H. ROBINSON AGAIN.
Justin would not permit Derrice to go alone to French Cross. Captain White had assured him that he had better allow her to do so; that to accompany her at such an unusual time would be sure to call attention to them, but Justin would not be persuaded.
He relied on the presence of the large number of strangers in the town to avert observation from their movements. In any case, he would not leave his young wife to face alone this crisis in her life. And now he must tell her of their mission. She knew that her father had not been well, but she did not dream that his illness was serious.
"Derrice," he said, looking into her quietly smiling face, "I have not told you why we are going to French Cross."
"No; you are strangely mysterious, but I always like to go with you whether I understand or not."
"Darling, there is some one waiting to see you,—some one whom you dearly love."
"Not my father? Oh, not my father,—my dear, dear father?"
His manner was convincing. For a minute her joy overcame her, then she burst into questions. "Why had she not known,—why had he not come to her?"
"You shall ask him, Derrice, but you will be cautious. He is ill."
"Yes, yes, but what do you mean by ill,—not very ill?—oh, don't say that, Justin, dear Justin," and in a tremor of fear she clung to his arm, and wildly scrutinised his face.
"Rather ill, I fear, but you will be brave. You will not make him worse. Come, let me see you compose yourself; we shall soon arrive."
She hid her face on his shoulder, and cried quietly, but when the carriage stopped she put her handkerchief in her pocket, and took on a resolute expression.
Prosperity ushered them into the untenanted reception-room, and said that his mistress had gone out.
"She has some guests?" said Justin.
They had gone with her, Prosperity assured him, also Captain White.
"Is Miss Chelda at home?"
"Yes, sir."
"Just ask her to see us."
Prosperity disappeared, and Justin uneasily surveyed Derrice, who stood with clasped hands near the door.
Presently Chelda came to them. She was as composed as usual, but there were two red spots high up on her cheeks, and her lips were nervously compressed.
"Oh, Chelda, where is my father?" cried Derrice, running to meet her.
Chelda glanced at Justin. How much did he know? His expression told her that Captain White had revealed everything to him, but his slight nod toward his wife warned her to be careful.
"Your father has gone away," she murmured. "I think something recalled him."
"Gone—and without seeing me! My poor sick father! Oh, how could you let him go? Did he not want to see me? Will he not come back?"
Derrice was feverishly awaiting a reply, when an extraordinary change came over Chelda. Her puzzled gaze had gone wonderingly out the window. It now came back with rapid alarm.
"Derrice," she said, sharply, and seizing her by the shoulder, "do you value your father's life,—his reputation?"
"Oh, yes, yes," replied the startled girl. "What do you mean?"
"Then dry those tears," said Chelda, sternly, and with her own handkerchief she wiped Derrice's burning cheeks. "Say nothing of your father; you knownothing about him. He has not been here. You are merely making a call. Sit down and occupy yourself with that book,—or, better still, go to the music-room. You will find a sonata open on the piano. Play, play as you value your father's safety. Do you hear me?" and she gave her a slight push toward the door.
"I do," said Derrice, in terrified accents, and appealing to her husband, "but what does this mean? Can you not explain?"
His lips formed the words, "Not now; go, my darling," and with inexpressible sadness he waved her from him.
Derrice went stumbling through the doorway. She had one glimpse of another carriage being driven furiously up to the door, and an inflamed crimson visage peering from it, then she dizzily found herself seated at the piano, her fingers tremblingly picking out the harmonies of an immortal composition.
Justin marvelled at Chelda's self-possession. In icy dignity and haughtiness she stood in the centre of the room, confronting a man who was an embodiment of enraged and speechless vulgarity.
Behind him lurked the chief of police of the town, looking slightly ashamed of himself, and throwing an apologetic glance toward Justin.
H. Robinson had no time for civilities to-day, andhe was much too angry to be overawed by Chelda. "Where is that man?" he gasped, after a time.
Chelda in superb disdain looked over his head at the chief of police. How much did he know?
He knew but little. With professional jealousy and contrariety H. Robinson had kept the main part of his secret to himself. He had, moreover, been bullying his partial colleague. Chelda knew it by the sulky expression of her fellow townsman.
"Good morning, Mr. Gordon," she said, cuttingly ignoring the remark just made to her. "Will you not sit down? Mr. Mercer will entertain you while I talk to this—this—"
She hesitated, and her hesitation and failure to characterise her caller were more stinging than any spoken words could have been. "Will you follow me?" she went on, loftily, and she swept from the room.
H. Robinson thought it better to obey her, and with a furious backward glance at the chief of police, who was snickering openly, he clumsily endeavoured to keep off the train of her gown as she ushered him into the dining-room.
"You had better get yourself something to drink," she said, waving him toward the sideboard.
He laid his hand on a silver tankard, and his small eyes rolled menacingly at her over the glass he raised to his lips.
"Where is Lancaster?" he ejaculated, as he set it down.
"You are very foolish to mention names."
He with difficulty withdrew a paper tightly wedged in his pocket. "I'm at the end of my patience,—it's only out of respect to the family we come quietly like this. Where is our prisoner?"
"Not here."
"He's in this house, or mighty near it. He might have been nabbed this morning if it hadn't been for that blatherskite in there. He come on the train. He ain't left. You've got to give him up. Two minutes to decide. I've got a patrolman outside. It won't take the three of us long to go over this house. You can't resist law, young woman."
"Do you really expect that Mr. Lancaster is in this house?"
"Oh, come off the roof!" he said, wrathfully. "You can't fool me. The old woman game won't work."
"Is it that poor old woman you are suspecting?"
"That poor old woman! Blankety blank, yes. I'm going for the chief. The two minutes are up."
"Wait one instant. My aunt and her friends are walking in the wood. You had better go find them and ascertain for yourself that the old woman is a veritable old woman."
The detective smote the table with his fist. "Is that true? You ain't foolin',—they're actually out of the house?"
"It is quite true."
H. Robinson lost control of himself, and began to swear fluently and to blindly search for the door.
Chelda slipped before him, but she was as a straw in the fury of the wind. She would be forced to allow him to go raging through the house, when to her relief there was a pressure from the hall and Captain White insinuated himself into the room.
"Hello!" he said, deftly shutting the door behind him. "So you've turned up again, piggy."
H. Robinson hurled an offensive epithet at him and ordered him to let him pass.
"Not so fast," said Captain White, gripping him by the arm. "You just sit down and talk this affair over with me. It ain't one to be left to ladies. Now, what do you want, Solomon Thundercloud?"
"I want that man," said H. Robinson, shaking his blue paper in his face.
"H'm—Louis Lancaster—accused of so and so—wanted for so and so. Well, you've come to the right place, my friend."
"He's here. I knew it," and the detective gave Chelda a sullen glare.
"Sit down, sit down," pursued Captain White. "Don't get in such a heat. He'll be back soon."
"Where is he?" vociferated the angry man.
"Just taking a little turn with Miss Gastonguay. You know she's got a soft heart for rogues."
"A turn where? I've got to arrest him."
"Yes, yes, I know. You've got a very decent four-wheeler to take him to jail. You shall have him this time, sure pop. I guess our chief of police ain't as smart as you are."
"He's a—" began the detective, then he looked at Chelda and stretched out his hand toward the door.
"If you don't keep still and discuss this matter," cried Captain White, falling into sudden excitement, "I'll give you a walloping compared with which our little play the other day would be but the breath of a suggestion. Keep still, you idiot. You've got the day before you, and I'm on your side. I vow to you, you sha'n't leave French Cross till you lay your hand on that man's shoulder."
H. Robinson sulkily lowered himself into a chair.
"First and foremost, I'm not bamboozling you. Lancaster is here. He wanted to have a talk with Miss Gastonguay, and she's taken him out in her steam yacht."
H. Robinson put his hands up to his head and clutched his scanty side locks.
"They're coming back, they're coming back. I'll stake all I have on it. You wait here. I'll wait with you."
"I must go out on the river," said the detective, in a hollow voice. "I must follow."
"Hold on," ejaculated Captain White, pushing him back on his seat. Then he opened the door.
"Gordon, Gordon, come here."
The chief of police came hurrying to the spot.
"Look here," said Captain White, "tell that man I'm not a fake."
"What's up now?" asked the newcomer, eyeing the detective.
"He's after a bank breaker," pursued Captain White, "and I'm trying to give him information, and he thinks I'm lying."
"Oh, he is, is he? I didn't know but that he was dreaming with his eyes open," said the chief, superciliously surveying the purple-visaged man on the other side of the table. "He don't belong to any staff. I never heard of him before."
"He's all right," said Captain White, generously. "Tell him I ain't a liar by profession."
"Which is more than he is," said the chief, angrily pouring out his accumulated vials of wrath on the stranger, "considering all the names he called me half an hour ago."
"And here's my gold watch, worth one hundred and fifty dollars," continued Captain White, "seals and chain, if the absentee, whom I guess we'll not name, ain't forthcoming within twenty-four hours."
"He's a sick man, he may die," sputtered H. Robinson.
"Sick man—ho, ho! I like that," and Chief Gordon, remembering the vigorous old woman at the station, began to laugh uproariously, but checked himself at the sight of Chelda's motionless figure, as she stood at one of the windows with her back to them.
"All right; go out on the Bay," said Captain White, restoring his watch to his pocket. "Go with him, chief. You'll find him easy among the hundreds of yachts from the cottages and the hotels, and he'll come back while you're gone, and I'll help him give you the slip."
H. Robinson was on the horns of a dilemma. He squirmed uneasily, but finally decided to trust Captain White.
"Done," he muttered. "But you've got to stay with me, you local man."
"All right," said the chief, laconically.
"And as two able-bodied men might, with a little help, manage to grip one sick fellow, I guess you'll send that patrolman back to the city hall," said Captain White.
The chief went outside, and Captain White addressed the silent figure at the window. "Miss Chelda, we want to have as little fuss about this thing as possible. Will you give orders to have somefishing-rods for us to thrash the river, while we wait for the return of that party?"
"Yes," she said, walking quickly past them, "and I will have lunch served here for you at once."
There was a suspicious readiness in the young lady's manner, and H. Robinson restlessly addressed his companion. "I guess she's told you what a fine bird your friend Lancaster is?"
"Right you are."
"It's an offence to interfere, obstruct, or oppose an officer—"
"Skip that," interposed Captain White. "You've got sense enough to know that the mistress of this place is an exception to all rules, and she's wrapped up in Lancaster's daughter."
"So, so,—I know it."
"And ain't you always coming to places in your practice or profession, or whatever you call your dirty work, when a few bank-bills spread out will cover a lot of iniquity that poverty would expose?"
"You bet I do, but this ain't a job for buying off."
"Who said it was? You get through it, though, without so much quacking, and you'll find it will be worth your while."
The detective went for a stroll through the hall. The door of the music-room was closed. If he could have looked inside, he would have seen the half-fainting daughter of the man he was in search of, lying on one of the green velvet benches.
Her husband was on his knees beside her. He had come to the room just in time to catch her as she fell from the piano stool. Now she had recovered and was whispering passionately, "Justin,—if I should ever grow weak and nervous, and ask you to tell me anything you might know to the prejudice of my father, you would not do so?"
"No, darling; no, no."
"I would not really wish to hear it. I could not bear it. He was so good, so perfect. I never found any fault in him. You liked him, Justin?"
"Yes, my own wife, I did."
"And Justin, if ever we should have a little child, or if I should have to die and leave it, you would never tell it anything against the father of its mother?"
"Never, never, God helping me. I will guard his reputation as I would my own; but do not speak of leaving me. I cannot bear it," and gathering her exhausted figure in his arms, he carried her to the open window.