THE DARK TOWER
Doris Monroe had seen Marjorie and Jerry in the dining room of Wayland
Hall that evening. She knew the Travelers were holding a social session
in Leila’s and Vera’s room and somberly envied them their fun. Things
had been distressingly dull for her since her return from the holiday
vacation spent with Leslie Cairns in New York.
She had thoroughly enjoyed herself in New York after Mrs. Gaylord,
Leslie’s chaperon, had appeared at the Essenden, the apartment hotel in
which Leslie had engaged the Dresden suite of rooms. Leslie, too, had
been more agreeable during that short, blissful two weeks of fine
dressing, expensive dinners, luncheons and theatres than Doris had known
her to be either before or since the vacation.
The few times she had been in Leslie’s company after their return to
Hamilton, Leslie had been preoccupied, irritable and altogether
unpleasant. She had been so patently uncongenial that Doris had
preferred to keep away from her on the plea of study. This plea was at
least sound. Doris had had her hands full for a time in trying to stave
off being conditioned in mathematics.
She had known nothing of Leslie’s downfall as a business woman. It was
at least three weeks after Leslie had reluctantly obeyed her father’s
mandate and left Hamilton for New York before she had written Doris a
letter from an apartment on Central Park West which Mrs. Gaylord had
secured for the two as a residence.
In the letter Leslie had stated that she would return to Hamilton for a
few days early in April. She had not, however, explained her sudden
departure, nor had she mentioned the disruption of her garage
enterprise. Doris had answered the letter, feeling secretly relieved
that Leslie was not in Hamilton. She had a shrewd idea that Leslie’s
father might be responsible for Leslie’s return to New York. She had
heard enough of the conversation between Leslie and her chaperon on the
occasion, when Mrs. Gaylord had arrived unexpectedly at the Essenden, to
guess that Leslie and her father were not on very congenial terms.
Leslie had left Doris the Dazzler, the white car she was so fond of
driving. She had said nothing in her letter about it, nor had she
mentioned the sum of money which she had placed to Doris’s account in a
Hamilton bank. Doris had not yet been able to return the seventy-five
dollars she had drawn of the five hundred Leslie had placed in bank to
her credit. She was resolved on doing so before the close of college in
June. Selfishly indifferent and indifferently selfish though she was she
had a certain standard of honor. She had not ceased to regret having
allowed Leslie to bank the five hundred dollars to her account.
Doris was not so anxious to return the Dazzler to Leslie. True she had
no expectation of keeping it indefinitely. She hoped, however, that
Leslie would allow her to use it until the close of college. She was
able to pay for its up-keep from her allowance. Though she cared little
for the freshies and sophs who made much of her, she frequently took one
or more of them with her on her drives in the white car. Secretly she
preferred her own company to theirs. She regarded them as more or less
“silly” and continued to accept their adoration with bored sweetness.
Unwillingly she had discovered in herself a growing interest for the
Travelers. Her keen perception could not fail to show her their
undeniable claim to originality and cleverness. She admired, even liked
Muriel, to whom she had, however, not spoken since before Christmas.
Before their misunderstanding she had been on the verge of real fondness
for Muriel. She now missed their former pleasant relation as roommates.
At times she was tempted to lay aside her grievance and try to restore
the old friendly footing.
Leila had approached Doris at the psychological moment. Doris was weary
of being rushed by those for whom she entertained hardly more than
casual interest. She had not the diversion of Leslie Cairns’
companionship. She had persistently turned “dig” to the extent of
putting herself beyond the immediate fear of a condition in mathematics.
She was therefore ready to entertain with secret pleasure Leila’s polite
request for her appearance in “The Knight of the Northern Sun.” She was
actually eager to take the part of Nageda, the Norseland princess.
Outwardly she showed herself as coolly business-like as Leila during
their brief interview. After she and Leila had separated she experienced
a half sad regret because she appeared to be so thoroughly “out of it”
with clever Miss Harper. She was sure Miss Harper cared nothing about
her personally. She merely regarded her as a student; one best suited to
play the part of Nageda.
“The Knight of the Northern Sun” was to be given on the evening of April
thirtieth. It would be presented at least three weeks in advance of
Leila’s Irish play. The Candace Oliver musicale was to take place on the
evening of April fourth. On the night of April eleventh Leila’s “great
idea” would furnish the entire college body of students with an
evening’s fun.
Such was the program the Travelers drew up. After the meeting came the
usual spread, eaten in high spirits. Marjorie, Robin and Jerry stole
downstairs several minutes after inexorable old ten-thirty had shrilled
its loud emphatic nightly command for retiring. Very quietly the trio
let themselves out the front door into the moonlight.
Marjorie and Jerry gallantly offered themselves as Robin’s escorts
across the moonlit campus to Silverton Hall. They took hold of her arms
and paraded her between them, expatiating to her as they rushed her
along at a hiking stride, on the value of their company. In front of
Silverton Hall they lingered briefly for a last animated exchange of
laughing pleasantries, then Jerry and Marjorie turned their steps toward
the entrance at the east end of the campus which gave on the pike toward
Hamilton Estates.
“It seems strange to be walking out of the campus gates at this time of
night.” Marjorie made this light observation as the two Travelers
stepped from the college premises and out upon Hamilton Pike.
“We’re enchanted, you know. We broke the spell for a little while this
evening. There’s the enchanted trail back to the good fairy’s castle.”
Jerry pointed to the pike, shining and white under the moon’s clear,
burning lamp. “That’s the way I’ve felt most of the time since we
settled ourselves at the Arms.”
“So have I. It’s not only Hamilton Arms that seems enchanted. Hamilton
Estates is like a fairy-tale kingdom,” Marjorie added to Jerry’s fancy.
“The Kingdom of Castles,” Jerry instantly supplied. “And in the heart of
the kingdom dwelt Goldendede, a fairy empress.”
As they continued on their way to the Arms the pair amused themselves
with the weaving of a fairy tale about Miss Susanna, Hamilton Estates
and themselves as willing victims of enchantment.
“Bing! that nearly shattered the enchantment,” grumbled Jerry as an
automobile whisked past them from the direction in which they had come.
“There’s nothing fairy-like about a buzz-buggy. That particular one
butted into our fairy tale and reu-ined it.”
“Never mind. You’ve been truly inspired since we left the campus
tonight, Jeremiah,” Marjorie consoled. “Goldendede is a beautiful name
for Miss Susanna. The Kingdom of Castles exactly suits Hamilton Estates.
You couldn’t have named this aloof collection of turreted gabled houses
better.”
“That’s higher commendation than you ever gave the Bean Jingles. It
makes up for your sad lack of appreciation of those gems. I am _so_
mollified, Bean!” Jerry fairly purred gratification.
“I’d appreciate your art of jingling more, Jeremiah, if it were
addressed to someone else. Leila or Ronny or Vera Jingles would be less
personal.”
“You have a grudge against your charming self, Bean,” was Jerry’s
retort. “Forget it. Brooke Hamilton is to be celebrated in biography,
why shouldn’t Marjorie Dean be celebrated in verse. The first is not
greater than the last in her own little way. The—”
“Say another word like that and I’ll run off and leave you in the
enchanted dark.” Marjorie placed a light hand over Jerry’s lips.
Jerry gently removed the restraining fingers and gave them a friendly
squeeze. She kept Marjorie’s hand in hers and the two walked on, arms
swinging. “You’re a resplendent goose,” she said, “but you win. At least
you do until the next time.”
“Jerry, did you notice Miss Susanna’s face today as she stood on the
veranda waving to us?” Marjorie changed the subject with abruptness. “It
was transfigured!”
“I noticed. I thought then that there could not be anything quite so
wonderful as the return of happiness to a person who had been shut away
from happiness as long as she had.” Jerry turned suddenly serious. “And
you began it, Marvelous Manager. You were the leaven—”
Marjorie dropped Jerry’s hand and flashed away from her along the pike,
a slim, flitting, shadowy figure. She was laughing softly to herself as
she ran on for a few yards.
“I told you I’d run away from you.” she reminded, as Jerry came speeding
up to her. “I didn’t propose to stay after hearing myself compared to a
yeast cake.”
The two had paused, breathless and laughing at one side of the pike.
Their run had brought them just beyond the brightly lighted gate posts
of Lenox Heath, a rambling, many gabled English manor house. Its
powerful gate lights illuminated the pike for several hundred feet.
Farther ahead of them it was dark and shadowy, in spite of the full
moon’s rays.
A few more steps would bring them to the part of the highway which
skirted the Carden estate, forming its southern boundary. Formerly the
pike at this point had extended between irregular embankments of stony
earth which rose to a low height above the pike’s smooth bed. It was at
this particular part of the pike that Miss Susanna had narrowly escaped
being run over by Lillian Walbert’s car on a February afternoon of the
previous year.
During the summer which followed the date of Miss Susanna’s near
accident, the right side of the pike which marked the northern boundary
of the Clements estate had been leveled with the road bed by order of
the Clements themselves. The low lumpy irregular ridge on the Carden
side of the pike remained, flaunting itself in the face of improvement,
a proof of Carden indifference and obstinacy. Because of it the Carden
house and grounds appeared even more neglected and unkempt.
“It’s good and dark here in spite of the moon.” Jerry glanced up at the
great arching limbs of the trees on the Carden side of the pike. A row
of giant elms grew just inside the thick evergreen hedge which enclosed
the Carden premises and gave the estate its name. Though still bare of
leaves, the thick interlacing branches of the elms served as a screen
against the moon’s pale radiance.
“What a gloomy old dump the Carden estate is!” was Jerry’s disapproving
exclamation. “It looks like a ghost ranch.”
“It’s the Dark Tower in the Kingdom of Castles.” This time Marjorie did
the naming. “‘Two Travelers to the Dark Tower came,’” she laughingly
misquoted.
“Let’s hope we don’t see the horrors Childe Roland was supposed to have
seen. Goodness knows _what_ bogie horrified him. I should call ‘Childe
Roland’ Browning’s most aggravating poem. But this eerie spot is no
place for a literary discussion. B-r-r-r! Let’s beat it. I saw a white
ghostly light flash out from behind that old house!”
Jerry did not accept her own proposal. Instead she stopped short, eyes
trained on the pale flood of light. It emanated from a point behind the
house and whitened a space to the left of the gloomy gray stone
dwelling.
“Here comes your ghost, and in an automobile.” Marjorie began to laugh.
Two white eyes of light had appeared around the left hand corner of the
house and were rapidly coming down the drive toward the watchers. “‘Two
goslings to the Dark Tower came—and saw a gasoline ghost,’” she mocked.
The watchers came abreast of the entrance gateway of the estate just as
the car reached it. By its light they saw that the gates stood open.
They hurried past them and drew close to the uneven ridge of earth in
order to allow the automobile plenty of room to turn onto the pike.
Instead of driving on, the solitary occupant stopped the machine at the
edge of the pike just clear of the gateway.
The machine itself was a long, rakish-looking racing car. Its driver was
a tall man, very broad of shoulder. He wore a long dark motor coat. A
leather motor cap was pulled down over his forehead. Intent on his own
affairs, he did not glance toward the two young women. He sprang from
the racer and strode back to close the gates. He slammed them shut with
an air which indicated proprietorship. Two or three long steps and he
had returned to his car. He leaped into it, started it and was gone
almost instantly around the curve of the pike which was the last outpost
of the Carden estate. Just on the other side of it the estate of
Hamilton Arms began.
“_Some ghost._ That’s the first time I ever saw anyone emerge from that
gloom patch, day or night. Now who do you suppose he was? If he’s a
visitor at Carden Hedge he must be visiting either himself or spooks.
Maybe he’s a Carden. Not that I care a hoot who he is, but one must have
something to say about everyone.” Jerry left the rough ground on which
the two had been standing for the smoothness of the pike. “Come along,
Bean. It will be midnight before we hit the castle,” she predicted.
“Ronny was right about this pair of Travelers.”
“I wonder if he was one of the Cardens?” Marjorie’s question contained a
certain amount of curiosity. Since she had taken up the work of
arranging the data for Brooke Hamilton’s biography she had found enough
allusions to the Carden family to give her a clear idea of what a thorn
Alec Carden had been to Brooke Hamilton’s flesh.
“He may be the son of Alec Carden. I mean the son who inherited Carden
Hedge,” she continued musingly. “This man in the racer wasn’t young. I
caught a fair view of his face in spite of the way he had his cap pulled
down. Still he may be younger than I thought him at a glance, and the
grandson of old Alec Carden.”
“Why worry about it?” teased Jerry. She had caught the note of puzzled
interest in Marjorie’s voice.
“I’m not worrying. I’m wondering why that man’s face looked so familiar.
I’m sure I never saw him before.”
“How can he look familiar to you if you’ve never before seen him?”
inquired Jerry, with a chuckle.
“That’s precisely what I’m wondering. Perhaps he resembles some one I
know or have seen. I must ask Miss Susanna to describe John Carden, the
son who lives at the Hedge. Here we are at our own castle. Next time we
mustn’t stay out so late, Jeremiah. I hope Miss Susanna hasn’t stayed up
to wait for us. She likes her early bedtime, you know.”
Miss Susanna had elected to “stay up” to hear about Leila’s “great”
idea. They found her waiting for them in the library, wrapped in a
trailing blue velvet dressing gown. She hustled them upstairs to don
negligees and ordered them down to the library when they should have
changed costume. There she brought them two little Chinese bowls of
chicken consommé and a plate of salty crackers.
Both girls had eaten sparingly of the spread. After their moonlight walk
they were really hungry, and the consommé was delicious. As they ate it
and nibbled the crisp crackers they regaled Miss Susanna with a lively
account of the evening’s happenings. Interest in the Travelers’ new
plans for entertainments drove the incident of the unknown motorist
completely from Marjorie’s mind. Nor did she think of him again for some
time afterward.
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