The Husbands of Edith Part 16

CHAPTER VIII

THE PRODIGAL HUSBAND

The unlucky Brock, wild with rage and chagrin, had paced his temporary prison in the top storey of the Tirol from eleven o'clock till two, bitterly cursing the fools who were keeping him in durance more vile than that from which they had generously released him. He realised that it would be unwise to create a disturbance in the house by clamouring for freedom, because, in the first place, there already had been scandal enough, and in the second place, his distrustful bondsmen had promised faithfully to seek out the devoted Connie and apprise her of his release. He had no thought, of course, that in the mean time she might be duped into paying a bribe to the guard.

Not only was he direfully cursing the trio, but also the addlepated Medcroft and his own addlepated self. It is to be feared that he had harsh thoughts of all the Medcrofts, as far down as Raggles. His dream of love and happiness had turned into a nightmare; the comedy had become a tragic snarl of all the effects known to melodrama. Bitterly he lamented the fact that now he could not go before the a.s.sembled critics in the morning and proclaim to them that Constance was his wife. From this, it readily may be judged that Brock was not familiar with all the details of the vigorous Miss Fowler's plan. As a matter of fact, he did not know that he was expected to fly the country like a fugitive. She had known in her heart that he would never agree to a plan of that sort; it was, therefore, necessary for her to deceive him in more ways than one. Plainly speaking, Brock had laboured under the delusion that she merely proposed to bribe the gaoler into letting him off for the night, in order that by some hook or crook they could be married early in the morning--provided her conception of the State marriage laws as they applied to aliens was absolutely correct. (It was not correct, it may be well to state, although that has nothing to do with the case at this moment.) If he had but known that she contemplated paying ten thousand crowns for his surrept.i.tious release, making herself criminally liable, and that he was expected to catch a night train across the border, it is only just to his manhood to say that he should have balked, even though the act were to cost him years of prison servitude--which, of course, was unlikely in the face of the explanation that would be made in proper time by the real Medcroft. It thus may be seen that Brock not only had been vilely imprisoned twice in the same night, but that he was very much in the dark, notwithstanding his attempt to make light of the situation.

It occurred to him, at two o'clock, that pacing the floor in the agony of suspense was a very useless occupation. He would go to bed. Morning would bring relief and surcease to his troubled mind. Constance was doubtless sound asleep in her room. Everything would have been explained to her long before this hour; she would understand. So, with the return of his old sophistry, he undressed and crawled into the strange bed.

Somehow he did not like it as well as the cot in the balcony below.

Just as he was dropping off into the long-delayed slumber, he heard a light tapping at his door. He sat up in bed like a flash, thoroughly wide awake. The rapping was repeated. He called out in cautious tones, asking who was there, at the same time slipping from bed to fumble in the darkness for his clothes.

"'Sh!" came from the hallway. He rushed over and put his ear to the door. "It is I. Are you awake? I can't stay here. It's wrong. Listen: here is a note--under the door. Good night, darling! I'm heartbroken."

"Thank G.o.d, it's you!" he cried softly. "How I love you, Constance!"

"'Sh! Edith is with me! Oh, I wish it were morning and I could see you.

I have so much to say."

Another querulous voice broke in: "For heaven's sake, Connie, don't stand here any longer. Our reputations are bad enough as it is. Good night--Roxbury!" He distinctly heard the heartless Edith giggle. Then came the soft, quick swish of garments and the nocturnal visitors were gone. He picked up the envelope and, waiting until they were safely down the hall, turned on the light.

"Dearest," he read, "it was not my fault and I know it was not yours.

But, oh, you don't know how I suffered all through those hours of waiting at the cafe. They did not find me until after two. They were drunk. They tried to explain. What do you think the authorities will do to me if they find that I gave that horrid man bribe money? Really, I'm terribly nervous. But he won't dare say anything, will he? He is as guilty as I, for he took it. He took it knowing that you were free at the time. But we will talk it over to-morrow. I've just got back to the hotel. I wouldn't go to bed until Edith brought me up to hear your dear voice. I am so glad you are not dead. It is impossible to release you to-night. Those wretches have the key. How I loathe them! Edith says the hotel is wild with gossip about _everything_ and _everybody_. It's just awful. Be of good heart, my beloved. I will be your faithful slave until death. With love and adoration and kisses. Your own Constance.

"P.S. Roxbury has not made a sign, Edith is frantic."

Several floors below the relieved and ecstatic Brock, Mrs. Medcroft was soon urging her sister to go to bed and let the story go until daylight.

She persisted in telling all that she had done and all that she had endured.

"We must never let him know that we actually gave that wretch nearly twenty-five hundred dollars, Edith. He would never forgive us. I admit that I was a fool and a ninny, so don't tell me I am. I can see by the way you are looking that you're just crazy to. It's all Roxbury's fault, anyway. Why should he get up and make a speech in London without letting us know? Just see how it has placed us! I think Mr. Brock is an angel to do what he has done for you and Roxbury. Yes, my dear, you will have to confess that Roxbury is a brute--a perfect brute. I'm sure, if you have a spark of fairness in you, you must hate him. No, no! Don't say anything, Edith. You _know_ I'm right."

"I'm not going to say anything," declared Edith angrily. "I'm going to bed."

"Edith, if you don't mind, dear, I think I'll sleep with you." After a moment of deep reflection she added plaintively: "There is so much that I just have to tell you, deary. It--it won't keep till daylight."

Bright and early in the morning, the tired, hara.s.sed night-farers were routed from their rooms by a demand from the management of the hotel that they appear forthwith in the private office. This order included every member of Mr. Rodney's party, excepting the Medcroft baby.

Considerably distressed and very much concerned over the probable outcome of the conference, the Rodney forces made their way to the offices--not altogether in an open fashion, but by humiliatingly unusual avenues. The Rodney family came down the back stairs. Brock was solemnly ushered through the public office by Mr. Odell-Carney and Freddie Ulstervelt. It is not stretching the truth to say that they were sour and sullen, but, as may be suspected, from peculiarly different causes.

At last all were congregated in the stuffy office, very much subdued and very much at odds with each other. Mr. Githens was there. Likewise the gentleman from the bank and a prominent person from the department of police.

Miss Fowler glanced about uneasily, and was relieved to discover that her treacherous gaoler was not there to confront her with charges. It had occurred to her that he might, after all, have tricked her into committing a crime against the government.

It was quite noticeable that Mrs. Rodney and Katherine did not speak to the Medcroft contingent--in fact, they ignored them quite completely.

Mrs. Rodney was very pale and very deeply distressed. She cast many glances at the red-eyed and sheepish Mr. Rodney,--glances that meant much to the further torture of his soul.

"I am sorry to inform you, Herr Rodney, that the rooms which you now occupy, and those of your friends, are no longer at your disposal. They have been engaged for from sometime this day by a--"

"Look here," interrupted Odell-Carney bluntly, "if you mean that we are not wanted here any longer, why not say so? Don't lie about it. We are leaving to-day, in any event, so wot's the odds? Now, come down to facts: why are we summoned here like a crowd of school children?"

The manager looked at Mr. Githens and then at the police officer.

"Ahem! It seems that Herr Grabetz of the police department desires to ask some questions of your party in my presence. You will understand, sir, that the hotel has been imposed upon by--by these people. It seems, also, that the bank insists upon having some light thrown upon the methods by which Mrs. Medcroft secures money on her letter of credit."

"You are welcome to all that, sir," declared Mr. Odell-Carney, "but I am interested to know just why my wife and I are brought into this affair."

"Because you are guests of Mr. Rodney, sir, I regret to state. We have no complaint against you, sir. _You_ are well known here. The--the others are not. They are--what you call it? Humbugs! It may be that they also have swindled you!"

Mr. Rodney, at this point, leaped to his feet and rushed over to shake his fist in the face of the insulting hotel man. But Edith Medcroft arose suddenly, like a tragedy queen, and spoke, her clear, determined voice stilling the turbulent spirit of her outraged host.

"One moment, please," she said. "This all can be satisfactorily explained. No wrong has been done. It will all be cleared up in time.

We--"

"In time?" interrupted the manager. "Madam, _this_ is the time. You are here with a man who is not your husband, yet who purports to be such."

"It may throw some light on the matter if I announce that the gentleman in question is _my_ affianced husband." It was Miss Fowler who spoke.

Every one stared at her as she moved over to Brock's side.

"If you will look in the office, you will find a telegram there for me,"

went on Mrs. Medcroft, pale but absolutely confident. The manager called out through the door. Absolute silence reigned while the reply was awaited.

"No telegram for Mrs. Medcroft last night or to-day," announced the manager sternly, as he glanced through the slim bunch of blue envelopes.

"There are four here for a Mr. Brock, who has not yet arrived in--"

"Brock!" shouted three voices in one.

A tall man, forgetting his English and his eyegla.s.s, sprang forward and grabbed the telegrams from the manager's hand. "Holy mackerel! Give 'em here!" he shouted. Two eager, beautiful young women were hanging to his elbows as he ruthlessly broke one of the seals. "The chump! It's from Rox! They're all from Rox--and they are two or three days old!"

Just then the unexpected happened.

The office door opened with a bang, and the real Roxbury Medcroft stepped into the room. He halted just inside the door and looked about in momentary bewilderment.

"This is a private--" began the manager, stepping forward. A flying figure sped past him; a delighted little shriek rang in his ears. He saw Edith Medcroft hurl herself into the arms of her own husband. At the same moment Brock bounded across the room and pounced eagerly upon the welcome intruder.

"Good Gawd!" gasped Odell-Carney. "Wot's all this?" His wife suddenly began fanning herself, searching for breath.

"_This_ is my husband!" cried Edith, triumph in her voice, tears in her eyes, as she faced the astonished observers. "Now, what have you to say?"

It was a perfectly natural but not an especially obvious question. The little manager threw up his hands and cried out in a sad mixture of French, English and Helvetian,--

"What? Another husband? Madam, how many more do you propose to inflict us with? We cannot allow it! The management will not permit you to change husbands the instant a new guest arrives in the house. It is not to be heard of--no, no!"

"Are you afraid that the books won't balance?" asked Brock with a joyous grin, a great load off his heart. "Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce Mr. Roxbury Medcroft, my friend and fellow conspirator. He is the husband of this lady, not I. I am to be the husband of _this_ lady, thank G.o.d."

There was a moment of absolute silence--it may have been stupor. The two audiences faced each other with emotions widely at variance. It was Mrs.

Rodney who spoke first.

"Is this true, Edith?" she quavered.