CHAPTER VIII
A STRING OF GOLD BEADS
A moment later Bates entered with a fresh supply ofwood. I watched him narrowly for some sign of perturbation,but he was not to be caught off guard. Possiblyhe had not heard the shots in the wood; at anyrate, he tended the fire with his usual gravity, and afterbrushing the hearth paused respectfully.
“Is there anything further, sir?”
“I believe not, Bates. Oh! here’s a hammer I pickedup out in the grounds a bit ago. I wish you’d see if itbelongs to the house.”
He examined the implement with care and shook hishead.
“It doesn’t belong here, I think, sir. But we sometimesfind tools left by the carpenters that worked onthe house. Shall I put this in the tool-chest, sir?”
“Never mind. I need such a thing now and then andI’ll keep it handy.”
“Very good, Mr. Glenarm. It’s a bit sharper to-night,but we’re likely to have sudden changes at this season.”
“I dare say.”
We were not getting anywhere; the fellow was certainlyan incomparable actor.
“You must find it pretty lonely here, Bates. Don’thesitate to go to the village when you like.”
“I thank you, Mr. Glenarm; but I am not much foridling. I keep a few books by me for the evenings. Annandaleis not what you would exactly call a divertingvillage.”
“I fancy not. But the caretaker over at the summerresort has even a lonelier time, I suppose. That’s whatI’d call a pretty cheerless job,—watching summer cottagesin the winter.”
“That’s Morgan, sir. I meet him occasionally whenI go to the village; a very worthy person, I should callhim, on slight acquaintance.”
“No doubt of it, Bates. Any time through the winteryou want to have him in for a social glass, it’s allright with me.”
He met my gaze without flinching, and lighted meto the stair with our established ceremony. I voted himan interesting knave and really admired the cool wayin which he carried off difficult situations. I had nointention of being killed, and now that I had due warningof danger, I resolved to protect myself from foeswithout and within. Both Bates and Morgan, the caretaker,were liars of high attainment. Morgan was,moreover, a cheerful scoundrel, and experience taughtme long ago that a knave with humor is doubly dangerous.
Before going to bed I wrote a long letter to LarryDonovan, giving him a full account of my arrival atGlenarm House. The thought of Larry always cheeredme, and as the pages slipped from my pen I could feelhis sympathy and hear him chuckling over the lively beginningof my year at Glenarm. The idea of being firedupon by an unseen foe would, I knew, give Larry a reallift of the spirit.
The next morning I walked into the village, mailedmy letter, visited the railway station with true rusticinstinct and watched the cutting out of a freight car forAnnandale with a pleasure I had not before taken inthat proceeding. The villagers stared at me blankly ason my first visit. A group of idle laborers stopped talkingto watch me; and when I was a few yards past themthey laughed at a remark by one of the number whichI could not overhear. But I am not a particularly sensitiveperson; I did not care what my Hoosier neighborssaid of me; all I asked was that they should refrainfrom shooting at the back of my head through the windowsof my own house.
On this day I really began to work. I mapped outa course of reading, set up a draftsman’s table I foundput away in a closet, and convinced myself that I wasbeginning a year of devotion to architecture. Such was,I felt, the only honest course. I should work every dayfrom eight until one, and my leisure I should give torecreation and a search for the motives that lay behindthe crafts and assaults of my enemies.
When I plunged into the wood in the middle of theafternoon it was with the definite purpose of returningto the upper end of the lake for an interview with Morgan,who had, so Bates informed me, a small house backof the cottages.
I took the canoe I had chosen for my own use fromthe boat-house and paddled up the lake. The air wasstill warm, but the wind that blew out of the southtasted of rain. I scanned the water and the borders ofthe lake for signs of life,—more particularly, I may aswell admit, for a certain maroon-colored canoe and agirl in a red tam-o’-shanter, but lake and summer cottageswere mine alone. I landed and began at once mysearch for Morgan. There were many paths throughthe woods back of the cottages, and I followed severalfutilely before I at last found a small house snuglybid away in a thicket of young maples.
The man I was looking for came to the door quicklyin response to my knock.
“Good afternoon, Morgan.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Glenarm,” he said, taking thepipe from his mouth the better to grin at me. Heshowed no sign of surprise, and I was nettled by his coolreception. There was, perhaps, a certain element ofrecklessness in my visit to the house of a man who hadshown so singular an interest in my affairs, and his coolgreeting vexed me.
“Morgan—” I began.
“Won’t you come in and rest yourself, Mr. Glenarm?”he interrupted. “I reckon you’re tired from your tripover—”
“Thank you, no,” I snapped.
“Suit yourself, Mr. Glenarm.” He seemed to like myname and gave it a disagreeable drawling emphasis.
“Morgan, you are an infernal blackguard. You havetried twice to kill me—”
“We’ll call it that, if you like,”—and he grinned.“But you’d better cut off one for this.”
He lifted the gray fedora hat from his head, andpoked his finger through a hole in the top.
“You’re a pretty fair shot, Mr. Glenarm. The factabout me is,”—and he winked,—”the honest truth is,I’m all out of practice. Why, sir, when I saw you paddlingout on the lake this afternoon I sighted you fromthe casino half a dozen times with my gun, but I wasafraid to risk it.” He seemed to be shaken with innermirth. “If I’d missed, I wasn’t sure you’d be scared todeath!”
For a novel diversion I heartily recommend a meetingwith the assassin who has, only a few days or hoursbefore, tried to murder you. I know of nothing in theway of social adventure that is quite equal to it. Morganwas a fellow of intelligence and, whatever lay backof his designs against me, he was clearly a foe to reckonwith. He stood in the doorway calmly awaiting mynext move. I struck a match on my box and lighted acigarette.
“Morgan, I hope you understand that I am not responsiblefor any injury my grandfather may have inflictedon you. I hadn’t seen him for several years beforehe died. I was never at Glenarm before in mylife, so it’s a little rough for you to visit your displeasureon me.”
He smiled tolerantly as I spoke. I knew—and heknew that I did—that no ill feeling against my grandfatherlay back of his interest in my affairs.
“You’re not quite the man your grandfather was, Mr.Glenarm. You’ll excuse my bluntness, but I take itthat you’re a frank man. He was a very keen person,and, I’m afraid,”—he chuckled with evident satisfactionto himself,—”I’m really afraid, Mr. Glenarm, thatyou’re not!”
“There you have it, Morgan! I fully agree with you!I’m as dull as an oyster; that’s the reason I’ve called onyou for enlightenment. Consider that I’m here under aflag of truce, and let’s see if we can’t come to an agreement.”
“It’s too late, Mr. Glenarm; too late. There was atime when we might have done some business; but that’spast now. You seem like a pretty decent fellow, too,and I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner; but better lucknext time.”
He stroked his yellow beard reflectively and shook hishead a little sadly. He was not a bad-looking fellow;and he expressed himself well enough with a broad westernaccent.
“Well,” I said, seeing that I should only make myselfridiculous by trying to learn anything from him, “Ihope our little spats through windows and on walls won’tinterfere with our pleasant social relations. And I don’thesitate to tell you,”—I was exerting myself to keepdown my anger,—”that if I catch you on my groundsagain I’ll fill you with lead and sink you in the lake.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, wi
th so perfect an imitationof Bates’ voice and manner that I smiled in spiteof myself.
“And now, if you’ll promise not to fire into my backI’ll wish you good day. Otherwise—”
He snatched off his hat and bowed profoundly. “It’llsuit me much better to continue handling the case onyour grounds,” he said, as though he referred to abusiness matter. “Killing a man on your own propertyrequires some explaining—you may have noticed it?”
“Yes; I commit most of my murders away fromhome,” I said. “I formed the habit early in life. Goodday, Morgan.”
As I turned away he closed his door with a slam,—adelicate way of assuring me that he was acting in goodfaith, and not preparing to puncture my back with arifle-ball. I regained the lake-shore, feeling no greatdiscouragement over the lean results of my interview,but rather a fresh zest for the game, whatever thegame might be. Morgan was not an enemy to triflewith; he was, on the other hand, a clever and daringfoe; and the promptness with which he began war onme the night of my arrival at Glenarm House, indicatedthat there was method in his hostility.
The sun was going his ruddy way beyond St. Agatha’sas I drove my canoe into a little cove near which thegirl in the tam-o’-shanter had disappeared the day before.The shore was high here and at the crest was along curved bench of stone reached by half a dozensteps, from which one might enjoy a wide view of thecountry, both across the lake and directly inland. Thebench was a pretty bit of work, boldly reminiscential ofAlma Tadema, and as clearly the creation of JohnMarshall Glenarm as though his name had been carvedupon it.
It was assuredly a spot for a pipe and a mood, andas the shadows crept through the wood before me andthe water, stirred by the rising wind, began to beat below,I invoked the one and yielded to the other. Somethingin the withered grass at my feet caught my eye.I bent and picked up a string of gold beads, droppedthere, no doubt, by some girl from the school or a carelessmember of the summer colony. I counted the separatebeads—they were round and there were fifty ofthem. The proper length for one turn about a girl’sthroat, perhaps; not more than that! I lifted my eyesand looked off toward St. Agatha’s.
“Child of the red tam-o’-shanter, I’m very sorry Iwas rude to you yesterday, for I liked your steady strokewith the paddle; and I admired, even more, the way youspurned me when you saw that among all the cads inthe world I am number one in Class A. And thesegolden bubbles (O girl of the red tam-o’-shanter!), ifthey are not yours you shall help me find the owner, forwe are neighbors, you and I, and there must be peacebetween our houses.”
With this foolishness I rose, thrust the beads into mypocket, and paddled home in the waning glory of thesunset.
That night, as I was going quite late to bed, bearinga candle to light me through the dark hall to my room,I heard a curious sound, as of some one walking stealthilythrough the house. At first I thought Bates was stillabroad, but I waited, listening for several minutes, withoutbeing able to mark the exact direction of the soundor to identify it with him. I went on to the door of myroom, and still a muffled step seemed to follow me,—firstit had come from below, then it was much like some onegoing up stairs,—but where? In my own room I stillheard steps, light, slow, but distinct. Again there was astumble and a hurried recovery,—ghosts, I reflected, donot fall down stairs!
The sound died away, seemingly in some remote partof the house, and though I prowled about for an hourit did not recur that night.