An Oregon Girl Part 44

"Dear me! I am really delighted," added Mrs. Harris, who, having gotten up from her chair at the first few words uttered by John Thorpe, and leaning forward on the piazza railing, stared at the men below in rapt attention. And Sam joined in the general joy by exclaiming, with a broad grin and a whirl of his hat: "Whoop! Let's celebrate the burial of the hatchet, eh, Auntie."

"How vulgar," quietly remarked Mrs. Harris, as she straightened up, and with severity plainly graven on her face, said: "Sam, I desire a word with you after dinner."

"Ya-ah! May good digestion wait on appet.i.te, eh Auntie! I guess so,"

replied Sam, with a roguish twinkle of his eye and the inimitable side movement of his head.

"Dear me," continued Mrs. Harris, "I may as well be resigned to the inevitable, for I fear the 'Texas brand' will never groom out."

"I must go home," exclaimed Mr. Thorpe. "My impatience to meet Constance is consuming me. Mrs. Harris and gentlemen, pray pardon my haste," and, lifting his hat, he withdrew.

Then Sam related in detail the bath and discovery of Jack Sh.o.r.e at the jail.

"Fact, Uncle," he continued, "a regular fiend."

"What! Jack Sh.o.r.e, of the Securities Investment a.s.sociation!"

exclaimed Mr. Harris, with surprise.

"The same identical chap, Uncle."

"Dear me; who was his confederate?" questioned Mrs. Harris.

"We have yet to discover, but suspect a certain person well known to you."

"Whom do you suspect?" sharply demanded Mrs. Harris.

"A much-honored member of society," replied Sam, with fine sarcasm.

"But we must have his name," insisted Mrs. Harris. She was promptly supported by Mr. Harris, who said: "By all means, we must know who he is."

"My Lord Beauchamp!" Sam answered, with emphasis.

"Dear me," gasped Mrs. Harris. "What a shock!" and then, recovering herself, she repeated doubtfully: "Lord Beauchamp an imposter?"

"He's a villain anyhow, Auntie!" exclaimed Sam. "The same 'gent' who ran me down when I was tracking the Dago up there near the City park--thought he put me out of business."

"What proof have you that he is an imposter?" demanded Mrs. Harris, sternly.

"Yes, proof, proof! That is what we want!" exclaimed James Harris, visibly agitated.

"To satisfy himself the detective cabled our Amba.s.sador at London to make inquiry. This morning he received a reply." And so saying, Sam took from his pocket an envelop containing a cablegram and handed it to Mr. Harris, with the remark: "Uncle, the detective turned it over to me at noon."

Mr. Harris took from the envelop the cablegram, and adjusting his eyegla.s.ses, read aloud:

"There's only one Lord Beauchamp in England's peerage, and he, with whom I am personally acquainted, was at the emba.s.sy yesterday."

It was signed "White."

Then Mr. Harris looked over the paper in his hand--over the eyegla.s.ses into nothingness, with an expression on his face of deep chagrin, and in a low voice, as though muttering to himself, indiscreetly said:

"d.a.m.n the luck! The fellow is into me for ten thousand dollars."

The words had scarcely escaped from his lips when Mrs. Harris, her eyes staring with astonishment, sharply exclaimed:

"Ten thousand dollars! Why, James Henry, you must have been hypnotized!"

It caused Sam to smile, and remark with a look of reproach: "Auntie!"

"He came to me with a plausible story and many regrets, unexpectedly ran short of funds; produced a cablegram purporting to come from his brother, the Duke Villier, only yesterday, authorizing him to draw for two thousand pounds. To oblige him I indorsed the draft, went with him to the bank, and it was immediately honored. I will phone for a policeman at once," and Mr. Harris turned away to put his purpose into effect, when Sam intercepted him.

"Stay, Uncle; I have taken upon myself the duty of swearing out a warrant for his arrest, and in order there shall be no possibility of his escape, I have arranged with detectives, having Jack Sh.o.r.e in charge, to identify and arrest him."

"James, do not wait a moment!" impatiently exclaimed Mrs. Harris.

"Have him arrested at once."

"Auntie, he cannot escape the officers, who are concealed, waiting signal," Sam a.s.sured her.

And then, as if fate had so ordered, the object of their anathemas--in the company of Hazel, complacently sauntered from the tennis lawn, and, rounding the angle of the house, suddenly appeared close to the group.

"It was so stupid of me. I am sure your lordship did not enjoy the game at all," said the girl. It was at that game of tennis that Rutley found opportunity to propose marriage to Hazel, for he believed that she was so disappointed at Corway's disappearance, and which he took care to insinuate was through cowardice, and that she was so impressed with his rank, wealth and manners, that it would be easy to persuade her; but he found the girl repelled his advances so firmly and decisively that he at once abandoned the idea of attempting to entice her to elope, and abruptly ended the game. And so, because of his love for this girl, he had delayed his purpose to escape from the city, and jeopardized his chances accordingly.

When Rutley's eyes first rested on James Harris, he involuntarily started at the change in his looks, but though seemingly perturbed for an instant, his self-possession never really deserted him. Straight on to the broad steps he strode with a suavity of manner quite in keeping with his usual phlegmatic bearing. Whatever distrust or apprehension may have troubled his thoughts, no exterior indication was visible.

His face was impa.s.sive and inscrutable as the "Sphinx." His nerves were steel, his acting superb.

"I find in Miss Brooke an expert tennis player," he said, addressing Mrs. Harris, who was leaning forward, her hands resting on the rail, staring at him.

"It's an outrage, sir! A d.a.m.ned outrage!" explosively exclaimed Mr.

Harris, who was unable to control his indignation.

Still unperturbed, Rutley turned to Mr. Harris and said: "I quite agree with you, Sir, for the scandal is deplorable, and Corway should be punished." Turning to Mrs. Harris, he continued:

"Indeed, Mrs. Harris, you Americans seem to excel in most everything where skill and brains are essential."

There was not a flaw or tremor in his voice to betray an uneasy mind or prescience of a coming storm. It was then, however, he realized that something was wrong, for he noticed that they were looking coldly at him. Slowly drawing himself up with a haughty bearing, he carefully adjusted the monocle in his left eye and turned slowly about as he stared at each of them, and said in slow, sharp, biting accents:

"It's deuced--draughty--don't--che--know!"

"Yes, quite chilly, isn't it, old chappie! I guess so!" declared Sam, patronizingly.

"I demand, sir, the return of ten thousand dollars that you swindled me out of yesterday," said Mr. Harris, with indignation flushing his face.

"And I demand, in the name of the law, ten thousand dollars that you stole from--a--George Golda, while in the scow-dwelling night before last," said Sam.

Still unperturbed, Rutley merely shifted his eyes from one to the other without moving his head or a muscle of his body, much in the manner of an automaton, and answered with a drawl:

"Aw, a money swindle! And a--a--theft of money from a scow-dwelling!

Really, gentlemen, this is--a--a--a--deuced good joke!" And then he laughed, laughed in a shrill, screechy falsetto key, unnatural, and chilling as an icy breath from the Arctic.

"This is no joke, sir, as you will soon realize."