The Flyers Part 11

"My wife says I can't keep a secret, but I'll show her that I can.

Trust me, my boy."

"I'll bet you a hundred dollars you can't keep this one," said Joe, inspired.

"Done!"

"Well," bravely but cautiously, "I'm going to be married to-night. Be careful now! Look out! Don't explode! Remember the bet!" The old gentleman repressed his feelings.

"Beautiful!" he exclaimed. "Congratulations, my boy."

"Now for the favour. I want you to act as a witness. It's to be a very quiet affair." Dauntless explained as much of the situation to him as he thought necessary, omitting the lady's name. Mr. Van Truder bubbled over with joy and eagerness. He promised faithfully to accompany Mr.

Derby, pooh-hooing the suggestion that he could not slip away from the hotel without his wife being aware of the fact.

"Trust me, my boy. Don't worry. I'm always Johnny-on-the-spot. Where did you say the hotel was? I'll go up and get ready. Oh, by the way, who is the young lady?"

"She's a friend of Mr. Dauntless's," said Mr. Derby.

"To be sure; I might have known. Silly question."

The young men watched him enter the hotel, but they did not see him fall into the clutches of his wife just inside the door.

"Where have you been?" demanded Mrs. Van Truder.

"I've been looking everywhere for you, my dear," he said, almost whimpering. "I've got a grand secret, but I can't tell you. Don't ask me!"

"Is it a wedding?" she demanded sternly.

"Dear me! Do you know it too?" he cried, bewildered. "But that's not the real secret; it's only part of it. Joe is going to marry some friend of his to-night--but that's as far as I'll go. I'll NOT betray the secret." He hurried away to avoid questions, muttering to himself as he went: "She's dying to know. But a secret's a secret. She sha'n't know that I am to be a witness."

Mrs. Van Truder pondered long and deeply, but she was not well enough acquainted with all of the facts to hazard a guess as to who the girl might be. It came to her memory that Dauntless had been with Miss Courtenay all morning, however, and she wondered not a little.

Windomshire was approaching in search of Anne, who was to have met him as if by accident in a corner of the reading-room.

"Oh, Mr. Windomshire," exclaimed Mrs. Van Truder, darting toward him.

"How do, Mrs. Van Truder? How are you to-day?" he asked, scarcely able to hide his annoyance.

"That is the tenth time you've asked me that question. I must repeat: I am quite well."

"Oh, pardon my inquisitiveness. It has been a very long day, you know."

"I want you and Miss Thursdale to dine with me at eight this evening. I think I'll have a little surprise for you," she said mysteriously.

Windomshire glared, and then managed to give a provisional acceptance.

It all depended on the hour for leaving for the train. As he hurried off to find Anne he was groaning to himself: "How the deuce can I go to a dinner and run off again with Anne? I've got everything arranged. I can't let a beastly dinner interfere. I won't go, hang me if I do." He came upon Anne in the corner of the library--the most unfrequented corner.

"Well?" she questioned eagerly. He clasped her hands, beaming once more.

"I've seen him, dear. It's all right. My word, I've had no end of a busy day. The confounded fellow was out making calls on the congregation, as they say, and I had to pursue him from house to house, always missing him, by Jove."

"But you DID find him?" anxiously.

"Of course. He will be at the church at nine to-night--sharp. He understands that no one is to know about it. His fee is ten pounds--quite a bit for a chap like him. I found him calling upon a fellow who is about to die--a Mr. Grover. He sent out word I'd have to wait as the old gentleman was pa.s.sing away. By Jove, do you know I was that intense that I sent in word that the old gentleman would have to wait a bit--I COULDN'T. The pastor came out and--well, it seems that the fee for helping a chap to get married is more substantial than what he gets for helping one to die. And, as luck would have it, I found a fellow who will act as one of the witnesses to the ceremony at this same house,--a Mr. Hooker, Anne. He came down on the train with us.

Tall, dark, professional looking man. He was sitting on Mr. Grover's front steps when I got there. The other witness--must have two, you know--is the head-waiter in the dining-room here--"

"The--head-waiter?" she gasped.

"He's a very decent sort of chap, my dear--and, besides, we can't be choosers. Waiters are most discreet fellows, too. He's to get two pounds for his trouble. By Jove, I think I've done rather well. I'm sorry if you don't approve," he lamented.

"But I do approve, Harry," she cried bravely. "It's lovely!"

"Good! I knew you would. Now all we have to do is to slip away from here this evening, and--Oh, I say, hang it all! Mrs. Van Truder has asked me to dine with them this evening."

"Isn't she running you a bit?" cried Anne, indignantly. "She had you for breakfast and luncheon and now it's dinner. I daresay she'll have you for tea too."

"But I'm not going to her confounded dinner. That's settled. I can't do it, you know, and be on time for the wedding. Deuce take it, what does she take a fellow for? h.e.l.lo, here comes the chap that Dauntless introduced to us this morning." Derby was approaching with a warm and ingratiating smile. "What's his name? Confound him."

"Mr. Derby, I think. Why can't they give us a moment's peace?" she pouted. Derby came up to them, his eyes sparkling with a fire which they could not and were not to understand. He had surveyed them from a distance for some time before deciding to ruthlessly, cruelly break in upon the tranquil situation.

"She's a pretty girl," he reflected, unconsciously going back to his college days, and quite forgetting his cloth--which, by the way, was a neat blue serge with a tender stripe. Consoling himself with the thought that he was doing it to accommodate an old friend, the good-looking Mr. Derby boldly entered the lists for the afternoon. He felt, somehow, that he had it in his power to make Mr. Windomshire quite jealous--and at the same time do nothing reprehensible. What he did succeed in doing, alas, was to make two young people needlessly miserable for a whole afternoon--bringing on grievous headaches and an attack of suppressed melancholia that savoured somewhat of actual madness.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Windomshire]

True to his project, he laboured hard and skilfully for hours.

Windomshire moved about in solitude, gnashing his teeth, while Derby unceremoniously whisked the dazed Anne off for pleasant walks or held her at bay in some secluded corner of the parlours. By dinner-time, encouraged by Joe's wild but cautious applause, he had driven Windomshire almost to distraction. A thing he did not know, however,--else his pride might have cringed perceptibly,--was that Anne Courtenay was growing to hate him as no one was ever hated before.

"Well," he said to the nervous Mr. Dauntless at seven o'clock that evening, having arrived at what he called the conclusion of his day's work, "I think I've done all that was expected, haven't I?"

"You've got him crazy, old boy. Look at him! It's the first minute he's had since half-past two. Say, what do you think of this cursed weather?

It's raining again--and muddy! Great Scot, old man! it's knee deep, and we don't dare take a carriage to the church. One can't sneak worth a cent in a cab, you know. See you later! There's Eleanor waiting to speak to me. By George, I'm nervous. You WON'T fail us, old man?"

"I'll do my part, Joe," said Derby, smiling.

"Well, so long, if I don't see you before nine. You look out for old Mr. Van Truder, will you? See that he sneaks out properly. And--"

"Don't worry, old chap. Go to Miss Thursdale. She seems nervous."

CHAPTER VI

THE ROAD TO PARADISE

Night again--and again the mist and the drizzle; again the country lane, but without the warm club-house fire, the cheery lights, the highball, and the thumping motor car. Soggy, squashy mud instead of the clean tonneau; heavy, cruel wading through unknown by-ways in place of the thrilling rush to Fenlock. Not twenty-four hours had pa.s.sed, and yet it seemed that ages lay between the joyous midnight and the sodden, heart-breaking eve that followed.

The guests at the Somerset kept close indoors,--that is, most of them did. It is with those who fared forth resolutely into the night that we have to do; the rest of the world is to be barred from any further connection with this little history. It is far out in the dreary country lane and not inside the warm hotel that we struggle to attain our end. First one, then another stealthy figure crept forth into the drizzle; before the big clock struck half-past eight, at least six respectable and supposedly sensible persons had mysteriously disappeared. Only one of our close acquaintances remained in the hotel,--Mrs. Van Truder. It was not to be long, however, before she, too, would be adventuring forth in search of the unknown.

By this it may be readily understood that Mr. Van Truder had succeeded in escaping from beneath her very nose, as it were.