The Bartlett Mystery Part 18

"It is _true_. That is the point. Have you, by the way, ever seen a man called Voles?"

"Voles? No."

"Yet that man at this moment is somewhere near you. He came in the same train with you from New York. He is always near you. He is the most intimate a.s.sociate of your aunt. Think now, and tell me whether it is not a disturbing thing that you never saw this man face to face?"

"Most disturbing, if what you say is so."

"But suppose I tell you what I firmly believe--that you _have_ seen him; that it was _his_ face which bent over you in your half-sleep the other night, and his voice which you heard?"

"I always thought that it was no dream," said Winifred. "It was--not a nice face."

"And remember, Winifred," urged Carshaw earnestly, "that to-day and to-morrow are your last chances. You are about to be taken far away--possibly to France or England, as surely as you see those clouds.

True, if you go, I shall go after you."

"You?"

"Yes, I. But, if you go, I cannot be certain how far I may be able to defend and rescue you there, as I can in America. I know nothing of foreign laws, and those who have you in their power do. On that field they may easily beat me. So now is your chance, Winifred."

"But what am I to do?" she asked in a scared tone, frightened at last by the sincerity blazing from his eyes.

"Necessity has no rules of propriety," he answered. "I have a car here.

You should come with me this very night to New York. Once back there, it is only what my interest in you gives me the right to expect that you will consent to use my purse for a short while, till you find suitable employment."

Winifred covered her face and began to cry. "Oh, I couldn't!" she sobbed.

"Don't cry," said Carshaw tenderly. "You must, you know, since it is the only way. You cry because you do not trust me."

"Oh! I do. But what a thing it is that you propose! To break with all my past on a sudden. I hardly even know you; last week I had not seen you--"

"There, that is mistrust. I know you as well as if I had always known you. In fact, I always did, in a sense. Please don't cry. Say that you will come with me to-night. It will be the best piece of work that you ever did for yourself, and you will always thank me for having persuaded you."

"But not to-night! I must have time to reflect, at least."

"Then, when?"

"Perhaps to-morrow night. I don't know. I must think it over first in all its bearings. To-morrow morning I will leave a letter in the office, telling you--"

"Well, if you insist on the delay. But it is dangerous, Winifred--it is horribly dangerous!"

"I can't help that. How could a girl run away in that fashion?"

"Well, then, to-morrow night at eleven, precisely. I shall be at the end of this lane in my car, if your letter in the morning says 'Yes.' Is that understood?"

"Yes."

"Let me warn you against bringing anything with you--any clothes or a grip. Just steal out of the inn as you are. And I shall be just there at the corner--at eleven."

"Yes."

"I may not have the chance of speaking to you again before--"

But Carshaw's pleading stopped short; from the near end of the lane a tall form entered it--Rachel Craik. She had followed Winifred from the hotel, suspecting that all was not well--had followed her, lost her, and now had refound her. She walked sedately, with an inscrutable face, toward the spot where the two were talking. The moment Carshaw saw this woman of ill omen he understood that all was lost, unless he acted with bewildering promptness, and quickly he whispered in Winifred's ear:

"It must be to-night or never! Decide now. 'Yes' or 'No.'"

"Yes," said Winifred, in a voice so low that he could hardly hear.

"At eleven to-night?"

"Yes," she murmured.

Rachel Craik was now up to them. She was in a vile temper, but contrived to curb it.

"What is the meaning of this, Winifred? And who is this gentleman?" she said.

Winifred, from the habit of a lifetime, stood in no small awe of that austere woman. All the blood fled from the girl's face. She could only say brokenly:

"I am coming, aunt," and went following with a dejected air a yard behind her captor. In this order they walked till they arrived at the door of the Maples Inn, neither having uttered a single word to the other. There Miss Craik halted abruptly. "Go to your room," she muttered. "I'm ashamed of you. Sneaking out at night to meet a strange man! No kitchen-wench could have behaved worse."

Winifred had no answer to that taunt. She could not explain her motives.

Indeed, she would have failed lamentably had she attempted it. All she knew was that life had suddenly turned topsy-turvy. She distrusted her aunt, the woman to whom she seemed to owe duty and respect, and was inclined to trust a young man whom she had met three times in all. But she was gentle and soft-hearted. Perhaps, if this Mr. Rex Carshaw, with his earnest eyes and wheedling voice, could have a talk with "aunty,"

his queer suspicions--so oddly borne out by events--might be dissipated.

"I'm sorry if I seem to have done wrong," she said, laying a timid hand on Rachel Craik's arm. "If you would only tell me a little, dear. Why have we left New York? Why--"

"Do you want to see me in jail?" came the harsh whisper.

"No. Oh, no. But--"

"Obey me, then! Remain in your room till I send for you. I'm in danger, and you, you foolish girl, are actually in league with my enemies. Go!"

Winifred sped through the porch, and hied her to a window in her room on the first floor which commanded a view of the main street. She could see neither Carshaw nor Aunt Rachel, the one having determined to lie low for a few hours, and the other being hidden from sight already as she hastened through the rain to the small inn where Voles and Mick the Wolf were located.

These worthies were out. The proprietor said they had hired a car and gone to Bridgeport. Miss Craik could only wait, and she sat in the lobby, prim and quiet, the picture of resignation, not betraying by a look or gesture the pa.s.sions of anger, apprehension, and impatience which raged in her breast.

Voles did not come. An hour pa.s.sed; eight struck, then nine. Once the word "carousing"! pa.s.sed Miss Rachel's lips with an intense bitterness; but, on the whole, she sat with a stiff back, patient as stone.

Then after ten there came the hum and whir of an automobile driven at high speed through the rain-sodden main street. It stopped outside the inn. A minute later the gallant body of Voles entered, cigar in his mouth, and a look of much champagne in his eyes.

"What, Rachel, girl, you here!" he said in his offhand way.

"Are you sober?" asked Rachel, rising quickly.

"Sober? Never been really soused in my life! What's up?"

He dropped a huge paw roughly on her shoulder, and her hard eyes softened as she looked at his face and splendid frame, for Ralph "Voles"

was Rachel Craik's one weakness.

"What's the trouble?" he went on, seeing that her lips were twitching.