The Gay Adventure Part 19

"Cert'n'y, sir," said the other, staring. His bovine gaze followed Tony as he walked to the fireplace, stooped down, and said gently, "_Come, birdie, come!_"--a song of his childhood flitting suddenly across his brain. To make his meaning perfectly clear, he added, "It's all right, Bangs. You may get down from the table!" Then he discreetly retired a few paces and waited. He had not to wait long.

"_Mygoard!_" said the landlord explosively, and indeed there was excuse for the expression. It was caused by the extraordinary entrance of Mr.

Bangs. He clambered down painfully for a few feet, but just as he reached the bottom his foot slipped and he sat down emphatically, facing them, in the grate. The appearance of this gnome, silent, save for a strange wheezing that rasped its way through a soot-slaked windpipe, baffled description. Tony looked at the figure with a mournful compa.s.sion, and the landlord rocked drunkenly against the door.

"You see, Mr. Glew," said Tony soothingly, "it happened like this. My friend--who, I am sure, will corroborate me as soon as he has had a drink,--my friend and I had a dispute about chimneys. He averred that they often concealed a 'priest's hole,'--one of those hiding-places for Popish priests we read about. I disagreed, and our dispute became so heated that we even staked money--Mr. Bangs, on the probable existence of such a chamber here, I on the negative side. He is an enthusiast, and nothing would content him but the immediate settlement of the question.

So, despite my protests, up he climbed. Just as he was about to descend, you and the other gentleman entered. Conceive the position! He naturally had no wish to be discovered in such a situation, and waited, hoping the parlor would soon be empty. Your suggestion of the batten upset all calculations. Now, I am sure you will spare his feelings and say nothing of this. All he requires is a hot bath. You quite understand?"

The landlord gave a crow of a.s.sent. But as he went down the pa.s.sage a deep rumbling, suppressed but distinct, betokened that he could not regard the situation seriously. When the door was closed Tony turned apologetically to his companion-in-arms.

"Awfully sorry, old chap," he said, "but it was one of those things that had to be. You quite see that, I hope?"

"_Krwx!_" said the gnome, weeping. "_Krwx! airp--krwx!_"

CHAPTER XV

A CHANGE OF LODGING

At the club-house Lionel put his name down for a week's membership, thinking it might be useful. He learned from the local professional in the course of a short chat that there were only some half-dozen players out that afternoon, all being men. Mizzi, therefore, had not a.s.sumed the disguise of a golfer, though she might be waiting somewhere on the horizon at an appointed trysting-place. The amba.s.sador drove from the first tee while they were talking: he was playing a solitary game against bogey, who--judging from the first three shots--appeared likely to win. The fact that he did not take a caddy might mean anything--a sense of shame or an expected meeting with Mizzi. Lionel, that he might have a reasonable excuse for keeping him under observation, borrowed some clubs from the pro. on the plea that his own had not yet arrived.

He had not played golf for years, but trusted that some of his ancient skill might still remain,--enough, at least, to justify his appearance on the links.

The scheme, however, produced little, for there was no sign of Mizzi.

Lionel played slowly, keeping a methodical hole behind all the way. At the fifteenth, however, he caught up with his quarry. In a moment of ill-judged enthusiasm, and fired by the thrill of a superlative bra.s.sie-shot, he went all out for his third. It was a long hole--bogey five--and there was a deep bunker guarding the green. Lionel, after some consideration, took the mashie in preference to the iron. It was a mistake, for the green was farther than he thought. He made a beautiful full shot that flew straight but fell short, deep in the heart of the bunker. "Spoilt it!" thought Lionel with natural melancholy. "Ah! well!

Not so bad, considering I haven't played for so long."

As he walked on he remembered with a pang that he had forgotten the amba.s.sador. In the pleasure excited by a perfect drive, a perfect bra.s.sie-shot, and an ill-fated, ill-judged, but clean full mashie, he had lost sight of the other's existence. Now he was nowhere to be seen.

"Confound it!" thought Lionel uneasily; "what a kid I am to get carried away by the game! Has he holed out and gone on, or is he by any chance in that bunker?"

He hurried forward, now thinking only of the chase; and as he drew nearer he heard curious sounds proceeding from the grave of so many hopes. Voluble, emphatic and distinct utterance in an alien tongue floated through the abashed ether, and with a sigh of relief Lionel approached and stood on the brink of the pit.

It was a deep sandy hollow, sh.o.r.ed up on the farther side with stout banks of timber, and at the bottom stood the amba.s.sador cursing his ball. So intent was he on this futile but human act, that he did not observe his audience above. Lionel stood and watched, not ill-pleased that an aged arbiter of the peace of nations could on occasion show some feeling, real if regrettable. Presently the exasperated diplomat ceased his objurgations, swung his niblick once more and tried to get out. He struck once and the ball bounded heartily against the timbers, falling back at his very feet. He smote again and a shower of stinging sand whipped sharply in his face. "_Whee!_" he said distinctly, and Lionel's cheek tingled in sympathy. He swung a third time and with neat precision played a flint-stone well on the green, laying it dead. Being a man of obvious determination, though limited skill, he tried again, and yet once more. Then, with uncouth barbaric cries, which Lionel rightly guessed to be in the Turkish language, he lashed flail-wise at the ball.

It rolled, leaped, hopped--grew vivid with excitement, but still it never left the bunker.

He gave it up at last. This cunning diplomat, this indomitable statesman, was obliged to own himself defeated. Picking up the ball, he deliberately took a knife from his pocket and tried to cut it in half.

This proving impossible, he flung it away, resolved that nevermore should he be troubled with this particular disturber of the peace. Then with a resolute quiet action, he broke his niblick across his knee.

Lionel, hoping to get into conversation, left his eyrie and joined him in the pit.

"My turn now, sir!" he said with a fict.i.tious cheerfulness. "I hoped the green was twenty yards closer. This is a beastly place to get out of."

It was a false move. Had he waited till the other had done a hole in three, or at least made one good approach, Lionel might have found him good-humored, conversational, entertaining. But at the moment he was not himself. With a contemptuous "_Allez au diable!_" the amba.s.sador looked sourly on Lionel and climbed slowly up the hill. Lionel, disappointed but not resentful, watched him drive from the next tee.

He followed him round without result, and in the fulness of time saw him leave the golf-house and walk dejectedly home. After watching him enter The Happy Heart, Lionel made his way peacefully to The Quiet House, hoping Miss Arkwright would have returned. In this he was not disappointed, for the silent footman bowed in answer to his question and held the door invitingly open. Lionel accepted the unspoken welcome, entered and was shown into the drawing-room. The footman placed a chair and motioned that he should sit down. Lionel obeyed with a vague feeling that something was amiss. Was it the silence of the footman that gave him an uncanny impression, or was it the atmosphere of the house? He had heard of presentiments of ill under similar circ.u.mstances and had disbelieved them all, but now it was different ... he was uneasy. After sitting uncomfortably in his chair, half expecting it to play some goblin trick upon him, he got up and began to look at a picture hanging above the mantelpiece.

He was still busy with his scrutiny when he heard the door open and close again behind him. Turning at the sound, he saw a lady standing perfectly still in the middle of the room. Lionel gasped, and almost fell. "_You!_" he quavered, sure now that wizardry was at work. "_You!_"

"Please sit down," said a grave voice. "I am Miss Arkwright."

Lionel pulled himself together with an effort, but he did not sit down.

"No," he objected steadily. "I am sorry to contradict you, but that is not true. You are playing a trick on me for some reason that I can not understand. But I swear that you are not Miss Arkwright."

The lady smiled, as one who soothes a maniac.

"Indeed?" she said courteously. "Then perhaps you will tell me who I am?"

"You are Miss Beatrice Blair," said Lionel in a hard voice. He was bitterly disappointed, and no wonder.

"Beatrice Blair?" repeated the other, with an astonishment that could not but be genuine. "Whom do you mean? Who is Beatrice Blair?"

"She was playing last night at the Macready Theater," returned Lionel with a patient dignity. "How she contrives to be at Shereling at this hour, mystifying a poor wretch whose only fault is a too ardent devotion, I can not explain."

This he thought rather a fine speech, and he was relieved to see the clearing of her brow. But he was mistaken as to the cause.

"The Macready Theater!" cried the lady in a tone of satisfaction. "Ah! I can guess now. You must mean my sister, of course. There can be no other explanation. I know she is"--she shuddered daintily--"an actress, but I had quite forgotten her nom de guerre."

"Her ... sister ..." repeated Lionel dully. "Why, yes ... I thought I was calling on her sister ... I wished to see her--not Miss Blair again...."

He sat down, unable to realize it yet.

"Did you not know we were twins?" she asked, clearly anxious to help him.

"I had heard ... but I did not expect...."

"To find the resemblance so striking? I have not seen my sister for years, but when we were younger strangers often mistook us. We were mutual replicas. I imagine from your surprise that the resemblance is still very marked."

"That is the feeblest way of putting it," he answered, still staring as if fascinated. "You are identical in every feature--eyes--hair--even the voice...."

"Perhaps you might find that we differ in disposition--in character----"

He interrupted bruskly, forcing himself to accept the incredible.

"Excuse me; but I can not imagine any one so perfect as Miss Blair."

The lady sighed. "She is on the stage."

"Good heavens, madam!" said Lionel with scornful candor. "Does the stage spell infamy to you? I thought that att.i.tude was _vieux jeu_ now."

"I may be old-fashioned," she said primly, "but I am under few illusions. Of course I would not even hint that my sister is likely to tread the downward path" ("Oh, _lord_!" he groaned in spirit)--"one of our family must have sufficient firmness of character to rise above even _her_ environment. But we know the old proverb of pitch and defilement; can she honestly hope to retain her bloom unsullied?"

"Have you ever--I won't say 'met an actor or actress,'" asked Lionel in polite wrath, "but, been to a theater?"

"Certainly. Three pantomimes and _Our Boys_."

"But that is--how many years ago?"