhesitatingly pronounced genuine and stated very plausible
reasons for his opinion.
On the whole, he was an interesting fellow. When he had finished his
inspections he lingered for only a few minutes and took his leave,
saying that he was spending the night at an inn near Stamford.
"Well," said Alice when the whir of his machine had died away, "what do
you think of him?"
"A very agreeable gentleman," I answered. "If he doesn't know
porcelains, he fakes his talk admirably."
"And as to fans--" suggested Mrs. Farnsworth.
I had not intended to mention Montani's interest in Alice's fan, and the
remark surprised me.
"Oh, I saw it all from the library," laughed Mrs. Farnsworth. "My back
was to the door, but I was facing a mirror. The moment you and Alice
went into the hall he pounced upon the fan--pounced is the only word
that describes it. He concealed his interest in it very neatly when you
caught him examining it."
"Fans are harmless things," said Alice, "and if there's any story
attached to this one I'm not aware of it. My father bought it in Paris
about three years ago, and it has never been out of my possession except
to have it repaired. There's a Japanese jeweller who does wonderful
things in the way of repairing trinkets of every kind. I left it with
him for a few days. I can't tell now which panel was broken, he did his
work so deftly."
I took it from her and balanced it in my fingers. It was a beautiful
piece of workmanship with the simplest carvings on the ivory panels.
"He couldn't have seen it anywhere before to-night," observed Alice
musingly. "In fact, I hadn't used it at all for a year. It was really by
mistake that my maid put it into my trunk when I went to Japan. I
didn't want to risk breaking it again, so I've been carrying it in a
hand-bag. The last day we were in Tokyo I think I had it in our
sitting-room in the hotel, to make sure it wasn't jammed into the trunk
again. We had a good many callers--a number of people came in to bid us
good-by, but I'm sure Count Montani was not among them, and it would
have been impossible for him to see it at any other time."
"Oh, there is nothing disturbing in the count's interest in the thing,"
said Mrs. Farnsworth with an air of dismissing the matter. "If it were a
Jade trinket inscribed with Chinese mysteries, you might imagine that it
would be sought by some one--I have heard of such things--but Alice's
fan has no such history."
"We weren't very hospitable," said Alice. "I might have asked Count
Montani to dine with us to-morrow; and we might even have put him up for
the night in this vast house."
"Not with Antoine on the premises!" I exclaimed. "Antoine is convinced
that the man is what we call in America a crook. And Antoine takes his
responsibilities very seriously."
While I was breakfasting at the garage the next morning Antoine appeared
and, waiting until Flynn was out of hearing, handed me a slip of paper.
"That's a New York automobile number," he said. "It was on the tag of
that machine the party came in last night. I heard him saying, sir, as
how he had motored up from the Elkton Inn at Stamford. Visitors from
Stamford would hardly send in to the city for a machine."
I bade him wait while I called the Elkton by telephone. No such person
as Giuseppe Montani had spent the night there or had been a guest of the
house within the memory of the clerk. Antoine's chest swelled at this
confirmation of his suspicions.
"If the man returns, treat him as you did last night--as though he were
entitled to the highest consideration."
"He won't come back--not the same way," said Antoine. "He mentioned the
Elkton just to throw you off. The next you hear of him will be quite
different."
"You mean he'll come as a burglar?"
"That's what's in my mind, Mr. Singleton. Everything seems very queer,
sir."
"Such as what, Antoine?"
"The widow has been telegraphing and telephoning considerable, sir."
"There must be no spying upon these ladies!" I admonished severely. "All
the people on the place must remember that Mrs. Bashford is mistress
here, and entitled to fullest respect."
He had hardly gone before Torrence had me on the wire to hear my report
and to say that Raynor had left Washington for a weekend in Virginia.
"That lets us out for a few days, but I'll have to report that Mrs.
Bashford is at Barton the moment I learn that he is back in Washington."
I assured him that nothing had occurred to encourage a suspicion that
Mrs. Bashford was not all that she pretended to be. The day was marked
by unusual activities on the part of the waiters and bell-hops. Instead
of the company drills to which I had become accustomed they moved about
in pairs along the shore and the lines of the fences. I learned that
Antoine had ordered this, and the "troops" were obeying him with the
utmost seriousness. The "service" on the estate was certainly abundant.
It was only necessary to whistle and one of the Tyringham veterans would
come running.
In spite of the complete satisfaction I had expressed to Torrence as to
the perfect integrity and honest intentions of the two women, the
curiosity of the American State Department and the visit of Montani
required elucidation beyond my powers. At dinner they were in the
merriest humor. The performances of the little army throughout the day
had amused them greatly.
"How delightfully feudal!" exclaimed Alice. "Really we should have a
moat and drawbridge to make the thing perfect. Constance and I are the
best protected women in the world!"
We extracted all the fun possible from the idea that the estate was
under siege; that Alice was the chatelaine of a beleaguered castle, and
that before help could reach us we were in danger of being starved out
by the enemy. They called into play the poetry which had so roused
Antoine's apprehensions, and their talk bristled with quotations. Alice
rose after the salad and repeated at least a page of Malory, and the
Knights of the Round Table having thus been introduced, Mrs. Farnsworth
recited several sonorous passages from "The Idyls of the King." They
flung lines from Browning's "In a Balcony" at each other as though they
were improvising. The befuddlement of Antoine and the waiter who
assisted him added to the general joy. They undoubtedly thought the two
women quite out of their heads, and it was plain that I suffered greatly
in Antoine's estimation by my encouragement of this frivolity. Mrs.
Farnsworth walked majestically round the table and addressed to me the
lines from Macbeth beginning:
"Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised,"
while Antoine clung to the sideboard listening with mouth open and eyes
rolling.
Later, in the living-room, Alice sang some old ballads. She was more
adorable than ever at the piano. It was a happiness beyond any in my
experience of women to watch her, to note the play of light upon her
golden head, to yield to the spell of her voice. Ballads had never been
sung before with the charm and feeling she put into them; and after
ending with "Douglas, Douglas," she responded to my importunity with
"Ben Bolt," and then dashed into a sparkling thing of Chopin's, played
it brilliantly and rose, laughingly mocking my applause.
I left the house like a man over whom an enchantment has been spoken and
was not pleased when Antoine blocked my path: "Pardon me, sir."
"Bother my pardon; what's troubling you now?" I demanded.
"It's nothing troubling me, sir; not particularly. If you give me time,
I think I'll grow used to the poetry talk and playing at being queens.
It's like children in a family I served once; an English family, most
respectable. But in a widow, sir----"
"God knows we ought to be glad when grown-ups have the heart to play at
being children and can get away with it as beautifully as those women
do! What else is on your mind?"
"It's about Elsie, sir." I groaned at the mention of Flynn's German
wife. "I'm sorry, sir; but I thought I should report it. It was a man
who came to see her this afternoon. You was out for your walk, and Flynn
had taken the ladies for a drive, so Elsie was alone at the garage. This
person rode in on the grocer's truck from the village, which is how he
got by the gate. As it happened, Pierre--he was a waiter at the
Tyringham, a Swiss, who understands German--had gone into the garage for
a nap; he's quite old, sir, and has his snooze every afternoon."
"He's entitled to it," I remarked; "he must be a thousand years old."
"From what he heard Pierre thought the man a spy, sir. He wanted Elsie
to steal something from the house, it was a fan he wanted her to take
most particular, and it was to be done soon, to-day if she could manage.
It was for the love of the Fatherland that he wanted her to do it. Did
you notice, sir, that Mrs. Bashford didn't have the fan to-night? Not
that one she carried last night."
I had noticed that she had substituted a tiny Japanese fan for the one
that Montani had inspected so eagerly. When I spoke of the change she
had said the other was too precious for every-day use, and she meant to
keep it locked up.
"I hate to bother you, sir, knowing you----"
The mention of the fan had brought me to an abrupt halt. I resented
having the thing thrust at me in the ecstatic mood in which I had left
the house, but the visit of the German-speaking stranger was serious,
and Antoine knew that his story had startled me. He told me further that
the man had carefully outlined to Elsie just how she could take
advantage of her freedom of the house to appropriate the fan when the
ladies were out and the servants off the second floor. She was to be
paid for her assistance; two hundred dollars had been promised; even
more had been suggested. Elsie and the stranger had left the garage and
passed out of ear-shot before Elsie fully consented; but Pierre had
given Antoine the impression that she would make the attempt.
"It was to be for the Kaiser, for Germany," declared Antoine bitterly.
"And she was to be careful about Flynn. I always thought Flynn was
straight--I did indeed, sir!"
"I think Flynn and his wife are both honest, but we'll take no chance.
Warn the guards to be on the alert. We don't want Elsie to get the idea
that she's being watched; so tell the men to keep away from the garage.
I'll keep an eye on the Flynns. You go home and go to bed...."
The deep calm of the country night had settled upon the shore, and the
Flynns' quarters were perfectly tranquil. It didn't seem possible that
an international episode was in process of incubation in that quiet
neighborhood. I began to think that the general distrust of the German
woman by her associates might be responsible for Pierre's story. But,
viewed in any light, I had a duty to perform. If Elsie had visited the
house and purloined the fan, she would be very likely to get rid of it
as quickly as possible, and I determined to keep watch. I drew the
blinds, got into my dressing-gown and, reinforcing the lampshade with a
newspaper to deaden the light, proceeded to read.
It was on toward one o'clock and I was dozing when a sound roused me. A
door on the Flynn side of the hall creaked; there was silence, then I
heard furtive steps on the stair. I snapped out my light and peered out
of the window just as Elsie's robust figure disappeared into the
shadows. I was about to follow when the creaking of the Flynn door was
repeated. In a moment another peep through the shade showed me Flynn
himself, and he, too, quickly vanished. Here was a situation indeed! If
Elsie was keeping tryst with her co-conspirator of the afternoon and her
husband was spying upon her, a row of large proportions was likely to
result at any moment. I leaned from the window as far as I dared, and
saw the woman close to the wall at the farther end of the building. The
scene was well set for trouble, and I was wondering what I could do to
avert a disturbance and the exposure of the foolish woman when the whole
matter was taken out of my hands.
"You fool! You scoundrel!" she bellowed in German. "That you should
think me a plaything to commit a robbery for you! That I should steal
from my mistress to satisfy you, you piece of swine-flesh!"
I had often heard Elsie vocally disciplining her Irish husband and knew
the power of her lungs and the vigor of her invective, but she seemed
bent upon apprising the whole commonwealth of Connecticut of the fact
that she was vastly displeased with the person she was addressing, who
was certainly not Flynn. Amid sounds of a scuffle and the continuous
outpouring of billingsgate the light over the garage door flashed on
suddenly and disclosed Flynn in the act of precipitating himself into
the fray. Elsie had grasped, and was stoutly clinging to a tall man who
was trying to free himself of her muscular embrace. Her cries meanwhile
included some of the raciest terms in the German dictionary and
others--mouthfuls of frightfulness--that I didn't recognize.
When I reached the open Flynn was dancing round the belligerents like an
excited boxer, occasionally springing in to land a blow; and all the
while Elsie continued to address her captive and the world at large in
her native tongue. Flynn was rather more than sixty, and Elsie was not
much his junior, while the invader was young and agile. The man had
loosened one arm and drawn a revolver with which he was pounding Elsie
in the face. I knocked the gun from his hand with my walking-stick and
shouted to Elsie to let go of him. Her shouts had roused the guards and,
hearing answering cries and the beat of hurrying feet on the walks, he
redoubled his efforts to escape. I had hardly got my hands on him when
with a twist of his body he wrenched himself free and sped away in the
darkness.
I hadn't gone far in pursuit of him before I tripped over the skirts of
my dressing-gown and fell into a bed of cannas. This would have been
less melancholy if Flynn, hard behind, hadn't stumbled over me and,
believing he had captured the enemy, gripped my legs until I could
persuade him to let go.
The lights now flared on all the walks and driveways, and Antoine was
bellowing orders to the guards to surround the sunken garden. I surmised
that the fugitive, surprised by the attack, had lost his bearings and
was now far from the boundary wall back of the garage from which
presumably he had entered the grounds. With the Sound cutting off his
exit beyond the residence, there was a fair chance of catching him if
Antoine's veterans were at all vigilant.
I found Antoine, armed with a club and swinging a lantern, majestically
posed at the nearer entrance to the garden. With a swallow-tail coat
over his night-shirt and his nightcap tipped over one ear, he was an
enthralling figure. As he strode toward me his slippers flapped weirdly
upon the brick walk. "There's somebody in the garden, sir," he whispered
huskily. "The troops has it surrounded." No general in all history,
reporting in some critical hour the disposition of his army, could have
been more composed.
"You have done well, Antoine. Shall you dig in until morning or go over
the top now?"
"As you say, sir. It's better you should take charge."
I walked round the garden and found his men well distributed, but the
old fellows were exceedingly nervous. "It's a bit suspicious, sir, that
he broke for the garden," remarked Antoine.
"He broke for the garden," I suggested, "because his line of retreat was
cut off and he had to go somewhere."
"It's queer, though, sir, when Dutch has been sleeping on the long bench
down there by the fountain. You know how we feel about him, sir, he
being of that race."
"Dutch told me he was camping in the tool-house," I answered.
"The boys drove him out, sir, and he took to the garden."
"Nasty of the boys, I should say. If that interloper should murder
him----"
A yell rose from the midst of the garden, followed by a crash and an
instant later by a splash that interrupted another yell. I snatched
Antoine's lantern and ran down the steps toward the scene of commotion.
When I reached the circular pool the jet was still playing gayly, but
the waters on one side were in furious agitation. Two men were rolling
and tumbling about as though bent upon drowning each other. I swung the
lantern over them just as Dutch got upon his feet, gripping his
antagonist by the collar. He flung him backward over the stone curbing
of the pool and fell upon him in the walk with a swish of wet garments.
The guards from the outer edges of the garden had clambered down and
they gathered about us as I began questioning Dutch.
Dutch, undoubtedly enjoying his victorious encounter, was tearing open
the prostrate captive's collar to give him air and with his knees
clamping the man's body was disposed to delay the story of his
adventures to increase its dramatic effect.
"It happens this evenin'," he began, spouting water, "that I seen Elsie,
who's been sneakin' me meals to the old stables, an' she says to me:
'Dutch,' she says, 'they's all ag'in us here, callin' us Huns, an' we
gotta show 'em we's good Americans,' she says. An' she tole me a feller
been to see 'er 'at wanted 'er to rob the house fer 'im, he thinkin' 'er
likely to do ut fer love o' the Kaiser. She said as 'ow she'd nail 'im
when he comes to-night to git a fan she's promised to lift fer 'im. She
said that'd prove she wasn't no Dutchwoman and recommended if I got the
chance to do the same. I thought nothin' wuz goin' to happen an' wuz
sleepin' on me bench here in the garden when the hollerin' at the garage
woke me up. I sits quiet, listenin' an' this guy drops into the garden
an' wuz crawlin' past me bench an' I pinches 'im. He wuz fer havin' a
fight, an' we knocks over one of the big urns an' lit in the tank. He
says it's a thousand bones an' ye turn me loose, he says, an' I soused
'im ag'in fer that."
The man was still choking from the sousings and Dutch turned him over
and pounded him vigorously on the back, assisted by Zimmerman, the
obliging valet, who had seized the occasion to show his hand on the side
of the Allies. "Shall I telephone for the Barton police, sir?" asked
Antoine with an extreme exaggeration of his professional manner.
This obviously was the thing to do, but I feigned not to hear the
question while I debated the matter. It was plain that many things
relating to the capture were veiled in mystery: that if Mrs. Bashford
and her companion were involved in an international tangle and had in
their possession something that vitally concerned the nations at war,
common chivalry demanded that I handle the arrest of Montani's agent in
such manner as to shield them. I was thinking hard and in my perplexity
even considered sending a messenger for Torrence; but he was already
suspicious and would be very likely to summon Raynor immediately and
precipitate a crisis I was not prepared to face. To invite the attention
of the American State Department to the increasingly complex situation
would not be giving my aunt the chance I meant she should have to clear
herself.
The captive had got upon his feet and stood dazedly staring at us. He
refused to answer my questions, even when I suggested that if he could
give a satisfactory account of himself he would be released. He only
doggedly shook his head. When I asked if he had been hurt in his bout
with Dutch he smiled and extended his arms in denial. He was a very
decent-looking fellow, blue-eyed and smooth-shaven, who seemed to accept
his plight with a degree of good humor.
I decided that as nothing would be gained by sending him to the Barton
calaboose that night, I would assume the responsibility of detaining
him until I had groped my way through the haze of suspicions and
circumstances that enveloped him.
"Get some dry clothes for this man and lock him up in the tool-house. Be
sure he has blankets, and you'd better give him some hot coffee."
The captive manifested relief at my decision and broke his silence to
thank me, which he did in very good English. His submissiveness only
deepened my perplexity, but I couldn't help laughing as he walked away
surrounded by the "troops," with Dutch leading the way--Dutch fully
conscious that he had vindicated himself and disposed to be rather
disdainful of his comrades.
I hurried to the house, where I found Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth
ministering to Elsie, who had been taken there by their order. Elsie,
sharing with Dutch the honors of the night, lay on a davenport, where
she had received first aid. Alice rose from her knees as I entered,
gathering up strips of bandages, and turned to me laughingly.
"Elsie's injuries are not serious; only disagreeable bruises in the
face. There will be no scars, I'm sure. We'll keep her at the house for
a few days until she's quite fit again. Surely any one who has
questioned Elsie's loyalty ought to be satisfied now."
"You certainly managed it very cleverly, Elsie. We're all very
grateful."
Elsie, her face covered with bandages, acknowledged my thanks by
wiggling her foot.
Mrs. Farnsworth said she would put Elsie to bed. Now, I thought, Alice
would make some sign if she knew anything that would explain Montani and
the prisoner in the tool-house. But the whole affair only moved her to
laughter and she seemed less a grown woman than ever in her white robe.
My efforts to impress her with the seriousness of the attempt to secure
the fan only added to her delight.
"How droll! How very droll! You couldn't possibly have arranged anything
that would please me more! It's delicious! As you say in America, it's
perfectly killing!"
I suggested that the holding of a prisoner without process of law might
present embarrassments.
"I know," she cried, clapping her hands joyfully. "You mean we are
likely to bump into dear old _habeas corpus_! The sheriff will come and
read a solemn paper to you and you will have to hie you to court and
produce the body of the prisoner. That will be splendid!"
"It won't be so funny if----"
I was about to say that the humor of the thing would be spoiled somewhat
if she were made a witness and there proved to be something irregular
about the fan which had caused all the trouble, but I hadn't the heart
to do it. To spoil such merriment as bubbled in her heart would be
cruel--an atrocity as base as snatching a plaything from a joyous child.
"Constance and I so love the unusual--and it is so hard to find!" she
continued. "And yet from the moment I reached the gates of these
premises things have happened! Nothing is omitted! Strange visitors;
fierce attacks upon our guards, and still the mystery deepens in the wee
sma' hours, with heroes and heroines at every turn! To think that that
absurd little Dutch was asleep in the garden and really captured the
spy or whatever he is! But you are a hero too! You shall be decorated!"
She walked to a stand and pondered a moment before a vase of roses,
chose a long-stemmed red one and struck me lightly across the shoulder
with it.
"Arise, sir knight! You should have knelt, but to kneel in skirts
requires practice; you could hardly have managed in that monk's robe."
I couldn't be sure whether she was mocking me or whether there was
really liking under this nonsense. I was beyond the point of being
impatient with her. I was helpless in her hands; she would do with me as
she willed, and it was my business to laugh with her, to meet her as
best I could in the realm of folly.
"You must go!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Constance will be calling down
the stairs for me in a moment."
"To-morrow--" I began. The wistful look she had at times came into her
eyes as she stood in the centre of the room, playing with the flower.
"To-morrow," she repeated, "and then--to-morrow!"
"There must be endless to-morrows for you and me," I said, and took the
flower from her hand. The revery died in her eyes, and they were awake
with reproach and dismissal. At the door I looked back. She hadn't moved
and she said, very quietly, but smiling a little: "Nothing must happen
to make me sorry I came. Please remember!"