IN WHICH MR. HIGGINSON AND THE SAILING-MASTER BOTH MERIT PUNISHMENT, AND
BOTH ESCAPE IT
Passing the town-wharf laggingly like the maimed thing she was, limping
nearer and nearer the spot whence she had set out three-quarters of an
hour before, Mr. Carstairs's _Cypriani_ slowed down at an abandoned
private landing--the same one by which Peter's trunk had been conveyed
ashore that morning--and ran out her stairs.
As the two on board stood watching the yacht make fast, conversing, if
the truth be known, somewhat disjointedly, they were astonished to see
the great form of a man rise from a grassy bed a little way back from
the river-bank and advance towards them.
"Why, look!" said Mary. "There's Mr. Maginnis! I thought he'd gone to
town long ago."
Varney did not answer her. His eyes were glued upon Maginnis, and he
called in a strange voice:
"You have been waiting for us."
"Haven't budged a step," answered Peter, moving out upon the landing.
And he added what seemed an odd remark to Miss Carstairs: "I knew you
were coming back."
He greeted Mary at the foot of the stairs, cordially, and begged the
privilege of escorting her to any destination it might be her fancy to
name. But she stoutly declined his good offices, as she had Varney's a
moment before, declaring that she could not think of troubling so busy
and important a man.
"But where did you spirit Mr. Hare off to, if I might ask?" she said.
"On a very important mission I assure you, madam,--that is, Miss
Carstairs," said Peter, diplomatically, having no idea how matters
stood. "He begged me to let him go back and say good-bye to you, but I
told him I'd make it a personal matter."
"I am awfully glad that you have stopped calling me 'madam,'" said Mary,
rather inconsequently. "I _did_ hate it so!"
And she walked off up the woodland path, swinging her recovered parasol,
and finding herself with a good deal to think about.
Peter, coming on deck, found his friend waiting for him, taut as a
whipcord.
"Well, old horse!" said Maginnis. "Welcome back to jolly little
Hunston."
"The machinery broke down on me," said Varney, turning away to light a
cigarette.
"Sure," said Peter cheerfully. "You knew it was going to do it when you
started. I read it in your eye when we said farewell forever."
"You are quite mistaken," said Varney. "Ask Ferguson."
"Oh! Then you'll do it to-morrow morning, when the machinery is all
right again?"
"No," said Varney, "nor at any other time."
The two men looked at each other steadily, unwinkingly. As the look
lengthened, each face gave way to a slow reluctant smile.
"I won't pretend," said Peter, "that I am disappointed in you. I never
dreamed that I hated this thing till the time came, and hang me if I
don't rather like that little girl."
"It was a thing," said Varney, "that simply couldn't be done. We were a
pair of asses not to see that all along." He glanced hurriedly at his
watch and started for the companionway. "Jove! I'll have to hustle."
"Hustle! Where the devil to?"
"I'm off to New York by the five o'clock train to tell Uncle Elbert that
I've resigned. I'll feel mighty mean doing it, too."
"Well, don't anticipate trouble," called Peter dryly. "You can't feel
mean by the five o'clock train, however much you may deserve--"
"Why not?"
"There isn't any. She goes through at four-seven. You'll have to compose
yourself to wait till eight-ten, unless you want to walk."
Varney halted at the head of the companionway, surprisingly
disappointed. From the moment when the _Cypriani_ had put about, he had
been insistently conscious that his first duty now was to see Mr.
Carstairs, beg absolution from his promise, and formally surrender his
commission. So only, he had felt, could he go on with clean hands.
"Well, don't look so glum over it," said Peter. "You're not any sorrier
about your prolonged stay in our midst than I am."
Varney turned an inquiring eye upon him, and he began walking rather
restlessly up and down the deck.
"Oh, this same old rot!" he broke out impatiently. "I'll never be easy
in my mind till you are back in New York, and _stay_ there--"
"Well, well, Peter! Stick it out for three hours more--"
"Not long after you and Miss Carstairs steamed off," continued Peter,
"Hare blew back down here, tired of waiting and a little excited. He had
just heard some passing whispers about you and me. He says there seems
to be a little suppressed excitement in town this afternoon."
"Why, I thought your paper had kicked all that nonsense into a cocked
hat."
"A lot of people don't believe the paper, though," said Peter. "On the
contrary they believe that you are Stanhope and that you bought the
_Gazette_ to disown yourself and save your hide. A foolish idea, but it
has doubtless been helped out by whispers from higher up. Smith's
selling out has made Ryan see red. Smith's still in town, by the way,
which argues a good deal of cool nerve on his part. Hare hears that Ryan
is in a murdering humor--"
"You seem to forget entirely that Stanhope--the real, the genuine,
double-extry-guaranteed--has appeared, to bear his own--"
"But Hunston doesn't know it yet!" exclaimed Peter. "Kindly get that
well into your head. All these Hackleys and Orricks still think that
you're their meat--Where're you going?"
Varney, pausing at the hatch, deliberated whether he should say anything
to Peter about Mr. Higginson's latest and most daring intrusion, and
declared for the negative. "There's no reason," he mused, "why I should
let him in on this. And besides--"
"To town," he said aloud. "I've got to send a telegram to Uncle Elbert.
He's very much on my conscience--poor old chap!"
"I'll go with you. Got a Reform Committee meeting at five-thirty. And
some other business."
But Varney had already disappeared below. Peter picked up his splendid
guitar and, sprawling upon the transom, gave himself up to soft humming
and, presently, to the work of composition. Soon, after some little
painstaking effort, he produced the following, to be rendered to the
tune of "Yankee Doodle":
The tale of crime is at an end,
For little Laurence Va-arney
Declines to swipe his loidy friend
Upon the _Cypria-a-ani_!
Peter tried this over to himself with considerable satisfaction. He
possessed a remarkably sweet tenor and pleasurably anticipated singing
his ditty to its hero, and doubtless getting a cushion pitched at his
head for his pains. But it happened that Varney was to go to his grave
without ever hearing that small chanson.
He came on deck again in five minutes with a face which drove all
thoughts of melody from Peter's head. In fact, at sight of it, he came
instantly to a sitting position and his guitar slid unheeded to the
floor.
"What's happened?"
Varney did not answer immediately. He stood at the rail and stared into
the woods with fixed eyes which saw nothing. Peter rose and came towards
him.
"Out with it!" he said encouragingly. "I'm full partner here. You want
to murder somebody. Well and good! Now who is it?"
Varney turned towards him, half-reluctantly, and spoke in a quiet voice.
"I told you just now that the machinery broke down. I was mistaken. It
was broken down."
"_Broken down?_"
"When I went below," continued the younger man, "it occurred to me to
look in the engine-room and see how bad the damage was. It was very bad
indeed. I'm no mechanic, Lord knows, but a child could make no mistake
here. The effect is about as if somebody had jammed a crowbar in the
works while she was running full-tilt. Probably that is just what
somebody did. It'll be some days before she'll run again."
Peter's bewilderment deepened. "What in the world does this mean?"
"Treachery," said Varney calmly. "Somebody on board has been bought."
The two men stared at each other. Varney read on Peter's face the swift
unfolding of precisely his own thought. He was rather surprised at
Peter's quickness, in view of the fact that he knew nothing of the
episode of the morning.
"Yes," he said. "That's the man."
He told concisely of Mr. Higginson's attempt to break up the lunch-party
by keeping the guest of honor away. Peter's face, as he listened,
underwent a curious change. It first slowly gained color, then slowly
lost it; and all of it, from the top of his forehead to the end of his
chin, seemed subtly to contract and tighten up.
His comment at the end was: "Excuse me a minute."
Upon which he vanished below to see with his own eyes and judge with his
own brain. He was back in less than two minutes, with a tiny spot of red
in the corner of his eye, and his manner unwontedly calm.
"You're right. Pretty clumsy treachery that," he said, standing and
staring at Varney, who had dropped into a chair. "What was the man
thinking about to ... I don't begin to see bottom on this."
Varney's eyes were on the sailing-master, who sat far forward, feet on
the rail, apparently engrossed in a magazine. The young man had just
recalled the master's curious manner when he notified him of the
accident to the machinery.
"Larry--you meant to turn around anyway?"
"But Higginson, you see, couldn't predict that."
"The immediate cause of your turning--"
"Was the little mishap to our gear."
He raised his voice: "Ferguson! I'd like a word with you if you please."
The sailing-master jumped at the sound of the voice as though it had
shot a projectile into his back. However, he rose at once and came
forward in his usual, brisk, stiff way, halting before the two men with
a salute. Varney eyed him inscrutably.
"I believe you were in town for a while this morning, Ferguson?"
"Yes, sir, I was."
"While there did you chance to see anything of an elderly gentleman, a
stranger here, by the name of Higginson?"
Though he had the look of being braced for trouble, the man changed
color at the direct question, and his eyes instantly shifted. With an
evident effort he recaptured something like his usual steadiness and
spoke in a voice of elaborate thought fulness.
"Higginson? No, sir. I know no one of that name."
"Ah? I thought not. I asked on the mere chance. And oh, Ferguson."
"Sir?"
"I have just been down to look at the damaged machinery. Ignorant of
these matters myself, I can naturally make little of it. You will
prepare a written report for Mr. Carstairs, explaining in detail the
nature of the accident, and in particular just how it took place."
"Very good, sir."
"And--oh, Ferguson."
"Yes, sir?"
"As the--er--mishap appears to be so serious, I think it best to have an
expert from town advise with me before the work of repairing begins. You
will therefore leave matters just as they are until I instruct you
otherwise."
"Oh--very good, sir."
Peter turned his dissatisfied eyes from the back of the retreating
sailing-master to Varney.
"What better proof d'you want than the rogue's face? Why didn't you fire
him on the spot?"
"I neither hire nor fire here," said Varney. "These are Mr. Carstairs's
employees. He will have to deal with them as he thinks best."
He rose immediately and put on his hat.
"With Mr. Higginson, however," he mused, starting for the stair, "the
case is altogether different."
"Exactly," said Peter with great heartiness.
As one man they descended the stairs, crossed the battered landing and
struck rapidly up the woodland path for Remsen Street and the town. As
they walked, Varney silently condemned the unfailing genius of the Irish
for intruding themselves into all the trouble that hove upon the
horizon. It was with acute pleasure that he recalled, before long, his
friend's engagement for half-past five. For he himself had but three
hours left in Hunston that day, and he had an urgent use for
them--beyond even Mr. Higginson.
"I confess once more," said Peter, tramping heavily, "that this chap is
too many for me. I don't seem to grasp his game."
"And you call yourself a conspirator, Peter! Why, this is ABC."
"All right. I'm listening. Spell it out for me."
"Suppose the gang here is deep enough, as you think, to plan a little
rough-house, ostensibly for my benefit, but really to get you into it
and thus wipe you out. Doesn't it occur to you that my fading away to
New York at the critical moment would rather knock the bottom out of the
scheme? Why, it's as clear as noonday! Higginson, learning somehow that
I expected to fly off immediately after the lunch-party, first tries to
break up the party, and failing that, he bribes Ferguson to break up the
machinery. Thus he hopes to make it impossible for me to get away--me
whom he needs in his business as the red rag for his little old mob."
They had emerged from the woods and walked a block up Remsen Street
before Peter replied.
"By Jove! That does seem to explain everything! That's it! It's
Higginson, not Smith, who has been pulling all these wires from the
beginning. I suspected the man the first minute I ever clapped eyes on
him. But where do you suppose he got his hint?"
"Hammerton?"
"Never. That boy is trustworthy, or I'll eat my hat."
"Well, I think so too. Then he simply corrupted Ferguson and wormed the
whole thing out of him. Pretty clever, the whole thing, wasn't it? How
much Ferguson may really know, or suspect, I have no idea. Of course,
there is only one thing to fear now, and that is scareheads in the New
York papers to-morrow--attempted kidnapping foiled, and so on. It would
break Uncle Elbert's heart if anything of that sort should come out--"
"Don't you worry. It won't. I'll close his trap--tight."
Once more Varney was slightly annoyed by Peter's presence.
"If we find him," he began, as they came to the square, "you--"
"We must try not to be brutal, Larry," warned Peter soberly. "I remind
myself that he is an elderly man--"
"If we find him," began Varney again, "you will please remember that he
belongs to me. Higginson is strictly my pickings."
Peter grunted, looking rather annoyed too.
They crossed the square, two determined-looking men, and entered the
Palace Hotel. Behind the desk a bored clerk sat paring his nails with a
pair of office scissors. He looked up with a certain resentfulness.
"Excuse my interruption," said Varney. "Is Mr. Higginson in?"
The clerk's glance lowered tiredly. "Naw. Left town on the four-seven."
"I don't believe it," said Peter instantly.
There followed a silence. So stern were the gazes fastened upon the
clerk that, looking hastily up at Peter's word, he promptly lost
something of his lordly demeanor and became for the moment almost human.
"Well, sir, he's left _us_. _Said_ he was takin' the four-seven."
"Where did he go?" demanded Varney.
"Don't know, sir, but I think to New York."
"You must know where he checked his baggage to."
"Didn't have any baggage, sir," protested the clerk. "Only his
suit-case."
"Did he leave no address for the forwarding of his mail?"
"Naw, sir. He did not."
"Of course not. Why on earth should he?" said Peter.
Desisting from the absent but fierce stare with which he was transfixing
the clerk, he drew Varney hurriedly aside.
"All bluff!" he stated positively. "Is it likely, after _his_ day's
work, that he'd be lolling around the lobby waiting for us to call? He's
_moved_! But depend on it, he's got more work to do, and he _hasn't left
town_!"
"If that's so, where do you recommend looking?"
Peter made a large gesture. "That's a horse of another color. I told you
he had a faculty for disappearing into a hole and pulling the hole in
after him. If anybody besides Ryan knows where he is, I should say that
it might be Miss Carstairs. She seems to be his only friend on our side
of the fence, since I tipped Hare off."
Varney all but jumped. "I'll ask her!" he offered almost precipitately.
"The very thing!"
"It is quite possible," continued Peter, tensely thoughtful, "that the
old rascal has sneaked to her since the luncheon, to try to pump
something out of her about our movements--even within the bounds of
possibility that he is with her at this moment--"
"A great suggestion!" said Varney cordially. "You certainly have a head
on you, Peter. Of course, on the other hand, it is quite possible that
he _has_ skipped--made a bee-line for Newspaper Row. In that case, I'll
see if she--Miss Carstairs, you know--if she knows his address in New
York, and I'll hunt him up to-night."
Peter, glancing at his watch, discovered that he was already fifteen
minutes late for his committee meeting.
"For this afternoon, then," he said, unwillingly, "you can have him, if
you can find him. After to-day, though, he belongs to me. Wherever he is
now, he'll certainly be back on the job to-morrow. Well--I'll leave you,
then. Er--Larry. It's just as well not to be prowling around after dark
by yourself, you know. I'll be back at the yacht early and we'll have
dinner together before your train. Say six-thirty, eh?"
"I'll be there."
Peter hurried off for Hare's house with a mingled sense of unjustly
baffled vengeance and vague uneasiness. Varney, drawing a long breath of
relief, headed for the telegraph office, whence he dispatched the
following telegram to Mr. Carstairs:
"Plan permanently abandoned. Arrive in New York
by train 9.20 to-night. Expect me ten minutes later."
That done, he started rapidly down Remsen Street with a steadily
mounting spirit.