"No, I am determined," was my reply. "We will leave those aged gentlemen in their graves and begin the true history of the Marjories and the Dons.There will be time enough for both before you and I end our partnership."
She responded dutifully at last that she was at my disposal, as far as the use of her time was concerned. It was agreed that on the very next morning the novel would be begun.
"And you must not interrupt me, either with approval or disapproval?" I said. "For whatever is written I alone will be responsible."
"That will be hard, when, as I suppose, you will discuss me more or less," she said, with a bewitching pout. "How do I know you will not make me out the most disreputable female that ever lived? But I promise. In fact, I don't see as there is anything else I can do. I am working for wages and I might as well offer to alter a business letter as a story in which I am merely an amanuensis."
"I shall carry our original contract into the novel," I said. "There will be no falsehood. If I have suspected any person, or repented of my suspicions—if I have resolved not to fall in love, and afterwards done so—it will be all there. I shall record what has transpired with the accuracy of a Kodak, even if, like the sensitive plate, it has to be taken into a dark room for development."
"Such a story ought to interest two persons at least," she said. "I hope you intend to send me a copy or let me know where I can buy one."
"Every bookseller in the country will have it," I replied, "and the sale will be phenomenal. You didn't think I brought you out here just to throw away money, did you? I expect to make a fortune out of the portrait I am going to draw."
She laughed lightly and we closed the subject for the time, quite agreed upon it. Before we went out she surprised me by asking if it would be convenient to let her have a little money, for I supposed she had the sixty dollars previously paid her, still in her purse. She had never expended a penny that I knew of, except the dollar she gave Thorwald. However, I said she could have any sum she liked; and she asked with some hesitation, if I could spare as much as a hundred dollars. She wanted to send it home and would consider it a great accommodation if I could pay her as far in advance as that would be. She said she would try not to ask me again for anything until we returned to New York.
We took a carriage and went to the Barbados Branch of the Colonial Bank, where I could draw money on my letter of credit—if I was willing to wait long enough. I have visited various branches of that Bank in the Tropics and I will challenge any institution on earth to vie with it in slowness of waiting upon customers. I stood at least five minutes at the counter before any of the numerous clerks who sat on high stools condescended to notice me. Then one did see that I was there, and whispered to his nearest neighbor in a way that showed he thought it a rather good joke. Two or three men who seemed of an upper grade of clerks passed near enough for me to speak to them, but none deigned the least reply. After this had gone on until it grew rather monotonous I addressed the entire institution, from president to office boy, with a request to tell me if I was in a deaf and dumb asylum.
The youngest clerk thereupon made his way slowly—nobody in the Colonial Bank could move otherwise—to where I stood and mildly inquired if I wished for anything. I told him that, strange as it might appear, I did. I said I wanted $350, and I wanted it d—(that is to say, very) quick. I said I was only going to stay in the island three or four weeks more and I wanted the money to pay my hotel bill when I left. He did not seem to grasp the idea exactly, but he did go to the farthest man in the room and direct his attention to me by pointing, after which he resumed his seat at his desk.
The Farthest Man, in a way that showed he had a deep grudge against me for disturbing him, came more slowly than the first one across the room and asked me if I wanted anything. I threw my letter of credit on the counter and said what I had already said to the other, adding for emphasis the name of the deity to my previous observation. The clerk took the letter and went away with it. For some time he was engaged in exhibiting the thing to various clerks, all of whom regarded it with wonder, as if it was a piece of papyrus from some Egyptian tomb. At last he found a chap who took the letter of credit from him and divided the next five minutes between reading it with care and looking at me over his spectacles; having done which the latter clerk came to the counter where I stood and asked what denominations of money I would like.
I told him, with some warmth (the thermometer stood at 85 in the room) that I would like part of it in Hardshell Baptist and the rest in African Methodist Episcopal, or any other old thing, but that I did want it in a hurry. He might give me a draft thatcould be used in New York for $100 of it, and the rest in sovereigns, in case he should decide, on reflection, to give me anything at all. These remarks he met with a vacant stare, but took from his desk, when he had again reached it, two pieces of paper, which he filled with duplicate statements, after the manner of his kind. Reading these over several times, to make sure he had committed no error, he took them to another man (apparently a sort of manager or director) who pretended, as long as he could, not to see his subordinate or to guess that he wished to attract his attention. Afraid, I suppose, to speak, the clerk finally coughed mildly behind his hand, at which the manager glared at him fiercely, and reaching out for the papers, studied them for a long time. When satisfied (though you wouldn't have thought it to look at him) he wrote something on each and the clerk returned to me.
If I should detail the manner in which that fellow tried to evade giving me my money, now that he had a chance to do so, I fear I would not be believed. It ended, however, in my being sent to a cashier and getting what I wanted. Tired and hungry I returned to my carriage and was driven back to the Marine Hotel with Marjorie.
"Here is your cash, or rather what can be used to get it," I said, drawing a long breath and handing her the draft. "When you have written your name on the back it will be good anywhere."
"I don't know how to show my gratitude," she answered, her face flushing.
"Excuse me. You know very well, but you refuse," I replied. "Now, here is something for youto think of. All the wicked things you do, the cruelties you practice, are to be spread before the novel reading public of America! That ought to soften your hard heart. You know 'All the world loves a lover,' but there is no proverb to fit a thoroughly heartless girl."
"I would like you much better if you would not say such things," she pouted.
"You speak as if you did like me a little, even now," I responded.
"Like you!" she exclaimed. "That's just it. I like you ever and ever so much. How can I help it, when you are so kind to me? I like you and I want to continue to like you, Mr. Camran. I wish I could think you would never learn to dislike me."
As I began an impassioned declaration that the day would never dawn, she started violently and bit her lips till the teeth marks showed plainly. In another instant I saw what had caused her mental disturbance; two men were looking at us from a street car that was trying with some success to reach the hill by the hotel before we did. Those men were Robert Edgerly and Horace Wesson.
"Don't let him get you into trouble," she whispered, between her closed lips. "I heard him threaten you at St. Croix. Oh, how did he get here!"
She referred, of course, to Edgerly.
NEW WORK FOR MY TYPEWRITER.
It was plain that these two men had become closer friends than they appeared to be when on the Madiana. Wesson's pretence of regard for me did not sort with this affiliation with a fellow against whom he had been at such pains to warn me. They both seemed disconcerted at our meeting and I learned later that they had decided to stop at different houses. Edgerly registered at the Sea View, a small hotel situated about a quarter mile from the Marine, while Wesson came boldly to the latter hostelry and took a room there.
However, as I did not own the house, I was not at liberty to prevent him living where he liked. I made up my mind to avoid him and let it go at that. It began to be apparent that his movements were influenced in a large degree by my own. I wondered if he meant to dog me from island to island during the rest of my journey.
On the day following my arrival I began to dictate to Miss May the novel of which I had spoken, or rather a correct transcript of the proceedings that had brought me where I was. You already know the story, and if you care to read it again you have only to turn to the first chapter of this volume and begin at the point where she did. It took me the whole of that forenoon to finish the opening instalment, as Iwanted to put it into a shape that would not necessitate its being re-written. Miss May proved a splendid amanuensis and, as requested, made no comments till the lunch hour arrived, though I could not help seeing that she was filled with interest as well as vivid curiosity.
When I began to allude to Statia and to detail her conversations with me, my typewriter's face was at times suffused with pink. I fancied, when I came to the place where I asked Statia to be my wife, that Marjorie was about to refuse to continue, but she merely drew a very long breath and let her nimble fingers touch the requisite keys. When Tom's sister declined my offer I heard a light sigh that I took to mean relief. The tale of my visit to the Herald office and of writing the advertisement clearly interested her. She wrote rapidly when I told about the handsome woman who wished the acquaintance of an elderly gentleman, on whom to lavish her beautiful face and form, with her "object matrimony."
When I said we would let that chapter suffice for the day she sat back from the table and uttered an uneasy little laugh.
"It's not so bad," she was kind enough to say. "I may have to change my mind about your project. But are you going on as you have begun, exposing every thought—making the world your confidant. I am afraid few people could afford to do that."
"Precisely," I said. "Men have written fiction so vividly that people have believed it truth. I am going to write truth in such a manner that people will take it for excellent fiction. Yes, I shall follow Othello's advice, 'nothing extenuate nor set down aught inmalice.' It is a camera you are operating, my dear, not a typewriting machine."
That afternoon we took a long drive, to Farley Hill, which point is said to be nine hundred feet above the sea. I was tranquil enough now. We were alone except for the driver, whose back was toward us. The long stretches of sugar cane made a pleasing prospect. Every individual we met, mostly people of various degrees of negro lineage, addressed us pleasantly. The trade-winds from the east, that blow over Barbados six months in the year, brought ozone to our lungs and coolness to our faces. The road for the entire distance was smooth and hard. It was one of the most delightful drives I had ever taken and there was nothing to mar the occasion.
We passed the evening after dinner in our joint sitting room, with the windows wide open and retired early.
"You are the most honest man I ever met," said Miss May, the next morning, when she was in the midst of her work. She had just written this paragraph:
I have led a life as regards women that I now think worse than idiotic. I have followed one after another of them, from pillar to post, falling madly in love, getting the blues, losing heart, all that sort of thing. I have never been intimately acquainted with a pure, honest girl of the better classes, except one.
I have led a life as regards women that I now think worse than idiotic. I have followed one after another of them, from pillar to post, falling madly in love, getting the blues, losing heart, all that sort of thing. I have never been intimately acquainted with a pure, honest girl of the better classes, except one.
"Was there ever another man who would put such things about himself in cold type?"
"But, listen," I said, defensively. "See what follows:
I need sadly to be educated by a woman who will not hold out temptation. I have an idea that a few months passed abroad, in the society of such a woman, will make another man of me.
I need sadly to be educated by a woman who will not hold out temptation. I have an idea that a few months passed abroad, in the society of such a woman, will make another man of me.
"Marjorie, my life, I was right. It has made another man of me. I shall never be what I was before—never as long as I breathe."
She shook her head, half doubtfully, but declined to discuss the subject further. When she came to Hume's question, "What is to keep you from falling in love with your secretary?" she seemed troubled until she had received the answer I gave him, declaring that my "secretary" would be sent home with a month's advance wages if she allowed me to forget that I was merely her employer. Then she broke the rule we had adopted, and I could not blame her.
"You are evidently of a forgetful nature," she said. "The promise you made your friend does not agree with some of the foolish things you have tried to say to me."
"But, my angel, I had not met you when I made that assertion. I was speaking of an imaginary woman. Men are not expected to do impossible things. Besides, you do not realize how very ill I had been. I think we shall get on better if you will reserve your comments till the end of each chapter, when I shall be delighted to hear as many as you like."
She returned good naturedly to the machine, and recorded the balance of the chapter that is numberedtwo in this volume. When I said we had done enough for one day, she answered that she thought a little work in the afternoon would hurt neither of us; and that, for her part, she would be glad to begin again after lunch. It was plain that she was becoming interested and wanted to get on as fast as possible. Pleased at this, I consented to her plan. It was only half past eleven when she stopped and a rest of two or three hours would put us both right again.
"I don't think I realized you had been so terribly ill," she said, taking a rocker and placing herself at ease.
"I don't like to talk much about it, or even to think of it," was my reply, "but you may be sure it was hard enough. I would rather endure any pain than the awful depression that accompanies neurasthenia. When I recovered it seemed as if I had died and been resurrected. My old life was gone and I did not wish to recall it. The new one was full of new possibilities and dreams. How happy I shall be when they are all fulfilled!"
"And were you so very—very wicked?" she asked, constrainedly. "I cannot believe it when I look at you. Vice ought to leave some distinguishing mark, but your face is as innocent as a babe's."
"You are very kind to say so. But I want to talk about that still less than about my illness. Both of them have come to an end."
"Let us trust so," she said, gently.
How gently and sweetly she did say it!
The third chapter, which we did that day before taking our drive, called for no interruption on herpart with one exception, and that was because she did not quite catch one word. It was in relation to the letter of credit that I had brought.
"Did you say two thousand?" she asked, "or three?"
"Two thousand," I answered, and she went on rapidly, talking down the words as they fell from my lips. The account of Charmion's performance at Koster and Bial's disturbed her visibly, but she went bravely to the end.
"Do you really mean that this exposure took place in a New York theatre, at a regular performance?" she asked, when I said that was the end.
"Exactly as described."
"It is shameful!" she exclaimed, angrily. "If women had charge of the theatres such things would not be permitted."
"You forget," I replied, "that half the audience were women—ladies, if you please."
She bit her lip.
"You ought not to put it in the story, at any rate," she said. "It will only encourage people with debased minds to go to view it."
"By the time my book is published there will probably be an entire change of programme," said I. (I wonder if there will.)
Another drive, another chatty evening, another morning, and we went on again. Miss May smiled occasionally as I told of my preparations for making this voyage and of engaging a berth for her before I had even received her reply to my advertisement in the Herald. Then she listened with interest to the letter (the first one) I received from Miss Brazier,breaking our rule enough to remark, "That's a bright girl." I took her own reply from my pocket to give it verbatim, upon which she said—
"Have you kept that all this time? Tear it up now and throw it in the wastebasket."
"Tear it up?" I echoed. "Money wouldn't buy that little note!"
When the end of the fourth chapter was reached, and we took our noonday rest, she spoke at some length about Statia. She wanted me to tell her more than appeared in the story. That was the kind of woman one could admire, she declared.
"And yet, how can I judge a girl who has always been under the watchful eye of a kind father or brother?" she added, thoughtfully. "Who can say what evil might have crept into her life, had she been compelled to face the cruel world and fight for her bread?"
"But you have done that," I protested, "and are to-day as sweet and pure as if all the fathers and brothers on earth formed your guard."
She turned on me suddenly.
"How do you know?" she demanded. "You know nothing whatever about me. Oh, Mr. Camran, there are things in my life that would make a novel even more interesting than this one of yours. But I could not sit down and expose my errors as you do. I could not! no, I could not!"
I said that all the errors of her young life must be wholly in imagination. She was like some child at a first confession, trying to magnify a baby fault into goods big enough for its new market. She made no reply, but went silently into her chamber where sheremained till lunch time. When she came out the matter had slipped my mind and did not recur to me till long afterward.
The fifth chapter occupied us during most of the afternoon. Miss May showed great interest when Mr. Wesson appeared on the scene and much more when she herself was first presented. My intense anxiety to meet her seemed to strike her as odd, for she uttered little "oh's" and "ah's" when I described our first meeting. When she came to the expression "she was not handsome," she said "I should think not!" in a tone of disdain.
At the end of the chapter she had to talk about it as usual.
"Well, it is something to see one's photograph, as it appears to another," she said, smiling. "I don't understand, though, how I managed to produce such a favorable impression. I really had little idea I should be the successful applicant when you left my room that day. I wasn't even certain that I ought to accept, if you offered it to me. I had never heard of an arrangement exactly like it. We were strangers to each other. I had a place that I detested, but how could I be sure you would prove a more considerate employer than the one I was to leave? Had it not been for my desperate plight I must have told you frankly that I could not go."
"You are not sorry—yet?" I whispered.
"Oh, no! And you can prevent my ever being sorry, if you will."
It was useless to begin the old argument. I went down to see if the carriage was ready. Wesson sat in the hallway, where the draft of air was strongest,and did not see me until I was close to him. When he realized my proximity he closed the book in his hands with a bang and looked much confused. But he had not performed the action quickly enough for his purpose.
I had seen what he was reading:
It was a copy of "Our Rival the Rascal," undoubtedly the one Eggert had missed just before we left St. Thomas.
I said nothing, but I thought a great deal. A man who would steal one thing would steal another. If Wesson had carried off that book from the dining room of my host Eggert—
A mile from the hotel I decided to convey to my companion's mind the suspicions that filled my own.
"You remember that book I had one evening at Eggert's—the book you did not wish to look at," I began.
"That horrible thing!" she exclaimed, with a shiver, nodding an affirmative.
"Just before we left Eggert's, you know, he missed the volume. Nobody had been in the house except you and me, and Wesson. Eggert knew me too well to suspect that I would be guilty of such a theft, and yet he was puzzled. Why, Marjorie, what is the matter with you?"
My last expression was called forth by a strange look on the face of my companion. She fell against me as if too weak to sit up, and yet her eyes were open and not devoid of intelligence.
"My darling!" I cried. "You are ill. Let us return at once."
"No," she said, in a whisper. "It is only temporary. But please say nothing more about the book. If anybody took it—ugh!—it must have been by accident."
"But, my dear," I explained, when she seemed more comfortable, "you must let me tell you of a discovery I have made. I saw that book—"
Rousing herself with difficulty Miss May looked me in the eyes like a sleep-walker.
"Don!" she said, vehemently. "Don! Sometimes you tell me you love me! How can you then persist in this torture! I cannot bear to think of that book, to hear it spoken of! You may call me foolish, and probably I am. There are women who are afraid of snakes, lizards, rats; not one of those creatures could disturb my nerves. But when I think of men that live by crime, that rob and steal—and murder—it is as if the hands of one of them was on my own throat!"
Soothingly I promised to be careful in the future—sadly I spoke my regrets at the pain I had caused her. I knew too well the vagaries of ill-balanced nerves not to understand that they require no reason to set themselves on edge.
I bade the driver cut our ride short and we drove back to the hotel in nearly perfect silence.
But I could not help my thoughts. If Wesson had stolen that book, what was there to show that he had not stolen my diamond, and those of Marjorie and of Miss Howes? What could I think but, with his almost exclusive opportunities on the steamer, he was the guilty man? I recalled his offer to watch from our cabin, his assumption of the rôle of a sleuth-hound—undoubtedly to deceive me. What was hedoing at Barbados unless to watch for another chance to ply his profession?
The more attention I gave to the matter the clearer everything grew.
Undoubtedly Wesson was, on general principles, much more than a match for me in shrewdness, but when I started to do a thing I usually accomplished it.
I resolved that if he was the thief, I would trace his work home to him and make him restore the fruits of his larceny.
"YOU WERE IN MY ROOM."
Letters that came the next morning were hardly read, so interested was I in my plan to entrap my sly fellow passenger. They were from Tom and Statia Barton and from a club friend who had obtained my address from Tom. Statia's had a tone of melancholy that she seemed trying to conceal. Tom's was full of cheer, with wholesome advice about keeping well now I had got into that condition. They had received my first letters, mailed at St. Thomas, and congratulated me on escaping what both persisted in calling the dangers of the sea.
How to expose the knavery of Wesson—that was all I could think of consecutively. I told Miss May that I would not dictate to her that morning and she took the opportunity to drive down town, to do, as she said, a little shopping. Wesson also took a carriage about the same time and I heard him tell the clerk, Miss Byno, he would probably be gone till noon at least.
When they were both out of sight I began to haunt the vicinity of the Boston man's room, which was on the same floor as mine, though much further down the corridor. When no one was near I tried the door, in a foolish hope that he might have left it unlocked, which, of course, he had not done.
If I could get ten minutes alone there I believed Ishould discover something. At the same time I realized that I was running considerable risk. Should I be discovered in the chamber of another man, rummaging among his things, the fact that I suspected him of having robbed me would be a poor excuse in the eyes of a magistrate.
Still, anxious to convince myself, I was ready to dare even the danger of arrest and punishment. It was a very dangerous proceeding, as I now view it, and only to be justified by success. At the time, nothing could have dissuaded me from my purpose.
As I strolled back to my own room a chambermaid met me, with a bunch of keys in her hand, and she went directly to Mr. Wesson's apartment. For the next twenty minutes, she remained there, engaged in the customary work of her profession, and then came out and began to turn the key in the lock behind her. This was my time, if ever. Hastening to her side I told her in low tones that I wished to play a little joke on my friend who occupied the room and wanted her to leave the door unlocked for an hour or so, or until I called her. To emphasize my desire I exhibited a sovereign and put it into the hand which she held doubtfully toward me.
"I only want to go in a little while," I repeated, trying to force a laugh. "It will be all right. Don't say a word to any one."
The woman looked at the coin, representing a month's wages to her, as if to make sure it was genuine. It probably never entered her head that my intention was other than the one I stated. It was not likely that a gentleman of my cloth would have a felonious design or carry it out in this manner.I had only to add that if it was discovered that the door was unlocked I would take all the blame, and the woman slunk away without a word.
The first thing I noticed after entering and locking the door behind me was the copy of "Our Rival, the Rascal," that had been stolen from the Quarantine Station. It lay on a table and I took it up with interest. On the fly leaf was written Eggert's name and address, proving conclusively that it was the one I supposed. The baggage in the room consisted of a steamer trunk and a "dress-suit case," both of which were locked. A moment later I had tried both locks with keys from my pocket and found—to my joy—that the one on the trunk yielded to the pressure.
I felt awfully uncomfortable, to tell the truth, as I lifted the lid of that trunk. I glanced at the door, wondering if some prying eye might be at the key-hole. Getting a towel from the rack I covered the aperture. The blinds at the window were shut, so there was no other place from which I could be observed, if I except the high heaven above, and the rectitude of my purpose justified me there, in my belief.
Carefully I lifted the articles in the receptacle, one by one. They were the ordinary things to be expected in the possession of a gentleman travelling. I had nearly relinquished my search when a little packet wrapped in brown paper, attracted my notice. Taking it up I pinched it carefully for an instant, and then, becoming excited, untied the string.
How my heart did beat! For there lay before my eyes the bracelet stolen from Miss Howes, the earrings that Miss May had worn and the stud purloined from my bag! Everything, in short, that we had lost, except the little turquoise ring.
I put that package in my pocket, shut and locked the trunk, and was preparing to quit the room when I heard a turn at the handle of the door. Who could be there, at that time of day? Was it possible Wesson had given up his drive? or had the chambermaid returned with some article needed? The fumbling continued for another minute and then a distinct, though rather low knock followed. I call it low, for subsequent judgment so deems it, but at the time it was as loud to my ears as a pistol shot. Still I kept quiet, for there was nothing to be gained by jumping from the frying pan into the fire. If it was Wesson I fancied I had a card to play that would prevent his putting me to much trouble. If it was any one else they would certainly leave when they received no answer to their summons.
The person outside renewed the knock two or three times and then moved slowly away. As soon as the noise of his steps ceased I opened the door cautiously and stepped out. It took several seconds before I could remove the key from the inside and put it in the aperture toward the hall. Before I could turn it, I was more than disgusted to see a face peering around the nearest corner and taking in the whole proceeding. It was the face of Robert Edgerly!
"Well, well!" he said, coming toward me and leering in an exasperating way. "I took the liberty of calling you a cur the last time we met, but I didn't think—"
He stopped and laughed provokingly.
"It makes very little difference what you think," I retorted, white with anger. "I can explain this to the only person interested, whenever he chooses to inquire. As he seems to be a friend of yours, you may tell him so, if you see him first, with my compliments."
He strode toward me threateningly, his right hand wandering toward his hip pocket.
"Have a care!" he said. "You pretend to be a gentleman, and I find you a sneak-thief. Give me another word and I will denounce you to the proprietor of the hotel!"
Perhaps he had a right to assume that air. I was not in a very creditable position; but I did not think of this till afterward. He had called me names, had threatened me with violence in the most contemptuous manner. I sprang at his throat with my right hand extended to grasp it and had I succeeded I fear his lease of life would have been short. He was, however, too agile for me. Springing backward he drew a revolver, and the sight of that steelly barrel with five cartridges behind it stopped my headlong course like magic.
"Not quite so fast as you were, eh!" he said, between his teeth. "You know a little joker when you see one. Now, turn your face the other way, put your hands to your side like a whipped boy, and march to the end of the corridor. I will follow you; and when I feel sure you are not up to some scurvy trick—of which I quite believe you capable—I will let you crawl to your room and continue the wonderful genealogy of the idiots from whom you sprung."
I had thought rapidly since he first produced theweapon. I had no anxiety to be murdered. He had the "drop" on me beyond question. My own revolver was in the bottom of one of my trunks, not even loaded. Discretion was the better part of valor then, if ever since the world was made. Had he not uttered his closing sentence I would have submitted to the humiliation he outlined. But I have a reverence for my ancestors of the Camran race that amounts almost to worship. So far as I can learn I am the only scion of the house who has lowered that distinguished name. To have them dubbed "idiots" was more than I could bear, and I would have died in their defense as cheerfully as any of the Alexanders whose bones whitened the battle-fields of ancient days.
With a curse I again threw myself upon Edgerly and so quickly that he had no time to discharge his weapon. We had a fierce struggle on the floor of the hall, which I soon saw was going against me. Physically I was still, with my long illness behind me, no match for my adversary. He was much the cooler of the two and I knew that he was merely waiting till he could get one hand free from my clasp to turn that revolver against my body.
In fact, he had nearly succeeded in doing this. I saw a smile of satisfaction creeping over his features and realized that nothing but a miracle could save me. We had not made enough noise to attract attention and no one happened to come along the corridor. The miracle arrived, however, or I should in all probability not be writing these lines. I heard a springing step behind me, saw a form bending overboth of us and a strong hand wrenching the pistol from Edgerly's grasp. Then a voice that I recognized as that of Wesson said:
"Come, gentlemen, this is carrying your disagreements a little too far."
We rose to our feet, both pretty well winded. Then, to complicate the situation still more, Miss May appeared in the hallway. She stopped humming a light air, as she saw us, and turned deathly pale, as was her habit when alarmed.
"Hush! Say nothing," whispered Wesson, to both of us at once. "Not a word, remember!"
I thought it very wise of him and was more than willing to follow his advice. But Edgerly was not so easily quieted.
"I caught this fellow creeping out of your chamber," he said, without mincing matters. "Yes," he added, as if he thought he might be contradicted, "there is the key he used in the lock now."
Wesson looked strangely at me.
"I have no doubt Mr. Camwell can explain his conduct," he said, and again I noticed the thoughtfulness he used, in referring to me by the name I had registered at Cook's office. "If he will consent to accompany me to my room for a few minutes I shall be glad to hear anything he has to say."
Edgerly sneered again.
"Camwell!" he echoed. "Why, that isn't even his right name. It will do to travel under, but when he signs checks he writes at the end the words, 'Donald Camran.'"
"How do you know that?" asked Wesson, in astartled way. "You are making some grave charges."
"He tells the truth," I interposed, anxious to end the scene. "The name he gave is my right one. Why I used the other is a private matter. I shall be glad to accede to your suggestion, Mr. Wesson, and hold an interview with you in private."
"If you and Miss Carney will excuse us, then—" said Wesson, tentatively.
"Miss Carney!" echoed Edgerly, with a laugh that made me half inclined to try conclusions with him again, now that we were less unevenly matched. "Miss Carney! Ha, ha!"
Wesson was evidently watching us, prepared to interfere again, should it be necessary. He managed to end the affair by a display of finesse, asking Edgerly to meet him at two o'clock at the Sea View House, and saying pleasantly to Miss May that he would keep me but a few minutes. I saw the other two going in opposite directions before I followed the Bostonian into his room, which seemed the only thing I could do after what he had heard about me.
"Well?" said Wesson, good naturedly, when he had closed the door and, at my suggestion, locked it. "You were in my room? Yes. Do you care to tell me why? I leave it entirely to you, Mr. Camran. If you choose to tell, well and good. If not I shall be perfectly satisfied."
His courtesy was complete and, knowing what I did, seemed to me well advised.
"Mr. Wesson," I said, "you have just saved me from a disagreeable and possible dangerous situation. That man had a loaded revolver—I had nothing. Heis in the best of health; I, as you know, have recently recovered from a long illness. Had you appeared two minutes later it is no exaggeration to say you would probably have found a dead man on that floor."
"In that case I am glad I came when I did," he replied, affably. "What was the row about?"
I told him briefly of the previous encounter on the balcony at St. Croix and the incentives to the present affair.
"Strange!" he answered. "There doesn't seem much to found a murderous attack on in those two things, does there? Had you never met him before this trip?"
"Never."
"How did he know your right name?"
I explained the exchange of my check for the cash he won of me in the smoking room of the Madiana.
A peculiar look came into Wesson's face.
"That was about five weeks ago," he said, musingly.
"About that."
He covered his eyes with one hand a few moments as if in deep thought. When he looked up he had regained the pleasant expression with which the interview began.
"Now, about your being in my room, Mr. Camran. Do you wish to say anything in regard to that?"
I took from my pocket the package I had found in his trunk and silently held it up for his inspection.
"You intend to retain those things, I presume," he said, with excessive politeness.
"With your permission," I answered, not to be outdone in courtesy by a thief.
"Certainly," he said. "And the bracelet, will you do me the favor to find some way in which it may be returned to the owner?"
What a cool rascal he was! I could not help admiring hissang froid, the like of which I had never seen or heard of.
"The shirt stud, I think is yours," he went on, affably, "and the earrings belong to your cousin? Yes, that was my impression. Let me, if I may be so bold, advise you to keep them under better surveillance in the future. Now, that I may not be blamed by Miss Carney for keeping you too long, let me say that if you have finished we will call this interview at an end, except for one question. Do you intend to do anything disagreeable about the matter?"
Still as cool as an iceberg, as unruffled as a bank of pansies.
"I shall do nothing," I answered. "The service you rendered a few moments ago puts me under a great obligation. Rest assured, sir, you have nothing to fear from me."
He walked hospitably to the door and opened it.
"You had best avoid another rupture with Mr. Edgerly," he said, in a friendly tone. "He is quick tempered and, as you have well observed, you are not strong enough to contend with him. As to pistols, he is a dead shot. He can knock a penny off a wall at two hundred paces."
I thanked him for his advice and went to find MissMay, whom I was not surprised to discover in an excited state, and bathed in tears.
"Oh," she cried, when she saw me, "let us return to New York as soon as we can! You have had nothing but trouble ever since I have been with you. Take me to America and end this unfortunate agreement of ours. I knew you and that man would have trouble again. If the other one had not appeared you would now be dead, and he—"
Her sobbing broke out again, terrifically. All at once it occurred to me that the news of the recovered jewels would partially comfort her.
"Marjorie," I said, "Marjorie, my love! There is a silver lining to the cloud to-day, a golden lining, a diamond lining. Yes," as she looked intently at me through her tears, "I know where my stud is, and your earrings, and Miss Howes'—"
Instead of giving the joyful cry I expected my companion uttered a long wail and lay limp in the arms I stretched out to catch her.
I cursed my indiscretion and, laying her gently on a sofa, rang for aid.
TOO MUCH EXCITEMENT.
It seemed as if I never would learn that my companion could not bear sudden surprises, or mysterious hints. Her delicate nature took alarm at the least departure from the conventional. Before the arrival of the servant I was tempted to imprint on her pale cheeks the kisses she had always denied me, but a spark of manliness still left in my composition prevented.
Her swoon was but momentary. Before the slow bell boy could arrive she had roused herself and begged me to admit no one, saying she would be all right again in a few moments. Realizing that I had probably rung already, she asked me to make some excuse to the servant when he arrived and not to open the door wide enough for him to see her. When the boy had come and gone I began my apologies in the most profuse way.
"Do not excuse yourself, I beg," she answered. "I was very foolish. You speak of being a convalescent, but you will begin to think I am the invalid. I will try my best not to disturb you again."
She was very sober and though she was able to sit upright I saw that her strength was returning but slowly. She would not go down to lunch when the bell rang, and I sent her up a little toast and tea, which she barely touched. As the evening approached I asked if she felt able to drive, but she said if I did not mind she would rather I would go alone, and I complied with her suggestion. On my return two hours later, she was up and about, with a little of the old color in her face. I connected her improved state, in a certain way, with information that I received later from Mr. Armstrong, that Edgerly had left the island on a steamer bound directly for New York. Her anxiety lest he and I should come again into collision was thus abated. In fact, I had never seen her so bright at dinner as she was that day, her appetite good and her manner actually vivacious.
The next day being Sunday we went to a church not far from the hotel, where I was struck as before by the devotional bearing of my companion. Not being an Episcopalian, I have always considered it quite a feat to know just when to kneel and to rise, to find the place in the prayer book, to stand and sit at the right places. I watched Miss May carefully, doing exactly as she did, though, I am afraid, the effort detracted from the religious effect on my mind. When the affair was over we walked back to the Marine and went over to the little Park, called for some unknown reason "Hastings Rocks," the entrance of which is guarded by a black Cerberus who demands a penny from each visitor. Here we sat and looked out on the sea, and my mind reverted to Edgerly, now a hundred miles or so to the north of us.
If Wesson had only accompanied him, I thought, there would be nothing to disturb the even tenor of my life. Why did he continue to remain at the hotel?
He could not hope to rob us again; and he mustknow that the promise I had given him would not tie my tongue if any other guest of the house should report that his valuables were missing. Perhaps he was waiting now for some steamer bound to South America or Colon. I sincerely hoped that, if this was so, the boat would arrive at an early date.
Monday I rose very early, and in pursuance to an arrangement made the previous night, took a carriage before breakfast with Miss May. We drove in our bathing suits and bath robes to a beach about a mile up the road, where we had a delicious bath in the surf. The sight of her again in that attire aroused all the masculine forces in me and made me resolve anew that I would win her for my life mate if there was any possibility of so doing. A more exquisite shape it has never been my fortune to meet, and I must confess I am not exactly an amateur at that business. She seemed wholly oblivious of the effect her charms created, but declared with bright eyes that there was no pleasure in the world half as great as bathing in salt water of that temperature.
After breakfast the typewriting machine was put in use again and that day, urged on by Miss May's statement that she was just in the trim for work, we accomplished what are catalogued as the fifth, sixth and seventh chapters of the book you are reading.
Marjorie was plainly interested to a high degree now in every word that I gave her to write. The tale of the excited night I passed after first meeting her, my half-formed resolves to give up the plan of taking a companion on my voyage, the celerity with which I changed my mind the following morning, upon awakening, the reception of the next letter shesent me, with my comments thereon, kept her as entertained as if the story had indeed been fiction. She laughed a little when I admitted starting the letter in reply beginning "My Darling, I cannot breathe until once more I am in your loved presence," and paused to remark that she had never known a man so excitable and uncontrollable. My meeting with Statia on Broadway seemed to affect her strongly. All her sympathies were evidently with that young lady, for she shook her head and uttered several sighs as I told how we parted after her withdrawal of the invitation to call at her house.
Then came the chapter in which my amanuensis had said at last, "I am going, of course," with the stipulations she had made, her cheeks blushing, as to the conduct she would demand from me. Marjorie smiled again at the letter I wrote to Alice Brazier, in which I tried to describe my "secretary," and the dream I had that night, but she grew as sober as possible when I read the second letter from Miss Brazier, adjuring me to treat my fellow voyager with courtesy and honor. The solemn resolutions I made to comply with this request pleased her, as did the story of Tom Barton's visit to my rooms and his plan for amodus vivendibetween Statia and me. Then she had to copy, at my dictation, her own long letter explaining why, if she was to travel as my relation, more money than I had given her would be required.
At the end she commented aloud on what she called the mercenary tone of that note.
"You had a good many doubts of me, first and last," she added.
"First only," I reply, "not last. I'd like to know what could make me doubt you now."
The chapter ended (the ninth chapter) with the sentence before the one that now closes it and Miss May rose from her long task with a sigh of relief.
Tuesday, both of us being still in excellent trim, the dictation was resumed. That day she finished the tenth, eleventh and twelfth chapters, smiling at the right places and looking pensive when there was occasion. Once she interpolated, "I like that Tom Barton—he is made of true metal," which naturally pleased me. The nervous wait I had at her rooms made her shake her head in a way that meant much, and the excessive joy with which I greeted her when she did come sobered her considerably.
"Have you not drawn the long bow a little here?" she asked, pausing. "You need not think it necessary to stretch your sensations just because the object of them happens to be their recorder."
"If anything I have understated them," I replied, "Language is wholly inadequate to describe the constant anxiety I felt till you were actually on board the Madiana. But proceed. If I get on that strain I shall never be able to finish."
My account of our shopping, with our subsequent visit to the restaurant, made her remark that I was a close observer. She said there was not a thought in her head that I had not photographed.
"Who but a born novelist," she said, "would have deemed it worth while to tell that I objected to having the door of our little dining-room locked?"
"It is merely to show the reader another proof of your excessively proper conduct," I replied, "andgive him an opportunity to appreciate your true character."
"You have mistaken your vocation, after all," she said. "You would make a splendid detective. Not even the smallest thing escapes you. You make me think of a hunter on a trail. A broken twig, a nearly indiscernible print on the moss, a leaf brushed aside, show you where the creature has passed."
"The only wild creatures I have ever hunted were 'dears,'" I answered, laughing. "Don't you think such earnestness in the chase deserves its full reward?"
"The reward is all very well for the hunter," she said, solemnly, "but for the deer there is only the bullet and the knife."
She had cornered me there. Instead of trying to straighten out the muddle I went on with my work. Miss May was plainly affected when I told of the remorse I had felt for my ill-spent life, after reading the note she had left on the typewriting machine at her first visit to my rooms. The concluding paragraph of the tenth chapter, as it now appears, had not been written then.
Wednesday we did but one chapter—the eleventh. I noticed that my companion appeared fatigued when it was finished and I refused to let her continue. She was intensely surprised when I identified Miss Howes. I detected a repellant shrug of the shoulders as she realized the kind of woman who had occupied the stateroom with her during her voyage from New York to St. Thomas. She showed great interest when I described my fellow passengers at table, and grew white when I came to the point of the larcenyof her earrings. Fearing that I would excite some unpleasant memory I made no comment whatever on the occurrence beyond what was in the MS. she was writing.
She wanted very much to continue her work, but I would not listen. She was too evidently ill. There is a limit to what even the best natured amanuensis can perform with impunity.
When we went on, the next day, I tried to give out my dictation in a slower manner, to conserve Marjorie's force, but it was a difficult thing to do. Her speed was naturally great and I had got into the habit of speaking in much my ordinary manner. She told me twenty times that I might dictate more rapidly, and her fingers flew over the keys at a speed that astonished me. All she would consent to do was to let me order a glass of wine, from which she sipped occasionally. She declared that my "novel" was so diverting that she was anxious to get as far along as possible.
The description of my games of cards with Edgerly caused her to have frequent recourse to the wine, but the meeting with Eggert and his family came to relieve the strain. She grew uneasy again when I told of sitting by her bed and bathing her forehead; and reddened like a peony when I remarked how lovely she appeared in her bathing costume that morning we took our first bath on the beach of the Quarantine Station.
"Must you put in such things as that?" she asked, pleadingly. "I think it spoils what was getting to be a very entertaining story."
"I can leave out nothing," I answered. "Really,Marjorie, you cannot conceive how rapturously beautiful—"
She shivered as if a cold wind had blown on her.
"Are you dictating?" she asked. "I think we had best keep to the text."
"Then do not attempt to go outside your path and province," I said. "Once more, this is my story, not yours, remember. Here is something that will interest you."
I gave her the concluding paragraph of that chapter—the one recording the sudden and unexpected appearance of Mr. Wesson.
She went on very quietly after that, though the frequent allusions to my growing affection disturbed her visibly.
Every evening after our work we went for a drive. On most of these occasions we met somewhere on the road a blue-eyed man and a brown-eyed woman, riding in a cart, drawn by two horses, hitched tandem. I often wonder what has become of them; whether they have decided to go through the world tandem—one in front of the other—or side by side, as I used to see them there. Sometimes they rode bicycles, which they handled equally well. When the darkness settled their lamps were lit, according to the local laws, and the lanterns looked like fireflies as they spun along the hard roads. Perhaps that is what Froude saw which made him say in his book that there are fireflies in Barbados—who can tell? The woman was rather handsome, with a well rounded form, and a mouth made for kisses, though she assured me once that none had ever rested there. Iftrue, it is a sad case of luscious fruit going to waste on a tree well worth climbing.
With the exception of the following Sunday we worked every day. Miss May was getting more and more used to hearing her every act recorded and made few interruptions. I warned her when I came to the episode of the book on criminology and she steadied her nerves and went through it like a heroine. She did demur a little—hesitating and flashing an appealing look at me—when I came to her admission that she wanted to kiss me quite as much as I wished her to do so, and she breathed heavily when I told what had caused me to decide that, even if permitted, I must refuse the boon. When I reached the place where I had to admit reading the letter she wrote to her friend Helen she stopped short and we looked for some seconds at each other.
"That is the only really dishonorable thing I have known of you," she said, reproachfully.
"I do not defend it," was my reply; "but I would not give up the happiness it caused me for all the world."
"You surely cannot remember that letter, word for word!"
"I believe I can give it literally."
"If you have any doubt, I will get the original for you," she said. "When I came to read it over I thought it wiser not to send it. I wrote another in its stead and kept the one you saw—as a warning for the future."
She arose, went to her bedroom, procured the letter, and brought it to me.
"But it came from your heart, my love," I said,bending toward her. "That is what gives it value. And all this time you have been pretending that my slightest sentiment of affection must be repelled. Have you forgotten our compact, dear one? We were only to lie to outsiders, never to each other. Marjorie, once more, listen to me. I love you! I want you for my wife. Here, with this confession before us, need we go on longer without a definite understanding? Why not say that little word that will make me the happiest man who breathes?"
I had not uttered all this without many attempts on her part to stop the flow of words. When I finished she turned her chair directly toward me and spoke with firmness, though her face was as white as I had ever seen it.
"Mr. Camran, you are taking an unfair advantage. Having violated the privacy of my room and read the letter I wrote to an intimate friend, you now seek to make that act the basis for renewing a suit I have told you more than once cannot succeed. Ah, no! There are reasons stronger than I care to make known why I cannot be your wife. I beg you do not give me the pain of compelling me to say this again. I will repeat, if you desire, the words I wrote to my friend: 'It is all I can do to prevent myself falling head over ears in love with this man.'
"Yes," she continued, "that was true—that is true. It is all I can do; but I can do it, I have done it, I shall continue to do it! Mr. Camran, I esteem you beyond the power of language to express. Your kindness, your consideration, your generosity have affected me wonderfully. Some day you will know to what extent. But there can be no relation between us nearer than the one we now occupy. Never, never, never!"
She had covered every point, but like suitors the world over I would not believe her.
"Answer me a few questions," I said. "Yes, in justice to my proposal, which I cannot but feel does honor to both of us. Do you mean to say that your final declination of my offer is based on the fact that I read your private correspondence?"
"No, it would have been the same without that," she answered. "Let me add that I forgive you freely for what you did in that respect."
"Is it because—I want to understand perfectly—you think it dishonorable to wed a man richer than you, whose acquaintance you made in an unusual way?"
She shook her head in negation.
"Is there, then, anything that you have heard, or suspect, against my reputation?"
Again she shook her head decidedly.
I took up her letter and read: