The Stolen Singer Part 32

Aleck Van Camp stayed at home, keeping a dog-watch on Melanie and Madame Reynier, whether they were at the Hillside or at the old red house. Now that the purposes of the Frenchman had been made clear, and since he was still at large, the world was no safe place for unattended women. Aleck pondered deeply over the situation.

"Is your amiable cousin's henchman a man to be scared off by our recent little encounter, do you think?" he asked of Melanie.

She considered. "He might be scared, easily enough. But I know well that he has a contempt for the usual machinery of the law. He has evaded it so many times that he thinks it an easy matter."

Aleck smiled whimsically. "I don't wonder at that, if he has had many experiences like the last."

"He boasts that he can bribe anybody."

"Ah, so! But how much rope would the duke give him, do you think, on a pinch?"

"All the rope he cares to take. Stephen's protection is all-powerful in Krolvetz; and elsewhere Chatelard depends, as I have said, on his wits."

"But there must be some limit to the duke's stretch of conscience!"

Melanie's eyes took on their far-away look. "Perhaps there is," she said at last, "but who can guess where that limit is? Besides, all he asks of his henchmen is results. He never inquires as to methods."

"Well, what do you think is the exact result Duke Stephen wants, in this case?"

"He wants me either to return to Krolvetz and marry his brother, or--"

Melanie's hesitation was prolonged.

"Or--what?'

"Or to disappear so completely that there will be no question of my return. You see, it's a peculiar case. If I marry without his consent--"

"Which you are about to do--" cut in Aleck.

"I simply forfeit my estates and they go into the public treasury, where they will be strictly accounted for. But if I marry Lorenzo--"

"Which is impossible--"

"Then the money goes into the family, of course, as my dot. Or--or, if I should die--in that case Stephen inherits the money. And there is no doubt but that Stephen needs money."

Aleck pondered for several minutes, while grave shadows threatened his face. But presently his smiling, unquenchable good temper came to the surface, and he gleefully tucked Melanie's hand under his arm.

"As I said before, you need a husband very badly."

"Oh, I don't know," she laughed.

The result of Aleck's moment of grave thought came a few days later, with the arrival of two quietly-dressed, unostentatious men. He told Melanie that one man was her chauffeur for the white machine, and the other was an extra hand he had engaged for the return trip on the _Sea Gull_. The chauffeur, however, for one reason or another, rarely took the wheel, and could have been seen walking at a distance behind Melanie whenever she stirred abroad. The extra hand for the _Sea Gull_ did just the same as the chauffeur.

From the day of the arrival of the manager, Mr. Hand's rather mysterious but friendly temper underwent a change for the worse. He not only continued silent, which might easily be counted a virtue, but he became almost sulky, which could only be called a crime. There was no bantering with Sallie in the kitchen, scarcely a friendly smile for Agatha herself. Mr. Hand was markedly out of sorts.

On the morning following Mr. Straker's request that Hand should repair the car, the manager found him tinkering in the carriage shed near the church. The car was jacked up on a horse-block, while one wheel lay near the road. Mr. Hand was as grimy and oily as the law allows, working over the machinery with a sort of vicious earnestness. Mr.

Straker hovered around for a few moments, then addressed Hand in that tone of pseudo-geniality that marks a certain type of politician.

"Look here, Colonel, I understand you were in the employ of that French anarchist."

It was an unlucky moment for attack, though Mr. Straker did not at once perceive it. Hand carefully wiped the oil from a neat ring of metal, slid down on his back under the car and screwed on a nut. As Mr.

Straker, hands in pockets and feet wide apart, watched the mechanician, there came through the silence and the sweet air the sound of thrushes calling from the wood beyond. Mr. Straker craned his head to look out at the church, then at the low stone wall, as if he expected to see the songsters performing on a stage before a row of footlights. He turned back to Mr. Hand.

"That's right, is it? You worked for the slippery Mounseer?"

"Uh-m," Hand grumbled, with a screw in his mouth. "Something like that."

"What'd you do?"

"I've found where she was wrenched in the turn-over. Got to have a new pin for this off wheel before she goes much farther."

"All right, I'll order one by telegraph to-day. What 'd you do, I asked."

Hand wriggled himself out from under the car and got on his feet. He thrust his grimy hands deep into his pockets, stood for a moment contemplative and belligerent, as if undecided whether to explode or not, and then silently walked away.

As Mr. Straker watched his figure moving slowly toward the kitchen, he started a long low whistle, expressive of suspicion and doubt. Midway, however, he changed to a lively tune whose t.i.tle was "I've got him on the run"--a cla.s.sic just then spreading up and down Broadway. He took a few turns about the car, looked at the gearing with a knowing air, and then went into the house.

If he had been a small boy, his mother would have punished him for stamping through the halls; being a grown man and a visitor, he may be described as walking with firm, bold tread. Finally he was able to run down Agatha, who was conferring with Sallie in the library.

Sallie sniffed in scorn of Mr. Straker, whom she disliked far worse than Mr. Hand; nevertheless, as she left the room she twisted up her gingham ap.r.o.n and tucked it into its band in a vague attempt at company manners. Mr. Straker lost no time in attacking Agatha.

"What d'you know about that chauffeur-nurse and general roustabout that's taking care of your young gentleman up-stairs?" he inquired bluntly.

Innocent of subtlety as Mr. Straker was, he was nevertheless keen enough to see that Agatha's instincts took alarm at his words. Indeed, one skilled in reading her face could have detected the nature of the uneasiness written there. She could not lie again, as she had unhesitatingly lied to the sheriff; neither could she abandon her position as protector to Mr. Hand. She wished for cleverness of the sort that could throw her manager off the scent, but saw no way other than the direct way.

"Nothing--I know almost nothing about him."

"Comes from N'York?"

"I fancy so."

"Well, take it from me, the sooner you get rid of him the better.

Chances are he's a man of no principle, and he'll do you."

Agatha was silent. Meantime Mr. Straker got his second wind.

"Of course he knows what he's about when it comes to a machine," the manager continued, "but mark me, he knows too much for an honest man.

Looks to me as if there wasn't anything on this green earth he can't do."

"Green ocean, too--he's quite as much at home there," laughed Agatha.

"Humph!" Mr. Straker grunted in disgust. "Let me a.s.sure you, Miss Redmond, that it's no joking matter."

Tradition to the contrary, Agatha was content to let the man have the last word. Mr. Straker turned to some business matters, wrote out telegraphic material enough to occupy the leisurely Charlesport operator for some hours, and then disappeared.

Agatha was impressed by the manager's words somewhat more than her manner implied. She had no swift and sure judgment of people, and her experience of the world, short as it was, had taught her that recklessness is a costly luxury. She was meditating as to the wisest course to pursue, when the ex-chauffeur appeared.

Hand wore his accustomed loose shirt and trousers without coat or waistcoat, and it seemed as if he had never known a hat. His thick hair was tumbled back from the forehead. His hands were now spotless, and his whole appearance agreeably clean and wholesome. He even looked as if he were going to be frank, but Agatha knew that must be a delusion. It was impossible, however, not to be somewhat cajoled--he was so eminently likable. Agatha took a lesson from his own book, and waited in silence for him to speak.