[Illustration: HE WAS THROTTLING THE LIFE OUT OF THE LITTLE DETECTIVE]
DOUBLE CROSSED
BY
W. DOUGLAS NEWTON
AUTHOR OF “LOW CEILINGS,” “GREEN LADIES,”
“WESTWARD WITH THE PRINCE OF WALES,” ETC.
[Illustration: Logo]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK :: 1922 :: LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
TO
GLADYS AND JOE
DOUBLE CROSSED
CHAPTER I
I
A little, knuckly man bounded into Clement Seadon’s cabin with an
india-rubber violence. He snapped the door closed, and faced the
startled young man.
“You’re Clement Seadon,” he cried; “I’m Hartley Hard.”
The young man stopped unpacking.
“I don’t think I know you,” he said.
“You needn’t think. You don’t know. I’m a complete stranger to you--in
the flesh. But don’t talk. I haven’t much time.”
Clement glanced at the umbrella and obvious shore rig of the bounding
little man.
“In fact,” he said, in the other’s manner, “you have no time at all.
‘All ashore’ was called two minutes ago.”
“Oh, don’t talk,” panted the little man. “This thing is terribly
important. I mustn’t lose a moment telling you. You know Heloise Reys?”
“Not at all,” said Clement dryly. He began again to unpack.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t quibble, man. You know her. You came from
London to Liverpool in the same carriage as Heloise Reys.”
“Oh, that was Heloise Reys,” said the young man, dropping his
dress-shirts and looking up with interest. “The Gorgon woman with her
called her Loise.”
“Nickname,” said the little man breathlessly. “Her name is really
Heloise--What I mean to say is, you do know her.”
“Not really,” said Clement with exasperating (and, one is afraid,
deliberate) casualness. “A mere chance acquaintance.”
He refused to tell the little man that, having encountered her in the
C.P.R. office, he had determinedly looked out for her on the boat train.
The little man danced about in a fury of anxiety.
“Please _do_ remember that I have the barest possible time to tell you
what I must tell you. Don’t interrupt. Don’t quibble. You know her. She
is good looking.”
“Very good looking,” said Clement, staring at the little man in
amazement.
“She is a charming girl,” urged the little man.
“Perfectly charming,” said Clement.
“Of very good family, too,” snapped the little man.
“Probably,” said Clement. “But I didn’t find that out.”
“Don’t have to, take it from me. Very good family. No father, no
mother.”
“That,” said Clement, “I shall _have_ to take from you.”
His astonishment had given way to a sort of guarded amusement. He was
of the genial type of young man, one who could see the humorous side of
things quickly.
The little bouncy man waved his umbrella in excitement.
“Do take it from me,” he cried. “No mother, no father. No encumbrances,
and no one to control her. Remember that, no one to watch over her. And
she is very well off. Very rich.”
Clement could only stare. The little man swept on: “Very beautiful.
Very charming. A girl with a gentle, tender heart--much too tender. Too
quixotic. A fine character. Good family--and rich. Extremely rich. You
understand all that?”
“Look here--what on earth are you driving at?” cried the astounded
Clement.
“But _do_ you understand?” wailed the little man. “Have you grasped it
all? A worthy girl. A girl worthy of any man. A girl that any man can
be proud of. A girl----”
This was too much for Clement. “I say,” he burst out, “I say, are
you--are you asking me to _marry_ her?”
The excited dance of the little man now took on a touch of relief as
well as anxiety. “You grasp it. You see it,” he trilled. “Assuredly.
Marry her--that’s it.”
“My dear idiot,” shouted Clement. “My dear madman. Don’t you understand
that----”
“No time to understand,” skated on the little man. “No time at all.
Know it’s all rapid and wrong and amazing, but that’s what I want. You
marry her. You can do it. You’re young. Young and handsome and healthy.
And a sea-voyage. Sea-voyages are the chance of sentiment. Idle days,
luxurious days. Moonlight--looking at the wake. Oh, the very chance for
falling in love.”
“Do you realize you’re talking like an idiot? I’ve only just met
Miss----”
“I know. I know. Awfully like an idiot. That’s because I am in such a
hurry. I know exactly how it all sounds to you--but, really, I can’t
help myself. Such a time. But that’s what I want you to do--really.
Fall in love with her. Make her fall in love with you. Make her promise
to marry you. Before she gets to Canada make her promise to marry you.
Don’t let her put you off. Force her to do it.”
Clement sat down heavily on his bunk. He stared amazed at the little
man.
“I’m afraid you’re mad,” he said.
“Mad,” snapped the little man. “I’m not mad. I’m a lawyer.”
II
Clement wanted to say that even lawyers went mad sometimes, but the
little man hurled himself along.
“I’m a lawyer. I’m her lawyer. I’m your lawyer, too--one of them.
That’s luck. When I saw you come out of the train with her, saw that
you knew her, I noted that down as a piece of luck. You see I knew
_you_ were all right. Knew that through business--oh, I’m a partner of
Rigby & Root.”
“My lawyers!” cried Clement.
“Yes! Yes! Haven’t I been telling you that? We’re her lawyers, too.
When I saw you together, I said to myself, ‘Good, that’s a second line
of defense. If I fail to bring her to reason I fall back on Clement
Seadon--Mr. Clement Seadon. He’ll be my second line. Good fellow. Good
family. Young, attractive, handsome to the eye. Has wits. Has capacity.
Has a brain in his head. Has pluck and physical strength, too. Can
carry a thing through in spite of danger.’ ...”
As he said that, his rapid eye glinted on Clement. He was staccato, but
he was not stupid. Clement stiffened. He was the type of clean, young
Anglo-Saxon who did stiffen at the hint of danger. The type that goes
about quietly, calmly avoiding trouble--but is not really heartbroken
when trouble comes along. The little lawyer saw Clement stiffen, he
chuckled internally and continued his express monologue.
“That’s what I said to myself when I saw you. I said, ‘Mr. Clement
Seadon has all the qualities necessary. An admirable second line
of defense. And well-off, too. Rich. He’s not an adventurer hunting
heiresses.’ That’s what I said when I saw you. And I went off to
Heloise Reys’ cabin and tried to bring her to reason. Oh, I strove. I
strove. I talked my best.”
He stopped and waved his umbrella in a gesture of hopelessness.
“You strove, and strove--and then had to fall back on your second
line,” said Clement, helping him out.
Clement’s mind was in a curious condition. He realized that all this
was madder than anything had any right to be--and yet he was rather
intrigued, rather interested. He could not have told why. The fact
that the little man was a lawyer, and his own lawyer at that, may
have been the reason. Or it may have been that suggestion of danger,
of adventure, called to that instinct lying dormant in the young of
Clement’s race. Whatever it was, mad though he felt the whole business
to be, he sat and listened.
The lawyer said, “You are right. I could do nothing with her. I failed.
I could not bring her to reason. She is so quixotic. So headstrong. She
has the wrongest sense of what is right.... And then I have no proofs.
Only fears, only suspicions. I couldn’t clinch the matter with her. I
couldn’t bring home anything to her.”
“And what were you trying to bring home to her?” demanded Clement, who
really thought he was entitled to some explanation.
“Bring home to her? The truth about _that_ scamp. I was trying to make
her see that she should _not_ go out to Canada to marry him.”
Clement gasped. Also he felt a little stab of pain. Heloise was
certainly most extraordinarily attractive.
“Marry him? Marry whom? Haven’t you just been insisting that she should
marry _me_?”
“Of course,” shouted the little man. “That’s it. That’s what I’m
driving at.”
“But what are you driving at?” gasped Clement. “First you tell me to
get her to marry me, then you tell me she is going to marry some one
else.”
“Perfectly true,” said the little man. “She is making this journey to
Canada to marry some one else, a man named Henry Gunning.”
Clement fell back, too, staggered for thought. “Are you a lawyer,” he
demanded, “or are you an apostle of the Mormons?”
The little lawyer rushed over to Clement and caught him by the lapel
of his coat. “No! no! no!” he cried. “Please do understand. It is
this hurry that has made everything so complicated. She is going to
Canada to marry Henry Gunning. But she must not marry him. She must be
prevented. That’s what I want you to do. I want you to make her marry
you in order that she won’t marry Gunning.”
“And why shouldn’t she marry the man she wants to?” Clement demanded.
“Because,” said the lawyer, speaking earnestly and impressively,
“because it’s a swindle. She’s got into the hands of rogues, of
swindlers, of criminals. Of that I am sure. The whole thing is terribly
evil. And she must be saved. You must save her.”
Clement was about to answer. There was a knock on the cabin door.
Clement called, “Come in.”
The door opened about a foot. An evil and repulsive face looked in. The
little eyes in the ugly face swiveled all round the cabin in a swift,
furtive glance. They took in Clement; they took in the little lawyer.
A palish tongue licked purple, dry lips. A husky voice croaked, “Beg
pardin, sir!”
The little lawyer snapped, “What do you want, man?”
“Beg pardin,” said the hoarse voice again. “Just looking round ter see
if all visitors is ashore. Bedroom steward, sir.”
The fully opened door revealed the white coat and bobbly trousers of a
veritable bedroom steward.
“All right, my man,” said the little lawyer, “I’m going ashore in a
minute.”
“Ha,” said the steward, coming in with the satisfaction on his face
such as policemen wear when they catch an authentic burglar. “_Should_
be ashore. Orders is that all visitors sh’d be ashore. Come this way,
sir. Quick, please, sir.”
“I’m going ashore in a minute,” said the little lawyer.
“Orders, sir. Gotter be now, sir.”
“Get out of this,” snapped the lawyer. “I’ll go ashore before the ship
sails, never you fear.”
The steward came forward with an air of menace in his bearing.
“You go ashore, now, see. Them’s me orders, an’ I’ve got to see that
it’s done--can’t stop arguing.”
“I don’t want you to,” said the little man decisively. “Particularly as
Captain Heavy is the person you should argue with. If Captain Heavy was
wrong in saying I could stop aboard, I think you should be the one to
tell him, not me.”
“Ca’pen Heavy.... Why didn’t you say that ’efore?” snarled the man. He
went sullenly out of the cabin. The little lawyer waited for a minute,
then he slipped out, too. He darted up the little alleyway that led to
the main passage along the deck. Clement heard him say in a tart voice:
“My good man, I know my way off this ship--you needn’t hang about here
waiting to conduct me off.”
In a moment he was back with Clement, talking rapidly again, but this
time in a noticeably lowered voice.
“He’s one of them. I thought he was. You’ll have to be on your guard
against that steward.”
“One of whom?” asked Clement, trying to keep pace with the happenings.
“One of the rogues, do you mean? Good heavens! are you telling me there
is a sort of Villains’ Gang of them aboard this ship?”
“I don’t say it,” said the little man grimly, “but I shouldn’t be at
all surprised if it were so. It’s a big thing, a terribly big thing, my
friend, this marriage of Heloise. It is a matter of a million pounds
sterling and more.”
III
“You are rather stunning as well as other things,” said Clement limply.
He really was feeling a trifle dazed. The little man had so hustling
a manner. Also, his own knowledge of the girl, Heloise Keys, was of
the faintest kind. She was just a tall, slim girl whom he had found
attractive enough to want to know again after his first meeting.
She was quite pleasant, quite English, quite natural. Apart from
her special attraction, she was just one of the millions of crisp,
self-assured and self-contained young women of Britain.
He had met her, as he had said, twice. The first time had been a
delightful accident. He had arrived to book his passage at the Canadian
Pacific Ocean Service Office in London, to find her there on the same
errand.
What is more, there was a certain sense of comradeship in that action,
for both intended to sail to Canada in the same ship, the _Empress of
Prague_. One shipping clerk attended to both, he left the one cabin
plan before them from which to choose their rooms, while he went away
on the business of registering their tickets.
Clement had only to glance once at the cabin-plan to make his
decision. He had sailed on the _Empress_ before. All he had to do was
to see whether his old cabin, which had been a comfortable one, was
unoccupied. It was unoccupied. He jotted down its number to give to the
clerk when he came back.
Heloise and her companion were not so decisive. Heloise, at least,
showed all the hesitance proper to people unaccustomed to sea travel.
The other woman was making suggestions, but Clement did not pay any
attention to her. She was so obviously a companion, a servant, though
of the cultured sort.
The clerk had tactfully pointed out a large cabin. After having spoken
in glowing terms of it, he had gone off leaving the decision to the
ladies. Clement had nothing against that clerk. As a clerk, he knew his
business, which was to fill up cabins. He was merely doing his duty in
suggesting that cabin to people who did not know the art of selecting
cabins--there were so many people who knew it too well, and would leave
that cabin on his hands.
Clement noted the battle of indecision with some amusement. Also with
some interest, because Heloise (only he didn’t know she was Heloise,
then) was extremely pretty. Also he thought she was of that trusting
and sweet disposition that will take the word of anybody--even of
shipping clerks. Obviously, she was going to follow his suggestion.
When the shipping clerk went to the back of the office Clement saw to
it that she didn’t. He looked up at her as she puzzled over the deck
plan, smiled in a disarming way, and said, “I say, if you don’t mind
my butting in, I wouldn’t take that inner room. You’ll find it hot and
rather airless, and there’s no light at all except artificial light.”
She answered him before she thought about who he was. “Are you sure of
that?”
“Quite,” he told her. “I know the _Empress of Prague_ well; you’ll be
quite comfortable on her, particularly if you take, say, that cabin
over there, instead of that inner one.”
As he spoke he heard an indignant sniff from the companion. He looked
beyond the girl and saw a comely, chilly, thick-set, middle-aged woman.
A woman who had a broad and attractive smile which, somehow, did not
seem to penetrate deeper than the surface of her skin. It was the sniff
and the smile that led Clement to christen her the Gorgon, then and
there.
But the girl herself was not sniffing in moral indignation. She was
pleased and friendly. “But it is jolly of you to help,” she cried. “You
are sure that one over there is the better cabin?”
“As sure as I like light and fresh air,” Clement smiled at her. “You’ll
get both in that, you see, it’s an outside cabin. Has--windows--ports,
you know. And it’s roomier.”
“Then, that’s the one we’ll have, Méduse,” said the girl, and the
Gorgon (really, Clement had been very apt in his nickname) said in
a light voice slightly tipped with frost, “That is also the one I
suggested. Remember I, too, have traveled on the sea before, Loise.”
The girl paid no attention to that. She did not allow herself to be
distracted from Clement, as she was obviously meant to be distracted.
She was, in fact, rather pleased to meet a young, good-looking,
polished man, who was also to be a companion during the voyage across
the Atlantic. She said, smiling, “I’m thoroughly mystified by all this
sort of thing. I’ve never done anything but the cross-Channel trip
before, and then only by daylight. The tricks of cabins and comfort are
dark secrets, as yet. It is really very good of you to give me that
tip.”
“Oh, travelers are a brotherhood who should band together in the face
of the common enemy,” said Clement cheerfully.
“Are we going to have common enemies?” she asked pleasantly.
“Not on the _Empress_,” said Clement. “It’s a happy ship. But still
there are always little things where the hardened traveler can help.”
“Hardened?” she echoed. “You must have begun before your teens then....
But it is rather nice, oh, and lucky, to meet some one who is going by
the same boat. I have a feeling that going by boat must be rather like
going to a new school--everybody is new and reserved. So that if one
knows some one already....” They went galloping off into that chatter
which overtakes vivid people who have found a common ground, and not
even the sniffs of the Gorgon could check them. Definitely, Clement
thought then, the Gorgon wanted to claw the girl away. She disliked the
acquaintance.
Still, she did not have her way, though she hurried the girl off with
some speed when the bargain over the counter had been completed. Even
then the girl, as she went, held out the pleasant promise of their
future meeting.
“We’ll meet again, then, on board,” she had nodded to him as she left
the shipping office.
“Or on the boat train,” said Clement. “You’ll go up to Liverpool by
that?”
“Of course,” she said, smiling. “Until then.”
Clement completed his own reservations, and went out of the office with
a feeling of elation. He was already looking forward to his trip to
Canada, where he hoped to get some sport: trout and salmon fishing, and
later some duck shooting, and, perhaps, a chance at moose. But now his
trip seemed a much jollier affair, and he wasn’t thinking of sport when
he felt that.
She had been so pretty. She had such an extraordinary charm. She was
fine and upspringing if she was slim. She carried herself so well. And
her face was so vivid and alluring. Her skin was cool and white and
glowing, and her features delicate and exquisite. She was more than
pretty, she was beautiful.
And that candor and kindness that seemed to be her nature. A sort
of honesty, a nobility that placed her right above petty feminine
things--yet there was no denying the warm and tender femininity of her
nature. A real woman, a beautiful woman. A woman in a million.
And yet he had not found out her name. Beyond the fact that her
companion called her Loise, he knew nothing about her. He might have
inquired from the shipping clerk. He did not inquire. He was as young
and as straight-minded as that.
He had thought about her a great deal between that time and the sailing
of the boat. And he was early at Paddington on the day that the boat
train left. He had got all his own luggage stowed with the celerity
of an old traveler and was looking out for her some time before she
arrived.
He helped her and her companion, the Gorgon. He had already found them
a compartment, had secured it with a healthy tip. It was to be his own
compartment, too, if she gave permission, and, delightfully, she did.
He traveled with her all the way to Liverpool, but, looking back at it
now, it had been rather a curious journey.
He had put certain things down to accidents, those accidents that will
beset travelers at times. But now--he wondered.
In the first place, he had nearly missed the train. They had been
sitting there, chatting, quite serenely, gazing with slightly amused
contempt at those passengers of the breed always doomed to be late for
trains. Then the Gordon discovered that a rather special parcel left in
the baggage room yesterday (heaven knows why!--the Gorgon seemed the
sort of feminine mystery who would do just that sort of thing) had not
been retrieved. When the Gorgon mentioned the parcel, the girl Loise
had made an exclamation of acute vexation.
Clement was young enough (and she was pretty enough) to seize such
an opportunity of doing her service. He said decisively it might be
rescued, and he asked crisply, “How much time have we?”
It was the Gorgon who had pulled her watch with (now he could see)
astonishing celerity. The watch showed that there was a full thirteen
minutes to spare before the train went. That was ample. The Gorgon gave
him the cloakroom ticket for the parcel. The girl described its nature
rather well in one or two words, and she indicated the shelf on which
it had been placed.
Clement darted out to the cloakroom, not looking at the station clock,
as he should have done. He reached the counter, put the ticket and a
large tip on the zinc surface and exhorted the attendant to hurry.
The attendant smiled happily at the tip, examined the ticket and said
blandly, “Na-poo.” It wasn’t his ticket at all, it was one issued by
another station, Victoria.
“Hang!” shouted Clement. “I must get that parcel ... there it is over
there.” The girl Loise’s description and directions had helped him out.
He told the attendant in vivid language who had left it. He was not
kind to the Gorgon, but his picture of her was unmistakable.
“I remember,” said the attendant. “Remember the lady wot was wit’ ’er.
A very pretty lady.... All the same, you ain’t got the right ticket.”
“Hang it all, man, don’t argue!” shouted Clement. “I’ve got to catch
the boat train....”
And when he said that the attendant had suddenly become very much
alive. He snatched at the parcel and swung it over. “’Ave you got to
catch it, well you’ve got to run blame ’ard ter do it. It’s just about
going out.”
As Clement, sprinting like the deuce, ran for the train, he glanced
at the station clock. Heavens! that wretched woman’s watch must be
frightfully and femininely wrong. The train was just due to leave.
He simply flung himself by the ticket collector at the platform gate.
The man shouted at him, but Clement fought his way by--if they wanted
to question him they must do it at the other end. The train was just
moving.
He flung himself at the door of the guard’s van. And the evil chance of
such things seemed to be against him. A very large, a very bulky man
was trying to do the same thing. He was an idiot of a man. He stumbled
and fumbled. He blocked the way with his hideous ineptitude. So stupid
was he that Clement had the feeling that exasperated people get, that
is, the fool was doing it all purposely.
Clement Seadon was young and very active. While the excessive man still
stumbled and blundered along beside a train steadily gathering pace, he
nipped ahead of him, and with an agile twist was on to the footboard
and into the van.
He turned at once to help the large fool. With a surprising access of
nimbleness the big fellow was already in the train, standing beside him
in the van. Already saying with a sort of purring urbanity, “Well,
that was the nearest shave--nearer for you, sir. I must apologize. I
did not actually realize you were trying to get on the train. I thought
you were a porter or some one trying to help me. I must apologize, sir.”
He said this with the utmost geniality, which, at the same time, seemed
to be reserved. It was as though he spoke automatically the right
things; but what he said had no relationship to what he felt. And while
he spoke he stared fixedly across Clement’s shoulder, and Clement was
aware of the smallness of his eyes and their astonishing closeness
together.
Still everything had ended well, and he said as much. He parted with
this far too much of a man, and made his way along the corridor to his
compartment. Here he was not at all sorry for the accident. Both ladies
were in a lively state of alarm, and that alarm gave way to a cheery
thankfulness at seeing him safely on board once more.
Or rather with the girl Loise that was how things worked out, and, as
far as he was concerned, the journey was made even more attractive
by the emotion this little episode had called up. It was not quite
so with the Gorgon. She seemed overwhelmed by the knowledge that it
was her stupidity in the matter of her watch and the wrong cloakroom
ticket that had nearly caused Clement to miss the train and the boat.
Her apologies were profuse, and she endeavored to make an _amende_ by
correcting, rather late in the day, the time on her watch.
The rest of the journey was uneventful (and Clement was now seeing
things in a more acute light)--unless one could see something grave in
the tiny incident on the landing stage.
The whole of Clement’s baggage had gone astray.
Now that he looked at it, Clement began to see the strangeness of the
happening. He had not been careless. He had instructed a porter fully
before returning to help the ladies. He had even chuckled at his own
efficiency when, on looking back, he saw the big man who had all but
prevented his gaining the boat train, standing helpless near his own
busy porter.
Nevertheless twenty minutes later Nicholson, his cabin steward, told
him he could not find his luggage anywhere. Nicholson was not a man
to make mistakes and if he said luggage could not be found, it could
not be found. Angry as he was at the mishap Clement wasted no time.
He _had_ to have that luggage. Naturally, he could not possibly sail
without a rag to his name.
The stuff that was in Clement Seadon came out in the way he handled
this _contretemps_. He went straight to the Canadian Pacific shipping
agent, and put the problem up to him. The man belonged to a service
that suffers attractively from an ideal of complete efficiency. The
agent began to hustle.
He was, of course, helped by Clement. Clement had the type of mind
that pays attention to a porter’s registration number when the porter
holds up the metal plate upon which it is stamped to the hirer’s gaze.
Clement remembered and repeated the number, and left the matter in
the hands of the agent. In half an hour his luggage was on board the
_Empress_.
A foreman had named the porter from the number; a dock policeman had
stated that he had seen this man trundling the barrow-load of luggage
away from the shed in the direction of the Cunard dock; the luggage was
run to earth. The porter, on being taxed with his strange behavior,
offered a wild and absurd story of having been told that Mr. Seadon had
suddenly received orders to go by Cunard. A steward had come off the
_Empress_ just as he was going on to it, and given this very definite
command.
He was, so the porter said, “a littlish, mean-looking ’ound of a
steward.” Nicholson was a big man. And, though the porter may have
based his description of the offending steward on anger, Clement,
with a sudden blaze of comprehension, now recognized how well that
description fitted the steward who had just tried to turn the little
lawyer off the boat. Had that steward tried to keep _him_ off the boat
also? It looked extraordinarily like it.
Thus, though he might have been inclined to scout the whole idea of
the gang of rogues who were working to accomplish the undoing of the
girl Heloise and her million pounds, as something absurd and unreal,
actually the train of circumstances forced him to say limply:
“You are rather stunning as well as other things.”
IV
The little man went on promptly with his hasty and hurtling attack.
“I know, stunning and absurd and incredible. It sounds all that, I
know. To me it is all that--only, I’ve got to face things as they
appear to me and I’ve so little to go on, yet so much. A huge fortune,
that foolish girl’s happiness, and all that sort of thing--is at
stake....”
He seemed anxious to impress Clement with the soundness of his case,
and it was now Clement who cried, “But get on with it, man. You haven’t
too much time. You’ll have to go ashore very soon. Tell me the facts.”
“Facts,” snapped the little man. “The first is she’s going out
expressly to find and marry this weak-will, this ne’er-do-well Henry
Gunning.”
“Why? Is she engaged to him?” demanded Clement, with peculiar interest.
“Engaged to him. Good gad--rubbish. Sheer quixotery. This is the story:
They were brought up together--boy and girl. He was an unpleasant,
feckless cub. His people had estates next old Reys. Both of ’em went
about as kids. There was a sort of calf love. Both of ’em had it mildly
... nothing else to do in the country for the young but to be calves.
Then he did something idiotic, and he was shipped off to Canada. His
guardians did it--parents dead then.”
“What was it?”
“Oh, general irritation with his spinelessness and low tastes, plus a
crisis. They made use of that crisis. Matter of fact, he stole.”
“Stole! But could Miss Heloise have anything to do with a thief?”
“Oh, but a plausible thief,” snapped the little lawyer. “What he
stole, he said, was his. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t, and he knew
it. It was a picture, an Old Master, belonging to his family. Family
had died up to its ears in debt--for which his own bad habits were
mainly responsible. Everything had been sold to settle those debts. He
knew that all right. But he stole that picture, sold it, and went on
the spree with the proceeds. There you get the type of man he is in a
nutshell.”
“That doesn’t explain Miss Reys’ attitude.”
“Oh, he made a case. Said he thought he’d taken only what was his own.
He bought her a silly little trinket, too, and made her believe he
had sold the picture to get that. Absurd. But she was woefully young.
She has a generous heart, and she was on the side of the scamp in
affection. Well, that’s the beginning. He left her with the usual vows.
He’d been unlucky. He had an unlucky nature, so he told her; but he was
going to the great and grand New World to carve out a fortune for her.
He would return, like the hero in a story, rich and powerful, and all
because of her--all for her.”
“Well, what’s next. Has he made that fortune?”
“Not a bit of it. He’s the sort that doesn’t. Hasn’t the guts or the
honesty. I don’t know what he’s done in the ten years he’s been away;
nobody knows. I suspect a mountain of beastliness. But one thing I
know. He hasn’t made that fortune.”
“You’re sure?”
“My dear lad, isn’t that why she’s going out? Oh, of course, I’m
running on too fast. Well, that _is_ the reason, anyhow. First year or
two there were plenty of letters. Then the letters dropped away. His
were sloppy and disconsolate, I gather. He was the unlucky sort even
in Canada, he let her know. Of course he was. Then the letters stopped
altogether. For years nothing was heard of him. Things went on with
Heloise ever so much better. I thought she’d forgotten the ass. Then,
quite suddenly, the whole of this business started again. Came at us,
as it were, out of the blue.”
“And what precisely do you mean by that?” Clement asked.
“I can’t quite explain. Know nothing definite, you see. First Heloise’s
father died. He left her in control of this fortune. Really an immense
fortune. When I mentioned the figure of a million pounds I meant it. It
is more than true. Heloise continued for some time in a state of happy
ordinariness. Then she had another letter from the scallywag Gunning.
I don’t know what was in it, but it seemed to fling her right back to
those old flapperish, calfish days. From what I could gather, Gunning
was still fighting his luck. He was fighting (so he hinted) with dogged
courage. He remembered his vow to her, and had kept himself staunch,
unfettered, and upright because of it. He meant to redeem it; in fact,
he hinted that there was a chance of redeeming it--if only his spell of
bad luck would break. He had a big thing in view--a huge thing--that
would bring him a great fortune. Then he would be able to come to her.
But he didn’t do more than hint at this big _coup_ he had in mind.
I told Heloise that that was the man all over; that he was merely
exhibiting his vague and spineless nature. Stupid of me to say that.
I was set aside as hard and unsympathetic at once, and nothing more
was told to me. Heloise, naturally, thought it was his noble nature
cropping out. He would tell her nothing until he had brought it off. He
would be beholden to nobody until he had fulfilled himself. I said it
was all rubbish; but Heloise, who thinks the best of everybody, clung
to her view.... And then this confounded new companion supported that
view, gave it a new strength?”
“How could a companion do any such thing?”
“I can’t answer riddles; I can only guess. Perhaps I am too easily
suspicious. I suspected the _old_ companion when she so inexplicably
left Heloise’s service. Why? Well, it seemed illogical. She had an
extraordinarily well-paid, extraordinarily comfortable job. It is the
sort of job no woman of that kind would leave in a hurry. But she did.
She said she had come into some money, a lot of it, and wanted to set
up a little business of her own. Well, I couldn’t find out how she had
come into that money--a few thousands it must have been. I tried to
trace a source. I couldn’t find one. But she had the money from some
one all right.”
“You suspect it was an underhand affair--she was paid?”
“I suspect, only. No facts. This new companion made me more suspicious.
She’s a Canadian, or says she is.”
“Perhaps that’s the reason Miss Reys chose her--a reason of sentiment,”
said Clement.
“You’ve touched the crucial plausibility of the matter. That _is_
why Heloise chose her. The departing companion recommended this
creature--suspicious again. Heloise was not altogether smitten with
her at first, but the fact that she knew Canada turned the scale. The
sentimental note won. And then--too surprising for life, I think:
an attractive coincidence, thinks Heloise--this new companion knows
Gunning.”
Clement nodded. He, too, was beginning to think that the long arm of
coincidence was beginning to suffer from strain.
“‘It only came out casually,’ says Heloise,” went on the little man;
“but there’s the fact this companion who came to her by fishy means
knew Gunning. Knew him well enough to sing rather an attractive song
about him. Oh, she made it all sound very ordinary. She had not
_actually_ spoken to or known Gunning, but she had stayed at a place
called Sicamous, where he was often to be seen, and where his name was
very well known. He was known there as the Englishman whom providence
had a grouch against. He was also known as the Englishman who would be
a millionaire some day. No, don’t ask me why he was called that. That
hasn’t been told me. I suspect my attitude of non-sympathy has been
adroitly enlarged by that confounded companion. I’ve been kept out of
it. All I know is that Heloise is filled with a sort of sentimental
certainty that Gunning is out there in the wilds needing help. He is
fighting a lone hand against circumstances beyond his strength. He is
there working doggedly with a great chance within his grasp; but for
lack of means, for lack of support, for lack of money he cannot make
good. That’s how I see it, and I can see how the sentimental side has
been worked up to secure Heloise’s sympathy. She feels he won’t, he
doesn’t write to her because of his pride. His self-respect, his sense
of decency, his grit and all that sort of bunkum forbids his writing to
the girl he loves and wants to marry. That’s how they are playing on
Heloise’s candid and sympathetic nature.”
“Well,” said Clement. “It might be correct. Men are rather like that,
don’t you think?”
“_Men_, yes,” snapped the little lawyer. “Fellows like you, real men,
would be like that. But Gunning--I don’t believe it.”
“That’s rather drastic.”
“My boy, I know Gunning. We acted for _his_ people too. Gunning is not
like that. He’s a moral tadpole. If he has changed, then the age of
miracles has very certainly not passed.”
Clement thought this sort of talk led to nothing. He changed the line.
“And what’s the big chance that lies before him?”
“I told you I didn’t know,” said the little lawyer. “I’ve been kept in
the dark over that.”
“Is Miss Reys in the dark?”
“What do you mean by that? As I tell you, I think she is certainly in
the dark concerning this foul plot that is being worked on her. But
concerning this big _coup_ that Gunning is supposed to be able to bring
off--no. She knows all about that. She’s been writing letters to people
in Canada. The companion has supplied her with addresses, I take it.
She’s received replies that have convinced her of the genuineness of
Gunning and his prospects. Of that I am certain.”
“You don’t think those letters genuine?”
“I don’t think anything connected with this trip to Canada is genuine.”
Clement frowned. Thinking, he said, “Exactly what do you think these
rogues, if they be rogues, are out to do?”
“I think they are out to get control of rather more than a million
pounds sterling, which, at present, belongs to Heloise.”
“How will they do that--if she marries Gunning?”
“How will they?” began the little lawyer in exasperation. Then he
said more precisely and quietly, “I will tell you exactly what I
think. I think that, somehow, a band of rogues in Canada has found
out from Henry Gunning that there is a sort of engagement between him
and Heloise. They have learned from the same source that Heloise is
worth a million of money. They have that rascal in their power. They
have seen that through him there is a very good chance of getting that
million of money into their power.”
“You’re making rather a long shot, aren’t you? After all, they must
have known that they would have to reckon with Heloise, who will have
something to say in the matter.”
The little man waggled his umbrella fiercely.
“Not a long shot,” he insisted. “They probably saw her letters to him.
If they read those letters they would see exactly the sort of girl
Heloise is. She is fine, honest. She is too generous for this world....
She is undoubtedly quixotic, as I have told you several times. They
would see that a girl like that would respond to adroit handling. Her
sense of honor would lead her to remain true to the letter of the
bargain she made with Gunning years ago. Her sense of chivalry would
send her out post-haste to his aid, if that aid was required. She would
feel that he was making a tremendous sacrifice for her, and she would
at once be willing to make a tremendous sacrifice in return.”
The little man paused, gazing at Clement.
“That’s her nature; generous to folly. She gives greatly, tremendously,
if her heart is touched.... Well, that’s what these brutes have done.
As I see it, they have assessed her, sized her up. They have put
this plot into motion. Cunningly they have reawakened her interest in
Gunning; first, by that letter from him; then they got rid of the old
companion, and substituted this--this temptress from Canada. She has
spent all her days playing upon Heloise’s heart-strings. She has cast a
spell, a glamour, a damned romantic glamour, over that poor girl. She
has painted a picture of the stoic Gunning fighting against luck for
_her_. Painted him proud and silent and full of pluck, refusing to call
on her aid, though she has but to stretch out a finger, back up some
scheme of his, and he will win--he will win a fortune and win her. Oh,
they have painted for her a beauteous and beastly picture. The sort of
picture that can have but one effect on such a girl as Heloise. She has
become inspired by it. She sees the great and the generous way. If this
true man, Gunning, is too proud to cry for help, then she should be
proud to go to him and help him. She will make her sacrifice also....
So--so off she packs to Canada. She starts out like a sort of rapturous
female knight-errant.”
The little man had to stop, because his face and throat were working.
“And then when she finds him,” he ended, his voice harsh with emotion,
“there’ll be a love scene ... and a marriage ... and then ... God knows
what _they_ will do then ... but as sure as I’m here, Clement Seadon,
they’ll get that million ... and I daren’t ask myself _how they will
get it_.”
Clement stood stiff with the tragedy that had suddenly burst in horror
into that little cabin.
“I daren’t ask myself how they will get that million,” the little
lawyer had said in emotion, and Clement shuddered. He saw the gaunt
and lonely mountains of Sicamous (wasn’t that the place?). The dark,
spruce-clad valleys, awfully lonely and awfully quiet. And in those
silent valleys away from man--away from help and discovery--anything
might happen.
He had a quick vision of the beautiful and splendid girl, and his skin
crept with horror of--of the things that might happen.
He found that he had very little to say. He muttered lamely, “You are
sure she is going out for this?”
“To see Gunning? Yes. She told me so frankly.”
“But--but to marry him?”
“I think so. Of course she wouldn’t tell me that, but”--and a gleam in
his eye relieved the horror of the moment--“but I, as her lawyer, have
been called upon lately to settle heavy bills with all the milliners,
dressmakers, and purveyors of dainty feminine _trivia_ in the kingdom
of woman’s shopping. I don’t want to let you into delicate secrets;
but, even to the unsophisticated male, such wholesale buying seems to
point to one definite end.”
“I am a--a bachelor in such matters,” said Clement, glad to get the
topic off the ugly strain. “But even with such preparations woman is
not doomed to marriage. After ten years--Henry Gunning may not be
likable. A man of the type you have described is an unpleasant object
when he goes to seed; as, no doubt, he has gone to seed.”
“That gives me no ground for hope,” said the little lawyer. “He is
plausible. He will probably get himself up to the scratch for the time
being. Even this gang would see to that, don’t you think? His very
seediness may make him seem more romantic--women are so illogically
and amazingly made. And then in a lonely place.... No, the only safe
and settled thing is to prevent the marriage. For you to prevent the
marriage.”
Clement laughed with a touch of annoyed self-consciousness. “After all
you’ve told me,” he said lamely, “I’ll keep my eye on her.”
“No--make love to her,” snapped the little lawyer.
“Perhaps I can advise her.”
“Rubbish--make her love you. Advise her? Good Lord, can any man advise
a headstrong, well-educated young woman of the twentieth century.
Advise her? Haven’t I been advising her not to do this mad thing
for months! She’s certain of herself. She’s so practical about the
whole matter.--Advise her? You might just as well try to advise Mount
Popocatepetl to melt into the plain. Don’t attempt to advise. Do! Love
her. Marry her.”
A sharp voice came swiftly along the gallery outside. A boy, running
with some urgency, was yelling a name.
“Marry her, man,” snapped the little lawyer. “I’m cut off from her. I
can do nothing. I depend on you.” He listened to the boy’s yells. “My
name. I’m wanted.” He sprang to the door, ran up the alley-way to the
gallery. “Boy! Boy! I’m Mr. Hard. Want me?”
A shrill voice yelled, “Lookin’ fer you everywhere, sir. Hurry. Ca’pen
Heavy’s compliments, you gotter get off the ship damn quick. Casting
off now. Look sharp, sir.”
The little man swung round, called down the alley-way into which
Clement had come, “Got to go ashore. Don’t forget what you’ve got to
do.”
“I’ll do my best,” cried the confused Clement.
“Best! No good. Marry her.”
“But, you see, she mightn’t----”
“Marry her,” snapped the little lawyer, already on the run. “Don’t give
in to her. Make her marry you.”
Running, he went along the gallery out of sight.
Clement stared after him in bewilderment.
“Holy romance!” he murmured to himself. “Here’s a thing with which to
begin a sea voyage.”
He turned to go back to his cabin. Away along the gallery, by the
staircase that led up to the smoking room, he saw two men standing.
They were standing watching him. They stood there for but a second, and
then, with furtive quickness, they stepped back out of his sight.
It had been a matter of an instant. But Clement had recognized both of
them.
One was the steward with the evil face who had tried to get the little
lawyer off the ship, and had, so Clement felt, tried to get him off the
ship, too, by sending his luggage astray.
The other was a tall, huge, almost excessive man. A man with little,
sinister eyes ... the man who had all but prevented his getting into
the train. The man whom he had seen close to his baggage before it went
astray. He was there watching Clement, talking to the evil steward in
an intimate way.
“Ah,” reflected Clement. “So you _are_ in this. You are one of them....
And now that I come to think things out, there was never any doubt of
it.”
He sat down on his bunk to face the problem of saving the girl Heloise
from a gang of rogues, of whom the companion, Méduse, this huge man,
and the steward at least were members.