CHAPTER XXVIII
Carey had lost no time when he read that note of appeal signed “Grace.” It was not his way to wait for a hat in any emergency, but he did not leave sagacity behind him when he swung himself into the already moving car that had come for him. He could think on the way, and he was taking no chances.
It was quite natural that Grace Kendall should have gone to see a sick pupil after Sunday school. It was not natural that any pupil would have lived out as far as Lamb’s Tavern; yet there were a hundred and one ways she might have gone there against her plans. He could question the messenger on the way and lose no time about it, nor excite the curiosity of his family. That had perhaps been one of Carey’s greatest cares all his life, amounting sometimes almost to a vice, to keep his family from finding out anything little or great connected with himself or anybody else. He had a code, and by that code all things not immediately concerning people were “none of their business.” His natural caution now caused him to get away from his house at once and excite no suspicion of danger. Grace had written to him rather than to her father with evident intention,—if she had written at all, a question he had at once recognized, but not as yet settled,—and it was easy to guess that she did not wishto worry her parents unnecessarily. He was inclined to be greatly elated that she had chosen him for her helper rather than some older acquaintance, and this was probably the moving factor in prompting him to act at once.
He would not have been the boy he was if he had not seen all these points at the first flash. The only thing he did not see and would not recognize was any danger to himself. He had always felt he could ably take care of himself, and he intended to do so now. Moreover, he expected and intended to return in time to go to that Christian Endeavor meeting.
He glanced at his watch as he dropped into the seat, and immediately sat forward, and prepared to investigate the situation. But the boy who had brought the note, and who had seemingly scuttled around to get into the front seat from the other side of the car, had disappeared, and a glance backward at the rapidly disappearing landscape gave no hint of his whereabouts. That was strange. He had evidently intended to go along. He had said, “Come on!” and hurried toward the car. Who was that kid, anyway? Where had he seen him?
For what had been a revealing fact to Cornelia, and would have greatly changed the view of things, was entirely unknown to Carey. Clytie Dodd kept her family in the background as much as possible, and to that end met her “gentlemen friends” in parks, or at soda-fountains, or by the wayside casually. She had a regular arrangement with a certain corner drug-store whereby telephone messages would reach her and bring her to the’phone whenever she was at home; but her friends seldom came to her house, and never met her family. She had a hard-working, sensible father, an over-worked, fretful, tempestuous mother, and a swarm of little wild, outrageous brothers and sisters, none of whom approved of her high social aspirations. She found it healthier in every way to keep her domestic and social lives utterly apart; consequently Carey had never seen Sam Dodd, or his eyes might have instantly been opened. Sam was very useful to his sister on occasion when well primed with one of her hard-earned quarters, and could, if there were special inducement, even exercise a bit of detective ability. Sam knew how to disappear off the face of the earth, and he had done it thoroughly this time.
Carey leaned forward, and questioned the driver.
“What’s the matter? Anything serious?”
But the driver sat unmoved, staring ahead and making his car go slamming along, regardless of ruts or bumps, at a tremendous rate of speed. Carey did not object to the speed. He wanted to get back. He tried again, touching the man on the shoulder and shouting his question. The man turned after a second nudge, and stared resentfully, but appeared to be deaf.
Carey shouted a third time, and then the man gave evidence of being also dumb; but after a fourth attempt he gave forth the brief word: “I dunno. Lady jes’ hired me.”
The man did not look so stupid as he sounded, and Carey made several attempts to get further information, even to ask for a description of the lady who had senthim; but he answered either, “I dunno,” or, “Yep, I gezzo”; and Carey finally gave up. He dived into his pocket for the note once more, having a desire to study the handwriting of the young woman for whom he had newly acquired an admiration. It didn’t seem real that expedition. As he thought of it, it didn’t seem like that quiet, modest girl to send for a comparative stranger to help her in distress. It seemed more like Clytie. But that note had not been Clytie’s writing. Clytie affected a large, round, vertical hand like a young school-child, crude and unfinished. This letter had been delicately written by a finished hand on thick cream stationery. Where was that note? He was sure he had put it in his pocket.
But a search of every pocket revealed nothing, and he sat back, and tried to think the thing out, tried to imagine what possible situation had brought Grace Kendall where she would send for him to help her. Stay! Was it Grace Kendall? Grace, Grace, was there any other Grace among his circle of friends? No, no one that claimed sufficient acquaintance to write a note like that. It certainly was queer. But they were out in the open country now, and speeding. The farmhouses were few and far apart. It was growing dusky; Carey could just see the hands of his watch, and he was getting nervous. Once he almost thought of shaking the driver and insisting on his turning around, for it had come over him that he should have left word with Miss Kendall’s people or called up before he left home. It wasn’t his way at all to do such a thing; but, still, with a girl like that—and, if anything serious wasthe matter, her father might not like it that he had taken it upon himself. As the car sped on through the radiant dusk, it seemed more and more strange that Grace Kendall after the afternoon service should have come away out here to visit a sick Sunday-school scholar, and his misgivings grew. Then suddenly at a cross-road just ahead an automobile appeared, standing by the roadside just at the crossings with no lights on. It seemed strange, no lights at that time of night. If it was an accident, they would have the lights on. It was still three-quarters of a mile to the Tavern. Perhaps some one had broken down and gone on for help. No, there was a man standing in the road, looking toward them. He was holding up his hand, and the driver was slowing down. Carey frowned. He had no time to waste. “We can’t stop to help them now,” he shouted. “Tell them we’ll come back in a few minutes, and bring some one to fix them up. I’ve got to get back right away. I’ve gotta date.”
But the man paid no more heed to him than if he had been a June bug, and the car stopped at the cross-roads.
Carey leaned out, and shouted: “What’s the matter? I haven’t time to stop now. We’ll send help back to you”; but the driver turned and motioned him to get out.
“She’s in there. The lady’s in that car,” he said. “Better get out here. I ain’t goin’ no further, anyhow. I’m going home by the cross-roads. They’ll get you back,” motioning toward the other car.
Carey, astonished, hardly knowing what to think, sprang out to investigate; and the driver threw in hisclutch, and was off down the cross-road at once. Carey took a step toward the darkened car, calling, “Miss Kendall”; and a man with a cap drawn down over his eyes stepped out of the shadow, and threw open the car door.
“Just step inside. You’ll find the lady in the back seat,” he said in a gruff voice that yet sounded vaguely familiar. Carey could dimly see a white face leaning against the curtain. He came near anxiously, and peered in, with one foot on the running-board.
“Is that you, Grace?” he said gently, not knowing he was using that intimate name unbidden. She must have been hurt. And who was this man?
“Get in; get in; we’ve got to get her back,” said the man gruffly, giving Carey an unexpected shove that precipitated him to the car floor beside the lady. Before he recovered his balance the car door was slammed shut, and suddenly from all sides came peals of raucous laughter. Surrounding the car, swarming into it, came the laughers. In the midst of his bewilderment the car started.
“Well, I guess anyhow we put one over on you this time, Kay Copley!”
It was the clarion voice of Clytie Amabel Dodd that sounded high and mocking above the chug of the motor as the struggling, laughing company untangled themselves from one another and settled into their seats precipitately with the jerk of starting. Carey found himself drawn suddenly and forcibly to the back seat between two girls, one of them being the amiable Clytie.
In sudden rage he drew himself up again, and faced the girl in the dim light.
“Let me out of here!” he demanded. “I’m on my way to help some one who’s in trouble, and I’m in a hurry to get back.”
He reached out to the door, and unfastened it, attempting to climb over Clytie’s feet, which were an intentional barricade.
“Aw, set down, you big simp, you,” yelled Clytie, giving him a shove back with a muscular young arm. “This ain’t no Sunday-school crowd, you bet yer life; an’ the girl that wrote that note is setting right ’long-side of you over there. My sister Grace! GraceDodd. Make you acquainted. Now set down, and see if you can ac’ like a little man. We’re off for the best feed ever and a big night. Comb your hair, and keep your shirt on, and get a hustle on that grouch. We’re going to have the time of our life, and you’re going along.”
Carey was still, stern and still. The coarse words of the girl tore their way through his newly awakened soul, and made him sick. The thought that he had ever deliberately, of his own accord, gone anywhere, in the company of this girl was like gall and wormwood. Shame passed over him, and bathed him in a cleansing flood for a moment; and, as he felt its waters at their height over his head, he seemed to see the face of Grace Kendall, fine and sweet and far away, lost to him forever. Then a flash of memory brought her look as she had thanked him for taking the solo that night, and said she knew hewould make a success of it; and his soul rose in rebellion. He would keep faith with her. In spite of all of them he would get back.
He lifted his head, and called commandingly: “Stop this car! I’ve got to get back to the city. I’ve got an engagement.”
The answer was a loud jeer of laughter.
“Aw! Yeah! We know whatcher engagement is, and you ain’t going to no Chrisshun ’deavor t’night. Pretty little Gracie ’ll have to keep on lookin’ fer you, but she won’t see you t’night.”
Carey was very angry. He thought he knew now how men felt that wanted to kill some one. Clytie was a girl, and he couldn’t strike her; but she had exceeded all a woman’s privileges. He gripped her arm roughly, and pushed her back into the seat, threw himself between the two unidentified ones in the middle seat, and projected his body upon the man who was driving, seizing the wheel and attempting to turn the car around. The driver was taken unexpectedly, and the car almost ran into the fence, one wheel lurching down into the ditch. The girls set up a horrible screaming. The car was stopped just in time, and a terrific fight began in the front seat.
“Now, just for this, Carey Copley, we’ll get you dead drunk and take you back to your old Chrisshun ’deavor. That’s what we were going to do, anyway; only we weren’t going to tell you beforehand—get you dead drunk and take you back to your little baby-faced, yella-haired Gracie-girl.ThenI guess she’d have anything more to do with you? I guess anyhownot!”
Clytie’s voice rang out loud and clear above the din, followed by the crash of glass as somebody smashed against the wind-shield. This was what Maxwell heard as he stole noiselessly upon the dark car, running down a slight grade with his engine shut off. He stopped his car a rod away, and dropped silently to the ground while Harry, like a smaller shadow, dropped from the back, stole around the other side of the car, and hid in the shadows next the fence.
“What was that?” warned Clytie suddenly. “Grace, didn’t you hear something? Say, boys, we oughtta be gettin’ on. Somebody ’ll be onto our taking this car, and come after us; then it’ll be good-night for us. Don’t fool with that kid any longer. Give him a knockout, and stow him down in the bottom of the car. We can bring him to when we get to a safe place. Cheese it, there! Cheese it!”
Harry, watching alertly, saw Maxwell spring suddenly on the other side; and, stealing close with the velvet tread of a cat, he sprang to the running-board on his side, and, jumping, flung his arms tightly about the neck of the front-seat man next him, hanging back with his fingers locked around the fellow’s throat, and dragging his whole lusty young weight to the ground. There was nothing for his man to do but follow, struggling, spluttering, and trying to grasp something, till he sprawled at length uponthe grass, unable, for the moment, in his bewilderment to determine just what had hold of him.
Maxwell on his side had gripped the driver, and pulled him out, not altogether sure but it might be Carey, but knowing that the best he could do was to get some one before the car started again. The unexpectedness of the attack from the outside wrought confusion and panic in the car, and gave Maxwell a moment’s vantage.
Carey was meanwhile fighting blindly like a wild man, his special antagonist being the man in the middle seat; and when he found himself suddenly relieved of the two in the front seat, he seemed to gain an almost superhuman power for the instant. Dragging and pushing, he succeeded in throwing his man out of the car upon the ground. Then before anyone knew what was happening, and amid the frightened screams of the three girls, Carey climbed over into the front seat, and, not knowing that a friend was at hand, threw in the clutch and started the car, whirling it recklessly round in the road, almost upsetting it, and shot away up the road toward the city at a terrible rate of speed, leaving Maxwell with three men on his hands and no knowledge of Harry’s presence.
The man that Carey had thrown out of the car lay crumpled in a heap, unconscious. He had broken his ankle, and would make no trouble for a while. Maxwell was not even conscious of his presence as he grappled with the driver, and finally succeeded in getting him down with hands pinioned and his knee on the man’s chest. Maxwell was an expert wrestler, and knew all the tricks, whichwas more than could be said of the boy who had been driving the car; but Maxwell was by no means in training, and he found himself badly winded and bruised. Lifting his head there in the darkness and wondering what he was to do with his man now he had him down, he discovered the silent form in the road but a step away. Startled, he looked about; and suddenly a gruff young voice came pluckily to him from across the ditch:
“All right, Max; I can hold this man awhile now. I’ve got the muzzle on the back of his neck.”
The form on the bank beside Harry suddenly ceased to struggle, and lay grimly still. Maxwell, astonished, but quick to take Harry’s lead, called back: “All right, sir. You haven’t got an extra rope about you, have you, man?”
“Use yer necktie, Max,” called back the boy nonchalantly. “That’s what I’m doing. There’s good strong straps under the seat in the car to make it sure. Saw ’em last week when you and I were fixing the car.”
And actually Harry, with the cold butt of his old jack-knife realistically placed at the base of his captive’s brain, was tying his man’s hands behind him with his best blue silk necktie that Cornelia had given him the day before. It seemed a terrible waste to him; but his handkerchief was in the other side-pocket, and he didn’t dare risk taking that knife in the other hand to get at it.
It happened that the boy that Harry had attacked in the dark was a visitor to the city, very young and very green indeed; and the others had promised to show hima good time and teach him what life in the city meant. He was horribly frightened, and already shaking like a leaf with a vision of jail and the confusion of his honorable family back in the country. The cold steel on the back of his neck subdued him instantly and fully. He had no idea that his captor was but a slip of a boy. The darkness had come down completely there in the shadow of a grove of maples, and a cricket rasping out a sudden note in the ditch below made him jump in terror. Harry, with immense scorn for the “big boob” who allowed himself to be tied so easily, drew the knots fast and hard, wondering meanwhile whether Cornie could iron out the necktie again. Then, feeling a little easier about moving, he changed hands, and got possession of his Sunday handkerchief, and proceeded to tie the young fellow’s ankles together. After which he slid casually down the bank, hustled over to the car, got the straps, and brought them to Maxwell, who was having his hands full trying to tie the driver’s wrists with his big white handkerchief.
Gravely they made the fellow fast, searched him for any possible weapons and put him into the back seat of the car.
Next they picked up the quiet fellow on the ground, made his hands fast, and put him on the floor of the car.
“It’s no use trying to bring him to here,” advised Harry gruffly. “No water; and, besides, we can’t waste the time. He’s just knocked out, I guess, anyhow, like they do in football.”
But, when they went for Harry’s man, they foundno trace of him. Somehow he had managed to roll down the bank into the ditch and hid himself, or perhaps he had worked off his fetters and run away.
“Aw, gee!” said Harry, reluctantly turning toward the car. “I s’pose we gotta let him go; but that was my best new necktie.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Maxwell almost relieved. “There’s more neckties where that came from, and I think we better get this man back to a doctor.”
Back they drove like lightning to the city, with Harry keeping watch over the prisoners, one sullen and one silent, and took them straight to the station-house with a promise to return with more details in a short time. Then they drove rapidly to the church, Maxwell anxious to be sure that Carey was all right, and bent on relieving Cornelia’s mind.
They entered the church just as the choir stood up for the anthem, and Cornelia’s white, anxious face looked out at the end of the top row of sopranos. Maxwell’s eyes sought hers a second, then searched rapidly through the lines of tenor and bass, but Carey had not come yet. Where was Carey?