CHAPTER VII
In the course of the morning she made several mysterious inquiries ofher parent regarding nice points of international law as it concernedmurder, and it is probable that he would have been struck by the oddnature of these questions had he not been unduly excited about anothermatter.
"I tell you, we've got to get home!" he announced gloomily. "The Germantroops are ready at Aix-la-Chapelle for an assault on Liege. Yes,sir--they're going to strike through Belgium! Know what that means?England in the war! Labor troubles; suffragette troubles; civil war inIreland--these things will melt away as quickly as that snow we hadlastwinter in Texas. They'll go in. It would be national suicide if theydidn't."
His daughter stared at him. She was unaware that it was the bootblackat the Carlton he was now quoting. She began to think he knew more aboutforeign affairs than she had given him credit for.
"Yes, sir," he went on; "we've got to travel--fast. This won't be ahealthy neighborhood for non-combatants when the ruction starts. I'mgoing if I have to buy a liner!"
"Nonsense!" said the girl. "This is the chance of a lifetime. I won'tbe cheated out of it by a silly old dad. Why, here we are, face to facewith history!"
"American history is good enough for me," he spread-eagled. "What areyou looking at?"
"Provincial to the death!" she said thoughtfully. "You old dear--I loveyou so! Some of our statesmen over home are going to look pretty foolishnow in the face of things they can't understand, I hope you're not goingto be one of them."
"Twaddle!" he cried. "I'm going to the steamship offices to-day andargue as I never argued for a vote."
His daughter saw that he was determined; and, wise from long experience,she did not try to dissuade him.
London that hot Monday was a city on the alert, a city of hearts heavywith dread. The rumors in one special edition of the papers were deniedin the next and reaffirmed in the next. Men who could look into thefuture walked the streets with faces far from happy. Unrest ruled thetown. And it found its echo in the heart of the girl from Texas as shethought of her young friend of the Agony Column "in durance vile" behindthe frowning walls of Scotland Yard.
That afternoon her father appeared, with the beaming mien of the victor,and announced that for a stupendous sum he had bought the tickets of aman who was to have sailed on the steamship Saronia three days hence.
"The boat train leaves at ten Thursday morning," he said. "Take yourlast look at Europe and be ready."
Three days! His daughter listened with sinking heart. Could she in threedays' time learn the end of that strange mystery, know the final fateof the man who had first addressed her so unconventionally in a publicprint? Why, at the end of three days he might still be in Scotland Yard,a prisoner! She could not leave if that were true--she simply could not.Almost she was on the point of telling her father the story of the wholeaffair, confident that she could soothe his anger and enlist his aid.She decided to wait until the next morning; and, if no letter camethen--
But on Tuesday morning a letter did come and the beginning of it broughtpleasant news. The beginning--yes. But the end! This was the letter:
DEAR ANXIOUS LADY: Is it too much for me to assume that you have beenjust that, knowing as you did that I was locked up for the murder of acaptain in the Indian Army, with the evidence all against me and hope avery still small voice indeed?
Well, dear lady, be anxious no longer. I have just lived through themost astounding day of all the astounding days that have been my portionsince last Thursday. And now, in the dusk, I sit again in my rooms, afree man, and write to you in what peace and quiet I can command afterthe startling adventure through which I have recently passed.
Suspicion no longer points to me; constables no longer eye me; ScotlandYard is not even slightly interested in me. For the murderer of CaptainFraser-Freer has been caught at last!
Sunday night I spent ingloriously in a cell in Scotland Yard. I couldnot sleep. I had so much to think of--you, for example, and at intervalshow I might escape from the folds of the net that had closed so tightlyabout me. My friend at the consulate, Watson, called on me late inthe evening; and he was very kind. But there was a note lacking inhis voice, and after he was gone the terrible certainty came into mymind--he believed that I was guilty after all.
The night passed, and a goodly portion of to-day went by--as the poetssay--with lagging feet. I thought of London, yellow in the sun. Ithought of the Carlton--I suppose there are no more strawberries by thistime. And my waiter--that stiff-backed Prussian--is home in Deutschlandnow, I presume, marching with his regiment. I thought of you.
At three o'clock this afternoon they came for me and I was led backto the room belonging to Inspector Bray. When I entered, however,the inspector was not there--only Colonel Hughes, immaculate andself-possessed, as usual, gazing out the window into the cheerlessstone court. He turned when I entered. I suppose I must have had a mostwoebegone appearance, for a look of regret crossed his face.
"My dear fellow," he cried, "my most humble apologies! I intended tohave you released last night. But, believe me, I have been frightfullybusy."
I said nothing. What could I say? The fact that he had been busy struckme as an extremely silly excuse. But the inference that my escape fromthe toils of the law was imminent set my heart to thumping.
"I fear you can never forgive me for throwing you over as I didyesterday," he went on. "I can only say that it was absolutelynecessary--as you shall shortly understand."
I thawed a bit. After all, there was an unmistakable sincerity in hisvoice and manner.
"We are waiting for Inspector Bray," continued the colonel. "I take ityou wish to see this thing through?"
"To the end," I answered.
"Naturally. The inspector was called away yesterday immediately afterour interview with him. He had business on the Continent, I understand.But fortunately I managed to reach him at Dover and he has come backto London. I wanted him, you see, because I have found the murderer ofCaptain Fraser-Freer."
I thrilled to hear that, for from my point of view it was certainly aconsummation devoutly to be wished. The colonel did not speak again. Ina few minutes the door opened and Bray came in. His clothes looked asthough he had slept in them; his little eyes were bloodshot. But inthose eyes there was a fire I shall never forget. Hughes bowed.
"Good afternoon, Inspector," he said. "I'm really sorry I had tointerrupt you as I did; but I most awfully wanted you to know that youowe me a Homburg hat." He went closer to the detective. "You see, I havewon that wager. I have found the man who murdered Captain Fraser-Freer."
Curiously enough, Bray said nothing. He sat down at his desk and idlyglanced through the pile of mail that lay upon it. Finally he looked upand said in a weary tone:
"You're very clever, I'm sure, Colonel Hughes."
"Oh--I wouldn't say that," replied Hughes. "Luck was with me--from thefirst. I am really very glad to have been of service in the matter, forI am convinced that if I had not taken part in the search it would havegone hard with some innocent man."
Bray's big pudgy hands still played idly with the mail on his desk.Hughes went on: "Perhaps, as a clever detective, you will be interestedin the series of events which enabled me to win that Homburg hat? Youhave heard, no doubt, that the man I have caught is Von der Herts--tenyears ago the best secret-service man in the employ of the Berlingovernment, but for the past few years mysteriously missing from ourline of vision. We've been wondering about him--at the War Office."
The colonel dropped into a chair, facing Bray.
"You know Von der Herts, of course?" he remarked casually.
"Of course," said Bray, still in that dead tired voice.
"He is the head of that crowd in England," went on Hughes. "Rather afeather in my cap to get him--but I mustn't boast. Poor Fraser-Freerwould have got him if I hadn't--only Von der Herts had the luck to getthe captain first."
Bray raised his eyes.
"You said you were going to tell me-
-" he began.
"And so I am," said Hughes. "Captain Fraser-Freer got in rather amess in India and failed of promotion. It was suspected that he wasdiscontented, soured on the Service; and the Countess Sophie de Graf wasset to beguile him with her charms, to kill his loyalty and win him overto her crowd.
"It was thought she had succeeded--the Wilhelmstrasse thought so--we atthe War Office thought so, as long as he stayed in India.
"But when the captain and the woman came on to London we discovered thatwe had done him a great injustice. He let us know, when the first chanceoffered, that he was trying to redeem himself, to round up a dangerousband of spies by pretending to be one of them. He said that it was hismission in London to meet Von der Herts, the greatest of them all; andthat, once he had located this man, we would hear from him again. In theweeks that followed I continued to keep a watch on the countess; and Ikept track of the captain, too, in a general way, for I'm ashamed to sayI was not quite sure of him."
The colonel got up and walked to the window; then turned and continued:"Captain Fraser-Freer and Von der Herts were completely unknown toeach other. The mails were barred as a means of communication; butFraser-Freer knew that in some way word from the master would reach him,and he had had a tip to watch the personal column of the Daily Mail. Nowwe have the explanation of those four odd messages. From that columnthe man from Rangoon learned that he was to wear a white aster in hisbutton-hole, a scarab pin in his tie, a Homburg hat on his head, andmeet Von der Herts at Ye Old Gambrinus Restaurant in Regent Street, lastThursday night at ten o'clock. As we know, he made all arrangements tocomply with those directions. He made other arrangements as well. Sinceit was out of the question for him to come to Scotland Yard, by skillfulmaneuvering he managed to interview an inspector of police at the HotelCecil. It was agreed that on Thursday night Von der Herts would beplaced under arrest the moment he made himself known to the captain."
Hughes paused. Bray still idled with his pile of letters, while thecolonel regarded him gravely.
"Poor Fraser-Freer!" Hughes went on. "Unfortunately for him, Von derHerts knew almost as soon as did the inspector that a plan was afoot totrap him. There was but one course open to him: He located the captain'slodgings, went there at seven that night, and killed a loyal and braveEnglishman where he stood."
A tense silence filled the room. I sat on the edge of my chair,wondering just where all this unwinding of the tangle was leading us.
"I had little, indeed, to work on," went on Hughes. "But I had thisadvantage: the spy thought the police, and the police alone, wereseeking the murderer. He was at no pains to throw me off his track,because he did not suspect that I was on it. For weeks my men had beenwatching the countess. I had them continue to do so. I figured thatsooner or later Von der Herts would get in touch with her. I was right.And when at last I saw with my own eyes the man who must, beyond allquestion, be Von der Herts, I was astounded, my dear Inspector, I wasoverwhelmed."
"Yes?" said Bray.
"I set to work then in earnest to connect him with that night in AdelphiTerrace. All the finger marks in the captain's study were for somereason destroyed, but I found others outside, in the dust on thatseldom-used gate which leads from the garden. Without his knowing,I secured from the man I suspected the imprint of his right thumb. Acomparison was startling. Next I went down into Fleet Street and luckilymanaged to get hold of the typewritten copy sent to the Mail bearingthose four messages. I noticed that in these the letter a was outof alignment. I maneuvered to get a letter written on a typewriterbelonging to my man. The a was out of alignment. Then ArchibaldEnwright, a renegade and waster well known to us as serving othercountries, came to England. My man and he met--at Ye Old Gambrinus, inRegent Street. And finally, on a visit to the lodgings of this man who,I was now certain, was Von der Herts, under the mattress of his bed Ifound this knife."
And Colonel Hughes threw down upon the inspector's desk the knife fromIndia that I had last seen in the study of Captain Fraser-Freer.
"All these points of evidence were in my hands yesterday morning inthis room," Hughes went on. "Still, the answer they gave me was sounbelievable, so astounding, I was not satisfied; I wanted even strongerproof. That is why I directed suspicion to my American friend here. Iwas waiting. I knew that at last Von der Herts realized the danger hewas in. I felt that if opportunity were offered he would attemptto escape from England; and then our proofs of his guilt would beunanswerable, despite his cleverness. True enough, in the afternoon hesecured the release of the countess, and together they started for theContinent. I was lucky enough to get him at Dover--and glad to let thelady go on."
And now, for the first time, the startling truth struck me full in theface as Hughes smiled down at his victim.
"Inspector Bray," he said, "or Von der Herts, as you choose, I arrestyou on two counts: First, as the head of the Wilhelmstrasse spy systemin England; second, as the murderer of Captain Fraser-Freer. And, if youwill allow me, I wish to compliment you on your efficiency."
Bray did not reply for a moment. I sat numb in my chair. Finally theinspector looked up. He actually tried to smile.
"You win the hat," he said, "but you must go to Homburg for it. I willgladly pay all expenses."
"Thank you," answered Hughes. "I hope to visit your country before long;but I shall not be occupied with hats. Again I congratulate you. Youwere a bit careless, but your position justified that. As head of thedepartment at Scotland Yard given over to the hunt for spies, precautiondoubtless struck you as unnecessary. How unlucky for poor Fraser-Freerthat it was to you he went to arrange for your own arrest! I got thatinformation from a clerk at the Cecil. You were quite right, from yourpoint of view, to kill him. And, as I say, you could afford to be ratherreckless. You had arranged that when the news of his murder came toScotland Yard you yourself would be on hand to conduct the search forthe guilty man. A happy situation, was it not?"
"It seemed so at the time," admitted Bray; and at last I thought Idetected a note of bitterness in his voice.
"I'm very sorry--really," said Hughes. "To-day, or to-morrow at thelatest, England will enter the war. You know what that means, Von derHerts. The Tower of London--and a firing squad!"
Deliberately he walked away from the inspector, and stood facing thewindow. Von der Herts was fingering idly that Indian knife which lay onhis desk. With a quick hunted look about the room, he raised his hand;and before I could leap forward to stop him he had plunged the knifeinto his heart.
Colonel Hughes turned round at my cry, but even at what met his eyes nowthat Englishman was imperturbable.
"Too bad!" he said. "Really too bad! The man had courage and, beyondall doubt, brains. But--this is most considerate of him. He has saved mesuch a lot of trouble."
The colonel effected my release at once; and he and I walked downWhitehall together in the bright sun that seemed so good to me after thebleak walls of the Yard. Again he apologized for turning suspicion myway the previous day; but I assured him I held no grudge for that.
"One or two things I do not understand," I said. "That letter I broughtfrom Interlaken--"
"Simple enough," he replied. "Enwright--who, by the way, is now in theTower--wanted to communicate with Fraser-Freer, who he supposed was aloyal member of the band. Letters sent by post seemed dangerous. Withyour kind assistance he informed the captain of his whereabouts and thedate of his imminent arrival in London. Fraser-Freer, not wanting youentangled in his plans, eliminated you by denying the existence of thiscousin--the truth, of course."
"Why," I asked, "did the countess call on me to demand that I alter mytestimony?"
"Bray sent her. He had rifled Fraser-Freer's desk and he held thatletter from Enwright. He was most anxious to fix the guilt upon theyoung lieutenant's head. You and your testimony as to the hour of thecrime stood in the way. He sought to intimidate you with threats--"
"But--"
"I know--you are wondering why the countess confessed to me next day.I had the woman in ra
ther a funk. In the meshes of my rapid-firequestioning she became hopelessly involved. This was because she wassuddenly terrified she realized I must have been watching her for weeks,and that perhaps Von der Herts was not so immune from suspicion as hesupposed. At the proper moment I suggested that I might have to take herto Inspector Bray. This gave her an idea. She made her fake confessionto reach his side; once there, she warned him of his danger and theyfled together."
We walked along a moment in silence. All about us the lurid specialeditions of the afternoon were flaunting their predictions of the horrorto come. The face of the colonel was grave.
"How long had Von der Herts held his position at the Yard?" I asked.
"For nearly five years," Hughes answered.
"It seems incredible," I murmured.
"So it does," he answered; "but it is only the first of many incrediblethings that this war will reveal. Two months from now we shall all haveforgotten it in the face of new revelations far more unbelievable." Hesighed. "If these men about us realized the terrible ordeal thatlies ahead! Misgoverned; unprepared--I shudder at the thought of thesacrifices we must make, many of them in vain. But I suppose thatsomehow, some day, we shall muddle through."
He bade me good-by in Trafalgar Square, saying that he must at onceseek out the father and brother of the late captain, and tell them thenews--that their kinsman was really loyal to his country.
"It will come to them as a ray of light in the dark--my news," he said."And now, thank you once again."
We parted and I came back here to my lodgings. The mystery is finallysolved, though in such a way it is difficult to believe that it wasanything but a nightmare at any time. But solved none the less; and Ishould be at peace, except for one great black fact that haunts me, willnot let me rest. I must tell you, dear lady--And yet I fear it means theend of everything. If only I can make you understand!
I have walked my floor, deep in thought, in puzzlement, in indecision.Now I have made up my mind. There is no other way--I must tell you thetruth.
Despite the fact that Bray was Von der Herts; despite the fact thathe killed himself at the discovery--despite this and that, andeverything--Bray did not kill Captain Fraser-Freer!
On last Thursday evening, at a little after seven o'clock, I myselfclimbed the stairs, entered the captain's rooms, picked up that knifefrom his desk, and stabbed him just above the heart!
What provocation I was under, what stern necessity moved me--all thisyou must wait until to-morrow to know. I shall spend another anxious daypreparing my defense, hoping that through some miracle of mercy you mayforgive me--understand that there was nothing else I could do.
Do not judge, dear lady, until you know everything--until all myevidence is in your lovely hands.
YOURS, IN ALL HUMILITY.
The first few paragraphs of this the sixth and next to the last letterfrom the Agony Column man had brought a smile of relief to the face ofthe girl who read. She was decidedly glad to learn that her friend nolonger languished back of those gray walls on Victoria Embankment. Withexcitement that increased as she went along, she followed Colonel Hughesas--in the letter--he moved nearer and nearer his denouement, untilfinally his finger pointed to Inspector Bray sitting guilty in hischair. This was an eminently satisfactory solution, and it served theinspector right for locking up her friend. Then, with the suddennessof a bomb from a Zeppelin, came, at the end, her strawberry man'sconfession of guilt. He was the murderer, after all! He admitted it! Shecould scarcely believe her eyes.
Yet there it was, in ink as violet as those eyes, on the note paper thathad become so familiar to her during the thrilling week just past. Sheread it a second time, and yet a third. Her amazement gave way to anger;her cheeks flamed. Still--he had asked her not to judge until all hisevidence was in. This was a reasonable request surely, and she could notin fairness refuse to grant it.
CHAPTER VIII
So began an anxious day, not only for the girl from Texas but for allLondon as well. Her father was bursting with new diplomatic secretsrecently extracted from his bootblack adviser. Later, in Washington, hewas destined to be a marked man because of his grasp of the situationabroad. No one suspected the bootblack, the power behind the throne;but the gentleman from Texas was destined to think of that able diplomatmany times, and to wish that he still had him at his feet to advise him.
"War by midnight, sure!" he proclaimed on the morning of this fatefulTuesday. "I tell you, Marian, we're lucky to have our tickets on theSaronia. Five thousand dollars wouldn't buy them from me to-day! I'll bea happy man when we go aboard that liner day after to-morrow."
Day after to-morrow! The girl wondered. At any rate, she would have thatlast letter then--the letter that was to contain whatever defenseher young friend could offer to explain his dastardly act. She waitedeagerly for that final epistle.
The day dragged on, bringing at its close England's entrance into thewar; and the Carlton bootblack was a prophet not without honor in acertain Texas heart. And on the following morning there arrived a letterwhich was torn open by eager trembling fingers. The letter spoke:
DEAR LADY JUDGE: This is by far the hardest to write of all the lettersyou have had from me. For twenty-four hours I have been planning it.Last night I walked on the Embankment while the hansoms jogged by andthe lights of the tramcars danced on Westminster Bridge just as thefireflies used to in the garden back of our house in Kansas. While Iwalked I planned. To-day, shut up in my rooms, I was also planning. Andyet now, when I sit down to write, I am still confused; still at a losswhere to begin and what to say, once I have begun.
At the close of my last letter I confessed to you that it was I whomurdered Captain Fraser-Freer. That is the truth. Soften the blow as Imay, it all comes down to that. The bitter truth!
Not a week ago--last Thursday night at seven--I climbed our dark stairsand plunged a knife into the heart of that defenseless gentleman. Ifonly I could point out to you that he had offended me in some way; if Icould prove to you that his death was necessary to me, as it reallywas to Inspector Bray--then there might be some hope of your ultimatepardon. But, alas! he had been most kind to me--kinder than I haveallowed you to guess from my letters. There was no actual need to doaway with him. Where shall I look for a defense?
At the moment the only defense I can think of is simply this--thecaptain knows I killed him!
Even as I write this, I hear his footsteps above me, as I heard themwhen I sat here composing my first letter to you. He is dressing fordinner. We are to dine together at Romano's.
And there, my lady, you have finally the answer to the mystery thathas--I hope--puzzled you. I killed my friend the captain in my secondletter to you, and all the odd developments that followed lived only inmy imagination as I sat here beside the green-shaded lamp in my study,plotting how I should write seven letters to you that would, as thenovel advertisements say, grip your attention to the very end. Oh, I amguilty--there is no denying that. And, though I do not wish to ape oldAdam and imply that I was tempted by a lovely woman, a strict regard forthe truth forces me to add that there is also guilt upon your head.How so? Go back to that message you inserted in the Daily Mail: "Thegrapefruit lady's great fondness for mystery and romance--"
You did not know it, of course; but in those words you passed me achallenge I could not resist; for making plots is the business oflife--more, the breath of life--to me. I have made many; and perhaps youhave followed some of them, on Broadway. Perhaps you have seen a play ofmine announced for early production in London. There was mention of itin the program at the Palace. That was the business which kept me inEngland. The project has been abandoned now and I am free to go backhome.
Thus you see that when you granted me the privilege of those sevenletters you played into my hands. So, said I, she longs for mystery andromance. Then, by the Lord Harry, she shall have them!
And it was the tramp of Captain Fraser-Freer's boots above my head thatshowed me the way. A fine, stalwart, cordial fellow--the cap
tain--whohas been very kind to me since I presented my letter of introductionfrom his cousin, Archibald Enwright. Poor Archie! A meek, correct littlesoul, who would be horrified beyond expression if he knew that of him Ihad made a spy and a frequenter of Limehouse!
The dim beginnings of the plot were in my mind when I wrote that firstletter, suggesting that all was not regular in the matter of Archie'snote of introduction. Before I wrote my second, I knew that nothing butthe death of Fraser-Freer would do me. I recalled that Indian knife Ihad seen upon his desk, and from that moment he was doomed. At thattime I had no idea how I should solve the mystery. But I had read andwondered at those four strange messages in the Mail, and I resolved thatthey must figure in the scheme of things.
The fourth letter presented difficulties until I returned from dinnerthat night and saw a taxi waiting before our quiet house. Hencethe visit of the woman with the lilac perfume. I am afraid theWilhelmstrasse would have little use for a lady spy who advertisedherself in so foolish a manner. Time for writing the fifth letterarrived. I felt that I should now be placed under arrest. I had a faintlittle hope that you would be sorry about that. Oh, I'm a brute, I know!
Early in the game I had told the captain of the cruel way in which I haddisposed of him. He was much amused; but he insisted, absolutely, thathe must be vindicated before the close of the series, and I was with himthere. He had been so bully about it all. A chance remark of his gave memy solution. He said he had it on good authority that the chief ofthe Czar's bureau for capturing spies in Russia was himself a spy. Andso--why not a spy in Scotland Yard?
I assure you, I am most contrite as I set all this down here. You mustremember that when I began my story there was no idea of war. Now allEurope is aflame; and in the face of the great conflict, the awfulsuffering to come, I and my little plot begin to look--well, I fancy youknow just how we look.
Forgive me. I am afraid I can never find the words to tell you howimportant it seemed to interest you in my letters--to make you feel thatI am an entertaining person worthy of your notice. That morning when youentered the Carlton breakfast room was really the biggest in my life. Ifelt as though you had brought with you through that doorway--But I haveno right to say it. I have the right to say nothing save that now--itis all left to you. If I have offended, then I shall never hear from youagain.
The captain will be here in a moment. It is near the hour set and he isnever late. He is not to return to India, but expects to be drafted forthe Expeditionary Force that will be sent to the Continent. I hope theGerman Army will be kinder to him than I was!
My name is Geoffrey West. I live at nineteen Adelphi Terrace--in roomsthat look down on the most wonderful garden in London. That, atleast, is real. It is very quiet there to-night, with the city and itscontinuous hum of war and terror seemingly a million miles away.
Shall we meet at last? The answer rests entirely with you. But, believeme, I shall be anxiously waiting to know; and if you decide to give me achance to explain--to denounce myself to you in person--then a happy manwill say good-by to this garden and these dim dusty rooms and follow youto the ends of the earth--aye, to Texas itself!
Captain Fraser-Freer is coming down the stairs. Is this good-by forever,my lady? With all my soul, I hope not.
YOUR CONTRITE STRAWBERRY MAN.
CHAPTER IX
Words are futile things with which to attempt a description of thefeelings of the girl at the Carlton as she read this, the last letterof seven written to her through the medium of her maid, Sadie Haight.Turning the pages of the dictionary casually, one might enlist afew--for example, amazement, anger, unbelief, wonder. Perhaps, to goback to the letter a, even amusement. We may leave her with the solutionto the puzzle in her hand, the Saronia a little more than a day away,and a weirdly mixed company of emotions struggling in her soul.
And leaving her thus, let us go back to Adelphi Terrace and a young manexceedingly worried.
Once he knew that his letter was delivered, Mr. Geoffrey West took hisplace most humbly on the anxious seat. There he writhed through the longhours of Wednesday morning. Not to prolong this painful picture, let ushasten to add that at three o'clock that same afternoon came a telegramthat was to end suspense. He tore it open and read:
STRAWBERRY MAN: I shall never, never forgive, you. But we are sailingtomorrow on the Saronia. Were you thinking of going home soon? MARIAN A.LARNED.
Thus it happened that, a few minutes later, to the crowd of troubledAmericans in a certain steamship booking office there was added awild-eyed young man who further upset all who saw him. To weary clerkshe proclaimed in fiery tones that he must sail on the Saronia. Thereseemed to be no way of appeasing him. The offer of a private liner wouldnot have interested him.
He raved and tore his hair. He ranted. All to no avail. There was, inplain American, "nothing doing!"
Damp but determined, he sought among the crowd for one who had bookingson the Saronia. He could find, at first, no one so lucky; but finally heran across Tommy Gray. Gray, an old friend, admitted when pressed thathe had a passage on that most desirable boat. But the offer of all theking's horses and all the king's gold left him unmoved. Much, he said,as he would have liked to oblige, he and his wife were determined. Theywould sail.
It was then that Geoffrey West made a compact with his friend. Hesecured from him the necessary steamer labels and it was arranged thathis baggage was to go aboard the Saronia as the property of Gray.
"But," protested Gray, "even suppose you do put this through; supposeyou do manage to sail without a ticket--where will you sleep? In chainssomewhere below, I fancy."
"No matter!" bubbled West. "I'll sleep in the dining saloon, in alifeboat, on the lee scuppers--whatever they are. I'll sleep in theair, without any visible support! I'll sleep anywhere--nowhere--but I'llsail! And as for irons--they don't make 'em strong enough to hold me."
At five o'clock on Thursday afternoon the Saronia slipped smoothly awayfrom a Liverpool dock. Twenty-five hundred Americans--about twice thenumber the boat could comfortably carry--stood on her decks and cheered.Some of those in that crowd who had millions of money were bookedfor the steerage. All of them were destined to experience during thatcrossing hunger, annoyance, discomfort. They were to be stepped on, saton, crowded and jostled. They suspected as much when the boat left thedock. Yet they cheered!
Gayest among them was Geoffrey West, triumphant amid the confusion. Hewas safely aboard; the boat was on its way! Little did it trouble himthat he went as a stowaway, since he had no ticket; nothing but anoverwhelming determination to be on the good ship Saronia.
That night as the Saronia stole along with all deck lights out and everyporthole curtained, West saw on the dim deck the slight figure of agirl who meant much to him. She was standing staring out over the blackwaters; and, with wildly beating heart, he approached her, not knowingwhat to say, but feeling that a start must be made somehow.
"Please pardon me for addressing--" he began. "But I want to tell you--"
She turned, startled; and then smiled an odd little smile, which hecould not see in the dark.
"I beg your pardon," she said. "I haven't met you, that I recall--"
"I know," he answered. "That's going to be arranged to-morrow. Mrs.Tommy Gray says you crossed with them--"
"Mere steamer acquaintances," the girl replied coldly.
"Of course! But Mrs. Gray is a darling--she'll fix that all right. Ijust want to say, before to-morrow comes--"
"Wouldn't it be better to wait?"
"I can't! I'm on this ship without a ticket. I've got to go down in aminute and tell the purser that. Maybe he'll throw me overboard; maybehe'll lock me up. I don't know what they do with people like me. Maybethey'll make a stoker of me. And then I shall have to stoke, with nochance of seeing you again. So that's why I want to say now--I'm sorryI have such a keen imagination. It carried me away--really it did!I didn't mean to deceive you with those letters; but, once I gotstarted--You know, don't you, that I love you with all
my heart? Fromthe moment you came into the Carlton that morning I--"
"Really--Mr.--Mr.--"
"West--Geoffrey West. I adore you! What can I do to prove it? I'm goingto prove it--before this ship docks in the North River. Perhaps I'dbetter talk to your father, and tell him about the Agony Column andthose seven letters--"
"You'd better not! He's in a terribly bad humor. The dinner was awful,and the steward said we'd be looking back to it and calling it a banquetbefore the voyage ends. Then, too, poor dad says he simply can not sleepin the stateroom they've given him--"
"All the better! I'll see him at once. If he stands for me now he'llstand for me any time! And, before I go down and beard a harsh-lookingpurser in his den, won't you believe me when I say I'm deeply in love--"
"In love with mystery and romance! In love with your own remarkablepowers of invention! Really, I can't take you seriously--"
"Before this voyage is ended you'll have to. I'll prove to you that Icare. If the purser lets me go free--"
"You have much to prove," the girl smiled. "To-morrow--when Mrs. TommyGray introduces us--I may accept you--as a builder of plots. I happento know you are good. But--as--It's too silly! Better go and have it outwith that purser."
Reluctantly he went. In five minutes he was back. The girl was stillstanding by the rail.
"It's all right!" West said. "I thought I was doing something original,but there were eleven other people in the same fix. One of them is abillionaire from Wall Street. The purser collected some money from usand told us to sleep on the deck--if we could find room."
"I'm sorry," said the girl. "I rather fancied you in the role ofstoker." She glanced about her at the dim deck. "Isn't this exciting?I'm sure this voyage is going to be filled with mystery and romance."
"I know it will be full of romance," West answered. "And the mysterywill be--can I convince you--"
"Hush!" broke in the girl. "Here comes father! I shall be very happy tomeet you--to-morrow. Poor dad! he's looking for a place to sleep."
Five days later poor dad, having slept each night on deck in his clotheswhile the ship plowed through a cold drizzle, and having starved ina sadly depleted dining saloon, was a sight to move the heart ofa political opponent. Immediately after a dinner that had scarcelysatisfied a healthy Texas appetite he lounged gloomily in the deck chairwhich was now his stateroom. Jauntily Geoffrey West came and sat at hisside.
"Mr. Larned," he said, "I've got something for you."
And, with a kindly smile, he took from his pocket and handed over alarge, warm baked potato. The Texan eagerly accepted the gift.
"Where'd you get it?" he demanded, breaking open his treasure.
"That's a secret," West answered. "But I can get as many as I want. Mr.Larned, I can say this--you will not go hungry any longer. And there'ssomething else I ought to speak of. I am sort of aiming to marry yourdaughter."
Deep in his potato the Congressman spoke:
"What does she say about it?"
"Oh, she says there isn't a chance. But--"
"Then look out, my boy! She's made up her mind to have you."
"I'm glad to hear you say that. I really ought to tell you who I am.Also, I want you to know that, before your daughter and I met, I wroteher seven letters--"
"One minute," broke in the Texan. "Before you go into all that, won'tyou be a good fellow and tell me where you got this potato?"
West nodded.
"Sure!" he said; and, leaning over, he whispered.
For the first time in days a smile appeared on the face of the olderman.
"My boy," he said, "I feel I'm going to like you. Never mind the rest.I heard all about you from your friend Gray; and as for thoseletters--they were the only thing that made the first part of this tripbearable. Marian gave them to me to read the night we came on board."
Suddenly from out of the clouds a long-lost moon appeared, and bathedthat over-crowded ocean liner in a flood of silver. West left the oldman to his potato and went to find the daughter.
She was standing in the moonlight by the rail of the forward deck, hereyes staring dreamily ahead toward the great country that had sent herforth light-heartedly for to adventure and to see. She turned as Westcame up.
"I have just been talking with your father," he said. "He tells me hethinks you mean to take me, after all."
She laughed. "To-morrow night," she answered, "will be our last onboard. I shall give you my final decision then."
"But that is twenty-four hours away! Must I wait so long as that?"
"A little suspense won't hurt you. I can't forget those long days when Iwaited for your letters--"
"I know! But can't you give me--just a little hint--here--to-night?"
"I am without mercy--absolutely without mercy!"
And then, as West's fingers closed over her hand, she added softly:"Not even the suspicion of a hint, my dear--except to tell you that--myanswer will be--yes."
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