Against Odds Part 25

'Ah,' she sighed again, 'we may hear from that.'

'I doubt it,' I replied. 'If he has been abducted, it is too soon for that,' and then I turned the conversation by saying:

'I have some news from your friend, the brunette.'

'My friend! Mr. Masters!'

'Pardon me; your satellite, then. She was revolving near you the day before yesterday.' At this point the door opened and a voice said:

'Miss Ross, the laundress is here about your washing.'

Miss Ross rose with alacrity, a benevolent smile upon her sweet face.

'Mr. Masters,' she said, 'thee must save thy story or tell it twice over, for I must beg thee to excuse me now. I can't send this poor woman away, and I ought not to make her wait.'

'It's one of Aunt Ann's protegees,' explained Miss Jenrys, 'and she has come by appointment.'

Mentally thankful for this interruption, I a.s.sured Miss Ross that my story should wait, and when she had left us alone I turned at once to Miss Jenrys.

'I am glad of this opportunity,' I began at once, 'for I have something to tell you which I prefer to make known to you first, although I should have told my story, even in your aunt's presence, if necessary, before leaving to-day.'

And as directly as possible I told of my acquaintance with the handsome guard.

Beginning with her encounter with the Turkish palanquin-bearers, I described my interview with the guard, repeated his words, his questions concerning her welfare, his statement that she was not a stranger to him, and then, with her interest and her curiosity well aroused, I described him.

'I wonder who it can be?' she had murmured before I began my description, and I kept a secret watch upon her features, while I said:

'He is a tall young fellow, and very straight and square-shouldered, though somewhat slender. He is blond, with close-cropped hair that is quite light, almost golden, and inclined to curl where it has attained an inch of growth. He wears a moustache that is but little darker than his hair, and is kept close-trimmed. He has a broad, full forehead; honest, open blue eyes, not pale blue, but a fine deep colour, and they meet one frankly and fearlessly. His mouth is really too handsome for a man, but his chin is firm enough to counterbalance that. His manners are fine, and he has evidently been reared a gentleman. I chanced to hear him sing last night, and he has a wonderfully high tenor voice--an unusual voice; clear and sweet, and soft in the highest notes.'

Before I had finished my description, I saw clearly that she recognised the picture. Her colour had changed and changed again, from red to pale. But I made no pause, telling how I had seen him in conversation with the little brunette, and what he had told me of that conversation, and then I described the adventure of the previous night.

When I had reached the point where I had offered my card and he had refused to give me a false name, I saw her eyes glow and her head lift itself unconsciously; when I described him in converse with the wily brunette, a slight frown crossed her face, and her little foot tapped an impatient tattoo quite unconsciously; when I pictured him as following the two women toward the Wooded Island, her head was lifted again and her lip curled scornfully. But when I had reached the point where the two figures, springing suddenly from the darkness behind him, had hurled him over the parapet into the deepest part of the lagoon, a low moan burst from her lips, and she put out her hands entreatingly.

'Was he----Quick! tell me!'

'He was rescued, unconscious but living, by two of the emergency crew who guard the lagoons by night, who, luckily, were lying in their skiff under the shadow of the bridge engaged in watching the mysterious movements of the very men who were lurking behind the big pedestal on the other side of the pier, awaiting the signal from the women, their confederates. In going over, his head was quite seriously hurt. At first it was thought that he had struck the edge of the boat in falling, but the doctor says it was a blow from some blunt instrument with a rounded end--some manner of club, no doubt.'

'And now--how--is he?' she faltered.

'In very good hands, and doing as well as can be expected. I was not allowed to see him, and he does not seem fully conscious, although the doctor says he may recover if all goes well.'

'Where is he?' Her face was very pale, but there was a change in her voice, a sudden firmness, and a total lack of hesitancy.

'At the Emergency Hospital in the Fair grounds.' I had purposely made his case as serious as I consistently could, and I now made the important plunge. 'Miss Jenrys, I have taken a great interest in this young man from the first. He is a fine fellow, and now, added to this personal liking, is the duty I owe this helpless young man, who evidently has an enemy, and that enemy seemingly the very person who has been d.o.g.g.i.ng you so persistently and so mysteriously. You see the strangeness of the complication. Are you willing to help me?'

'I?' she hesitated. 'How?'

'This young man knows you. Do you not know him?'

'I--almost believe so.'

'And--are you under any vow or promise of secrecy? He lies there, unknown, friendless; and he has an enemy near at hand. I want to serve him, but to do this intelligently I must know him.'

She hesitated a moment, and then, to my surprise, arose quite calmly, went to her desk, and came back with a photograph in her hand.

'Look at that,' she said, as she held it out to me.

It was a group of tennis-players upon a sunlit lawn, one of those instantaneous pictures in which amateurs delight; but it was clear and the faces were very distinct. One of them I recognised at once as the subject of our conversation. He wore in the picture a light tennis suit, and his handsome head was bare; but I knew the face at once, and told her so.

'That,' she said, 'is a picture of a Mr. Lossing, whom I knew quite well for a season in New York. Shortly before Lent he left the city, it was said, and I have heard and known nothing of him since.'

'And--pardon me--it's very unusual for a young man of society to take up the work he has chosen. Do you know any reason for this?'

'None whatever. He seemed to be well supplied with money. So far as I can judge, I confess I never thought before of his fortune or lack of it.' A sudden flush mantled her face, and her eyes dropped. I wondered if she was thinking of that letter to Hilda O'Neil.

'It's a delicate point,' I said musingly. 'If we could learn something of his situation. He is very proud. Do you think that your friend, Monsieur Voisin, might possibly know something----'

She put up her hand quickly, imperiously.

'If Mr. Lossing has chosen to conceal himself from his friends, we have no right to make his presence here known to Monsieur Voisin.' She checked herself and coloured beautifully again.

'You are right,' I said promptly. I had no real thought of asking Monsieur Voisin into our councils, and I had now verified the suspicions I had held from the first--fitting the guard's statement and his personality into the story her letter told--that he was the Mr. Lossing from whom she had parted so stormily in the conservatory on the night of her aunt's reception.

And now, as I consulted my watch, she leaned toward me, and suddenly threw aside her reserve.

'Can you guess,' she asked eagerly, 'how he came to meet those women in that way? It was a meeting, was it not?'

'No doubt of that; and it was also a scheme to entrap him.'

'But--how did they do it? How did they lure him to that bridge--those two women?'

I could not suppress a smile.

'Can you not guess? It must be only a guess on my part, you know, but I fancy that in her talk with him that afternoon the brunette led him to think that you would not be unwilling to see him. I particularly noted that the woman with her was of about your height, and that she wore a hat much like the one worn by you on the day I first saw you.

Now that I recall their manoeuvres of last night, I remember that the hat almost concealed her face, and that they kept in the shadow.'

She did not follow up the subject, but after a moment said:

'Do--do you think I might be allowed to see him if I went with auntie to the hospital? I mean now--to-day! Could you not say that I--that we were--that we knew him?'

'It is quite important that you should do so,' I declared unblushingly. 'You are the only one who can identify him; and now if I am to tell Miss Ross all these things----'

'Pardon me,' she broke in, 'if it will not matter, I--I would rather tell Aunt Ann; at least, about Mr. Lossing.'

I arose hastily. 'In that case I will leave it to you willingly, and if you will come with your aunt, say at two o'clock, I will meet you at any place you may choose, and take you to the hospital; or would you rather go alone?'

'Oh, no, no!' she exclaimed. 'We shall be glad of your escort. Indeed, I should fear to venture else.'