Quill's Window Part 20

"Do you mean as a shot,--or as a liar?" inquired Blythe, grinning.

"Both," said Charlie.

He had a very definite purpose in leading his guest through the stable-yard. By doing so he avoided the customary approach to the Tavern, in full view from Courtney's windows. They circled the building and arrived at the long, low porch from the north. Here they encountered Furman Hatch. Charlie appeared greatly surprised to find the photographer there.

"What are you doing here at this time o' day, Tintype?" he demanded.

"Takin' a vacation?"

"I come over for some prints I left in my room last night," explained Mr. Hatch.

"We're going up to call on Court," said Charlie. "Won't you join us?"

Hatch looked at his watch, frowned dubiously, and then said he could spare a few minutes,--and that was just what it was understood in advance that he was to say!

"He goes by the name of Tintype," explained Mr. Webster, after the two men had shaken hands. "Not because he looks like one, but because the village idiot's name is Furman, and we have to have some way of tellin' them apart."

A few minutes later, Charlie knocked resoundingly on Courtney's door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me,--Charlie Webster. Got a nice surprise for you."

"Come in."

And in strode Charlie, followed by the tall stranger and the lank Mr. Hatch.

Courtney, full dressed,--except that he wore instead of his coat a thick blue bath gown,--was sitting at a table in front of the small wood-fire stove, playing solitaire. A saucer at one corner of the table served as an ash tray. It was half full of cigarette stubs.

"Well, what the--" he began, and then, catching sight of the stranger, scrambled up from his chair, his mouth still open.

"I thought you'd be surprised," said Charlie triumphantly. "This is Mr. Blythe, Mr. Thane,--shake hands with each other, comrades.

When I told him you were so keen to see him and talk over old times, he said slap-bang he'd come with me when I offered to bring him up."

"I hope we're not intruding, Mr. Thane," said Blythe, advancing with hand extended. "Mr. Webster a.s.sured me you were quite well enough to receive--"

"I am glad you came," cried Courtney, recovering from his surprise.

"Awfully good of you. These beastly lungs of mine, you know. The least little flare-up scares me stiff. Still, I had almost screwed up my nerve to going out this afternoon--"

"It doesn't pay to take any risks," warned Blythe, as they shook hands.

The two men looked each other closely, steadily in the eye. Courtney was the first to speak at the end of this mutual scrutiny.

"I wasn't quite sure whether I met you over there, Captain Blythe,"

he said, "but now I know that I didn't. I've been puzzling my brain for days trying to recall the name, or at least your face. I may be wrong, however. I haven't much of a memory. I hope you will forgive me if we did meet and I have forgotten it. I--"

"I have no recollection of ever having seen you, Mr. Thane," said Blythe. "It isn't surprising, however. It--it was a pretty big war, you know."

Charlie Webster was slightly dashed. If anything, Courtney Thane was more at ease, more convincing than Addison Blythe. He felt rather foolish. Something, it seemed, had fallen very flat. He evaded Mr.

Hatch's eye.

"Sit down, Captain Blythe," said Courtney affably. "Hope you don't mind this bath gown. Charlie, make yourself at home on the bed,--you too, Hatch. We're as shy of chairs here as we were at the front, you see."

Blythe remained for half an hour and then went away with his two companions. Courtney shook hands with him and said good-bye at the hall door; then he strode over to the bureau to look at himself in the gla.s.s. He saw reflected therein a very well satisfied face, with brightly confident eyes and the suggestion of a triumphant smile.

Hatch accompanied the moody Mr. Webster to the warehouse office.

"Strikes me, Charlie," said he, thoughtfully, "that of the two our friend Courtney seems a long sight more genuine than this feller Blythe. I guess you're off your base, old boy. Why, darn it, he had Blythe up in the air half the time. If I was a betting man, I'd put up a hundred or two that Blythe never even saw the places they were talking about."

"Do you think Blythe is a fake?" cried Charlie in some heat.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," said Hatch diplomatically, "but you'll have to admit that Court asked him a lot of questions he didn't seem able to answer."

Charlie stared hard at the floor for a few seconds. Then: "Well, if I was to ask you what my mother's maiden name was, Tintype, you'd have to say you didn't know, wouldn't you?"

"Sure," said Hatch. "But I wouldn't go so far as to say I wasn't certain whether she had a maiden name or not, would I?"

"There's no use arguing with you, Hatch," said Charlie irritably, and turned to his desk by the window, there to frown fiercely over his scales book.

II

Alix and Miss Blythe were sitting in front of the fireplace when young Blythe entered the living-room on his return from Dowd's Tavern. The former looked up at him brightly, eagerly as he planted himself between them with his back to the cheerful blaze.

"Did you see him?" she inquired. He was struck by the deep, straining look in her dark eyes,--as if she were searching for something far back in his brain.

"Yes," he replied, as he took his pipe and tobacco pouch from his pocket. "He was up and around the room and was as pleased as Punch to see me." He began stuffing the bowl of the pipe. "He is a most attractive chap, Alix. I don't know when I've met a more agreeable fellow."

"Then you had not met before,--over there?"

"No. We missed each other by days on two or three occasions. He left for the Vosges just before I got to Pont-a-Mousson, and was transferred to another section when we all went up to Bar le Duc at the time of the Verdun drive. He joined the Ambulance several months before I did, and was shifted about a good deal. Had some trouble with a French officer at Pont-a-Mousson and asked to be transferred." Here he smiled feelingly. "He's got a mustard plaster on his back now, he says, that would cover an army mule. I know how that feels, by Jinks! I wore one for three weeks over there because I didn't have the nerve to rip it off."

He was still aware of the unanswered question in her eyes. Changing his position slightly, he busied himself with the lighting of his pipe.

"Was he expecting you?" inquired Alix.

"Not at all. It seems that your roly-poly friend forgot to notify him. I say, Alix, what a wonderful lot of pre-historic junk there is in that old stable-yard. Webster took me around there and showed me the stuff. Tell me something about the place."

Late in the afternoon Blythe,--after submitting to an interview at the hands of A. Lincoln Pollock,--sat alone before the fire, his long legs stretched out, a magazine lying idly in his lap, his pipe dead but gripped firmly in the hand that had remained stationary for a long, long time halfway to his lips. He was staring abstractedly into the neglected fire.

His sister came in. He was not aware of her entrance until she appeared directly in front of him.

"h.e.l.lo!" he exclaimed, blinking.

"What is on your mind, Addy?"

He glanced over his shoulder.

"Where is Alix?"

"Writing letters. There were two or three she has to get off before we start for town." She sat down on the arm of his chair. "You may as well tell me what you really think of him, Addison. Isn't he good enough for her?"