The Gay Adventure Part 29

"Can we smoke?" he breathed.

"No. _They_ might see the glow."

"They," of course meant Brown and his accomplice; but, uttered beneath that lowering sky, those gloomy trees, in the atmosphere of intrigue and hypothetical bloodshed, the words a.s.sumed an awful import to Mr.

Hedderwick. Romance cut with a keener edge across his quivering soul. He was getting his fill of adventures, and with an unfeigned zeal he now wished himself safe at Bloomsbury, even at the price of a Caudle's welcome. To think that he, a middle-aged--no! an _old_ man, with a good wife--yes! a _good_ wife, though sometimes a little overbearing--a churchwarden of Saint Frideswide's and all the rest--to think that he could be so harebrained and ungrateful as to embark on such an enterprise! It was incredible: he must be dreaming.... No; it was real.

His right foot was in agony: it had gone to sleep.

"Ouch!" he said, stretching it. "What's the time, Mr. Wild?"

"Can't see. Daren't light a match. 'Fraid they're late. Shut up."

Time pa.s.sed heavily to the unhappy man. A schoolboy, condemned to a caning, can face the prospect with a decent front if only the punishment is not deferred. "Cane me, if you must!" he would say, "but get it over and let's have done with it!" A fair request, provided the culprit be not a hardened nature whom it is policy to keep in suspense. In such a case the Third Degree may be justified. But suppose your culprit to be a sensitive shrinking nature, to whom the waiting is worse torture than the actual pain itself, is it not a refinement of cruelty to keep him on the tenter-hooks? Robert Hedderwick was of such, a gentle, kindly, romantic, imaginative fool. You who scorn his folly might pardon, could you but enter into half his feelings as he waits amid the elder-bushes.

At eleven o'clock there was promise of incident to cheer their hearts.

From the other side of the house they heard a voice call sharply, "Who is there?" No answer was returned, but before the echoes died they saw a dark figure run silently across the lawn and clamber up the wall where they had made an entrance. Breathlessly they watched, and in another moment a second figure, carrying some lethal weapon, walked sharply into the field of vision. The newcomer made a tour of the house and part of the garden, but did not disturb the anxious watchers in the elders. As soon as he had disappeared Robert whispered, "What now? Shall we go after the man who climbed?"

"No," replied Tony, whispering too. "I don't understand this. It's a different program. Looks as if something is up. Better wait."

His companion sighed, for he had hoped release was at hand. Instead, he resigned himself to waiting.

An hour crept by with feet of lead. To the amateur plotters it seemed as if time itself were standing still. Robert thought it must be two o'clock at least, but Tony's common sense guessed it to be near midnight. Once the churchwarden ventured to suggest that honor was satisfied, curiosity likely to be disappointed; why not retire? Tony refused doggedly:

"I'm going to see it through now if we wait till five o'clock. No more lost chances!"

Robert groaned and rubbed his leg.

It was half past one when Robert, half asleep, conscious of nothing but discomfort, felt Tony plucking at his sleeve. He roused himself irritably, almost forgetful of their errand. Then, in the dim foreshadowing of dawn, he saw the outline of a man on the top of the wall. He awoke fully on the instant, clutching his fellow sufferer in pure fright, staring with wide-open eyes. The man dropped nimbly down upon the gra.s.s and walked noiselessly across the lawn.

They watched him eagerly, feeling that their sufferings were about to be rewarded, wondering whether they ought to follow or wait. If the first, they might be discovered; the second, they might lose him. For once in his life Tony was at a loss. He had reckoned on Brown's arrival, but not at a different hour, pursuing a new course. What was the best plan?

Fortunately the period of suspense was short. The figure, which had disappeared for a moment round the corner of the house, came into view once more. It still moved with surpa.s.sing stealth, but now it was carrying a long unwieldy object in one hand. It was a ladder. Tony nearly whistled when he saw this ominous contrivance, and Robert quivered with a satisfying impatience for the coming drama. Were they to see a new version of _Romeo and Juliet_, or was it merely a vulgar burglary?

The man paused, surveyed the blank unlighted house, and then reared his ladder against a window. He climbed rapidly up, but after a brief inspection descended with equal swiftness. He raised the ladder with no obvious effort, carried it some little distance along, and placed it at another window. It was clear that he was correcting a mistake.

"What"--began Robert in a thick whisper, but Tony clapped a hand on his mouth, fearing lest the faintest sound might betray them. Not that there was any real danger, for the night-prowler was twenty yards away, the wind had begun to rise, and the tree branches were sighing loudly enough to drown a human murmur. But Tony meant to run no risks: he was determined to see the play through to the end. Not the quiver of an eyelash must betray them. At all costs, silence.

They saw Brown--for who else could it be?--rear the ladder, then shift it a little to get a better foundation. He tried it with his hand to make sure that it was firm. At last, satisfied and resolute, he placed one foot upon it and began to climb. The watchers held their breath, unconscious of the drama within a drama about to burst upon them. Robert was trembling, his mouth still covered by Tony's precautionary hand.

Brown was on the second rung, when the window above was suddenly flung open. The mysterious Billy leaned out, jug in hand. "Good evening!" he said distinctly, in pleasant gentlemanly accents that reached the watchers in the elders: "good evening. Have a drink?"

The wretched Brown was so _bouleverse_ by the unexpected apparition that he stood fast, gaping wonderfully, upon the second rung. It was lucky that he had climbed no higher, for the cascade that fell with unerring aim fairly upon his countenance was the best part of a gallon of water.

Apart from the hydraulic force exerted the wanton suddenness of the attack must have dashed him to the ground. He fell p.r.o.ne upon the gra.s.s, striving to disburden himself of an unwanted draft, pitiable, a spluttering ruin of a conspirator.

"_Glwhtt!_" said Robert from behind the hand of Tony. He was nigh to bursting with suppressed emotion. "_Glwhtt! oh! glwhtt!_"

Tony, too, found it hard to keep himself in hand. Despite his disappointment at beholding his fair hopes frustrated, it was no easy task to check the laugh. To see a man, bold, confident, a.s.sured of success, in one moment converted into a sodden and convulsive ma.s.s, weltering upon the lawn--it was catastrophic. If incongruity be the basis of the comic spirit, it was here with a vengeance.

"With a vengeance." The thought was impelled by the quick hurry of events. Brown, after gaspy flounderings for half a minute, recovered himself and stood erect. He shook an Olympian fist in powerless wrath toward the window, breathed a crimson oath that might have scorched the stars, and ran blunderingly toward the wall. He made for his point of entry by a straight path and dashed blindly through the elders. In his headlong course he trod convincingly on Robert's fingers, but sped on, heedless of the yelp of pain. "_Ahoo!_" whooped Mr. Hedderwick, leaping in his agony, unrecking of the consequences. "_Ahoo! Ahoo!_" He was wringing his hands in an ecstasy of anguish as Lionel came bursting from the house, a heavy walking-stick in his hand.

"The wall quick!" said Tony, seizing him by the arm. They had a start of thirty yards: Brown was over the wall and out of sight by this time, and there was still hope of escape. Had Tony been alone he would have got away, for they reached the wall well ahead of the frantic Lionel, aflame for blood. But chivalry forced him to let Robert climb first. "Up you go!" he said, thrusting the adventurous churchwarden upon the roller.

There were no spikes to help or hinder on the inner wall. Robert caught hold of the top bricks and scrabbled piteously with his toes, searching for a foothold. Tony shoved fiercely from beneath, the thought of prison or the bowstring beating in his brain. With a heave of which he scarce thought himself capable he boosted Robert high in the air. Mr.

Hedderwick flew up like a ball of india-rubber, rolled on to the top, and fell over the other side with a wail of apprehension. Luckily the mud was soft. But just as he touched the mud, Lionel came up with his quarry and seized him by the collar. Tony turned and struggled like a wildcat, but he was no match for the other. Lionel shortened his stick and drove it upward. With a grunt of pain Tony collapsed. "Whew!" said Lionel, vastly pleased as he contemplated the fallen foe. "There's one of 'em, anyhow. I hope I haven't killed the brute."

CHAPTER XXII

A TELEGRAM AND SUNDRIES

The twelve-year-old son of Mr. Glew, who, in the intervals of school and expiating the inevitable offenses of youth, was utilized to carry telegrams, came whistling up the drive of The Quiet House. He rang the bell, and in the fulness of time the summons was answered by a man servant who had been engaged the day before. He was called Jones.

"h.e.l.lo! young c.o.c.k-sparrow!" said Jones cheerfully. "Brought a wire?

Who's it for? Her Imperial Highness or me?"

"Name o' Mortimer," said the youthful Glew. "Catch hold!"

"Mortimer's on the lawn, sunning himself," said Jones. "Better take it straight round."

"I'm employed to hand telegrams into the house," said the boy with all the dignity of a government servant. "It's your business to see ole Mortimer gets it."

"And it's my business to give a clip 'side o' the 'ed," said Jones, riposting. "So if you don't want a thick ear inside of a jiffy, my lad, off you go."

Master Glew obeyed, soothing his outraged independence by a cry of "Yar!

red-nosed beef-eater!" as soon as he was out of reach. Jones, regretting the ungiven clip, banged the door, and the libel-loving Glew went pleasantly on his way.

He found Lionel in the summer-house and delivered the yellow envelope, waiting dutifully to see if there was a prepaid reply, hoping for a possible douceur. In this he was disappointed; for although the telegram seemed to give unbounded pleasure to the recipient, no money changed hands, and Master Glew retired, embittered and pessimistic. As soon as he was alone Lionel read and read again the flimsy slip that conveyed so much. The words danced before him in the sunlight:

"Lukos has died of measles. Stay where you are and keep watching. Beatrice."

Lukos dead! Then the path was clear, and he was free to hope, free to pursue, to strive with all his heart and soul to ... to do what? Why, make love to her, of course, and presently ask her to marry him.

"Marry" ... The word came on him with a stunning shock, as it does to every free bachelor when he sees the wedding-ring as a reality within his grasp. However much we long to persuade the beloved object to the vow--however much we have striven, hoped, schemed and waited--still, when the time comes of a verity, and at last we can confidently say, "I am to be married to-morrow!" or next week, or a year hence--then, in the midst of our ecstasy, there comes a whisper, "_Married! Tied! Shackled!_" We welcome our chains, of course,--we would barter our souls for the lovely fetters; but there always comes, if but for the briefest of seconds, the appalling thought, "Freedom has gone forever!" Is there a single husband who, during the period of courtship, has never been "afraid with any amazement"?

The thought, the fear, came to Lionel as to the rest of us, and for an instant he felt like taking to his heels. Then he smiled as a grown-up upon a child, naturally timid and ignorant. Next, his face fell, as he harped back to his theme. He was to "make love" to her.

To a man of his stamp making love is not a difficult matter. To a man like Tony it is a second nature--the breath of life--a perennial pastime. But making love is not the same as loving, and to make love to Beatrice would be an insult. He admired Beatrice so much--respected her--was anxious to serve her, to obey her slightest whim,--thought her the best and most desirable creature he had ever known. But if he did not love her, it would be a base thing to pretend, to use her as a toy.

Did he love her or not? He wanted her--oh, yes! he wanted her as he had never wanted any one else in his life. There had been others, of course, with whom he had dallied--for instance, Mizzi. There had been one or two in whom he had taken a more serious interest, like Miss Arkwright. With the latter he had more than once imagined himself to be in love--he had dwelt delightfully upon the possibility--had gone to bed reflecting, "Dash it! Beatrice has forgotten me. Winifred's a darling! Why not?" And then when the kiss had been offered, he had refused. Well, in that lay hope of a greater certainty. He had refused the kiss--had he not?--because of Beatrice. Therefore he loved her. Therefore he must make love to her. Therefore he must ask her to marry him. Marriage!

Whew--w--w!

"Oh, you vacillating a.s.s!" he groaned to himself, getting up and stretching his arms as if to free himself from the enmeshing subtleties.

"Why can't you be content to believe yourself in love and go straight ahead now that the path is clear? Why can't you be an ordinary, sane, matter-of-fact lover, and ask the dear woman if she'll marry you and help you to help her, the world and yourself? Yourself, who need it badly. Why--why--why can't you be reasonable?" He shook his fist savagely at the heavens. "Why worry your brain about these intricate a.n.a.lyses? Why? _Because_, my boy, she deserves certainly, and, by George, she shall have it!"

He sat down and read the telegram once more. "Poor old chap!" he thought. "Dead ... and of measles. Lord! it's hard not to laugh. A man who plotted and shook the chancelleries, in daily danger of poison or the sword, to die of _measles_! What a world of oddities! Poor devil ... I wonder how she takes it?"

The remembrance of the forced marriage led him to think that she could not feel it too cruelly. No doubt she had liked him--had even felt affection for him. But the compulsion of wedlock and the death of her only son would not but make the tie more light than usual. "Let's hope so, anyway," he growled to himself, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"Lionel, you were selfish to talk of love so soon. More especially when you don't know yet if you love her or not."

Miss Arkwright came across the lawn. There had been no more talk of his departure. Since his n.o.ble rescue--five nights agone--it had been impossible to be harsh. There had been an interview next morning in which considerable frankness had been displayed on both sides. Miss Arkwright had asked him to repeat his explanation of Mizzi's presence in his bedroom, and this he had done cheerfully enough. In return, he had inquired what Mizzi was doing there, and had accused his hostess of conspiracy. "I feel," he had said, "that it is time we understand each other. Cards on the table, please. As you may know or guess, I came here to watch you, believing you to be in the service of the Turks."