WHICH SHOWS THE HERO A FUGITIVE
Four miles downstream, the river's banks grew a long mile apart, and the
scenery was lonesome and a little wild. Here, as it chanced, there was
flung across the water a thin, rocky island, well-wooded and of a
respectable length. It lay nearest the western shore; and not a hamlet
or even a house, it seemed, commanded it from either side.
They recognized it from afar as ideal anchorage for a yacht which wanted
to be let alone. So they slowed down into the island's curving shore and
dropped anchor in the lee of it, out of sight of the Hunston side of the
river and in little evidence from any point in midstream above or below.
Securely hidden from the probing eye of the press, they were now in
something of a quandary as to what their next step should be. The hour
set for the luncheon, upon which their mission hung, was only
twenty-four hours away: and they had no idea whether the guest of honor
intended to come or stay away. Varney was torn between the necessity of
keeping clear of reporters, and the even more pressing necessity of
calling upon Mary Carstairs. If to go to town was a risk, not to go to
town was a much greater one.
They finally decided that Peter should go to Hunston first, at once and
alone. He would walk in, lest the use of the _Cypriani_ boat should
betray them; and there take charge of the situation and see what could
be done.
"You sit tight," Peter urged, "and give me a chance at it first. The
_Gazette_ has got nothing on me, you know; they can camp on my
shirt-tail till they get good and tired. Meantime, I'll spread it around
that you've gone away and that I'm hanging on a day or two longer to
help Hare. You only came on a pleasure trip, and all these sensational
lies spoiled your pleasure: so you pulled out. That's plausible and
reasonably true, you see. Then I'm going to find that fellow Hammerton
and try to bluff him off."
"How?"
"I'd much like to give him money, but it's never safe to try that with
reporters. Oh, I'll hobnob with the fellow, hand him cigars, jolly him
along about the neat way they got revenge on us for the meeting, and
sort of take it for granted that the incident ended when they chased you
away from town. If he seems dubious and acts as if he meant to work on
the 'secret mission' idea just the same, I'll go in and call on Coligny
Smith. Oh, I'm not going to hit him. If I hadn't known that would be the
worst possible tactics, I'd have gone uptown at nine o'clock this
morning and yanked him out of bed by his long, lying ears. I'm only
going to talk to him in a kindly way. He told us himself that he was out
for the hard money, you know."
"All right," said Varney.
Peter hesitated. "You've _got_ to go in, I suppose? It's hard luck. Here
we are working overtime to build up the popular idea that you've quit
and gone back to New York. It'll be deuced awkward if that reporter nabs
you the minute you set foot in Hunston."
"I've got to risk it. I'll wait a while, though, and give them a chance
to drop the trail. And when I do go in, I'm not going with a brass
band."
"There's not the least hurry," said Peter. "You've got all the rest of
the day--to-morrow morning, too, for that matter. Wait here till you
hear from me, will you? Maybe I can turn up something which will save
you from having to go in at all."
Varney grinned. "Remember yesterday, Peter?--when you were coming back
at ten o'clock and came at four? No more unlimited contracts from me. It
is twenty minutes past one now. You can get in by two thirty if you
hustle. I must start in by half-past four. It wouldn't be safe to wait
any longer."
"Give me a show, will you? Make it five, anyway."
"Five, then. If you're not back on the dot, in I start for my call. Till
we meet again."
Peter started down the stair, hesitated, turned and came back again.
"Larry," he said, with sudden gruffness, "of course, we 've both been
thinking that if it hadn't been for me, none of this mess would have
happened. I kick myself when I think--"
"Drop it, Peter. Nobody in the world could have foreseen--"
"Every ass in the United States," said Maginnis, his ponderous foot on
the ladder, "could have foreseen it but me. I just want you to know that
politics is absolutely sidetracked now. Before I'll let this deal of
ours fall through, I'll see Hare licked till they can't scrape him
together afterward with a fine-tooth comb."
It was deadly quiet on the yacht after Peter left. At two o'clock Varney
went down to a solitary luncheon. At quarter past, followed by the
reproachful gaze of McTosh, he came out again. In the pit of his stomach
reposed a great emptiness, but it was not hunger. He felt restless,
high-strung, all made of nerves. He wanted to do something of a violent,
physical sort, the more grueling the better; and his task was to loll in
an easy-chair under a pretty awning and inspect the landscape.
The port side of the _Cypriani_ was jammed as close into the island as
the science of navigation made possible. Varney went over to the other
side and sat down to wait. In front of him, a hundred yards away, the
western bank rose abruptly from the water's edge, reaching here and
there to loftiness. There were woods upon it, thick and silent, which
looked as if the defiling hand of man had never entered there. At his
back was the still, empty little island; at either side stretched the
deserted river.
He thought it as lonely a spot as could have been found in a day's
journey, but a moment later he discovered his mistake. It was suddenly
borne in upon him that the tall, thin object which nestled so closely
among the trees a mile to the south that it was scarcely distinguishable
from them, was in reality the spire of some church; and he knew that he
was much closer to his kind than he had thought.
And then, in time, he noticed other things. Before a great while, he saw
a boat with one person in it--a woman he thought--put out from the shore
at about where the village must be and start across to the other bank.
And later, as the afternoon wore on, he caught sight of a canoe, a few
hundred yards upstream, rocking idly down with the current. An
elderly-looking man sat in it, with a short brown beard and sun-goggles
showing under his soft hat--for the water burned under a brilliant
sky--stolidly fishing and reading a book. He looked like a rusticating
college professor--of Greek, say--and this theory seemed to be supported
by his obvious ignorance as to how to keep a canoe on the popular side
of the water.
And later still a row-boat came swinging briskly up the quiet channel
where the yacht lay and passed her at fifty yards. A man and a woman sat
in it, presumably bound for Hunston, and they stared at the hidden,
detected _Cypriani_ with a degree of frank interest which suggested that
they would not fail to mention the strange sight to every acquaintance
they met in town.
"That's the beauty about a yacht," thought Varney, annoyed. "You might
as well try to hide an elephant in a hall room."
But his mind soon strayed from the pair of bumpkins and went off to
other and more pressing matters. He had now, not one great difficulty to
meet and overcome, but two. One of them was to make Uncle Elbert's
daughter keep her engagement with him. The other was to prevent the
_Gazette_ from linking the name of the _Cypriani_ with the name of
Carstairs to-morrow morning. About the first of these he allowed himself
no doubts. If the worst came to the worst, he would turn to Mrs.
Carstairs. Brutal it might be to compel the mother to introduce the
kidnapper to his quarry, her daughter; but that was no fault of his. He
would do his duty by Mrs. Carstairs's husband, no matter who got hurt.
Miss Carstairs should come to the _Cypriani_ to-morrow as she had
promised. In heaven or earth, on land or sea, there was no power which
should keep him from having his will there.
But then there was the _Gazette_. Smith, the clever, would doubt that
the _Cypriani_ had really gone back to New York. Suppose, since he could
not find her, he would venture a few shrewd guesses in his paper
to-morrow morning connecting that "secret mission" the _Daily_ had
mentioned with Mrs. Elbert Carstairs. Miss Carstairs would see what the
_Gazette_ said; and what questions would she have to ask him before she
would come as his guest to the yacht?...
A ripple of water fell across the young man's thought, and he glanced
up. The college professor, whom the current had washed much nearer now,
fancying, it appeared, that he had got a bite, had suddenly thrown
himself far over the edge of his canoe, stretching his rod to the
farthest reach. The slender birch-bark tipped so violently that even he
noticed it; and the next instant, he sprang back again, rocking at a
great rate.
"Simpleton!" thought Varney. "He will go over in a minute...."
Now her face rose before him as he had seen it first last night at
Stanhope's cottage, radiant as a dream come true--looking at him and
saying: "I'd like it very much if you could just trust _me!_" And he saw
her again when she had looked at him, eye to eye over the many heads
before the theatre, with only blank unrecognition in her glance, or had
there been, after all, a sort of latent sorrowfulness there? And then he
saw her once more, as she stood in the little box-office, her cheeks
suddenly stained red, when she begged him, please, not to ask her to
discuss it any more....
A sudden sharp thought came to him, putting all his imaginings to
flight, a thought so vital and so obvious that it was incredible that it
had not once crossed his mind before. If the _Gazette_ doubted that he
had returned to New York, if it was still on his trail and still wanted
to embarrass him, _it would send a man straight to Mrs. Carstairs_.
How could he possibly have overlooked that? With the secret of the
_Cypriani's_ ownership out, of course that would be the first thing
Smith would think of: to ask Mrs. Carstairs what had brought her
husband's yacht to Hunston. And when the reporter went, who could say
what damaging admission he might surprise out of the poor lady, or at
the least what inklings to hang diabolical guesses upon? Worst of all,
he might see Miss Carstairs herself--awaken no one knew what suspicions
in her already perplexed mind.
He sprang up and glanced at his watch. It was twenty minutes past four.
Every minute had become precious now, and waiting for Peter was of
course not to be thought of. While he loitered ineffectually here,
Coligny Smith, four miles away, might be doing his plans the
irremediable injury. And he started for the cabin swiftly to get his
hat.
But there came an interruption which stopped him short. A quick loud
splashing and sudden cries arose from the water near at hand; and he
divined instantly what had happened. The college professor, like the ass
he was, had upset his canoe.
Varney halted, strode back to the rail. The professor came up
spluttering, blowing quarts of water from his mouth and nose, making
feeble strokes with his ineffective, collegiate arms.
"Help!" he called in a thin watery voice. "Help! I can't swim." Whereon,
he immediately bobbed under again.
Of course, there was nothing to do but accede to that request.
"Lay hold of the canoe," called Varney impatiently, when the poor fellow
reappeared. "I'll send a boat down for you."
There had been no chance of his drowning: for the overturned canoe was
staunch, and floated, a splendid life-belt, not a foot away from him. At
Varney's word, he seized hold of it feebly, with both hands. The crew
were quick. One or two of them had been watching the madman's antics for
some time, it appeared; and they had a boat down and over to him in no
time.
Sopping with water, dripping it from his clothes and his hair and his
brown academic beard, a dazed and pitiable-looking object, he came up
the ladder not without nimbleness, and stepped through the gangway upon
the deck.
Varney took it that his own duties in the matter were now at an end.
"Hold your places," he called to the boat crew. "I shall need you myself
at once."
Then he turned hurriedly to the man he had rescued, who stood silently
on the deck, wringing cups of water from the skirts of his black cutaway
coat.
"I'll have them bring you dry clothes," he said swiftly, "and anything
else you need. You'll excuse me? I am compelled to--"
But at that he stopped dead; for the brown beard of the college
professor suddenly loosened and fell upon the deck. The professor, not
at all discomposed by the extraordinary accident, kicked it carelessly
to one side, and pitching his large hat and goggles after it, faced
Varney with a jovial smile.
"You don't happen to have a thimble-full of redeye about, do you, Mr.
Varney?" he asked chattily. "I'm Hammerton, of the _Gazette_ and the
_Daily_, you know, and that river down there is _wet_."