CHAPTER THIRTEEN
1.
In these days of rapid movement, when existence has become littlemore than a series of shocks of varying intensity, astonishment isthe shortest-lived of all the emotions. The human brain has traineditself to elasticity and recovers its balance in the presence of theunforeseen with a speed almost miraculous. The man who says 'I _am_surprised!' really means 'I was surprised a moment ago, but now Ihave adjusted myself to the situation.' There was an instant in whichJill looked at Wally and Wally at Jill with the eye of totalamazement, and then, almost simultaneously, each began--the processwas sub-conscious--to regard this meeting not as an isolated andinexplicable event, but as something resulting from a perfectlylogical chain of circumstances. Jill perceived that the presence inthe apartment of that snap-shot of herself should have prepared herfor the discovery that the place belonged to someone who had knownher as a child, and that there was no reason for her to be stunned bythe fact that this someone was Wally Mason. Wally, on his side, knewthat Jill was in New York; and had already decided, erroneously, thatshe had found his address in the telephone directory and was payingan ordinary call. It was, perhaps, a little unusual that she shouldhave got into the place without ringing the front door bell and thatshe should be in his sitting-room in the dark, but these were minoraspects of the matter. To the main fact, that here she was, he hadadjusted his mind, and, while there was surprise in his voice when hefinally spoke, it was not the surprise of one who suspects himself ofseeing visions.
"Hello!" he said.
"Hullo!" said Jill.
It was not a very exalted note on which to pitch the conversation,but it had the merit of giving each of them a little more time tocollect themselves.
"This is . . . I wasn't expecting you!" said Wally.
"I wasn't expecting _you!_" said Jill.
There was another pause, in which Wally, apparently examining herlast words and turning them over in his mind found that they did notsquare with his preconceived theories.
"You weren't expecting me?"
"I certainly was not!"
"But . . . but you knew I lived here?"
Jill shook her head. Wally reflected for an instant, and then put hisfinger, with a happy inspiration, on the very heart of the mystery.
"Then how on earth did you get here?"
He was glad he had asked that. The sense of unreality which had cometo him in the first startling moment of seeing her and vanished underthe influence of logic had returned as strong as ever. If she did notknow he lived in this place, how in the name of everything uncannyhad she found her way here? A momentary wonder as to whether all thiswas not mixed up with telepathy and mental suggestion and all thatsort of thing came to him. Certainly he had been thinking of her allthe time since their parting at the Savoy Hotel that night threeweeks and more back . . . No, that was absurd. There must be somesounder reason for her presence. He waited for her to give it.
Jill for the moment felt physically incapable of giving it. Sheshrank from the interminable explanation which confronted her as aweary traveller shrinks from a dusty, far-stretching desert. Shesimply could not go into all that now. So she answered with aquestion.
"When did you land in New York?"
"This afternoon. We were supposed to dock this morning, but the boatwas late." Wally perceived that he was pushed away from the mainpoint, and jostled his way to it. "But what are you doing here?"
"It's such a long story."
Her voice was plaintive. Remorse smote Wally. It occurred to him thathe had not been sufficiently sympathetic. Not a word had he said onthe subject of her change of fortunes. He had just stood and gapedand asked questions. After all, what the devil did it matter how shecame to be here? He had anticipated a long and tedious search for herthrough the labyrinth of New York, and here Fate had brought her tohis very door, and all he could do was to ask why, instead of beingthankful. He perceived that he was not much of a fellow.
"Never mind," he said. "You can tell me what you feel like it." Helooked at her eagerly. Time seemed to have wiped away that littlemisunderstanding under the burden of which they had parted. "It's toowonderful finding you like this!" He hesitated. "I heardabout--everything," he said awkwardly.
"My--" Jill hesitated too. "My smash?"
"Yes. Freddie Rooke told me. I was terribly sorry."
"Thank you," said Jill.
There was a pause. They were both thinking of that other disasterwhich had happened. The presence of Derek Underhill seemed to standlike an unseen phantom between them. Finally Wally spoke at random,choosing the first words that came into his head in his desire tobreak the silence.
"Jolly place, this, isn't it?"
Jill perceived that an opening for those tedious explanations hadbeen granted her.
"Uncle Chris thinks so," she said demurely.
Wally looked puzzled.
"Uncle Chris? Oh, your uncle?"
"Yes."
"But--he has never been here."
"Oh, yes. He's giving a dinner party here tonight!"
"He's . . . what did you say?"
"It's all right. I only began at the end of the story instead of thebeginning. I'll tell you the whole thing, then . . . then I supposeyou will be terribly angry and make a fuss."
"I'm not much of a lad, as Freddie Rooke would say, for makingfusses. And I can't imagine being terribly angry with you."
"Well, I'll risk it. Though, if I wasn't a brave girl, I should leaveUncle Chris to explain for himself and simply run away."
"Anything is better than that. It's a miracle meeting you like this,and I don't want to be deprived of the fruits of it. Tell meanything, but don't go."
"You'll be furious."
"Not with you."
"I should hope not with me. I've done nothing. I am the innocentheroine. But I'm afraid you will be very angry with Uncle Chris."
"If he's your uncle, that passes him. Besides, he once licked thestuffing out of me with a whangee. That forms a bond. Tell me all."
Jill considered. She had promised to begin at the beginning, but itwas difficult to know what was the beginning.
"Have you ever heard of Captain Kidd?" she asked at length.
"You're wandering from the point, aren't you?"
"No, I'm not. _Have_ you heard of Captain Kidd?"
"The pirate? Of course."
"Well, Uncle Chris is his direct lineal descendant. That reallyexplains the whole thing."
Wally looked at her enquiringly.
"Could you make it a little easier?" he said.
"I can tell you everything in half a dozen words, if you like. But itwill sound awfully abrupt."
"Go ahead."
"Uncle Chris has stolen your apartment."
Wally nodded slowly.
"I see. Stolen my apartment."
"Of course you can't possibly understand. I shall have to tell youthe whole thing, after all."
Wally listened with flattering attention as she began the epic ofMajor Christopher Selby's doings in New York. Whatever his emotions,he certainly was not bored.
"So that's how it all happened," concluded Jill.
For a moment Wally said nothing. He seemed to be digesting what hehad heard.
"I see," he said at last. "It's a variant of those advertisementsthey print in the magazines. 'Why pay rent? Own somebody else'shome!'"
"That _does_ rather sum it up," said Jill.
Wally burst into a roar of laughter.
"He's a corker!"
Jill was immensely relieved. For all her courageous bearing, she hadnot relished the task of breaking the news to Wally. She knew that hehad a sense of humor, but a man may have a sense of humor and yet notsee anything amusing in having his home stolen in his absence.
"I'm so glad you're not angry."
"Of course not."
"Most men would be."
"Most men are chumps."
"It's so wonderful that it happened to be you. Suppose it had been anut
ter stranger! What could I have done?"
"It would have been the same thing. You would have won him over intwo minutes. Nobody could resist you."
"That's very sweet of you."
"I can't help telling the truth. Washington was just the same."
"Then you don't mind Uncle Chris giving his dinner-party heretonight?"
"He has my blessing."
"You really are an angel," said Jill gratefully. "From what he said,I think he looks on it as rather an important function. He hasinvited a very rich woman, who has been showing him a lot ofhospitality,--a Mrs Peagrim . . ."
"Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim?"
"Yes? Why, do you know her?"
"Quite well. She goes in a good deal for being Bohemian and knowingpeople who write and paint and act and so on. That reminds me. I gaveFreddie Rooke a letter of introduction to her."
"Freddie Rooke!"
"Yes. He suddenly made up his mind to come over. He came to me foradvice about the journey. He sailed a couple of days before I did. Isuppose he's somewhere in New York by now, unless he was going on toFlorida. He didn't tell me what his plans were."
Jill was conscious of a sudden depression. Much as she liked Freddie,he belonged to a chapter in her life which was closed and which shewas trying her hardest to forget. It was impossible to think ofFreddie without thinking of Derek, and to think of Derek was liketouching an exposed nerve. The news that Freddie was in New Yorkshocked her. New York had already shown itself a city of chanceencounters. Could she avoid meeting Freddie?
She knew Freddie so well. There was not a dearer or a better-heartedyouth in the world, but he had not that fine sensibility which pilotsa man through the awkwardnesses of life. He was a blunderer. Instincttold her that, if she met Freddie, he would talk of Derek, and, ifthinking of Derek was touching an exposed nerve, talking of him wouldlike pressing on that nerve with a heavy hand. She shivered.
Wally was observant.
"There's no need to meet him, if you don't want to," he said.
"No," said Jill doubtfully.
"New York's a large place. By the way," he went on, "to return oncemore to the interesting subject of my lodger, does your uncle sleephere at nights, do you know?"
Jill looked at him gratefully. He was no blunderer. Her desire toavoid Freddie Rooke was, he gave her tacitly to understand, herbusiness, and he did not propose to intrude on it. She liked him fordismissing the subject so easily.
"No, I think he told me he doesn't."
"Well, that's something, isn't it! I call that darned nice of him! Iwonder if I could drop back here somewhere about eleven o'clock. Arethe festivities likely to be over by then? If I know Mrs Peagrim, shewill insist on going off to one of the hotels to dance directly afterdinner. She's a confirmed trotter."
"I don't know how to apologize," began Jill remorsefully.
"Please don't. It's absolutely all right." His eye wandered to themantelpiece, as it had done once or twice during the conversation. Inher hurry Jill had replaced the snapshot with its back to the room,and Wally had the fidgety air of a man whose most cherishedpossession is maltreated. He got up now and, walking across, turnedthe photograph round. He stood for a moment, looking at it.
Jill had forgotten the snapshot. Curiosity returned to her.
"Where _did_ you get that?" she asked.
Wally turned.
"Oh, did you see this?"
"I was looking at it just before you nearly frightened me to death byappearing so unexpectedly."
"Freddie Rooke sold it to me fourteen years ago."
"Fourteen years ago!"
"Next July," added Wally. "I gave him five shillings for it."
"Five shillings! The little brute!" cried Jill indignantly "It musthave been all the money you had in the world!"
"A trifle more, as a matter of fact. All the money I had in the worldwas three-and-six. But by a merciful dispensation of Providence thecurate had called that morning and left a money-box for subscriptionsto the village organ-fund . . . It's wonderful what you can do with aturn for crime and the small blade of a pocket-knife! I don't think Ihave ever made money quicker!" He looked at the photograph again."Not that it seemed quick at the moment. I died at least a dozenagonizing deaths in the few minutes I was operating. Have you evernoticed how slowly time goes when you are coaxing a shilling and asixpence out of somebody's money-box? Centuries! But I wasforgetting. Of course you've had no experience."
"You poor thing!"
"It was worth it."
"And you've had it ever since!"
"I wouldn't part with it for all Mrs Waddesleigh Peagrim's millions,"said Wally with sudden and startling vehemence, "if she offered methem." He paused. "She hasn't, as a matter of fact."
There was a silence. Jill looked at Wally furtively, as he returnedto his seat. She was seeing him with new eyes. It was as if thistrifling incident had removed some sort of a veil. He had suddenlybecome more alive. For an instant she had seen right into him, to thehidden deeps of his soul. She felt shy and embarrassed.
"Pat died," she said, at length. She felt the necessity of sayingsomething.
"I liked Pat."
"He picked up some poison, poor darling . . . How long ago those daysseem, don't they!"
"They are always pretty vivid to me. I wonder who has that old houseof yours now."
"I heard the other day," said Jill more easily. The odd sensation ofembarrassment was passing. "Some people called . . . what was thename? . . . Debenham, I think."
Silence fell again. It was broken by the front-door bell, like analarm-clock that shatters a dream.
Wally got up.
"Your uncle," he said.
"You aren't going to open the door?"
"That was the scheme."
"But he'll get such a shock when he sees you."
"He must look on it in the light of rent. I don't see why I shouldn'thave a little passing amusement from this business."
He left the room. Jill heard the front door open. She waitedbreathlessly. Pity for Uncle Chris struggled with the sterner feelingthat it served him right.
"Hullo!" she heard Wally say.
"Hullo-ullo-ullo!" replied an exuberant voice. "Wondered if I'd findyou in, and all that sort of thing. I say, what a deuce of a way upit is here. Sort of gets a chap into training for going to heaven,what? I mean, what?"
Jill looked about her like a trapped animal. It was absurd, she felt,but every nerve in her body cried out against the prospect of meetingFreddie. His very voice had opened old wounds and set them throbbing.
She listened in the doorway. Out of sight down the passage, Freddieseemed by the sounds to be removing his overcoat. She stole out anddarted like a shadow down the corridor that led to Wally's bedroom.The window of the bedroom opened onto the wide roof which Uncle Chrishad eulogized. She slipped noiselessly out, closing the window behindher.
2.
"I say, Mason, old top," said Freddie, entering the sitting-room, "Ihope you don't mind my barging in like this but the fact is thingsare a bit thick. I'm dashed worried and I didn't know another soul Icould talk it over with. As a matter of fact, I wasn't sure you werein New York at all but I remembered hearing you say in London thatyou went popping back almost at once, so I looked you up in thetelephone book and took a chance. I'm dashed glad you _are_ back.When did you arrive?"
"This afternoon."
"I've been here two or three days. Well, it's a bit of luck catchingyou. You see, what I want to ask your advice about . . ."
Wally looked at his watch. He was not surprised to find that Jill hadtaken to flight. He understood her feelings perfectly, and wasanxious to get rid of the inopportune Freddie as soon as possible.
"You'll have to talk quick, I'm afraid," he said. "I've lent thisplace to a man for the evening, and he's having some people todinner. What's the trouble?"
"It's about Jill."
"Jill?"
"Jill Mariner, you know. You remember Jill? You haven't forgotten m
ytelling you all that? About her losing her money and coming over toAmerica?"
"No. I remember you telling me that."
Freddie seemed to miss something in his companion's manner, some noteof excitement and perturbation.
"Of course," he said, as if endeavoring to explain this to himself,"you hardly knew her, I suppose. Only met once since you were kidsand all that sort of thing. But I'm a pal of hers and I'm dashedupset by the whole business, I can tell you. It worries me, I mean tosay. Poor girl, you know, landed on her uppers in a strange country.Well, I mean, it worries me. So the first thing I did when I got herewas to try to find her. That's why I came over, really, to try tofind her. Apart from anything else, you see, poor old Derek is dashedworried about her."
"Need we bring Underhill in?"
"Oh, I know you don't like him and think he behaved rather rummilyand so forth, but that's all right now."
"It is, is it?" said Wally drily.
"Oh, absolutely. It's all on again."
"What's all on again?"
"Why, I mean he wants to marry Jill. I came over to find her and tellher so."
Wally's eyes glowed.
"If you have come over as an ambassador . . ."
"That's right. Jolly old ambassador. Very word I used myself."
"I say, if you have come over as an ambassador with the idea ofreopening negotiations with Jill on behalf of that infernal swine . . ."
"Old man!" protested Freddie, pained. "Pal of mine, you know."
"If he is, after what's happened, your mental processes are beyond me."
"My what, old son?"
"Your mental processes."
"Oh, ah!" said Freddie, learning for the first time that he had any.
Wally looked at him intently. There was a curious expression on hisrough-hewn face.
"I can't understand you, Freddie. If ever there was a fellow whomight have been expected to take the only possible view ofUnderhill's behavior in this business, I should have said it was you.You're a public-school man. You've mixed all the time with decentpeople. You wouldn't do anything that wasn't straight yourself tosave your life, it seems to have made absolutely no difference inyour opinion of this man Underhill that he behaved like an utter cadto a girl who was one of your best friends. You seem to worship himjust as much as ever. And you have travelled three thousand miles tobring a message from him to Jill--Good God! _Jill!_--to the effect,as far as I understand it, that he has thought it over and come tothe conclusion that after all she may possibly be good enough forhim!"
Freddie recovered the eye-glass which the raising of his eyebrows hadcaused to fall, and polished it in a crushed sort of way. Rummy, hereflected, how chappies stayed the same all their lives as they werewhen they were kids. Nasty, tough sort of chap Wally Mason had beenas a boy, and here he was, apparently, not altered a bit. At least,the only improvement he could detect was that, whereas in the olddays Wally, when in an ugly mood like this, would undoubtedly havekicked him, he now seemed content with mere words. All the same, hewas being dashed unpleasant. And he was all wrong about poor oldDerek. This last fact he endeavored to make clear.
"You don't understand," he said. "You don't realize. You've never metLady Underhill, have you?"
"What has she got to do with it?"
"Everything, old bean, everything. If it hadn't been for her, therewouldn't have been any trouble of any description, sort, or order.But she barged in and savaged poor old Derek till she absolutely madehim break off the engagement."
"If you call him 'poor old Derek' again, Freddie," said Wallyviciously, "I'll drop you out of the window and throw your hat afteryou! If he's such a gelatine-backboned worm that his mother can . . ."
"You don't know her, old thing! She's the original hellhound!"
"I don't care what . . ."
"Must be seen to be believed," mumbled Freddie.
"I don't care what she's like! Any man who could . . ."
"Once seen, never forgotten!"
"Damn you! Don't interrupt every time I try to get a word in!"
"Sorry, old man! Shan't occur again!"
Wally moved to the window, and stood looking out. He had had muchmore to say on the subject of Derek Underhill, but Freddie'sinterruptions had put it out of his head, and he felt irritated andbaffled.
"Well, all I can say is," he remarked savagely, "that, if you havecome over here as an ambassador to try and effect a reconciliationbetween Jill and Underhill, I hope to God you'll never find her."
Freddie emitted a weak cough, like a very far-off asthmatic oldsheep. He was finding Wally more overpowering every moment. He hadrather forgotten the dear old days of his childhood, but thisconversation was beginning to refresh his memory: and he wasrealizing more vividly with every moment that passed how veryWallyish Wally was,--how extraordinarily like the Wally who haddominated his growing intellect when they were both in Eton suits.Freddie in those days had been all for peace, and he was all forpeace now. He made his next observation diffidently.
"I _have_ found her!"
Wally spun round.
"What!"
"When I say that, I don't absolutely mean. I've seen her. I mean Iknow where she is. That's what I came round to see you about. Felt Imust talk it over, you know. The situation seems to me dashed rottenand not a little thick. The fact is, old man, she's gone on thestage. In the chorus, you know. And, I mean to say, well, if youfollow what I'm driving at, what, what?"
"In the chorus!"
"In the chorus!"
"How do you know?"
Freddie groped for his eye-glass, which had fallen again.
He regarded it a trifle sternly. He was fond of the little chap, butit was always doing that sort of thing. The whole trouble was that,if you wanted to keep it in its place, you simply couldn't registerany sort of emotion with the good old features: and, when you werechatting with a fellow like Wally Mason, you had to be registeringsomething all the time.
"Well, that was a bit of luck, as a matter of fact. When I first gothere, you know, it seemed to me the only thing to do was to round upa merry old detective and put the matter in his hands, like they doin stories. You know! Ring at the bell. 'And this, if I mistake not,Watson, is my client now.' And then in breezes client and spills theplot. I found a sleuth in the classified telephone directory, andtoddled round. Rummy chaps, detectives! Ever met any? I alwaysthought they were lean, hatchet-faced Johnnies with inscrutablesmiles. This one looked just like my old Uncle Ted, the one who diedof apoplexy. Jovial, puffy-faced bird, who kept bobbing up behind afat cigar. Have you ever noticed what whacking big cigars thesefellows over here smoke? Rummy country, America. You ought to haveseen the way this blighter could shift his cigar right across hisface without moving his jaw-muscles. Like a flash! Most remarkablething you ever saw, I give you my honest word! He . . ."
"Couldn't you keep your Impressions of America for the book you'regoing to write, and come to the point?" said Wally rudely.
"Sorry, old chap," said Freddie meekly. "Glad you reminded me. Well. . . Oh, yes. We had got as far as the jovial old human bloodhound,hadn't we? Well, I put the matter before this chappie. Told him Iwanted to find a girl, showed him a photograph, and so forth. I say,"said Freddie, wandering off once more into speculation, "why is itthat coves like that always talk of a girl as 'the little lady'? Thischap kept saying 'We'll find the little lady for you!' Oh, well,that's rather off the rails, isn't it? It just floated across my mindand I thought I'd mention it. Well, this blighter presumably nosedabout and made enquiries for a couple of days, but didn't effectanything that you might call substantial. I'm not blaming him, mindyou. I shouldn't care to have a job like that myself. I mean to say,when you come to think of what a frightful number of girls there arein this place, to have to . . . well, as I say, he did his best butdidn't click; and then this evening, just before I came here, I met agirl I had known in England--she was in a show over there--a girlcalled Nelly Bryant . . ."
"Nelly Bryant? I know her."
"Yes? Fancy that! She was in a thing called 'Follow the Girl' inLondon. Did you see it by any chance? Topping show! There was onescene where the . . ."
"Get on! Get on! I wrote it,"
"You wrote it?" Freddie beamed simple-hearted admiration. "My dearold chap, I congratulate you! One of the ripest and most all-woolmusical comedies I've ever seen. I went twenty-four times. Rummy Idon't remember spotting that you wrote it. I suppose one never looksat the names on the programme. Yes, I went twenty-four times. Thefirst time I went was with a couple of chappies from . . ."
"Listen, Freddie!" said Wally feverishly. "On some other occasion Ishould dearly love to hear the story of your life, but just now . . ."
"Absolutely, old man. You're perfectly right. Well, to cut a longstory short, Nelly Bryant told me that she and Jill were rehearsingwith a piece called 'The Rose of America.'"
"'The Rose of America!'"
"I think that was the name of it."
"That's Ike Goble's show. He called me up on the phone about it halfan hour ago. I promised to go and see a rehearsal of it tomorrow orthe day after. And Jill's in that?"
"Yes. How about it? I mean, I don't know much about this sort ofthing, but do you think it's the sort of thing Jill ought to bedoing?"
Wally was moving restlessly about the room. Freddie's news haddisquieted him. Mr Goble had a reputation.
"I know a lot about it," he replied, "and it certainly isn't." Hescowled at the carpet. "Oh, damn everybody!"
Freddie paused to allow him to proceed, if such should be his wish,but Wally had apparently said his say. Freddie went on to point outan aspect of the matter which was troubling him greatly.
"I'm sure poor old Derek wouldn't like her being in the chorus!"
Wally started so violently that for a moment Freddie was uneasy.
"I mean Underhill," he corrected himself hastily.
"Freddie," said Wally, "you're an awfully good chap, but I wish youwould exit rapidly now! Thanks for coming and telling me, very goodof you. This way out!"
"But, old man . . . !"
"Now what?"
"I thought we were going to discuss this binge and decide what to doand all that sort of thing."
"Some other time. I want to think about it."
"Oh, you will think about it?"
"Yes, I'll think about it."
"Topping! You see, you're a brainy sort of feller, and you'llprobably hit something."
"I probably shall, if you don't go."
"Eh? Oh, ah, yes!" Freddie struggled into his coat. More than everdid the adult Wally remind him of the dangerous stripling of yearsgone by. "Well, cheerio!"
"Same to you!"
"You'll let me know if you scare up some devilish fruity wheeze,won't you? I'm at the Biltmore."
"Very good place to be. Go there now."
"Right ho! Well, toodle-oo!"
"The elevator is at the foot of the stairs," said Wally. "You pressthe bell and up it comes. You hop in and down you go. It's a greatinvention! Good night!"
"Oh, I say. One moment . . ."
"Good _night!_" said Wally.
He closed the door, and ran down the passage.
"Jill!" he called. He opened the bedroom window and stepped out."Jill!"
There was no reply.
"Jill!" called Wally once again, but again there was no answer.
Wally walked to the parapet, and looked over. Below him the vastnessof the city stretched itself in a great triangle, its apex theharbor, its sides the dull silver of the East and Hudson rivers.Directly before him, crowned with its white lantern, the MetropolitanTower reared its graceful height to the stars. And all around, in thewindows of the tall buildings that looked from this bastion on whichhe stood almost squat, a million lights stared up at him, theunsleeping eyes of New York. It was a scene of which Wally, alwayssensitive to beauty, never tired: but tonight it had lost its appeal.A pleasant breeze from the Jersey shore greeted him with a quickeningwhisper of springtime and romance, but it did not lift the heavinessof his heart. He felt depressed and apprehensive.