A Husband by Proxy Part 27

Through the streets of New York he was finally guiding the great purring creature of might, which in ordinary circ.u.mstances would have filled his being with delight. Thorough master of throttle, spark-advance, and speed-lever, he would have asked nothing better than to drive all day--if Dorothy were only at his side.

He had never felt more utterly disconcerted in his life. Where had she gone--and why?

What did it mean to have the chauffeur also disappear?

Had the two gone off together?

If so, why should she choose a companion of his type?

If not, then what could have formed the motive for the man's abrupt flight from the scene?

And what should be done with the motor-car, thus abandoned to his care?

A quick suspicion that the car had been stolen came to Garrison's mind.

Nevertheless it was always possible that Dorothy had urged the driver to convey her out of the crowd, and that the driver had finally returned to get his car, and found it gone; but this, for many reasons, seemed unlikely.

Dorothy had shown her fear in her last startled question: "Jerold, you don't suspect me?" She might have fled in some sort of fear after that. But the driver--what was it that had caused him also to vanish at a time so unexpected?

Garrison found himself obliged to give it up. He could think of nothing to do with the car but to take it to the stand where he had hired it in the morning. The chauffeur might, by chance, appear and claim his property. Uneasy, with the thing thus left upon his hands, and quite unwilling to be "caught with the goods," Garrison was swiftly growing more and more exasperated.

He knew he could not roll the car to the stand and simply abandon it there, for anyone so inclined to steal; he objected to reporting it "found" in this peculiar manner at any police headquarters, for he could not be sure it had been stolen, and he himself might be suspected.

Having hired the car in crowded Times Square, near his Forty-fourth Street rooms, he ran it up along Broadway with the thought of awaiting the driver.

The traffic was congested with surface cars, heavy trucks, other motors, and carriages. His whole attention was riveted on the task in hand. Driving a car in the streets of New York ceases to be enjoyment, very promptly. The clutch was in and out continuously. He crept here, he speeded up to the limit for a s.p.a.ce of a few city blocks, and crept again.

Past busy Fourteenth Street and Union Square he proceeded, and on to Twenty-third Street with Madison Square, green and inviting, lying to his right. Pushed over into the Fifth Avenue traffic by the regulations, he contemplated returning to the Broadway stream as soon as possible, and was crawling along with his clutch barely rubbing, when a hansom cab, containing a beautiful but pale young woman, slowly pa.s.sed. The occupant abruptly rose from her seat and scrutinized the car in obvious excitement.

Garrison barely caught a glimpse of her face, busied as he was with the driving. He continued on. Two minutes later he was halted by a jam of carriages and the hansom returned at full speed. Once more the pale young woman was leaning half-way out.

"Stop!" she cried at the astounded Garrison. "You've stolen that car!

I'll have you arrested! You've got to return it at once!"

Garrison almost smiled, the half-expected outcome had arrived so promptly. He saw that half a dozen drivers of cabs and other vehicles were looking on in wonder and amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Kindly drive into Twenty-sixth Street, out of this confusion," he answered. "I shall be glad to halt there and answer all requirements."

He was so obviously a thorough gentleman, and his manner was so calm and dignified, that the strange young lady almost felt abashed at the charges she had made.

The jam was broken. Garrison ran the car to the quieter side street, and the cab kept pace at his side.

Presently he halted, got down from the seat and came to the hansom, lifting his hat. How thankful he was that no policeman had overheard the young woman's cry, and followed, she might never suspect.

"Permit me to introduce myself as a victim of another's man's wrongful intentions," he said. "I hired this car this morning uptown--in fact, in Times Square, and was driven out to Long Island. Returning, we were halted on the bridge--and the chauffeur disappeared--ran away, leaving me to drive for myself.

"I feared at the time it might be the man was a thief, and I am greatly relieved to find the owner of the car so promptly. If this or any other explanation, before an officer, or any court, will gratify you more, I shall be glad to meet every demand you may make upon my time."

The young woman looked at him with widely blazing eyes. She believed him, she hardly knew why. She had alighted from the hansom.

"I've been driving up and down Fifth Avenue all morning!" she said. "I felt sure I could find it that way. It isn't mine. It was only left in my charge. I was afraid that something might happen. I didn't want to have it in the first place! I knew it would cause me endless trouble. I don't know what to do with it now."

"I should be gratified," said Garrison, "if you will state that you do not consider me guilty of a theft so stupid as this would appear."

"I didn't think you were the man," she answered. "A chauffeur my cousin discharged undoubtedly stole it. Policemen are after him now, with the man who runs the garage. They went to Long Island City, or somewhere, to find him, this morning. Perhaps he saw them on the bridge."

She was regaining color. She was a very fine-looking young woman, despite the expression of worry on her face. She was looking Garrison over in a less excited manner--and he knew she held no thought of guilt against him.

"Let me suggest that you dismiss your cab and permit me to take you at once to your garage," he said, adding to the man on the box: "Cabby, how much is your bill?"

"Five dollars," said the man, adding substantially to his charge.

"Take ten and get out!" said Garrison, handing him a bill.

"Oh, but please----" started the pretty young woman.

Garrison interrupted.

"The man who stole your car did yeoman service for me. I promised him five times this amount. He may never dare appear to get his money.

Kindly step in. Will you drive the car yourself?"

"No, thank you," she murmured, obeying because of his masterly manner.

"But really, I hardly know----"

"Please say nothing further about it," he once more interrupted. "I am sorry to have been in any manner connected with an event which has caused you uneasiness; but I am very glad, indeed, to be instrumental in returning your property and relieving your worry. Where do you keep your car?"

She told him the place. It was up in the neighborhood of Columbus Circle. Twenty minutes later the car was "home"--where it would never get away on false pretenses again, and the news of its coming began to go hotly out by wire.

Garrison heard the men call his fair companion Miss Ellis. He called a cab, when she was ready to go, asked for permission to escort her home, and was driven in her company to an old-fashioned house downtown, near Washington Square. There he left her, with a nice old motherly person, and bade her good-by with no expectation of ever beholding her again, despite the murmured thanks she gave him and the half-timid offer of her hand.

When he left and dismissed the cabman he was face to face with the problem of what he should do to find his "wife." His worry all surged back upon him.

He wondered where Dorothy had gone--where she could go, why she had fled from him--and what could he do but wait with impatience some word of her retreat. He had felt her innocence all but established, and love had come like a new great tide upon him. He was lonely now, and thoroughly disturbed.

He had warned her she must go to live in some other house than her own; nevertheless she might have proceeded to the Ninety-third Street residence for things she would require. It was merely a hope. He made up his mind to go to the house without delay, aware that the Robinsons might make all haste to get there and gain an advantage.

Half an hour later he was once more in the place. The housekeeper alone was in charge. No one had been there in his absence.

He had no intention of remaining long, with Dorothy to find, although he felt inclined to await the possible advent of Theodore and his father, whom he meant to eject from the place. As yet he dared not attempt to order the arrest of the former, either for Dorothy's abduction or the crime attempted on himself in the park. The risk was too great--the risk to the fictional marriage between himself and Dorothy.

He climbed the stairs, wandered aimlessly through the rooms, sat down, waited, somewhat impatiently, tried to think what were best to do, worried himself about Dorothy again, and finally made up his mind she might attempt to wire him at his office address. Calling up the housekeeper, he gave her strict instructions against admitting any of the Robinsons--an order which the woman received with apparent gratification. They were merely to be referred to himself, at this address, should they come upon the scene.

He started off. He had barely closed the door and heard the woman put on the chain, and was turning to walk down the brownstone steps when Theodore, half-way up, panting from haste, confronted him, face to face.

For a moment the two stood staring at each other in surprise. Garrison was first to break the silence.

"You came a little late, you see. I have just issued orders you are not to be admitted to this house again, except with my special permission."

"By Heaven, you---- We'll see about that!" said Theodore. "I'll have you put under arrest!"