CHAPTER XVI
IDENTIFICATION
The sudden and unexpected arrival of Miss Peggy McGuire upon the scenehad been annoying. That young person was, as Peter knew, a soullesslittle snob and materialist with a mind which would not be slow to putthe worst possible construction upon the situation. Of course as mattersstood at the close of that extraordinary evening of self-revelations, itdid not matter a great deal what Peggy McGuire thought or said or did,for nothing could hurt Beth now. The Grand Duke Peter Nicholaevitch hadcapitulated and Peter Nichols gloried in his victory over inheritedtradition. He had no regrets and he had made his choice, for Beth waswhat he wanted. She completed him. She was effulgent,--even in homespun.A little tinsel more or less could make no difference in Beth. Those ofhis own class who would not accept her might go hang for all he cared.
Still Peter had rather that almost any one but Peggy should have comeupon the scene, and Beth's frankness had given her a handle for ascandal, if she chose to make one. Beth cared nothing, he knew, for hersoul was greater than his, but Peter's anger still smoldered at thewords that had been used to Beth.
He did not fear complications with McGuire, nor did he court them, buthe knew how this daughter had been brought up, spoiled and pampered tothe very limits of McGuire's indulgence and fortune, and he couldn'thelp holding her up in comparison with Beth, much to Peggy's detriment.For Beth was a lady to her finger tips, born to a natural gentility thatput to confusion the mannerisms of the "smart" finishing school whichhad not succeeded in concealing the strain of a plebeian origin, andBeth's dropped g's and her quaint inversions and locutions wereinfinitely more pleasing to Peter than Miss Peggy's slang andself-assurance, which reflected the modernity of the fashionable hoteltea-room.
Fortunately, Jonathan K. McGuire, who had returned from the seashore thenight before, was not disposed to take his daughter's animadversions tooseriously and when Peter announced his engagement to the niece of hishousekeeper he made no comment further than to offer hiscongratulations. He did not even know her name and when McGuire was toldthat it was Beth Cameron, Peter did not miss his slight start ofinquiry. But of course, having only owned his acres of woodland for halfa dozen years, he knew little as to the origins of the inhabitants ofBlack Rock and as Peter said nothing at that moment he asked noquestions and only listened to the forester's account of the progress ofthe work and of the difficulties experienced in attempting to completethe timber-contract. There was no way of improving the labor situationand a visit to the camp proved to him that Peter had done all that couldbe expected with the poor material at hand. On the way back they stoppedat the Cabin and Peter showed him the letter from Hawk Kennedy. Andthere for a while they sat discussing plans to outwit the enemy and drawhis sting.
It was going to be no easy task and could only be accomplished byPeter's apparent compliance with Kennedy's wishes in throwing in his lotwith Hawk and simulating an enmity for his employer. McGuire nodded hishead and listened soberly. The rest at the seashore had done him goodand he was disposed to meet the situation with courage, reflectingPeter's own attitude of confidence and optimism, admitting that hisconfession to Peter had lifted a weight from his shoulders and given himthe spirit to meet the issue, whatever it might be.
"You see," he said at last, "if the worst comes I'm in a pretty badhole. But it was the shock of meeting Hawk after all these years thattook the courage out of me at first. I wasn't quite right in my head fora while. I'd have killed him gladly and gotten away with it perhaps--butI'm glad now that things turned out the way they did. I've got no bloodon my hands--that's one thing--whatever I signed. I've been thinking agood deal since I've been away. If I signed that fake confession HawkKennedy signed it too. He won't dare to produce it except as a lastresort in desperation, to drag me down with him if he fails. We canstring him along for a while before he does that and if he falls foryour game we may be able to get the paper away from him. You've thoughtof something, Nichols?" he asked.
"Yes, of several things," said Peter slowly. "I'm going to try diplomacyfirst. If that doesn't work, then something else more drastic."
McGuire rose at last and took up his hat.
"I don't know how to thank you for what you've done, Nichols," he saidawkwardly. "Of course if--if money will repay you for this sort ofservice, you can count on my doing what you think is right."
Peter rose and walked to the window, looking out.
"I was coming to that, Mr. McGuire," he said gravely.
McGuire paused and laid his hat down again.
"Before you went away," Peter went on, turning slowly toward hisemployer, "you told me that you had never made any effort to discoverthe whereabouts of any of the relatives of Ben Cameron. But I inferredfrom what you said that if you _did_ find them, you'd be willing to doyour duty. That's true, isn't it?"
McGuire examined him soberly but agreed.
"Yes, that's true. But why do you bring this question up now?"
"I'll explain in a moment. Mr. McGuire, you are said to be a very richman, how rich I don't know, but I think you'll be willing to admit tome, knowing what I do of your history, that without the 'Tarantula' mineand the large sum it brought you you would never have succeeded ingetting to your present position in the world of finance."
"I'll admit that. But I don't see----"
"You will in a minute, sir----"
"Go on."
"If I have been correctly informed, you sold out your copper holdings inMadre Gulch for something like half a million dollars----" Peter pausedfor McGuire's comment. He made none. But he had sunk into his chairagain and was listening intently.
"The interest on half a million dollars, even at six per cent, ifcompounded, would in fifteen years amount with the principal to aconsiderable sum."
"Ah, I see what you're getting at----"
"You will admit that what I say is true?"
"Yes----"
"You'll admit also, if you're reasonable, that the money which foundedyour great fortune was as a matter of fact not yours but BenCameron's----?"
"But why speak of him now?" muttered the old man.
"Do you admit this?"
McGuire frowned and then growled, "How can I help admitting it, sinceyou know the facts? But I don't see----"
"Well then, admitting that the 'Tarantula' mine was Ben Cameron's andnot yours or Hawk Kennedy's, it seems clear that if any of Ben Cameron'sheirs should turn up unexpectedly, they might claim at least a share ofwhat should have been their own."
McGuire had started forward in his chair, his gaze on Peter's face, asthe truth was suddenly borne in upon him.
"You mean, Nichols, that----." He paused and gasped as Peter nodded.
"I mean that Ben Cameron's only child, a daughter, lives here at BlackRock--the niece of your housekeeper--Mrs. Bergen----"
"Miss Cameron--My God!" McGuire fell back in his chair, staring atPeter, incapable of further speech.
"Beth Cameron," said Peter gently, "the lady who has done me the honorof promising to become my wife----"
"But how do you know?" gasped McGuire. "There must be some mistake. Areyou sure you----" He broke off and then a sly smile curled at thecorners of his lips. "You know, Nichols, Cameron is not an unusual name.It's quite possible that you're--er--mistaken."
"No. I'm quite sure there's no mistake. I think the facts can beproved--that is, of course, if you're willing to help to establish thisclaim and to admit it when established. Otherwise I intend to establishit without your assistance--as an act of justice and of--er--retribution."
McGuire watched his superintendent's face for a while before replying.And then, briefly, "What are the facts on which you base thisextraordinary statement?" he asked.
"I'll present those facts when the time comes, Mr. McGuire," said Peterat a venture. "I don't think it will be a difficult matter to identifythe murdered man. He wrote home once or twice. He can be tracedsuccessfully. But what I would like to know first is what yourdisposition toward his daughter wil
l be when the proper proofs arepresented."
"_If_ they're presented," said McGuire.
"Will you answer me?"
"It would seem time enough to answer then. I'll do the right thing."
"Meaning what?"
"Money enough to satisfy her."
"That won't do. She must have what is hers by right. Her price is onemillion dollars," said Peter quietly.
McGuire started up. "You're dreaming," he gasped.
"It's her money."
"But I developed that mine."
"It was her mine that you developed."
McGuire stopped by the window and turned.
"And if I refuse----?"
"I don't think you will----"
The two men stared at each other, but Peter had the whip hand--orMcGuire thought he had, which was quite sufficient.
"Will you help me to perform this act of justice?" Peter went on calmly."It's the only thing to do, Mr. McGuire. Can't you see that?"
McGuire paced the floor heavily a few times before replying. And then,
"I've got to think this thing over, Nichols. It's all so very sudden--amillion dollars. My God! man, you talk of a million as if it grew on thetrees." He stopped abruptly before the fireplace and turned to Peter."And where does Hawk Kennedy come in on this?"
"Beth Cameron's claim comes before his--or yours," said Peter quietly."Whatever happens to either of you--it's not her fault."
Peter hadn't intended a threat. He was simply stating the principalthought of his mind. But it broke McGuire's front. He leaned upon thearmchair and then fell heavily into it, his head buried in his hands.
"I'll do--whatever you say," he groaned at last, "but you've got to getme out of this, Nichols. I've got to have that paper."
Peter poured out a drink of the whisky and silently handed it to hisemployer.
"Come, Mr. McGuire," he said cheerfully, "we'll do what we can. There'llbe a way to outwit Hawk Kennedy."
"I hope to God there is," muttered McGuire helplessly.
"I'll make a bargain with you."
"What?" asked McGuire helplessly.
"If I get the confession from Kennedy, you give Beth Cameron the money Iask for."
"No publicity?"
"None. I give you my word on it."
"Well," muttered the old man, "I guess it's coming to her. I'll see." Hepaused helplessly. "A million dollars! That's a big sum to get together.A big price--but not too big to clear this load off my conscience."
"Good. I'm glad you see it in this way."
The old man turned shrewdly. "But I've got to have the proofs----"
"Very well. If you're honest in your intentions you'll help me confirmthe evidence."
"Yes," said the other slowly. "I'll do what I can."
"Then perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me what Ben Cameron lookedlike----"
"I've told you as near as I can remember," muttered McGuire.
"Had the murdered man, for instance, lost the little finger of his lefthand?" asked Peter, coolly concealing the anxiety which lay behind hisquestion.
But he had his reward, for McGuire shot a quick glance at him, hisheavy jowl sagging. And as he didn't reply, Peter urged himtriumphantly.
"You promised to help. Will you answer me truthfully? It will saveasking a lot of questions."
At last McGuire threw up his hands.
"Yes," he muttered, "that was Ben Cameron. One of his little fingers wasmissing all right enough."
"Thanks," said Peter, with an air of closing the interview. "If you wantthis proof that the murdered man was Beth's father, ask Mrs. Bergen."
There was a silence. Peter had won. McGuire gathered up his hat with themien of a broken man and moved toward the door.
"All right, Nichols. I guess there's no doubt of it. I'll admit theproof's strong enough. It can be further verified, I suppose, but I'drather no questions were asked. You do your part and I--I'll do mine."
"Very good, sir. You can count on me. If that fake agreement is still inexistence, I'll get it for you. If it has been destroyed----"
"I'll have to have proof of that----"
"Won't you leave that in my hands?"
McGuire nodded, shook Peter's hand and wandered out up the path in thedirection of Black Rock House.
From the first, Peter had had no doubt that the murdered man was Beth'sfather, but he had to admit under McGuire's questioning that there mightstill be a difficulty in tracing the vagrant from the meager history ofhis peregrinations that Mrs. Bergen had been able to provide. McGuire'sattitude in regard to the absent little finger had been reallyadmirable. Peter was thankful for that little finger, and for McGuire'shonesty. There was no doubt in his mind now--if any had existed--who BenCameron's murderer was. The affair was simplified amazingly. With Beth'sclaim recognized, Peter could now enter heart and soul into theinteresting business of beating Hawk Kennedy at his own game. He wouldwin--he must win, for the pitiful millionaire and for Beth.
And so, jubilantly, he made his way to Black Rock village to fill a veryagreeable engagement that he had, to take supper (cooked and served byher own hands) with Miss Beth Cameron. He found that Beth had tried toprevail upon Aunt Tillie to be present but that the arrival of theMcGuire family at Black Rock House had definitely prevented theappearance of their chaperon. Peter's appetite, however, suffered littlediminution upon that account and he learned that singing was not Beth'sonly accomplishment. The rolls, as light as feathers and steaming hot,were eloquent of her skill, the chicken was broiled to a turn, thecreamed potatoes delicious, and the apple pie of puff-paste provokedmemories of the Paris Ritz. Aunt Tillie's best tablecloth and familysilver--old, by the looks of it--had been brought into requisition and abunch of goldenrod and purple asters graced the centerpiece. And aboveit all presided Beth, her face aflame from the cookstove, gracious andmore than lovable in her pride and self-consciousness.
When the supper was finished, Peter helped her to clear away the thingsand insisted on being allowed to help wash the dishes. But to this Bethdemurred for they were of Aunt Tillie's blue colonial china set and notto be trusted to impious hands. But she let Peter sit in the kitchen andwatch her (which was quite satisfactory) and even spared him a kiss ortwo at propitious intervals.
Then when all things had been set to rights they went into the littleparlor and sat on the worn Victorian plush-covered sofa. There was muchto talk about, matters of grave importance that concerned themselvesalone, explanations to be made, hopes to be expressed, and Beth's affairwith McGuire to be discussed in all its phases. Peter told her nothingof his rank or station in life, saving that revelation for a latermoment. Was not the present all-sufficient? And hadn't Beth told him anddidn't she tell him again now that she believed in him and that "nomatter what" she loved him and was his, for ever after, Amen. She didn'tcare who he was, you see.
And when the important business of affirming those vows was concludedagain and again, the scarcely less important business of Beth's futurewas talked over with a calmness which did much credit to Beth's controlof the situation. Peter brought out Hawk Kennedy's letter and they readit together, and talked about it, Peter explaining his intention toacquiesce in Hawk's plan. Then Peter told of his conversation withMcGuire and of the proof of Ben Cameron's identity which the old man hadhonestly admitted.
"It looks very much, Beth," said Peter at last, with a smile, "as thoughyou were going to be a very wealthy young woman."
"Oh, Peter," she sighed (the elimination of formal appellations had beenaccomplished during the earlier stages of the repast), "Oh, Peter, Ihope it isn't going to bring us unhappiness."
"Unhappiness! Why, Beth!"
"Oh, I don't know. It seems to me that people with a lot of money alwayslook unhappy wantin' _to want_ somethin'."
He laughed.
"The secret of successful wanting is only to want the things you canget."
"That's just the trouble. With a million dollars I'll get so much morethan I want. And what then---
-?"
"You'll have to start all over again."
"No," she said quietly. "I won't. If wantin' things she can't buy makesa girl _hard_, like Peggy McGuire, I think I'd rather be poor."
Peter grew grave again.
"Nothing could ever make you like Peggy McGuire," he said.
"I might be--if I ever get into the habit of thinkin' I was somethin'that I wasn't."
"You'll never be a snob, Beth, no matter how much money you have."
"I hope not," she said with a laugh. "My nose turns up enough already."And then, wistfully, "But I always _did_ want a _cerise_ veil."
"I've no doubt you'll get it, a _cerise_ veil--mauve, green and blueones too. I'll be having to keep an eye on you when you go to the city."
She eyed him gravely and then, "I don't like to hear you talk likethat."
But he kept to his topic for the mere delight of hearing her replies.
"But then you might see somebody you liked better than me."
She smiled at him gently. "If I'd 'a' thought that I wouldn't 'a' pickedyou out in the first place."
"Then you did pick me out. When?"
"H-m. Wouldn't you like to know!"
"Yes. At the Cabin?"
"No----"
"At McGuire's----?"
"No-o. Before that----"
"When----"
She blushed very prettily and laughed.
"Down Pickerel River road."
"Did you, Beth?"
"Yes. I liked your looks. You _do_ smile like you meant it, Peter. Isaid to myself that anybody that could bow from the middle like you wasgood enough for me."
"Now you're making fun of me."
"Oh, no. I'm not. You see, dear, you've really lived up to that bow!"
"I hope," said Peter gently, "I hope I always will."
"I'm not worryin'. And I'm glad I knew you loved me before you knewabout the money."
"You did know, then----"
"Yes. What bothered me was your findin' it so hard to tell me so."
Peter was more awkward and self-conscious at that moment than he couldever remember having been in his life. Her frankness shamed him--made itseem difficult for him ever to tell her the real reasons for hishesitation. What chance would the exercise of inherited tradition havein the judgment of this girl who dealt instinctively and intimately withthe qualities of the mind and heart, and only with them?
"I--I was not good enough for you," he muttered.
She put her fingers over his lips. And when he kissed them--took themaway and gave him her lips.
"I'll hear no more of _that_, Peter Nichols," she whispered. "You'regood enough for me----"
Altogether, it may be said that the evening was a success at every anglefrom which Peter chose to view it. And he made his way back to the Cabinthrough the deep forest along the path that Beth had worn, the path tohis heart past all the fictitious barriers that custom had built abouthim. The meddlesome world was not. Here was the _novaya jezn_ that hispeople had craved and shouted for. He had found it. Newlife--happiness--with a mate ... his woman--soon to be his wife--whetherBeth Nichols or the Grand Duchess Elizabeth...? There was no title ofnobility that could make Beth's heart more noble, no pride of lineagethat could give her a higher place than that which she already held inhis heart.
His blood surging, he ran along the log at the crossing and up the pathto the Cabin, where a surprise awaited him. For he found the lamplighted, and, seated complacently in Peter's easy chair, stockinged feettoward the blaze of a fresh log, a bottle at his elbow, was HawkKennedy.