CHAPTER XVII
CROSS-PURPOSES AT CEDARCREST
At Cedarcrest, the night was still young. Patricia, and then Morton,had arrived at the country home of the Gardners while the severalguests were still at table, and the scenes which followed their cominghad passed with such stunning rapidity that every one of the party wasmore or less affected by them, each one in his or her separate manner.The men of the party were silent and preoccupied. The scene enactedjust before the departure of Morton weighed more or less heavily uponthem, and while each one felt that the young ranchman had "got whatwas coming to him," there was not one among them who did notexperience a thrill of sympathy for the young fellow, who had been sowell liked by the new acquaintances he had made in the East.
The two gentlemen strangers, who had brought Morton to the house intheir car, were the first to take their departure, after Morton'sdramatic exit, although they remained long enough to imbibe awhisky-and-soda, and to hear what Jack Gardner still had to say. Thatwas not so very much, but, like all he had said that night, it wasstraight to the point.
"Gentlemen," he said to them, standing with his glass in hand andaddressing all, impersonally, "what I have to say now, is said to all,alike. Two of you are strangers to me; the others are more or lessintimately my friends. It is my particular wish that we should allbind ourselves to secrecy, concerning what has happened at Cedarcrest,and in this vicinity, to-night. It happens that no real harm has beendone; no one has been injured; amends have been made to Miss Langdon,so far as it has been possible to make them, and I am quite sure ofher desire never to hear the subject mentioned again."
There was a generally affirmative nodding of heads about him as hespoke, and after an instant, he continued:
"In what has occurred in this room, I have had to assume a tripleobligation: that of host, that of self-appointed champion of the youngwoman who received the affront from another of my guests, and that ofa life-long acquaintance with the man whom I was compelled, bycircumstances, to expel from my house. The last was the mostdifficult of all to fill. There is not one of you who could notreadily have assumed two of the responsibilities; the last one I havenamed has been distinctly unpleasant. I have known and liked DickMorton, since we were boys. We hail from the same state, and from alocality there where we were near neighbors, during our youth. He issomewhat younger than I--about two years, I think--and, untilto-night, I have never known him to be otherwise than a brave andchivalrous fellow, ready to fight at the drop of the hat. We mustagree that no matter what his conduct was, prior to the scene in thisroom, he conducted himself, while here, in a manner that was beyondreproach. He realized the enormity of the outrage he had committed,and he took his medicine, I think, as a fighter should. He is gonenow, and I doubt if any of us see him again. That is all, I think,that need be said." It was then that Roderick Duncan silently putaside his glass, and went out of the room, unnoticed by the others. Heknew that a general discussion of the incidents of the evening wouldfollow, and he had no wish to take part in it. He anticipated that thetwo gentlemen who had brought Morton to the house, would be asked toremain, and that he would therefore see them again, later on, and sohe took the opportunity that was afforded him to escape unseen andunnoticed.
The whole affair weighed heavily upon him. He realized much betterthan Patricia did that she alone was to blame for it all; and the fearlest the responsibility of it should come home to her drove him toseek her at once, even before Morton had had time to get beyond thegates of Cedarcrest. Patricia was, of course, unaware of the scenethat had taken place at Duncan's rooms just before the informalinvitations to Cedarcrest were issued, but Duncan recalled thatcircumstance now, with a deeper understanding of all that had happenedas a sequel to it; and he believed that the time was ripe for a betterunderstanding between himself and Patricia. Therefore, he left theroom to seek her.
Outside the door, he came to a pause, in doubt which direction totake. From where he stood, he could see into a part of thedining-room, and instinct told him that it was deserted, save by thebutler, who was yet at his post. He approached the music-room, and,screened by a Japanese curtain that hung across the entrance, peeredinside. Beatrice and Sally were there, with the other ladies of theparty, but Patricia was nowhere to be seen. It occurred to him thatshe might have sought solitude in some other part of the great house,and he had turned away, striving to think where he might find her,when the whirr of an automobile engine came to him through an openwindow from the rear of the building.
He guessed, at once, that it would be Morton's roadster, ready to takehim away, and, impelled by a sudden spasm of pity for the man who wasnow tabooed he hurried toward the front entrance--and fate willed itthat he should arrive at the threshold just at the very instant whenPatricia took that impulsive step nearer to Morton, reaching her armsout toward him, as she did so, and Duncan plainly heard the words sheuttered, "Good bye, Dick; and God bless you." He had heard no wordwhich preceded them; he had seen nothing till that instant; but he didsee the tears in Patricia's eyes, and hear the pathos in her voicewhen she spoke those last words to the man who was supposed to haveoffended her past forgiveness: and he saw Morton leap into the roadwayand start toward the garage to meet his machine.
Duncan waited a moment before he advanced farther; watching Patriciafrom his sheltered place near the door. Then, he stepped forward tomeet the young woman to whom he was betrothed--stepped forward toplead with her once more, and to be rebuffed in the manner we haveseen.
When she had left him, he dropped upon one of the veranda chairs, andwith his head upon his hand gave himself up to bitter thought--bitter,because of his utter inadequacy to cope with the conditions by whichhe was surrounded.
Duncan was aroused, presently, by the approach of Beatrice and Sally.They came through the door with their arms encircling each other'swaist, and walked forward together until they stood at the edge of thetop step, under the _porte cochere_.
"It's a shame," Beatrice was saying, impulsively. "I feel that thewhole thing is more or less my fault, Sally, and--" a warning coughfrom Duncan told them that they were not alone; and also, at thatmoment, the other guests trooped out upon the broad veranda; all savePatricia, who did not appear.
The two gentlemen who had brought Morton to the house after he wasdeserted by Patricia on the road, declined to remain, pleading otherengagements, and soon their car whirred itself away down the road, andwas gone. Nesbit Farnham contrived to secure a _solitude-a-deux_ withBeatrice, who, however, turned an indifferent shoulder to his eagerwords; Agnes and Frances Houston strolled into obscurity with the two"extras" who had been asked there to fill out Sally's original plan;Sally disappeared into the house, evidently in search of Patricia;Jack Gardner and the lawyer lighted cigars and betook themselves to an"S" chair at a far corner of the veranda. Duncan remained where hewas, alone, screened from view by overhanging vines, as desolate inspirit as any man can be, who is suddenly brought face to face with anunpleasant truth.
Nothing had mattered much, in a comparative sense, until this lastscene with Patricia. He had been convinced all along, until now, thatPatricia loved him and that her strange conduct during the lastupheaval in their relations had been the result of wounded pride,only; it had not even remotely occurred to him that she did not lovehim. They had been together all their lives; he had never known a timewhen he did not love her; he believed that there had never been atime, since their childhood, when she did not expect some day tobecome his wife.
But that short scene he had witnessed on the veranda, when Patriciabade Morton good-bye, had changed all this. He doubted the correctnessof his previous convictions. He saw another and an entirely differentexplanation for Patricia's conduct toward him, for her attitude in thematter of the engagement contract which Melvin had been compelled todraw, and which he, himself, had likewise been compelled to sign. Heread in that last scene between the ranchman and Patricia a fondnesson her part for the young cattle-king which had been forced into the"open" of her own co
nvictions, by the principal episode of theevening. He saw the utter wreck of his own hopes, of his entire schemeof life.
While he sat there in the shadow of the vine, unseen and unseeing, hemade still another discovery, a grim one, which brought with it abetter realization of Morton's incentives, than anything else couldhave done. He realized that he hated Morton; hated him wholly andabsolutely--hated him suddenly and vehemently. He knew, then, whyMorton had attempted to kill him, for, if Morton had made areappearance at that moment, Roderick Duncan would have taken theinitiative, and would have been the one to do the killing.
Yet, he made no move. If you had been watching him from beyond thescreen of vines, no indication of what was passing in his thoughtswould have been noticeable. The fierce hatred he so suddenlyexperienced was not made manifest by any act or expression, althoughit was none the less pronounced, for all that. And, strangely enough,it did not lead him to any greater consideration of Morton, or of hisacts; rather the contrary.
Once, while he was preoccupied in this manner, he was again consciousof the distant whirr of an automobile engine, but he gave it nothought, till afterward. He did notice that Jack Gardner also heardit, and took his cigar from his mouth while he listened to it; but atonce resumed his conversation with the lawyer. Soon afterward,Roderick left his chair under the vine, and passed inside the house.
"Hello, Rod," Jack called after him. "I didn't know you were there.Won't you join Melvin and me, in our cozy corner?" to which Duncancalled back some casual reply, and passed on.
He had made up his mind that he would seek out Patricia, at once, andtell her of the discovery he had just made; that he had been a foolnot to realize before, that Morton was the man of her choice, and thatshe could have the fellow if she wanted him; that he would not onlyrelease her from the tentative engagement, but that he would repudiatethe contract entirely, and that, as soon as he could secure his owncopy of it from the strong-box where he had put it, he would tear itinto ten thousand pieces; that he would have no more of her, on anyconditions, and that--oh, well, he thought of many bitter and bitingthings that he would say to her the moment he should findher--possibly in tears because of Morton's enforced departure fromCedarcrest, or in the act of weeping out the truth on Sally Gardner'sshoulder. He thought he understood the situation now, as he had notseen it before.
Duncan searched in the drawing-room, the music-room, the dining-room;he explored the snuggery, the library, and even Jack's own particularden; he sought the side piazzas; he went outside among the trees tocertain hidden nooks he knew. But Patricia was nowhere to bediscovered. Neither had he been able to see Sally anywhere about, andthe conviction became stronger upon him that the two were somewheretogether, and that Patricia, her pride forgotten, was keeping theyoung hostess with her while she told of the terrible predicament inwhich she now found herself to be enmeshed; for it would be a moststupendous predicament for Patricia to face--the realization that shewas in love with Morton, in spite of the contract in writing she hadforced Roderick Duncan to sign with her.
Returning to the house, he found the butler, and was about to send himin search of his mistress, when he discovered Sally, descending thestairway.
"Where is Patricia?" Each asked the question simultaneously, so thatthe words were pronounced exactly together; and yet neither onesmiled. Each question was a reply to its mate.
"I have been searching everywhere for her," said Duncan.
"So have I," replied Sally. "Where can she be?"
"I haven't an idea. Isn't she up-stairs?"
"No. Couldn't you find her, outside?"
"No."
"I haven't seen her since--since that dreadful scene on the veranda,"said Sally. "Have you seen her, Roderick?"
"Yes."
"When? Where?"
"I saw her taking leave of Morton, when he went away," he replied,with such bitterness that Sally stared at him; but, wisely, she madeno comment; nor did she attempt to stay him when he turned abruptlyaway from her, and walked rapidly toward one of the side entrances.But he stopped and turned, before he left the room.
"Sally," he said, "I am going to ask you to excuse me. I want to getaway. I would rather not explain to the others--I would rather notattempt to explain to you. But I want to go. You will excuse me? andif those who remain should happen to miss me, will you make whateverexcuse seems necessary?"
"None will be necessary, Roderick. Oh, you men! You make me tired! Youdo, really! It is inconceivable why you should all fall hopelessly inlove with one woman, and utterly ignore the others who are--" Shestopped suddenly. She had been on the point of saying too much, andshe did not wish to utter words she would be sorry for, afterward.Duncan did not attempt any reply, and was turning away a second time,when she called after him: "If you would only be really sensible,and--"
"And what, Sally?" he asked her, when she again hesitated.
"Nothing."
"But you were about to make a suggestion. What was it?"
"If it was anything at all, it was that you chase yourself out thereamong the trees, find Beatrice and Nesbit Farnum, and take her awayfrom him," exclaimed this impetuous young woman, who found delight inexpressing herself in the slang of the day. Duncan shrugged hisshoulders, and uttered the one word:
"Why?"
But Sally did not vouchsafe any reply at all, to the question. Shetossed her head, and darted along the wide hall toward a rear door.
Duncan gazed after her for a moment, and then, with another shrug ofhis shoulders, he passed on out of the house, and made his way swiftlytoward the stables and the garage, for he was determined to get outhis car and to return to the city, forthwith.
His surprise was great, when, on arriving at the door of the garage,he found that Sally had preceded him, and, as he drew near, she turneda white, scared face toward him, exclaiming:
"Oh, Roderick! What do you think? Patricia has gone."
"Gone!" he echoed. "Gone where? Gone, when? What do you mean, Sally?"
"She has gone. She has taken one of Jack's cars, and gone home."
"Alone?"
"No. She took Patrick with her, to drive the car. They left here halfan hour ago, I am told. Why do you suppose she did such a thing,without consulting me, Roderick? Why? Why?"
"Why?" he echoed her question a second time. Then, he laughed, and itwas not a pleasant laugh to hear. All the bitterness of those momentsunder the vine on the veranda was voiced in that laugh. "It isn't adifficult question to answer, Sally. She has followed Morton--that iswhy;" and, while Mrs. Gardner stared at him, uncomprehendingly, heturned to one of the stablemen who was near, and who had been Sally'sinformant about the movements of Patricia, and called out:
"Tell my man to fetch my car to me, here. I shall go, at once, Sally."His car was already moving toward him, and, as it stopped and he putone foot upon the step, Sally replied:
"I'll say that you and Patricia went away together. It will soundbetter."
"Pardon me, Sally, but you will say no such thing--with my permission.Go ahead, Thompson." He sprang into the car, and it sped away withhim, leaving Sally staring after him, wide-eyed with the amazement shefelt. Already, she realized that her house-party, from which she hadexpected such wholesome results, had proven disastrous all around. Herhusband's prophecy concerning it had been correct. But she did notknow, and could not know as yet, just how disastrous it had been, forthere had been no prophet to foretell the catastrophe at the stonequarry, toward which Patricia Langdon had started, half an hourearlier, in one of Jack Gardner's cars, guided by one of Jack's mosttrusted servants; and, oddly enough, by one who had formerly been inthe employ of Stephen Langdon, and who, as a servant, had fallen underthe spell of the daughter of the house to such an extent that he hadnever ceased to quote her as the criterion of all things in the way ofexcellence to be attained by an employer. And toward this quarryDuncan was now hastening at the full speed of his big Packard-sixty,with the trusted Thompson at the wheel; and toward it, as the chiefactor, Richard Mort
on had started away from Cedarcrest with a brokenheart, and with a brain crazed by the calamities that had rushed soswiftly upon him.