THREE MEN AND A MAID

by P. G. WODEHOUSE

1921

CHAPTER ONE

Through the curtained windows of the furnished apartment which Mrs. Horace Hignett had rented for her stay in New York rays of goldensunlight peeped in like the foremost spies of some advancing army. Itwas a fine summer morning. The hands of the Dutch clock in the hallpointed to thirteen minutes past nine; those of the ormolu clock in thesitting-room to eleven minutes past ten; those of the carriage clock onthe bookshelf to fourteen minutes to six. In other words, it wasexactly eight; and Mrs. Hignett acknowledged the fact by moving herhead on the pillow, opening her eyes, and sitting up in bed. She alwayswoke at eight precisely. 

Was this Mrs. Hignett _the_ Mrs. Hignett, the world-famous writeron Theosophy, the author of "The Spreading Light, " "What of theMorrow, " and all the rest of that well-known series? I'm glad you askedme. Yes, she was. She had come over to America on a lecturing tour. 

The year 1921, it will be remembered, was a trying one for theinhabitants of the United States. Every boat that arrived from Englandbrought a fresh swarm of British lecturers to the country. Novelists, poets, scientists, philosophers, and plain, ordinary bores; some herdinstinct seemed to affect them all simultaneously. It was like one ofthose great race movements of the Middle Ages. Men and women of widelydiffering views on religion, art, politics, and almost every othersubject; on this one point the intellectuals of Great Britain weresingle-minded, that there was easy money to be picked up on the lectureplatforms of America and that they might just as well grab it as thenext person. 

Mrs. Hignett had come over with the first batch of immigrants; for, spiritual as her writings were, there was a solid streak of businesssense in this woman and she meant to get hers while the getting wasgood. She was half way across the Atlantic with a complete itinerarybooked before 90 per cent. Of the poets and philosophershad finished sorting out their clean collars and getting theirphotographs taken for the passport. 

She had not left England without a pang, for departure had involvedsacrifices. More than anything else in the world she loved her charminghome, Windles, in the county of Hampshire, for so many years the seatof the Hignett family. Windles was as the breath of life to her. Itsshady walks, its silver lake, its noble elms, the old grey stone of itswalls--these were bound up with her very being. She felt that shebelonged to Windles, and Windles to her. Unfortunately, as a matter ofcold, legal accuracy, it did not. She did but hold it in trust for herson, Eustace, until such time as he should marry and take possession ofit himself. There were times when the thought of Eustace marrying andbringing a strange woman to Windles chilled Mrs. Hignett to her verymarrow. Happily, her firm policy of keeping her son permanently underher eye at home and never permitting him to have speech with a femalebelow the age of fifty had averted the peril up till now. 

Eustace had accompanied his mother to America. It was his faint snoreswhich she could hear in the adjoining room, as, having bathedand dressed, she went down the hall to where breakfast awaitedher. She smiled tolerantly. She had never desired to convert her son toher own early rising habits, for, apart from not allowing him to callhis soul his own, she was an indulgent mother. Eustace would get up athalf-past nine, long after she had finished breakfast, read her mail, and started her duties for the day. 

Breakfast was on the table in the sitting-room, a modest meal of rolls, cereal, and imitation coffee. Beside the pot containing this hell-brewwas a little pile of letters. Mrs. Hignett opened them as she ate. Themajority were from disciples and dealt with matters of purelytheosophical interest. There was an invitation from the Butterfly Clubasking her to be the guest of honour at their weekly dinner. There wasa letter from her brother Mallaby--Sir Mallaby Marlowe, the eminentLondon lawyer--saying that his son Sam, of whom she had never approved, would be in New York shortly, passing through on his way back toEngland, and hoping that she would see something of him. Altogether adull mail. Mrs. Hignett skimmed through it without interest, settingaside one or two of the letters for Eustace, who acted as her unpaidsecretary, to answer later in the day. 

She had just risen from the table when there was a sound of voices inthe hall, and presently the domestic staff, a gaunt Irish lady ofadvanced years, entered the room. 

"Ma'am, there was a gentleman. "

Mrs. Hignett was annoyed. Her mornings were sacred. 

"Didn't you tell him I was not to be disturbed?"

"I did not. I loosed him into the parlor. "

The staff remained for a moment in melancholy silence, then resumed. "He says he's your nephew. His name's Marlowe. "

Mrs. Hignett experienced no diminution of her annoyance. She had notseen her nephew Sam for ten years and would have been willing to extendthe period. She remembered him as an untidy small boy who, once ortwice, during his school holidays, had disturbed the cloistral peace ofWindles with his beastly presence. However, blood being thicker thanwater, and all that sort of thing, she supposed she would have to givehim five minutes. She went into the sitting-room and found there ayoung man who looked more or less like all other young men, thoughperhaps rather fitter than most. He had grown a good deal since she hadlast met him, as men will do between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, and was now about six feet in height, about forty inches round thechest, and in weight about one hundred and eighty pounds. He had abrown and amiable face, marred at the moment by an expression ofdiscomfort somewhat akin to that of a cat in a strange alley. 

"Hallo, Aunt Adeline!" he said awkwardly. 

"Well, Samuel!" said Mrs. Hignett. 

There was a pause. Mrs. Hignett, who was not fond of young men anddisliked having her mornings broken into, was thinking that he hadnot improved in the slightest degree since their last meeting; and Sam, who imagined that he had long since grown to man's estate and put offchildish things, was embarrassed to discover that his aunt stillaffected him as of old. That is to say, she made him feel as if he hadomitted to shave, and, in addition to that, had swallowed some drugwhich had caused him to swell unpleasantly, particularly about thehands and feet. 

"Jolly morning, " said Sam, perseveringly. 

"So I imagine. I have not yet been out. "

"Thought I'd look in and see how you were. "

"That was very kind of you. The morning is my busy time, but ... Yes, that was very kind of you!"

There was another pause. 

"How do you like America?" said Sam. 

"I dislike it exceedingly. "

"Yes? Well, of course some people do. Prohibition and all that. Personally, it doesn't affect me. I can take it or leave it alone. "

"The reason I dislike America--" began Mrs. Hignett bridling. 

"I like it myself, " said Sam. "I've had a wonderful time. Everybody'streated me like a rich uncle. I've been in Detroit, you know, and theypractically gave me the city and asked me if I'd like another to takehome in my pocket. Never saw anything like it. I might have been themissing heir. I think America's the greatest invention on record. "

"And what brought you to America?" said Mrs. Hignett, unmoved by thisrhapsody. 

"Oh, I came over to play golf. In a tournament, you know. "

"Surely at your age, " said Mrs. Hignett, disapprovingly, "you could bebetter occupied. Do you spend your whole time playing golf?"

"Oh, no. I hunt a bit and shoot a bit and I swim a good lot, and Istill play football occasionally. "

"I wonder your father does not insist on your doing some useful work. "

"He is beginning to harp on the subject rather. I suppose I shall takea stab at it sooner or later. Father says I ought to get married, too. "

"He is perfectly right. "

"I suppose old Eustace will be getting hitched up one of these days?"said Sam. 

Mrs. Hignett started violently. 

"Why do you say that?"

"Eh?"

"What makes you say that?"

"Oh, well, he's a romantic sort of fellow. Writes poetry and all that. "

"There is no likelihood at all of Eustace marrying. He is of a shy andretiring temperament and sees few women. He is almost a recluse. "

Sam was aware of this and had frequently regretted it. He had alwaysbeen fond of his cousin and in that half-amused and rather patronisingway in which men of thews and sinews are fond of the weaker brethrenwho run more to pallor and intellect; and he had always felt that ifEustace had not had to retire to Windles to spend his life with a womanwhom from his earliest years he had always considered the Empress ofthe Wash-outs much might have been made of him. Both at school and atOxford, Eustace had been--if not a sport--at least a decidedly cheeryold bean. Sam remembered Eustace at school breaking gas globes with aslipper in a positively rollicking manner. He remembered him at Oxfordplaying up to him manfully at the piano on the occasion when he haddone that imitation of Frank Tinney which had been such a hit at theTrinity smoker. Yes, Eustace had had the makings of a pretty sound egg, and it was too bad that he had allowed his mother to coop him up downin the country miles away from anywhere. 

"Eustace is returning to England on Saturday, " said Mrs. Hignett. Shespoke a little wistfully. She had not been parted from her son since hehad come down from Oxford; and she would have liked to keep him withher till the end of her lecturing tour. That, however, was out of thequestion. It was imperative that, while she was away, he should be atWindles. Nothing would have induced her to leave the place at themercy of servants who might trample over the flower-beds, scratch thepolished floors, and forget to cover up the canary at night. "He sailson the _Atlantic_. "

"That's splendid, " said Sam. "I'm sailing on the _Atlantic_ myself. I'll go down to the office and see if we can't have a state-roomtogether. But where is he going to live when he gets to England?"

"Where is he going to live? Why, at Windles, of course. Where else?"

"But I thought you were letting Windles for the summer?"

Mrs. Hignett stared. 

"Letting Windles!" She spoke as one might address a lunatic. "What putthat extraordinary idea into your head?"

"I thought father said something about your letting the place to someAmerican. "

"Nothing of the kind!"

It seemed to Sam that his aunt spoke somewhat vehemently, evensnappishly, in correcting what was a perfectly natural mistake. Hecould not know that the subject of letting Windles for the summer wasone which had long since begun to infuriate Mrs. Hignett. People hadcertainly asked her to let Windles. In fact people had pestered her. Therewas a rich fat man, an American named Bennett, whom she had met justbefore sailing at her brother's house in London. Invited down to Windlesfor the day, Mr. Bennett had fallen in love with the place and had beggedher to name her own price. Not content with this, he had pursued herwith his pleadings by means of the wireless telegraph while she was onthe ocean, and had not given up the struggle even when she reached NewYork. He had egged on a friend of his, a Mr. Mortimer, to continue thepersecution in that city. And, this very morning, among the letters onMrs. Hignett's table, the buff envelope of a cable from Mr. Bennett hadpeeped out, nearly spoiling her breakfast. No wonder, then, that Sam'sallusion to the affair had caused the authoress of "The SpreadingLight" momentarily to lose her customary calm. 

"Nothing will induce me ever to let Windles, " she said with finality, and rose significantly. Sam, perceiving that the audience was at anend--and glad of it--also got up. 

"Well, I think I'll be going down and seeing about that state-room, " hesaid. 

"Certainly. I am a little busy just now, preparing notes for my nextlecture. "

"Of course, yes. Mustn't interrupt you. I suppose you're having a greattime, gassing away--I mean--well, good-bye!"

"Good-bye!"

Mrs. Hignett, frowning, for the interview had ruffled her and disturbedthat equable frame of mind which is so vital to the preparation oflectures on Theosophy, sat down at the writing-table and began to gothrough the notes which she had made overnight. She had hardlysucceeded in concentrating herself when the door opened to admit thedaughter of Erin once more. 

"Ma'am there was a gentleman. "

"This is intolerable!" cried Mrs. Hignett. "Did you tell him that I wasbusy?"

"I did not. I loosed him into the dining-room. "

"Is he a reporter from one of the newspapers?"

"He is not. He has spats and a tall-shaped hat. His name is BreamMortimer. "

"Bream Mortimer!"

"Yes, ma'am. He handed me a bit of a kyard, but I dropped it, beingslippy from the dishes. "

Mrs. Hignett strode to the door with a forbidding expression. This, asshe had justly remarked, was intolerable. She remembered BreamMortimer. He was the son of the Mr. Mortimer who was the friend of theMr. Bennett who wanted Windles. This visit could only have to do withthe subject of Windles, and she went into the dining-room in a state ofcold fury, determined to squash the Mortimer family once and for all. 

Bream Mortimer was tall and thin. He had small, bright eyes and asharply curving nose. He looked much more like a parrot than mostparrots do. It gave strangers a momentary shock of surprise when theysaw Bream Mortimer in restaurants eating roast beef. They had thefeeling that he would have preferred sun-flower seeds. 

"Morning, Mrs. Hignett. "

"Please sit down. "

Bream Mortimer sat down. He looked as though he would rather havehopped on to a perch, but he sat down. He glanced about the room withgleaming, excited eyes. 

"Mrs. Hignett, I must have a word with you alone!"

"You _are_ having a word with me alone. "

"I hardly know how to begin. "

"Then let me help you. It is quite impossible. I will never consent. "

Bream Mortimer started. 

"Then you have heard!"

"I have heard about nothing else since I met Mr. Bennett in London. Mr. Bennett talked about nothing else. Your father talked about nothingelse. And now, " cried Mrs. Hignett fiercely, "you come and try toreopen the subject. Once and for all nothing will alter my decision. Nomoney will induce me to let my house. "

"But I didn't come about that!"

"You did not come about Windles?"

"Good Lord, no!"

"Then will you kindly tell me why you have come?"

Bream Mortimer looked embarrassed. He wriggled a little and moved hisarms as if he were trying to flap them. 

"You know, " he said, "I'm not a man who butts into other people'saffairs. " ... He stopped. 

"No?" said Mrs. Hignett. 

Bream began again. 

"I'm not a man who gossips with servants. "

"No?"

"I'm not a man who.... "

Mrs. Hignett was never a very patient woman. 

"Let us take all your negative qualities for granted, " she said curtly. "I have no doubt that there are many things which you do not do. Let usconfine ourselves to issues of definite importance. What is it, if youhave no objection to concentrating your attention on that for a moment, that you wish to see me about?"

"This marriage. "

"What marriage?"

"Your son's marriage. "

"My son is not married. "

"No, but he's going to be. At eleven o'clock this morning at the LittleChurch Round the Corner!"

Mrs. Hignett stared. 

"Are you mad?"

"Well, I'm not any too well pleased, I'm bound to say, " admitted Mr. Mortimer. "You see, darn it all, I'm in love with the girl myself!"

"Who is this girl?"

"Have been for years. I'm one of those silent, patient fellows who hangaround and look a lot, but never tell their love.... "

"Who is this girl who has entrapped my son?"

"I've always been one of those men who.... "

"Mr. Mortimer! With your permission we will take your positivequalities, also, for granted. In fact, we will not discuss you at all. You come to me with this absurd story.... "

"Not absurd. Honest fact. I had it from my valet, who had it from hermaid, and, though I'm not a man who gossips with servants, I'm bound tosay.... "

"Will you please tell me who is the girl my misguided son wishes tomarry?"

"I don't know that I'd call him misguided, " said Mr. Mortimer, as onedesiring to be fair, "I think he's a right smart picker! She's such acorking girl, you know. We were children together, and I've loved herfor years. Ten years at least. But you know how it is--somehow onenever seems to get in line for a proposal. I thought I saw an openingin the summer of nineteen-twelve, but it blew over. I'm not one ofthese smooth, dashing guys, you see, with a great line of talk. I'mnot.... "

"If you will kindly, " said Mrs. Hignett impatiently, "postpone thisessay in psycho-analysis to some future occasion I shall be greatlyobliged. I am waiting to hear the name of the girl my son wishes tomarry. "

"Haven't I told you?" said Mr. Mortimer, surprised. "That's odd. Ihaven't! It's funny how one doesn't do the things one thinks one does. I'm the sort of man... "

"What is her name?"

"Bennett. "

"Bennett? Wilhelmina Bennett? The daughter of Mr. Rufus Bennett? Thered-haired girl I met at lunch one day at your father's house?"

"That's it. You're a great guesser. I think you ought to stop thething. "

"I intend to. "

"Fine!"

"The marriage would be unsuitable in every way. Miss Bennett and my sondo not vibrate on the same plane. "

"That's right. I've noticed it myself. "

"Their auras are not the same colour. "

"If I've thought that once, " said Bream Mortimer, "I've thought it ahundred times. I wish I had a dollar for every time I've thought it. Not the same colour! That's the whole thing in a nutshell. "

"I am much obliged to you for coming and telling me of this. I shalltake immediate steps. "

"That's good! But what's the procedure? How are you going to form aflying-wedge and buck-centre? It's getting late. She'll be waiting atthe church at eleven. With bells on, " said Mr. Mortimer. 

"Eustace will not be there. "

"You think you can fix it?"

"Eustace will not be there, " repeated Mrs. Hignett. 

Bream Mortimer hopped down from his chair. 

"Well, you've taken a weight off my mind. "

"A mind, I should imagine, scarcely constructed to bear great weights. "

"I'll be going. Haven't had breakfast yet. Too worried to eatbreakfast. Relieved now. This is where three eggs and a rasher of hamget cut off in their prime. I feel I can rely on you. "

"You can!"

"Then I'll say good-bye. "

"Good-bye. "

"I mean really good-bye. I'm sailing for England on Saturday on the_Atlantic_. "

"Indeed? My son will be your fellow-traveller. "

Bream Mortimer looked somewhat apprehensive. 

"You won't tell him that I was the one who spilled the beans?"

"I beg your pardon. "

"You won't wise him up that I threw a spanner into the machinery?"

"I do not understand you. "

"You won't tell him that I crabbed his act--gave the thing away--gummedthe game?"

"I shall not mention your chivalrous intervention. "

"Chivalrous?" said Bream Mortimer doubtfully. "I don't know that I'dcall it absolutely chivalrous. Of course, all's fair in love and war. Well, I'm glad you're going to keep my share in the business under yourhat. It might have been awkward meeting him on board. "

"You are not likely to meet Eustace on board. He is a very indifferentsailor and spends most of his time in his cabin. "

"That's good! Saves a lot of awkwardness. Well, good-bye. "

"Good-bye. When you reach England remember me to your father. "

"He won't have forgotten you, " said Bream Mortimer confidently. He didnot see how it was humanly possible for anyone to forget this woman. She was like a celebrated chewing-gum. The taste lingered. 

Mrs. Hignett was a woman of instant and decisive action. Even while herlate visitor was speaking schemes had begun to form in her mind likebubbles rising to the surface of a rushing river. By the time the doorhad closed behind Bream Mortimer she had at her disposal no fewer thanseven, all good. It took her but a moment to select the best andsimplest. She tip-toed softly to her son's room. Rhythmic snoresgreeted her listening ears. She opened the door and went noiselesslyin. 

CHAPTER TWO

The White Star liner _Atlantic_ lay at her pier with steam up andgangway down ready for her trip to Southampton. The hour of departurewas near and there was a good deal of mixed activity going on. Sailorsfiddled about with ropes. Junior officers flitted to and fro. White-jacketed stewards wrestled with trunks. Probably the captain, though not visible, was also employed on some useful work of a nauticalnature and not wasting his time. Men, women, boxes, rugs, dogs, flowersand baskets of fruit were flowing on board in a steady stream. 

The usual drove of citizens had come to see the travellers off. Therewere men on the passenger-list who were being seen off by fathers, bymothers, by sisters, by cousins, and by aunts. In the steerage there wasan elderly Jewish lady who was being seen off by exactly thirty-sevenof her late neighbours in Rivington Street. And two men in thesecond cabin were being seen off by detectives, surely the crowningcompliment a great nation can bestow. The cavernous customs shed wascongested with friends and relatives, and Sam Marlowe, heading for thegang-plank, was only able to make progress by employing all the muscleand energy which Nature had bestowed upon him, and which during thetwenty-five years of his life he had developed by athletic exercise. However, after some minutes of silent endeavour, now driving his shoulderinto the midriff of some obstructing male, now courteously lifting somestout female off his feet, he had succeeded in struggling to within a fewyards of his goal, when suddenly a sharp pain shot through his right armand he spun round with a cry. 

It seemed to Sam that he had been bitten, and this puzzled him, for NewYork crowds, though they may shove and jostle, rarely bite. 

He found himself face to face with an extraordinarily pretty girl. 

She was a red-haired girl with the beautiful ivory skin which goes withred hair. Her eyes, though they were under the shadow of her hat, andhe could not be certain, he diagnosed as green, or maybe blue, orpossibly grey. Not that it mattered, for he had a catholic taste infeminine eyes. So long as they were large and bright, as werethe specimens under his immediate notice, he was not the man toquibble about a point of colour. Her nose was small, and on the verytip of it there was a tiny freckle. Her mouth was nice and wide, herchin soft and round. She was just about the height which every girlought to be. Her figure was trim, her feet tiny, and she wore one ofthose dresses of which a man can say no more than that they look prettywell all right. 

Nature abhors a vacuum. Samuel Marlowe was a susceptible young man, andfor many a long month his heart had been lying empty, all swept andgarnished, with "Welcome" on the mat. This girl seemed to rush in andfill it. She was not the prettiest girl he had ever seen. She was thethird prettiest. He had an orderly mind, one capable of classifying anddocketing girls. But there was a subtle something about her, a sort ofhow-shall-one-put-it, which he had never encountered before. Heswallowed convulsively. His well-developed chest swelled beneath itscovering of blue flannel and invisible stripe. At last, he toldhimself, he was in love, really in love, and at first sight, too, whichmade it all the more impressive. He doubted whether in the wholecourse of history anything like this had ever happened before toanybody. Oh, to clasp this girl to him and--

But she had bitten him in the arm. That was hardly the right spirit. That, he felt, constituted an obstacle. 

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she cried. 

Well, of course, if she regretted her rash act ... After all, animpulsive girl might bite a man in the arm in the excitement of themoment and still have a sweet, womanly nature.... 

"The crowd seems to make Pinky-Boodles so nervous. "

Sam might have remained mystified, but at this juncture there proceededfrom a bundle of rugs in the neighbourhood of the girl's lower ribs asharp yapping sound, of such a calibre as to be plainly audible overthe confused noise of Mamies who were telling Sadies to be sure andwrite, of Bills who were instructing Dicks to look up old Joe in Parisand give him their best, and of all the fruit-boys, candy-boys, magazine-boys, American-flag-boys, and telegraph boys who were honkingtheir wares on every side. 

"I hope he didn't hurt you much. You're the third person he's bittento-day. " She kissed the animal in a loving and congratulatory way on thetip of his black nose. "Not counting bell-boys, of course, " she added. And then she was swept from him in the crowd and he was left thinkingof all the things he might have said--all those graceful, witty, ingratiating things which just make a bit of difference on theseoccasions. 

He had said nothing. Not a sound, exclusive of the first sharp yowl ofpain, had proceeded from him. He had just goggled. A rotten exhibition!Perhaps he would never see this girl again. She looked the sort of girlwho comes to see friends off and doesn't sail herself. And what memoryof him would she retain? She would mix him up with the time when shewent to visit the deaf-and-dumb hospital. 

Sam reached the gang-plank, showed his ticket, and made his way throughthe crowd of passengers, passengers' friends, stewards, juniorofficers, and sailors who infested the deck. He proceeded down the maincompanion-way, through a rich smell of india-rubber and mixed pickles, as far as the dining-saloon: then turned down the narrow passageleading to his stateroom. 

Staterooms on ocean liners are curious things. When you see them on thechart in the passenger-office, with the gentlemanly clerk drawing ringsround them in pencil, they seem so vast that you get the impressionthat, after stowing away all your trunks, you will have room left overto do a bit of entertaining--possibly an informal dance or something. When you go on board you find that the place has shrunk to thedimensions of an undersized cupboard in which it would be impossible toswing a cat. And then, about the second day out, it suddenly expandsagain. For one reason or another the necessity for swinging cats doesnot arise and you find yourself quite comfortable. 

Sam, balancing himself on the narrow, projecting ledge which the chartin the passenger-office had grandiloquently described as a lounge, began to feel the depression which marks the second phase. He almostwished now that he had not been so energetic in having his room changedin order to enjoy the company of his cousin Eustace. It was going to bea tight fit. Eustace's bag was already in the cabin, and it seemed totake up the entire fairway. Still, after all, Eustace was a good sort, and would be a cheerful companion. And Sam realised that if that girlwith the red hair was not a passenger on the boat he was going to haveneed of diverting society. 

A footstep sounded in the passage outside. The door opened. 

"Hullo, Eustace!" said Sam. 

Eustace Hignett nodded listlessly, sat down on his bag and emitted adeep sigh. He was a small, fragile-looking young man with a pale, intellectual face. Dark hair fell in a sweep over his forehead. Helooked like a man who would write _vers libre_, as indeed he did. "Hullo!" he said, in a hollow voice. 

Sam regarded him blankly. He had not seen him for some years, but, going by his recollections of him at the University, he had expectedsomething cheerier than this. In fact, he had rather been relying onEustace to be the life and soul of the party. The man sitting on thebag before him could hardly have filled that role at a gathering ofRussian novelists. 

"What on earth's the matter?" said Sam. 

"The matter?" Eustace Hignett laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, nothing. Nothing much. Nothing to signify. Only my heart's broken. " He eyed withconsiderable malignity the bottle of water in the rack above his head, a harmless object provided by the White Star Company for clients whomight desire to clean their teeth during the voyage. 

"If you would care to hear the story?" he said. 

"Go ahead. "

"It is quite short. "

"That's good. "

"Soon after I arrived in America I met a girl.... "

"Talking of girls, " said Marlowe with enthusiasm. "I've just seen theonly one in the world that really amounts to anything. It was likethis. I was shoving my way through the mob on the dock, whensuddenly.... "

"Shall I tell you my story, or will you tell me yours?"

"Oh, sorry! Go ahead. "

Eustace Hignett scowled at the printed notice on the wall informingoccupants of the stateroom that the name of their steward was J. B. Midgeley. 

"She was an extraordinarily pretty girl.... "

"So was mine. I give you my honest word I never in all my life sawsuch.... "

"Of course, if you would prefer that I postponed my narrative?" saidEustace coldly. 

"Oh, sorry! Carry on. "

"She was an extraordinarily pretty girl.... "

"What was her name?"

"Wilhelmina Bennett. She was an extraordinarily pretty girl and highlyintelligent. I read her all my poems and she appreciated themimmensely. She enjoyed my singing. My conversation appeared to interesther. She admired my.... "

"I see. You made a hit. Now get on with the rest of the story. "

"Don't bustle me, " said Eustace querulously. 

"Well, you know, the voyage only takes eight days. "

"I've forgotten where I was. "

"You were saying what a devil of a chap she thought you. What happened?I suppose, when you actually came to propose, you found she was engagedto some other johnny?"

"Not at all. I asked her to be my wife, and she consented. We bothagreed that a quiet wedding was what we wanted--she thought her fathermight stop the thing if he knew, and I was dashed sure my motherwould--so we decided to get married without telling anybody. By now, "said Eustace, with a morose glance at the porthole, "I ought to havebeen on my honeymoon. Everything was settled. I had the license andthe parson's fee. I had been breaking in a new tie for the wedding. "

"And then you quarrelled?"

"Nothing of the kind. I wish you would stop trying to tell me thestory. I'm telling _you_. What happened was this: somehow--I can'tmake out how--mother found out. And then, of course, it was all over. She stopped the thing. "

Sam was indignant. He thoroughly disliked his Aunt Adeline, and hiscousin's meek subservience to her revolted him. 

"Stopped it? I suppose she said, 'Now, Eustace, you mustn't!' and yousaid, 'Very well, mother!' and scratched the fixture?"

"She didn't say a word. She never has said a word. As far as that goesshe might never have heard anything about the marriage. "

"Then how do you mean she stopped it?"

"She pinched my trousers!"

"Pinched your trousers?"

Eustace groaned. "All of them! The whole bally lot! She gets up longbefore I do, and she must have come into my room and cleaned it outwhile I was asleep. When I woke up and started to dress I couldn't finda solitary pair of bags anywhere in the whole place. I lookedeverywhere. Finally, I went into the sitting-room where she was writingletters and asked if she had happened to see any anywhere. She said shehad sent them all to be pressed. She said she knew I never went out inthe mornings--I don't as a rule--and they would be back at lunch-time, A fat lot of use that was! I had to be at the church at eleven. Well, Itold her I had a most important engagement with a man at eleven, andshe wanted to know what it was and I tried to think of something, butit sounded pretty feeble and she said I had better telephone to the manand put it off. I did it, too. Rang up the first number in the book andtold some fellow I had never seen in my life that I couldn't meet him!He was pretty peeved, judging from what he said about my being on thewrong line. And mother listening all the time, and I knowing that sheknew--something told me that she knew--and she knowing that I knew sheknew--I tell you it was awful!"

"And the girl?"

"She broke off the engagement. Apparently she waited at the church fromeleven till one-thirty and then began to get impatient. She wouldn'tsee me when I called in the afternoon, but I got a letter from hersaying that what had happened was all for the best as she had beenthinking it over and had come to the conclusion that she had made amistake. She said something about my not being as dynamic as she hadthought I was. She said that what she wanted was something more likeLancelot or Sir Galahad, and would I look on the episode as closed. "

"Did you explain about the trousers?"

"Yes. It seemed to make things worse. She said that she could forgive aman anything except being ridiculous. "

"I think you're well out of it, " said Sam judicially. "She can't havebeen much of a girl. "

"I feel that now. But it doesn't alter the fact that my life is ruined. I have become a woman-hater. It's an infernal nuisance, becausepractically all the poetry I have ever written rather went out of itsway to boost women, and now I'll have to start all over again andapproach the subject from another angle. Women! When I think how motherbehaved and how Wilhelmina treated me I wonder there isn't a lawagainst them. 'What mighty ills have not been done by Woman! Who was itbetrayed the Capitol!'"

"In Washington?" said Sam puzzled. He had heard nothing of this. Butthen he generally confined his reading of the papers to the sportingpage. 

"In Rome, you ass! Ancient Rome. "

"Oh, as long ago as that?"

"I was quoting from Thomas Otway's 'Orphan. ' I wish I could write likeOtway. He knew what he was talking about. 'Who was't betrayed theCapitol? A woman. Who lost Marc Antony the world? A woman. Who was thecause of a long ten years' war and laid at last old Troy in ashes?Woman! Destructive, damnable, deceitful woman!'"

"Well, of course, he may be right in a way. As regards some women, Imean. But the girl I met on the dock--"

"Don't!" said Eustace Hignett. "If you have anything bitter andderogatory to say about women, say it and I will listen eagerly. But ifyou merely wish to gibber about the ornamental exterior of some dashedgirl you have been fool enough to get attracted by, go and tell it tothe captain or the ship's cat or J. B. Midgeley. Do try to realise thatI am a soul in torment! I am a ruin, a spent force, a man without afuture! What does life hold for me? Love? I shall never love again. My work? I haven't any. I think I shall take to drink. "

"Talking of that, " said Sam, "I suppose they open the bar directly wepass the three-mile limit. How about a small one?"

Eustace shook his head gloomily. 

"Do you suppose I pass my time on board ship in gadding about andfeasting? Directly the vessel begins to move I go to bed and staythere. As a matter of fact I think it would be wisest to go to bed now. Don't let me keep you if you want to go on deck. "

"It looks to me, " said Sam, "as if I had been mistaken in thinking thatyou were going to be a ray of sunshine on the voyage. "

"Ray of sunshine!" said Eustace Hignett, pulling a pair of mauvepyjamas out of the kit-bag. "I'm going to be a volcano!"

 * * * * *

Sam left the state-room and headed for the companion. He wanted to geton deck and ascertain if that girl was still on board. About now thesheep would be separating from the goats: the passengers would be ondeck and their friends returning to the shore. A slight tremor on theboards on which he trod told him that this separation must have alreadytaken place. The ship was moving. He ran lightly up the companion. Wasshe on board or was she not? The next few minutes would decide. Hereached the top of the stairs and passed out on to the crowded deck. And, as he did so, a scream, followed by confused shouting, came fromthe rail nearest the shore. He perceived that the rail was black withpeople hanging over it. They were all looking into the water. 

Samuel Marlowe was not one of those who pass aloofly by when there isexcitement toward. If a horse fell down in the street, he was alwaysamong those present: and he was never too busy to stop and stare at ablank window on which were inscribed the words "Watch this space!" Inshort, he was one of Nature's rubbernecks, and to dash to the rail andshove a fat man in a tweed cap to one side was with him the work of amoment. He had thus an excellent view of what was going on--a viewwhich he improved the next instant by climbing up and kneeling on therail. 

There was a man in the water, a man whose upper section, the only onevisible, was clad in a blue jersey. He wore a Derby hat, and from timeto time as he battled with the waves, he would put up a hand and adjustthis more firmly on his head. A dressy swimmer. 

Scarcely had he taken in this spectacle when Marlowe became aware ofthe girl he had met on the dock. She was standing a few feet awayleaning out over the rail with wide eyes and parted lips. Likeeverybody else she was staring into the water. 

As Sam looked at her the thought crossed his mind that here was awonderful chance of making the most tremendous impression on this girl. What would she not think of a man who, reckless of his own safety, dived in and went boldly to the rescue? And there were men, no doubt, who would be chumps enough to do it, he thought, as he prepared toshift back to a position of greater safety. 

At this moment, the fat man in the tweed cap, incensed at having beenjostled out of the front row, made his charge. He had but beencrouching, the better to spring. Now he sprang. His full weight tookSam squarely in the spine. There was an instant in which that young manhung, as it were, between sea and sky; then he shot down over the railto join the man in the blue jersey, who had just discovered that hishat was not on straight and had paused to adjust it once more with afew skilful touches of the finger. 

 * * * * *

In the brief interval of time which Marlowe had spent in the state-room, chatting with Eustace about the latter's bruised soul, somerather curious things had been happening above. Not extraordinary, perhaps, but curious. These must now be related. A story, if it is togrip the reader, should, I am aware, go always forward. It shouldmarch. It should leap from crag to crag like the chamois of the Alps. If there is one thing I hate, it is a novel which gets you interestedin the hero in chapter one and then cuts back in chapter two to tellyou all about his grandfather. Nevertheless, at this point we must goback a space. We must return to the moment when, having deposited herPekinese dog in her state-room, the girl with the red hair came outagain on deck. This happened just about the time when Eustace Hignettwas beginning his narrative. 

By now the bustle which precedes the departure of an ocean liner was atits height. Hoarse voices were crying, "All for the shore!" The gangwaywas thronged with friends of passengers returning to land. The crowd onthe pier waved flags and handkerchiefs and shouted unintelligibly. Members of the crew stood alertly by the gang-plank ready to draw it inas soon as the last seer-off had crossed it. 

The girl went to the rail and gazed earnestly at the shore. There wasan anxious expression on her face. She had the air of one who waswaiting for someone to appear. Her demeanour was that of Mariana at theMoated Grange. "He cometh not!" she seemed to be saying. She glanced ather wrist-watch, then scanned the dock once more. 

There was a rattle as the gang-plank moved inboard and was deposited onthe deck. The girl uttered a little cry of dismay. Then suddenly herface brightened and she began to wave her arm to attract the attentionof an elderly man with a red face made redder by exertion, who had justforced his way to the edge of the dock and was peering up at thepassenger-lined rail. 

The boat had now begun to move slowly out of its slip, backing into theriver. Ropes had been cast off, and an ever widening strip of waterappeared between the vessel and the shore. It was now that the man onthe dock sighted the girl. She gesticulated at him. He gesticulated ather. She appeared helpless and baffled, but he showed himself a personof resource of the stuff of which great generals are made. Foch is justlike that, a bird at changing pre-conceived plans to suit the exigenciesof the moment. 

The man on the dock took from his pocket a pleasantly rotund wad ofcurrency bills. He produced a handkerchief, swiftly tied up the billsin it, backed to give himself room, and then, with all the strength ofhis arm, he hurled the bills in the direction of the deck. The actionwas greeted by cheers from a warm-hearted populace. Your New York crowdloves a liberal provider. 

One says that the man hurled the bills in the direction of the deck, and that was exactly what he did. But the years had robbed hispitching-arm of the limber strength which, forty summers back, had madehim the terror of opposing boys' baseball teams. He still retained afair control but he lacked steam. The handkerchief with its preciouscontents shot in a graceful arc towards the deck, fell short by a goodsix feet and dropped into the water, where it unfolded like a lily, sending twenty-dollar bills, ten-dollar bills, five-dollar bills, andan assortment of ones floating over the wavelets. The cheers of thecitizenry changed to cries of horror. The girl uttered a plaintiveshriek. The boat moved on. 

It was at this moment that Mr. Oscar Swenson, one of the thriftiestsouls who ever came out of Sweden, perceived that the chance of alifetime had arrived for adding substantially to his little savings. Byprofession he was one of those men who eke out a precarious livelihoodby rowing dreamily about the waterfront in skiffs. He was doing so now:and, as he sat meditatively in his skiff, having done his best to givethe liner a good send-off by paddling round her in circles, thepleading face of a twenty-dollar bill peered up at him. Mr. Swenson wasnot the man to resist the appeal. He uttered a sharp bark of ecstasy, pressed his Derby hat firmly upon his brow and dived in. A moment laterhe had risen to the surface and was gathering up money with both hands. 

He was still busy with this congenial task when a tremendous splash athis side sent him under again; and, rising for a second time, heobserved with not a little chagrin that he had been joined by a youngman in a blue flannel suit with an invisible stripe. 

"Svensk!" exclaimed Mr. Swenson, or whatever it is that natives ofSweden exclaim in moments of justifiable annoyance. He resented theadvent of this newcomer. He had been getting along fine and had had thesituation well in hand. To him Sam Marlowe represented Competition, andMr. Swenson desired no competitors in his treasure-seeking enterprise. He travels, thought Mr. Swenson, the fastest who travels alone. 

Sam Marlowe had a touch of the philosopher in him. He had the abilityto adapt himself to circumstances. It had been no part of his plans tocome whizzing down off the rail into this singularly soup-like waterwhich tasted in equal parts of oil and dead rats; but, now that he washere he was prepared to make the best of the situation. Swimming, ithappened, was one of the things he did best, and somewhere among hisbelongings at home was a tarnished pewter cup which he had won atschool in the "Saving Life" competition. He knew exactly what to do. You get behind the victim and grab him firmly under his arms, and thenyou start swimming on your back. A moment later the astonished Mr. Swenson, who, being practically amphibious, had not anticipated thatanyone would have the cool impertinence to try and save him fromdrowning, found himself seized from behind and towed vigorously awayfrom a ten-dollar bill which he had almost succeeded in grasping. Thespiritual agony caused by this assault rendered him mercifully dumb;though, even had he contrived to utter the rich Swedish oaths whichoccurred to him, his remarks could scarcely have been heard, for thecrowd on the dock was cheering as one man. They had often paid goodmoney to see far less gripping sights in the movies. They roaredapplause. The liner, meanwhile, continued to move stodgily out intomid-river. 

The only drawback to these life-saving competitions at school, considered from the standpoint of fitting the competitors for theproblems of after-life, is that the object saved on such occasions is aleather dummy, and of all things in this world a leather dummy isperhaps the most placid and phlegmatic. It differs in many respectsfrom an emotional Swedish gentleman, six foot high and constructedthroughout of steel and india rubber, who is being lugged away fromcash which he has been regarding in the light of a legacy. Indeed, itwould not be hard to find a respect in which it does not differ. So farfrom lying inert in Sam's arms and allowing himself to be saved in aquiet and orderly manner, Mr. Swenson betrayed all the symptoms of onewho feels that he has fallen among murderers. Mr. Swenson, much as hedisliked competition, was ready to put up with it, provided that it wasfair competition. This pulling your rival away from the loot so thatyou could grab it yourself--thus shockingly had the man misinterpretedSam's motives--was another thing altogether and his stout soul wouldhave none of it. He began immediately to struggle with all the violenceat his disposal. His large, hairy hands came out of the water and swunghopefully in the direction where he assumed his assailant's face to be. 

Sam was not unprepared for this display. His researches in the art oflife-saving had taught him that your drowning man frequently struggledagainst his best interests. In which case, cruel to be kind, one simplystunned the blighter. He decided to stun Mr. Swenson, though, if he hadknown that gentleman more intimately and had been aware that he had thereputation of possessing the thickest head on the water-front he wouldhave realised the magnitude of the task. Friends of Mr. Swenson, inconvivial moments, had frequently endeavoured to stun him with bottles, boots, and bits of lead piping, and had gone away depressed by failure. Sam, ignorant of this, attempted to do the job with clenched fist, which he brought down as smartly as possible on the crown of theother's Derby hat. 

It was the worst thing he could have done. Mr. Swenson thought highlyof his hat and this brutal attack upon it confirmed his gloomiestapprehensions. Now thoroughly convinced that the only thing to do wasto sell his life dearly he wrenched himself round, seized his assailantby the neck, twined his arms about his middle, and accompanied himbelow the surface. 

By the time he had swallowed his first pint and was beginning hissecond, Sam was reluctantly compelled to come to the conclusion thatthis was the end. The thought irritated him unspeakably. This, he felt, was just the silly, contrary way things always happened. Why should itbe he who was perishing like this? Why not Eustace Hignett? Now there wasa fellow whom this sort of thing would just have suited. Broken-heartedEustace Hignett would have looked on all this as a merciful release. 

He paused in his reflections to try to disentangle the more prominentof Mr. Swenson's limbs from about him. By this time he was sure that hehad never met anyone he disliked so intensely as Mr. Swenson--not evenhis Aunt Adeline. The man was a human octopus. Sam could count sevendistinct legs twined round him and at least as many arms. It seemed tohim that he was being done to death in his prime by a solid platoon ofSwedes. He put his whole soul into one last effort ... Something seemedto give ... He was free. Pausing only to try to kick Mr. Swenson in theface Sam shot to the surface. Something hard and sharp prodded him inthe head. Then something caught the collar of his coat; and, finally, spouting like a whale, he found himself dragged upwards and over theside of a boat. 

 * * * * *

The time which Sam had spent with Mr. Swenson below the surface hadbeen brief, but it had been long enough to enable the whole floatingpopulation of the North River to converge on the scene in scows, skiffs, launches, tugs and other vessels. The fact that the water inthat vicinity was crested with currency had not escaped the notice ofthese navigators and they had gone to it as one man. First in the racecame the tug _Reuben S. Watson_, the skipper of which, following afamous precedent, had taken his little daughter to bear him company. Itwas to this fact that Marlowe really owed his rescue. Women have oftena vein of sentiment in them where men can only see the hard businessside of a situation; and it was the skipper's daughter who insistedthat the family boat-hook, then in use as a harpoon for spearing dollarbills, should be devoted to the less profitable but humaner end ofextricating the young man from a watery grave. 

The skipper had grumbled a bit at first, but had given way--he alwaysspoiled the girl--with the result that Sam found himself sitting on thedeck of the tug engaged in the complicated process of restoring hisfaculties to the normal. In a sort of dream he perceived Mr. Swensonrise to the surface some feet away, adjust his Derby hat, and, afterone long look of dislike in his direction, swim off rapidly to intercepta five which was floating under the stern of a near-by skiff. 

Sam sat on the deck and panted. He played on the boards like a publicfountain. At the back of his mind there was a flickering thought thathe wanted to do something, a vague feeling that he had some sort of anappointment which he must keep; but he was unable to think what it was. Meanwhile, he conducted tentative experiments with his breath. It wasso long since he had last breathed that he had lost the knack of it. 

"Well, aincher wet?" said a voice. 

The skipper's daughter was standing beside him, looking downcommiseratingly. Of the rest of the family all he could see was thebroad blue seats of their trousers as they leaned hopefully over theside in the quest for wealth. 

"Yessir! You sure are wet! Gee! I never seen anyone so wet! I seen wetguys, but I never seen anyone so wet as you. Yessir, you're certainly_wet_!"

"I _am_ wet, " admitted Sam. 

"Yessir, you're wet! Wet's the word all right. Good and wet, that'swhat you are!"

"It's the water, " said Sam. His brain was still clouded; he wished hecould remember what that appointment was. "That's what has made mewet. "

"It's sure made you wet all right, " agreed the girl. She looked at himinterestedly. "Wotcha do it for?" she asked. 

"Do it for?"

"Yes, wotcha do it for? How come? Wotcha do a Brodie for off'n thatship? I didn't see it myself, but pa says you come walloping down off'nthe deck like a sack of potatoes. "

Sam uttered a sharp cry. He had remembered. 

"Where is she?"

"Where's who?"

"The liner. "

"She's off down the river, I guess. She was swinging round, the last Iseen of her. "

"She's not gone?"

"Sure she's gone. Wotcha expect her to do? She's gotta to get over tothe other side, ain't she? Cert'nly she's gone. " She looked at himinterested. "Do you want to be on board her?"

"Of course I do. "

"Then, for the love of Pete, wotcha doin' walloping off'n her like asack of potatoes?"

"I slipped. I was pushed or something. " Sam sprang to his feet andlooked wildly about him. "I must get back. Isn't there any way ofgetting back?"

"Well, you could catch up with her at quarantine out in the bay. She'llstop to let the pilot off. "

"Can you take me to quarantine?"

The girl glanced doubtfully at the seat of the nearest pair oftrousers. 

"Well, we _could_, " she said. "But pa's kind of set in his ways, and right now he's fishing for dollar bills with the boat-hook. He'sapt to get sorta mad if he's interrupted. "

"I'll give him fifty dollars if he'll put me on board. "

"Got it on you?" inquired the nymph coyly. She had her share ofsentiment, but she was her father's daughter and inherited from him thebusiness sense. 

"Here it is. " He pulled out his pocket-book. The book was dripping, butthe contents were only fairly moist. 

"Pa!" said the girl. 

The trouser-seat remained where it was--deaf to its child's cry. 

"Pa! Commere! Wantcha!"

The trousers did not even quiver. But this girl was a girl of decision. There was some nautical implement resting in a rack convenient to herhand. It was long, solid, and constructed of one of the harder forms ofwood. Deftly extracting this from its place she smote her inoffensiveparent on the only visible portion of him. He turned sharply, exhibiting a red, bearded face. 

"Pa, this gen'man wants to be took aboard the boat at quarantine. He'llgive you fifty berries. "

The wrath died out of the skipper's face like the slow turning down ofa lamp. The fishing had been poor, and so far he had only managed tosecure a single two-dollar bill. In a crisis like the one which had sosuddenly arisen you cannot do yourself justice with a boat-hook. 

"Fifty berries!"

"Fifty seeds!" the girl assured him. "Are you on?"

"Queen, " said the skipper simply, "you said a mouthful!"

Twenty minutes later Sam was climbing up the side of the liner as itlay towering over the tug like a mountain. His clothes hung about himclammily. He squelched as he walked. 

A kindly looking old gentleman who was smoking a cigar by the railregarded him with open eyes. 

"My dear sir, you're very wet, " he said. 

Sam passed him with a cold face and hurried through the door leading tothe companion-way. 

"Mummie, why is that man wet?" cried the clear voice of a little child. 

Sam whizzed by, leaping down the stairs. 

"Good Lord, sir! You're very wet!" said a steward in the doorway of thedining-saloon. 

"You _are_ wet, " said a stewardess in the passage. 

Sam raced for his state-room. He bolted in and sank on the lounge. Inthe lower berth Eustace Hignett was lying with closed eyes. He openedthem languidly--then stared. 

"Hullo!" he said. "I say! You're wet. "

 * * * * *

Sam removed his clinging garments and hurried into a new suit. He wasin no mood for conversation, and Eustace Hignett's frank curiosityjarred upon him. Happily, at this point, a sudden shivering of thefloor and a creaking of woodwork proclaimed the fact that the vesselwas under way again, and his cousin, turning pea-green, rolled over onhis side with a hollow moan. Sam finished buttoning his waistcoat andwent out. 

He was passing the Enquiry Bureau on the C-Deck, striding along withbent head and scowling brow, when a sudden exclamation caused him tolook up, and the scowl was wiped from his brow as with a sponge. Forthere stood the girl he had met on the dock. With her was a superfluousyoung man who looked like a parrot. 

"Oh, _how_ are you?" asked the girl breathlessly. 

"Splendid, thanks, " said Sam. 

"Didn't you get very wet?"

"I did get a little damp. "

"I thought you would, " said the young man who looked like a parrot. "Directly I saw you go over the side I said to myself: 'That fellow'sgoing to get wet!'"

There was a pause. 

"Oh!" said the girl, "may I--Mr. --?"

"Marlowe. "

"Mr. Marlowe. Mr. Bream Mortimer. "

Sam smirked at the young man. The young man smirked at Sam. 

"Nearly got left behind, " said Bream Mortimer. 

"Yes, nearly. "

"No joke getting left behind. "

"No. "

"Have to take the next boat. Lose a lot of time, " said Mr. Mortimer, driving home his point. 

The girl had listened to these intellectual exchanges with impatience. She now spoke again. 

"Oh, Bream!"

"Hello?"

"Do be a dear and run down to the saloon and see if it's all rightabout our places for lunch. "

"It is all right. The table steward said so. "

"Yes, but go and make certain. "

"All right. "

He hopped away and the girl turned to Sam with shining eyes. 

"Oh, Mr. Marlowe, you oughtn't to have done it! Really, you oughtn't!You might have been drowned! But I never saw anything so wonderful. Itwas like the stories of knights who used to jump into lions' dens aftergloves!"

"Yes?" said Sam, a little vaguely. The resemblance had not struck him. It seemed a silly hobby and rough on the lions, too. 

"It was the sort of thing Sir Lancelot or Sir Galahad would have done!But you shouldn't have bothered, really! It's all right now. "

"Oh, it's all right now?"

"Yes. I'd quite forgotten that Mr. Mortimer was to be on board. He hasgiven me all the money I shall need. You see it was this way. I had tosail on this boat in rather a hurry. Father's head clerk was to havegone to the bank and got some money and met me on board and givenit to me, but the silly old man was late, and when he got to the dockthey had just pulled in the gang-plank. So he tried to throw the money tome in a handkerchief and it fell into the water. But you shouldn't havedived in after it. "

"Oh, well!" said Sam, straightening his tie, with a quiet brave smile. He had never expected to feel grateful to that obese bounder who hadshoved him off the rail, but now he would have liked to seek him outand offer him his bank-roll. 

"You really are the bravest man I ever met!"

"Oh, no!"

"How modest you are! But I suppose all brave men are modest!"

"I was only too delighted at what looked like a chance of doing you aservice. "

"It was the extraordinary quickness of it that was so wonderful. I doadmire presence of mind. You didn't hesitate for a second. You justshot over the side as though propelled by some irresistible force!"

"It was nothing, nothing really. One just happens to have the knack ofkeeping one's head and acting quickly on the spur of the moment. Somepeople have it, some haven't. "

"And just think! As Bream was saying.... "

"It _is_ all right, " said Mr. Mortimer, re-appearing suddenly. "Isaw a couple of stewards and they both said it was all right. So it'sall right. "

"Splendid, " said the girl. "Oh, Bream!"

"Hello?"

"Do be an angel and run along to my stateroom and see if Pinky-Boodlesis quite comfortable. "

"Bound to be. "

"Yes. But do go. He may be feeling lonely. Chirrup to him a little. "

"Chirrup?"

"Yes, to cheer him up. "

"Oh, all right. "

"Run along!"

Mr. Mortimer ran along. He had the air of one who feels that he onlyneeds a peaked cap and a uniform two sizes too small for him to be aproperly equipped messenger boy. 

"And, as Bream was saying, " resumed the girl, "you might have been leftbehind. "

"That, " said Sam, edging a step closer, "was the thought that torturedme, the thought that a friendship so delightfully begun.... "

"But it hadn't begun. We have never spoken to each other before now. "

"Have you forgotten? On the dock.... "

Sudden enlightenment came into her eyes. 

"Oh, you are the man poor Pinky-Boodles bit!"

"The lucky man!"

Her face clouded. 

"Poor Pinky is feeling the motion of the boat a little. It's his firstvoyage. "

"I shall always remember that it was Pinky who first brought ustogether. Would you care for a stroll on deck?"

"Not just now, thanks. I must be getting back to my room to finishunpacking. After lunch, perhaps. "

"I will be there. By the way, you know my name, but.... "

"Oh, mine?" She smiled brightly. "It's funny that a person's name is thelast thing one thinks of asking. Mine is Bennett. "

"Bennett!"

"Wilhelmina Bennett. My friends, " she said softly as she turned away, "call me Billie!"

CHAPTER THREE

For some moments Sam remained where he was staring after the girl asshe flitted down the passage. He felt dizzy. Mental acrobatics alwayshave an unsettling effect, and a young man may be excused for feeling alittle dizzy when he is called upon suddenly and without any warning toreadjust all his preconceived views on any subject. Listening toEustace Hignett's story of his blighted romance, Sam had formed anunflattering opinion of this Wilhelmina Bennett who had broken off herengagement simply because on the day of the marriage his cousin hadbeen short of the necessary wedding garment. He had, indeed, thought alittle smugly how different his goddess of the red hair was from theobject of Eustace Hignett's affections. And how they had proved to beone and the same. It was disturbing. It was like suddenly finding thevampire of a five-reel feature film turn into the heroine. 

Some men, on making the discovery of this girl's identity, might havefelt that Providence had intervened to save them from a disastrousentanglement. This point of view never occurred to Samuel Marlowe. Theway he looked at it was that he had been all wrong about WilhelminaBennett. Eustace, he felt, had been to blame throughout. If this girl hadmaltreated Eustace's finer feelings, then her reason for doing so musthave been excellent and praiseworthy. 

After all ... Poor old Eustace ... Quite a good fellow, no doubt in manyways ... But, coming down to brass tacks, what was there about Eustacethat gave him any license to monopolise the affections of a wonderfulgirl? Where, in a word, did Eustace Hignett get off? He made atremendous grievance of the fact that she had broken off theengagement, but what right had he to go about the place expecting herto be engaged to him? Eustace Hignett, no doubt, looked upon the poorgirl as utterly heartless. Marlowe regarded her behaviour as thoroughlysensible. She had made a mistake, and, realising this at the eleventhhour, she had had the force of character to correct it. He was sorryfor poor old Eustace, but he really could not permit the suggestionthat Wilhelmina Bennett--her friends called her Billie--had not behavedin a perfectly splendid way throughout. It was women like WilhelminaBennett--Billie to her intimates--who made the world worth living in. 

Her friends called her Billie. He did not blame them. It was adelightful name and suited her to perfection. He practised it a fewtimes. "Billie ... Billie ... Billie.... " It certainly ran pleasantly offthe tongue. "Billie Bennett. " Very musical. "Billie Marlowe. " Stillbetter. "We noticed among those present the charming and popular Mrs. 'Billie' Marlowe. "

A consuming desire came over him to talk about the girl to someone. Obviously indicated as the party of the second part was EustaceHignett. If Eustace was still capable of speech--and after all the boatwas hardly rolling at all--he would enjoy a further chat about hisruined life. Besides, he had another reason for seeking Eustace'ssociety. As a man who had been actually engaged to marry this supremegirl, Eustace Hignett had an attraction for Sam akin to that of somegreat public monument. He had become a sort of shrine. He had taken ona glamour. Sam entered the state-room almost reverentially withsomething of the emotions of a boy going into his first dime museum. 

The exhibit was lying on his back staring at the roof of the berth. Bylying absolutely still and forcing himself to think of purely inlandscenes and objects he had contrived to reduce the green in hiscomplexion to a mere tinge. But it would be paltering with the truth tosay that he felt _debonair_. He received Sam with a wan austerity. 

"Sit down!" he said. "Don't stand there swaying like that. I can't bearit. "

"Why, we aren't out of the harbour yet. Surely you aren't going to besea-sick already. "

"I can issue no positive guarantee. Perhaps if I can keep my mind offit ... I have had good results for the last ten minutes by thinkingsteadily of the Sahara. There, " said Eustace Hignett with enthusiasm, "is a place for you! That is something like a spot! Miles and miles ofsand and not a drop of water anywhere!"

Sam sat down on the lounge. 

"You're quite right. The great thing is to concentrate your mind onother topics. Why not, for instance, tell me some more about yourunfortunate affair with that girl--Billie Bennett I think you said hername was. "

"Wilhelmina Bennett. Where on earth did you get the idea that her namewas Billie?"

"I had a notion that girls called Wilhelmina were sometimes Billie totheir friends. "

"I never call her anything but Wilhelmina. But I really cannot talkabout it. The recollection tortures me. "

"That's just what you want. It's the counter-irritation principle. Persevere and you'll soon forget that you're on board ship at all. "

"There's something in that, " admitted Eustace reflectively. "It's verygood of you to be so sympathetic and interested. "

"My dear fellow ... Anything that I can do ... Where did you meet herfirst, for instance?"

"At a dinner.... " Eustace Hignett broke off abruptly. He had a goodmemory and he had just recollected the fish they had served at thatdinner--a flabby and exhausted looking fish, half sunk beneath thesurface of a thick white sauce. 

"And what struck you most forcibly about her at first? Her lovely hair, I suppose?"

"How did you know she had lovely hair?"

"My dear chap, I naturally assumed that any girl with whom you fell inlove would have nice hair. "

"Well, you are perfectly right, as it happens. Her hair was remarkablybeautiful. It was red.... "

"Like autumn leaves with the sun on them!" said Marlowe ecstatically. 

"What an extraordinary thing! That is an absolutely exact description. Her eyes were a deep blue.... "

"Or, rather, green. "

"Blue. "

"Green. There is a shade of green that looks blue. "

"What the devil do you know about the colour of her eyes?" demandedEustace heatedly. "Am I telling you about her, or are you telling me?"

"My dear old man, don't get excited. Don't you see I am trying toconstruct this girl in my imagination, to visualise her? I don'tpretend to doubt your special knowledge, but after all green eyesgenerally do go with red hair and there are all shades of green. Thereis the bright green of meadow grass, the dull green of the uncutemerald, the faint yellowish green of your face at the presentmoment.... "

"Don't talk about the colour of my face! Now you've gone and remindedme just when I was beginning to forget. "

"Awfully sorry! Stupid of me! Get your mind off it again--quick! Whatwere you saying? Oh, yes, this girl. I always think it helps one toform a mental picture of people if one knows something about theirtastes--what sort of things they are interested in, their favouritetopics of conversation, and so on. This Miss Bennett now, what did shelike talking about?"

"Oh, all sorts of things. "

"Yes, but what?"

"Well, for one thing she was very fond of poetry. It was that whichfirst drew us together. "

"Poetry!" Sam's heart sank a little. He had read a certain amount ofpoetry at school, and once he had won a prize of three shillings andsixpence for the last line of a limerick in a competition in a weeklypaper, but he was self-critic enough to know that poetry was not hislong suit. Still there was a library on board ship and no doubt itwould be possible to borrow the works of some standard poet and bonethem up from time to time. 

"Any special poet?"

"Well, she seemed to like my stuff. You never read my sonnet-sequenceon Spring, did you?"

"No. What other poets did she like besides you?"

"Tennyson principally, " said Eustace Hignett with a reminiscent quiverin his voice. "The hours we have spent together reading the Idylls ofthe King!"

"The which of what?" enquired Sam, taking a pencil from his pocket andshooting out a cuff. 

"The Idylls of the King. My good man, I know you have a soul whichwould be considered inadequate by a common earthworm, but you havesurely heard of Tennyson's Idylls of the King?"

"Oh, _those_! Why, my dear old chap; Tennyson's Idylls of theKing! Well, I should say! Have I heard of Tennyson's Idylls of theKing? Well, really! I suppose you haven't a copy with you on board byany chance?"

"There is a copy in my kit-bag. The very one we used to read together. Take it and keep it or throw it overboard. I don't want to see itagain. "

Sam prospected among the shirts, collars and trousers in the bag andpresently came upon a morocco-bound volume. He laid it beside himon the lounge. 

"Little by little, bit by bit, " he said, "I am beginning to form a sortof picture of this girl, this--what was her name again? Bennett--thisMiss Bennett. You have a wonderful knack of description. You make herseem so real and vivid. Tell me some more about her. She wasn't keen ongolf, by any chance, I suppose?"

"I believe she did play. The subject came up once and she seemed ratherenthusiastic. Why?"

"Well, I'd much sooner talk to a girl about golf than poetry. "

"You are hardly likely to be in a position to have to talk toWilhelmina Bennett about either, I should imagine. "

"No, there's that, of course. I was thinking of girls in general. Somegirls bar golf, and then it's rather difficult to know how to startconversation. But, tell me, were there any topics which got on MissBennett's nerves, if you know what I mean? It seems to me that at onetime or another you may have said something that offended her. I mean, it seems curious that she should have broken off the engagement ifyou had never disagreed or quarrelled about anything. "

"Well, of course, there was always the matter of that dog of hers. Shehad a dog, you know, a snappy brute of a Pekingese. If there was everany shadow of disagreement between us, it had to do with that dog. Imade rather a point of it that I would not have it about the home afterwe were married. "

"I see!" said Sam. He shot his cuff once more and wrote on it:"Dog-conciliate. "

"Yes, of course, that must have wounded her. "

"Not half so much as he wounded me! He pinned me by the ankle the daybefore we--Wilhelmina and I, I mean--were to have been married. It issome satisfaction to me in my broken state to remember that I got homeon the little beast with considerable juiciness and lifted him cleanover the Chesterfield. "

Sam shook his head reprovingly. 

"You shouldn't have done that!" he said. He extended his cuff and addedthe words "Vitally important" to what he had just written. "It wasprobably that which decided her. "

"Well, I hate dogs, " said Eustace Hignett querulously. "I rememberWilhelmina once getting quite annoyed with me because I refused to stepin and separate a couple of the brutes, absolute strangers to me, whowere fighting in the street. I reminded her that we were all fightersnow-a-ways, that life itself was in a sense a fight: but she wouldn'tbe reasonable about it. She said that Sir Galahad would have done itlike a shot. I thought not. We have no evidence whatsoever that SirGalahad was ever called upon to do anything half as dangerous. And, anyway, he wore armour. Give me a suit of mail reaching well down overthe ankles, and I will willingly intervene in a hundred dog fights. Butin thin flannel trousers no!"

Sam rose. His heart was light. He had never, of course, supposed thatthe girl was anything but perfect; but it was nice to find his highopinion of her corroborated by one who had no reason to exhibit her ina favourable light. He understood her point of view and sympathisedwith it. An idealist, how could she trust herself to Eustace Hignett?How could she be content with a craven who, instead of scouring theworld in the quest for deeds of daring do, had fallen down solamentably on his first assignment? There was a specious attractivenessabout poor old Eustace which might conceivably win a girl's heart for atime; he wrote poetry, talked well, and had a nice singing voice; but, as a partner for life ... Well, he simply wouldn't do. That was all therewas to it. He simply didn't add up right. The man a girl like WilhelminaBennett required for a husband was somebody entirely different ... Somebody, felt Samuel Marlowe, much more like Samuel Marlowe. 

Swelled almost to bursting-point with these reflections, he went ondeck to join the ante-luncheon promenade. He saw Billie almost at once. She had put on one of these nice sacky sport-coats which so enhancefeminine charms, and was striding along the deck with the breezeplaying in her vivid hair like the female equivalent of a Viking. Beside her walked young Mr. Bream Mortimer. 

Sam had been feeling a good deal of a fellow already, but at the sightof her welcoming smile his self-esteem almost caused him to explode. What magic there is in a girl's smile! It is the raisin which, droppedin the yeast of male complacency, induces fermentation. 

"Oh, there you are, Mr. Marlowe!"

"Oh, _there_ you are, " said Bream Mortimer, with a slightlydifferent inflection. 

"I thought I'd like a breath of fresh air before lunch, " said Sam. 

"Oh, Bream!" said the girl. 

"Hello?"

"Do be a darling and take this great heavy coat of mine down to mystate-room will you? I had no idea it was so warm. "

"I'll carry it, " said Bream. 

"Nonsense. I wouldn't dream of burdening you with it. Trot along andput it on the berth. It doesn't matter about folding it up. "

"All right, " said Bream moodily. 

He trotted along. There are moments when a man feels that all he needsin order to be a delivery wagon is a horse and a driver. 

"He had better chirrup to the dog while he's there, don't you think?"suggested Sam. He felt that a resolute man with legs as long as Bream'smight well deposit a cloak on a berth and be back under the half-minute. 

"Oh, yes! Bream!"

"Hello?"

"While you're down there just chirrup a little more to poor Pinky. Hedoes appreciate it so!"

Bream disappeared. It is not always easy to interpret emotion from aglance at a man's back; but Bream's back looked like that of a man towhom the thought has occurred that, given a couple of fiddles and apiano, he would have made a good hired orchestra. 

"How is your dear little dog, by the way?" enquired Sam solicitously, as he fell into step by her side. 

"Much better now, thanks. I've made friends with a girl on board--didyou ever hear her name--Jane Hubbard--she's a rather well-known big-gamehunter and she fixed up some sort of a mixture for Pinky which didhim a world of good. I don't know what was in it except WorcesterSauce, but she said she always gave it to her mules in Africa when theyhad the botts ... It's very nice of you to speak so affectionately ofpoor Pinky when he bit you. "

"Animal spirits!" said Sam tolerantly. "Pure animal spirits! I like tosee them. But, of course, I love all dogs. "

"Oh, do you? So do I!"

"I only wish they didn't fight so much. I'm always stopping dogfights. "

"I do admire a man who knows what to do at a dog fight. I'm afraid I'mrather helpless myself. There never seems anything to catch hold of. "She looked down. "Have you been reading? What is the book?"

"It's a volume of Tennyson. "

"Are you fond of Tennyson?"

"I worship him, " said Sam reverently. "Those--" he glanced at hiscuff--"those Idylls of the King! I do not like to think what an oceanvoyage would be if I had not my Tennyson with me. "

"We must read him together. He is my favourite poet!"

"We will! There is something about Tennyson.... "

"Yes, isn't there! I've felt that myself so often!"

"Some poets are whales at epics and all that sort of thing, whileothers call it a day when they've written something that runs to acouple of verses, but where Tennyson had the bulge was that his longgame was just as good as his short. He was great off the tee and amarvel with his chip-shots. "

"That sounds as though you played golf. "

"When I am not reading Tennyson, you can generally find me out on thelinks. Do you play?"

"I love it. How extraordinary that we should have so much in common. We really ought to be great friends. "

He was pausing to select the best of three replies when the lunch buglesounded. 

"Oh, dear!" she cried. "I must rush. But we shall see one another againup here afterwards?"

"We will, " said Sam. 

"We'll sit and read Tennyson. "

"Fine! Er--you and I and Mortimer?"

"Oh, no, Bream is going to sit down below and look after poor Pinky. "

"Does he--does he know he is?"

"Not yet, " said Billie. "I'm going to tell him at lunch. "

CHAPTER FOUR

It was the fourth morning of the voyage. Of course, when this story isdone in the movies they won't be satisfied with a bald statement likethat; they will have a Spoken Title or a Cut-Back Sub-Caption orwhatever they call the thing in the low dens where motion-picturescenario-lizards do their dark work, which will run:--

 AND SO, CALM AND GOLDEN, THE DAYS WENT BY, EACH FRAUGHT WITH HOPE AND YOUTH AND SWEETNESS, LINKING TWO YOUNG HEARTS IN SILKEN FETTERS FORGED BY THE LAUGHING LOVE-GOD. 

and the males in the audience will shift their chewing gum to the othercheek and take a firmer grip of their companions' hands and the man atthe piano will play "Everybody wants a key to my cellar" or somethingequally appropriate, very soulfully and slowly, with a wistful eye onthe half-smoked cigarette which he has parked on the lowest octave andintends finishing as soon as the picture is over. But I prefer theplain frank statement that it was the fourth day of the voyage. That ismy story and I mean to stick to it. 

Samuel Marlowe, muffled in a bathrobe, came back to the stateroom fromhis tub. His manner had the offensive jauntiness of the man who has hada cold bath when he might just as easily have had a hot one. He lookedout of the porthole at the shimmering sea. He felt strong and happy andexuberant. 

It was not merely the spiritual pride induced by a cold bath that wasuplifting this young man. The fact was that, as he towelled his glowingback, he had suddenly come to the decision that this very day he wouldpropose to Wilhelmina Bennett. Yes, he would put his fortune to thetest, to win or lose it all. True, he had only known her for four days, but what of that?

Nothing in the way of modern progress is more remarkable than themanner in which the attitude of your lover has changed concerningproposals of marriage. When Samuel Marlowe's grandfather had convincedhimself, after about a year and a half of respectful aloofness, that theemotion which he felt towards Samuel Marlowe's grandmother-to-be waslove, the fashion of the period compelled him to approach the matter in aroundabout way. First, he spent an evening or two singing sentimentalballads, she accompanying him on the piano and the rest of the familysitting on the side-lines to see that no rough stuff was pulled. Havingnoted that she drooped her eyelashes and turned faintly pink when he cameto the "Thee--only thee!" bit, he felt a mild sense of encouragement, strong enough to justify him in taking her sister aside next day andasking if the object of his affections ever happened to mention his namein the course of conversation. Further _pour-parlers_ having passedwith her aunt, two more sisters, and her little brother, he felt that themoment had arrived when he might send her a volume of Shelley, withsome of the passages marked in pencil. A few weeks later, heinterviewed her father and obtained his consent to the paying of hisaddresses. And finally, after writing her a letter which began "Madam!you will not have been insensible to the fact that for some time pastyou have inspired in my bosom feelings deeper than those of ordinaryfriendship.... " he waylaid her in the rose-garden and brought the thingoff. 

How different is the behaviour of the modern young man. His courtshipcan hardly be called a courtship at all. His methods are those of SirW. S. Gilbert's Alphonso. 

 "Alphonso, who for cool assurance all creation licks, He up and said to Emily who has cheek enough for six: 'Miss Emily, I love you. Will you marry? Say the word!' And Emily said: 'Certainly, Alphonso, like a bird!'"

Sam Marlowe was a warm supporter of the Alphonso method. He was abright young man and did not require a year to make up his mind thatWilhelmina Bennett had been set apart by Fate from the beginning oftime to be his bride. He had known it from the moment he saw her on thedock, and all the subsequent strolling, reading, talking, soup-drinking, tea-drinking, and shuffle-board-playing which they had done togetherhad merely solidified his original impression. He loved this girl withall the force of a fiery nature--the fiery nature of the Marlowes was abyword in Bruton Street, Berkeley Square--and something seemed towhisper that she loved him. At any rate she wanted somebody like SirGalahad, and, without wishing to hurl bouquets at himself, he could notsee where she could possibly get anyone liker Sir Galahad than himself. So, wind and weather permitting, Samuel Marlowe intended to propose toWilhelmina Bennett this very day. 

He let down the trick basin which hung beneath the mirror and, collecting his shaving materials, began to lather his face. 

"I am the Bandolero!" sang Sam blithely through the soap, "I am, I amthe Bandolero! Yes, yes, I am the Bandolero!"

The untidy heap of bedclothes in the lower berth stirred restlessly. 

"Oh, God!" said Eustace Hignett thrusting out a tousled head. 

Sam regarded his cousin with commiseration. Horrid things had beenhappening to Eustace during the last few days, and it was quite apleasant surprise each morning to find that he was still alive. 

"Feeling bad again, old man?"

"I was feeling all right, " replied Hignett churlishly, "until you beganthe farmyard imitations. What sort of a day is it?"

"Glorious! The sea.... "

"Don't talk about the sea!"

"Sorry! The sun is shining brighter than it has ever shone in thehistory of the race. Why don't you get up?"

"Nothing will induce me to get up. "

"Well, go a regular buster and have an egg for breakfast. "

Eustace Hignett shuddered. 

"Do you think I am an ostrich?" He eyed Sam sourly. "You seem devilishpleased with yourself this morning!"

Sam dried the razor carefully and put it away. He hesitated. Then thedesire to confide in somebody got the better of him. 

"The fact is, " he said apologetically, "I'm in love!"

"In love!" Eustace Hignett sat up and bumped his head sharply againstthe berth above him. "Has this been going on long?"

"Ever since the voyage started. "

"I think you might have told me, " said Eustace reproachfully. "I toldyou my troubles. Why did you not let me know that this awful thing hadcome upon you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, old man, during these last few days I had anotion that your mind was, so to speak, occupied elsewhere. "

"Who is she?"

"Oh, a girl I met on board. "

"Don't do it!" said Eustace Hignett solemnly. "As a friend I entreatyou not to do it! Take my advice, as a man who knows women, and don'tdo it!"

"Don't do what?"

"Propose to her. I can tell by the glitter in your eye that you areintending to propose to this girl--probably this morning. Don't do it. Women are the devil, whether they marry you or jilt you. Do you realisethat women wear black evening dresses that have to be hooked up in ahurry when you are late for the theatre, and that, out of sheer wantonmalignity, the hooks and eyes on those dresses are also made black? Doyou realise... ?"

"Oh, I've thought it all out. "

"And take the matter of children. How would you like to become thefather--and a mere glance around you will show you that the chances areenormously in favour of such a thing happening--of a boy withspectacles and protruding front teeth who asks questions all the time?Out of six small boys whom I saw when I came on board, four worespectacles and had teeth like rabbits. The other two were equallyrevolting in different styles. How would you like to become thefather... ?"

"There is no need to be indelicate, " said Sam stiffly. "A man must takethese chances. "

"Give her the miss in baulk, " pleaded Hignett. "Stay down here for therest of the voyage. You can easily dodge her when you get toSouthampton. And, if she sends messages, say you're ill and can't bedisturbed. "

Sam gazed at him, revolted. More than ever he began to understand howit was that a girl with ideals had broken off her engagement with thisman. He finished dressing, and, after a satisfying breakfast, went ondeck. 

 * * * * *

It was, as he had said, a glorious morning. The sample which he had hadthrough the porthole had not prepared him for the magic of it. The shipswam in a vast bowl of the purest blue on an azure carpet flecked withsilver. It was a morning which impelled a man to great deeds, a morningwhich shouted to him to chuck his chest out and be romantic. The sightof Billie Bennett, trim and gleaming in a pale green sweater and awhite skirt had the effect of causing Marlowe to alter the programmewhich he had sketched out. Proposing to this girl was not a thing to beput off till after lunch. It was a thing to be done now and at once. Thefinest efforts of the finest cooks in the world could not put him inbetter form than he felt at present. 

"Good morning, Miss Bennett. "

"Good morning, Mr. Marlowe. "

"Isn't it a perfect day?"

"Wonderful!"

"It makes all the difference on board ship if the weather is fine. "

"Yes, doesn't it?"

"Shall we walk round?" said Billie. 

Sam glanced about him. It was the time of day when the promenade deckwas always full. Passengers in cocoons of rugs lay on chairs, waitingin a dull trance till the steward should arrive with the eleven o'clocksoup. Others, more energetic, strode up and down. From the point ofview of a man who wished to reveal his most sacred feelings to abeautiful girl, the place was practically Fifth Avenue and Forty-secondStreet. 

"It's so crowded, " he said. "Let's go on to the upper deck. "

"All right. You can read to me. Go and fetch your Tennyson. "

Sam felt that fortune was playing into his hands. His four-days'acquaintance with the bard had been sufficient to show him that the manwas there forty ways when it came to writing about love. You could openhis collected works almost anywhere and shut your eyes and dab downyour finger on some red-hot passage. A proposal of marriage is a thingwhich it is rather difficult to bring neatly into the ordinary run ofconversation. It wants leading up to. But, if you once start readingpoetry, especially Tennyson's, almost anything is apt to give you yourcue. He bounded light-heartedly into the state-room, waking EustaceHignett from an uneasy dose. 

"Now what?" said Eustace. 

"Where's that copy of Tennyson you gave me? I left it--ah, here it is. Well, see you later!"

"Wait! What are you going to do?"

"Oh, that girl I told you about, " said Sam making for the door. "Shewants me to read Tennyson to her on the upper deck. "

"Tennyson?"

"Yes. "

"On the upper deck?"

"That's the spot. "

"This is the end, " said Eustace Hignett, turning his face to the wall. 

Sam raced up the companion-way as far as it went; then, going out ondeck, climbed a flight of steps and found himself in the only part ofthe ship which was ever even comparatively private. The main herd ofpassengers preferred the promenade deck, two layers below. 

He threaded his way through a maze of boats, ropes, and curious-shapedsteel structures which the architect of the ship seemed to have tackedon at the last moment in a spirit of sheer exuberance. Above himtowered one of the funnels, before him a long, slender mast. He hurriedon, and presently came upon Billie sitting on a garden seat, backed bythe white roof of the smoke-room; beside this was a small deck whichseemed to have lost its way and strayed up here all by itself. It wasthe deck on which one could occasionally see the patients playing anodd game with long sticks and bits of wood--not shuffleboard butsomething even lower in the mental scale. This morning, however, thedevotees of this pastime were apparently under proper restraint, forthe deck was empty. 

"This is jolly, " he said, sitting down beside the girl and drawing adeep breath of satisfaction. 

"Yes, I love this deck. It's so peaceful. "

"It's the only part of the ship where you can be reasonably sure of notmeeting stout men in flannels and nautical caps. An ocean voyage alwaysmakes me wish that I had a private yacht. "

"It would be nice. "

"A private yacht, " repeated Sam sliding a trifle closer. "We would sailabout, visiting desert islands which lay like jewels in the heart oftropic seas. "

"We?"

"Most certainly we. It wouldn't be any fun if you were not there. "

"That's very complimentary. "

"Well, it wouldn't. I'm not fond of girls as a rule.... "

"Oh, aren't you?"

"No!" said Sam decidedly. It was a point which he wished to make clearat the outset. "Not at all fond. My friends have often remarked uponit. A palmist once told me that I had one of those rare spiritualnatures which cannot be satisfied with substitutes but must seek andseek till they find their soul-mate. When other men all round me werefrittering away their emotions in idle flirtations which did not touchtheir deeper natures, I was ... I was ... Well, I wasn't, if you see what Imean. "

"Oh, you wasn't ... Weren't--?"

"No. Some day I knew I should meet the only girl I could possibly love, and then I would pour out upon her the stored-up devotion of alifetime, lay an unblemished heart at her feet, fold her in my arms andsay 'At last!'"

"How jolly for her. Like having a circus all to oneself. "

"Well, yes, " said Sam after a momentary pause. 

"When I was a child I always thought that that would be the mostwonderful thing in the world. "

"The most wonderful thing in the world is love, a pure and consuminglove, a love which.... "

"Oh, hello!" said a voice. 

All through this scene, right from the very beginning of it, Sam hadnot been able to rid himself of a feeling that there was somethingmissing. The time and the place and the girl--they were all present andcorrect; nevertheless there was something missing, some familiar objectwhich seemed to leave a gap. He now perceived that what had caused thefeeling was the complete absence of Bream Mortimer. He was absent nolonger. He was standing in front of them with one leg, his head loweredas if he were waiting for someone to scratch it. Sam's primary impulsewas to offer him a nut. 

"Oh, hello, Bream!" said Billie. 

"Hullo!" said Sam. 

"Hullo!" said Bream Mortimer. "Here you are!"

There was a pause. 

"I thought you might be here, " said Bream. 

"Yes, here we are, " said Billie. 

"Yes, we're here, " said Sam. 

There was another pause. 

"Mind if I join you?" said Bream. 

"N-no, " said Billie. 

"N-no, " said Sam. 

"No, " said Billie again. "No ... That is to say ... Oh no, not at all. "

There was a third pause. 

"On second thoughts, " said Bream, "I believe I'll take a stroll on thepromenade deck, if you don't mind. "

They said they did not mind. Bream Mortimer, having bumped his headtwice against overhanging steel ropes, melted away. 

"Who is that fellow?" demanded Sam wrathfully. 

"He's the son of father's best friend. "

Sam started. Somehow this girl had always been so individual to him thathe had never thought of her having a father. 

"We have known each other all our lives, " continued Billie. "Fatherthinks a tremendous lot of Bream. I suppose it was because Bream wassailing by her that father insisted on my coming over on this boat. I'min disgrace, you know. I was cabled for and had to sail at a few days'notice. I.... "

"Oh, hello!"

"Why, Bream!" said Billie, looking at him as he stood on the old spotin the same familiar attitude with rather less affection than the sonof her father's best friend might have expected. "I thought you saidyou were going down to the Promenade Deck. "

"I did go down to the promenade deck. And I'd hardly got there when afellow who's getting up the ship's concert to-morrow night nobbled meto do a couple of songs. He wanted to know if I knew anyone else whowould help. I came up to ask you, " he said to Sam, "if you would dosomething. "

"No, " said Sam. "I won't. "

"He's got a man who's going to lecture on deep-sea fish and a couple ofwomen who both want to sing 'The Rosary' but he's still an act or twoshort. Sure you won't rally round?"

"Quite sure. "

"Oh, all right. " Bream Mortimer hovered wistfully above them. "It's agreat morning, isn't it?"

"Yes, " said Sam. 

"Oh, Bream!" said Billie. 

"Hello?"

"Do be a pet and go and talk to Jane Hubbard. I'm sure she must befeeling lonely. I left her all by herself down on the next deck. "

A look of alarm spread itself over Bream's face. 

"Jane Hubbard! Oh, say, have a heart!"

"She's a very nice girl. "

"She's so darned dynamic. She looks at you as if you were a giraffe orsomething and she would like to take a pot at you with a rifle. "

"Nonsense! Run along. Get her to tell you some of her big-game huntingexperiences. They are most interesting. "

Bream drifted sadly away. 

"I don't blame Miss Hubbard, " said Sam. 

"What do you mean?"

"Looking at him as if she wanted to pot at him with a rifle. I shouldlike to do it myself. What were you saying when he came up?"

"Oh, don't let's talk about me. Read me some Tennyson. "

Sam opened the book very willingly. Infernal Bream Mortimer hadabsolutely shot to pieces the spell which had begun to fall on them atthe beginning of their conversation. Only by reading poetry, it seemedto him, could it be recovered. And when he saw the passage at which thevolume had opened he realised that his luck was in. Good old Tennyson!He was all right. He had the stuff. You could send him to hit in apinch every time with the comfortable knowledge that he would notstrike out. 

He cleared his throat. 

 "'Oh let the solid ground Not fail beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweet; Then let come what come may, What matter if I go mad, I shall have had my day. 

 Let the sweet heavens endure, Not close and darken above me Before I am quite quite sure That there is one to love me.... '"

This was absolutely topping. It was like diving off a spring-board. Hecould see the girl sitting with a soft smile on her face, her eyes, bigand dreamy, gazing out over the sunlit sea. He laid down the book andtook her hand. 

"There is something, " he began in a low voice, "which I have beentrying to say ever since we met, something which I think you must haveread in my eyes. "

Her head was bent. She did not withdraw her hand. 

"Until this voyage began, " he went on, "I did not know what life meant. And then I saw you! It was like the gate of heaven opening. You're thedearest girl I ever met, and you can bet I'll never forget.... " Hestopped. "I'm not trying to make it rhyme, " he said apologetically. "Billie, don't think me silly ... I mean ... If you had the merest notion, dearest ... I don't know what's the matter with me ... Billie, darling, youare the only girl in the world! I have been looking for you for yearsand years and I have found you at last, my soul-mate. Surely this doesnot come as a surprise to you? That is, I mean, you must have seen thatI've been keen ... There's that damned Walt Mason stuff again!" His eyesfell on the volume beside him and he uttered an exclamation ofenlightenment. "It's those poems!" he cried. "I've been boning them upto such an extent that they've got me doing it too. What I'm trying tosay is, Will you marry me?"

She was drooping towards him. Her face was very sweet and tender, hereyes misty. He slid an arm about her waist. She raised her lips to his. 

 * * * * *

Suddenly she drew herself away, a cloud on her face. 

"Darling, " she said, "I've a confession to make. "

"A confession? You? Nonsense!"

"I can't get rid of a horrible thought. I was wondering if this willlast. "

"Our love? Don't be afraid that it will fade ... I mean ... Why, it's sovast, it's bound to last ... That is to say, of course, it will. "

She traced a pattern on the deck with her shoe. 

"I'm afraid of myself. You see, once before--and it was not so verylong ago, --I thought I had met my ideal, but.... "

Sam laughed heartily. 

"Are you worrying about that absurd business of poor old EustaceHignett?"

She started violently. 

"You know!"

"Of course! He told me himself. "

"Do you know him? Where did you meet him?"

"I've known him all my life. He's my cousin. As a matter of fact, weare sharing a stateroom on board now. "

"Eustace is on board! Oh, this is awful! What shall I do when I meethim?"

"Oh, pass it off with a light laugh and a genial quip. Just say: 'Oh, here you are!' or something. You know the sort of thing. "

"It will be terrible. "

"Not a bit of it. Why should you feel embarrassed? He must haverealised by now that you acted in the only possible way. It was absurdhis ever expecting you to marry him. I mean to say, just look at itdispassionately ... Eustace ... Poor old Eustace ... And _you_! ThePrincess and the Swineherd!"

"Does Mr. Hignett keep pigs?" she asked, surprised. 

"I mean that poor old Eustace is so far below you, darling, that, withthe most charitable intentions, one can only look on his asking you tomarry him in the light of a record exhibition of pure nerve. A dear, good fellow, of course, but hopeless where the sterner realities oflife are concerned. A man who can't even stop a dog-fight! In a worldwhich is practically one seething mass of fighting dogs, how could youtrust yourself to such a one? Nobody is fonder of Eustace Hignett thanI am, but ... Well, I mean to say!"

"I see what you mean. He really wasn't my ideal. "

"Not by a mile. "

She mused, her chin in her hand. 

"Of course, he was quite a dear in a lot of ways. "

"Oh, a splendid chap, " said Sam tolerantly. 

"Have you ever heard him sing? I think what first attracted me to himwas his beautiful voice. He really sings extraordinarily well. "

A slight but definite spasm of jealousy afflicted Sam. He had noobjection to praising poor old Eustace within decent limits, but theconversation seemed to him to be confining itself too exclusively toone subject. 

"Yes?" he said. "Oh yes, I've heard him sing. Not lately. He doesdrawing-room ballads and all that sort of thing still, I suppose?"

"Have you ever heard him sing 'My love is like a glowing tulip that inan old-world garden grows'?"

"I have not had that advantage, " replied Sam stiffly. "But anyone cansing a drawing-room ballad. Now something funny, something that willmake people laugh, something that really needs putting across ... That'sa different thing altogether. "

"Do you sing that sort of thing?"

"People have been good enough to say.... "

"Then, " said Billie decidedly, "you must certainly do something at theship's concert to-morrow! The idea of your trying to hide your lightunder a bushel! I will tell Bream to count on you. He is an excellentaccompanist. He can accompany you. "

"Yes, but ... Well, I don't know, " said Sam doubtfully. He could not helpremembering that the last time he had sung in public had been at ahouse-supper at school, seven years before, and that on that occasionsomebody whom it was a lasting grief to him that he had been unable toidentify had thrown a pat of butter at him. 

"Of course you must sing, " said Billie. "I'll tell Bream when I go downto lunch. What will you sing?"

"Well--er--"

"Well, I'm sure it will be wonderful whatever it is. You are sowonderful in every way. You remind me of one of the heroes of old!"

Sam's discomposure vanished. In the first place, this was much more thesort of conversation which he felt the situation indicated. In thesecond place he had remembered that there was no need for him to singat all. He could do that imitation of Frank Tinney which had been sucha hit at the Trinity smoker. He was on safe ground there. He knew hewas good. He clasped the girl to him and kissed her sixteen times. 

Suddenly, as he released her, the cloud came back into her face. 

"My angel, " he asked solicitously, "what's the matter?"

"I was thinking of father, " she said. 

The glowing splendour of the morning took on a touch of chill for Sam. 

"Father!" he said thoughtfully. "Yes, I see what you mean! He willthink that we have been a little precipitate, eh? He will require alittle time in order to learn to love me, you think?"

"He is sure to be pretty angry at first, " agreed Billie. "You see Iknow he has always hoped that I would marry Bream. "

"Bream! Bream Mortimer! What a silly thing to hope!"

"Well, you see, I told you that Mr. Mortimer was father's best friend. They are both over in England now, and are trying to get a house in thecountry for the summer which we can all share. I rather think the ideais to bring me and Bream closer together. "

"How the deuce could that fellow be brought any closer to you? He'slike a burr as it is. "

"Well, that was the idea, I'm sure. Of course, I could never look atBream now. "

"I hate looking at him myself, " said Sam feelingly. 

A group of afflicted persons, bent upon playing with long sticks andbits of wood, now invaded the upper deck. Their weak-minded criesfilled the air. Sam and the girl rose. 

"Touching on your father once more, " he said as they made their waybelow, "is he a very formidable sort of man?"

"He can be a dear. But he's rather quick-tempered. You must be veryingratiating. "

"I will practise it in front of the glass every morning for the rest ofthe voyage, " said Sam. 

He went down to the stateroom in a mixed mood of elation andapprehension. He was engaged to the most wonderful girl in the world, but over the horizon loomed the menacing figure of Father. He wished hecould induce Billie to allow him to waive the formality of thawingFather. Eustace Hignett had apparently been able to do so. But thatexperience had presumably engendered a certain caution in her. TheHignett fiasco had spoiled her for runaway marriages. Well, if it hadto be done, it must be done, and that was all there was to it. 

CHAPTER FIVE

"Good God!" cried Eustace Hignett. 

He stared at the figure which loomed above him in the fading lightwhich came through the porthole of the stateroom. The hour wasseven-thirty and he had just woken from a troubled doze, full ofstrange nightmares, and for the moment he thought that he must still bedreaming, for the figure before him could have walked straight into anynightmare and no questions asked. Then suddenly he became aware that itwas his cousin, Samuel Marlowe. As in the historic case of father inthe pigstye, he could tell him by his hat. But why was he looking likethat? Was it simply some trick of the uncertain light, or was his facereally black and had his mouth suddenly grown to six times its normalsize and become a vivid crimson?

Sam turned. He had been looking at himself in the mirror with asatisfaction which, to the casual observer, his appearance would nothave seemed to justify. Hignett had not been suffering from a delusion. His cousin's face was black; and, even as he turned, he gave it a dabwith a piece of burnt cork and made it blacker. 

"Hullo! You awake?" he said and switched on the light. 

Eustace Hignett shied like a startled horse. His friend's profile, seendimly, had been disconcerting enough. Full face, he was a revoltingobject. Nothing that Eustace Hignett had encountered in his recentdreams--and they had included such unusual fauna as elephants in tophats and running shorts--had affected him so profoundly. Sam'sappearance smote him like a blow. It seemed to take him straight into adifferent and dreadful world. 

"What ... What ... What... ?" he gurgled. 

Sam squinted at himself in the glass and added a touch of black to hisnose. 

"How do I look?"

Eustace Hignett began to fear that his cousin's reason must have becomeunseated. He could not conceive of any really sane man, looking likethat, being anxious to be told how he looked. 

"Are my lips red enough? It's for the ship's concert, you know. Itstarts in half an hour, though I believe I'm not on till the second part. Speaking as a friend, would you put a touch more black round the ears, or are they all right?"

Curiosity replaced apprehension in Hignett's mind. 

"What on earth are you doing performing at the ship's concert?"

"Oh, they roped me in. It got about somehow that I was a valuable manand they wouldn't take no. " Sam deepened the colour of his ears. "As amatter of fact, " he said casually, "my fiancee made rather a point ofmy doing something. "

A sharp yell from the lower berth proclaimed the fact that thesignificance of the remark had not been lost on Eustace. 

"Your fiancee?"

"The girl I'm engaged to. Didn't I tell you about that? Yes, I'mengaged. "

Eustace sighed heavily. 

"I feared the worst. Tell me, who is she?"

"Didn't I tell you her name?"

"No. "

"Curious! I must have forgotten. " He hummed an airy strain as heblackened the tip of his nose. "It's rather a curious coincidence, really. Her name is Bennett. "

"She may be a relation. "

"That's true. Of course, girls do have relations. "

"What is her first name?"

"That is another rather remarkable thing. It's Wilhelmina. "

"Wilhelmina!"

"Of course, there must be hundreds of girls in the world calledWilhelmina Bennett, but still it is a coincidence. "

"What colour is her hair?" demanded Eustace Hignett in a hollow voice. "Her hair! What colour is it?"

"Her hair? Now, let me see. You ask me what colour is her hair. Well, you might call it auburn ... Or russet ... Or you might call it Titian.... "

"Never mind what you might call it. Is it red?"

"Red? Why, yes. That is a very good description of it. Now that you putit to me like that, it _is_ red. "

"Has she a trick of grabbing at you suddenly, when she gets excited, like a kitten with a ball of wool?"

"Yes. Yes, she has. "

Eustace Hignett uttered a sharp cry. 

"Sam, " he said, "can you bear a shock?"

"I'll have a dash at it. "

"Brace up!"

"The girl you are engaged to is the same girl who promised to marry_me_. "

"Well, well!" said Sam. 

There was a silence. 

"Awfully sorry, of course, and all that, " said Sam. 

"Don't apologise to me!" said Eustace. "My poor old chap, my onlyfeeling towards you is one of the purest and profoundest pity. " Hereached out and pressed Sam's hand. "I regard you as a toad beneath theharrow!"

"Well, I suppose that's one way of offering congratulations and cheerygood wishes. "

"And on top of that, " went on Eustace, deeply moved. "You have got tosing at the ship's concert. "

"Why shouldn't I sing at the ship's concert?"

"My dear old man, you have many worthy qualities, but you must knowthat you can't sing. You can't sing for nuts! I don't want todiscourage you, but, long ago as it is, you can't have forgotten whatan ass you made of yourself at that house-supper at school. Seeingyou up against it like this, I regret that I threw a lump of butter atyou on that occasion, though at the time it seemed the only course topursue. "

Sam started. 

"Was it you who threw that bit of butter?"

"It was. "

"I wish I'd known! You silly chump, you ruined my collar. "

"Ah, well, it's seven years ago. You would have had to send it to thewash anyhow by this time. But don't let us brood on the past. Let usput our heads together and think how we can get you out of thisterrible situation. "

"I don't want to get out of it. I confidently expect to be the hit ofthe evening. "

"The hit of the evening! You! Singing!"

"I'm not going to sing. I'm going to do that imitation of Frank Tinneywhich I did at the Trinity Smoker. You haven't forgotten that? You wereat the piano taking the part of the conductor of the orchestra. What ariot I was--we were! I say, Eustace, old man, I suppose you don't feelwell enough to come up now and take your old part? You could do itwithout a rehearsal. You remember how it went ... 'Hullo, Ernest!' 'Hullo, Frank!' Why not come along?"

"The only piano I will ever sit at will be one firmly fixed on a floorthat does not heave and wobble under me. "

"Nonsense! The boat's as steady as a rock now. The sea's like amill-pond. "

"Nevertheless, thanking you for your suggestion, no!"

"Oh, well, then I shall have to get on as best I can with that fellowMortimer. We've been rehearsing all the afternoon and he seems to havethe hang of the thing. But he won't be really right. He has no pep, novim. Still, if you won't ... Well, I think I'll be getting along to hisstateroom. I told him I would look in for a last rehearsal. "

The door closed behind Sam, and Eustace Hignett, lying on his back, gave himself up to melancholy meditation. He was deeply disturbed byhis cousin's sad story. He knew what it meant being engaged toWilhelmina Bennett. It was like being taken aloft in a balloon anddropped with a thud on the rocks. 

His reflections were broken by the abrupt opening of the door. Marlowerushed in. Eustace peered anxiously out of his berth. There was too muchcork on his cousin's face to allow of any real registering of emotion, but he could tell from his manner that all was not well. 

"What's the matter?"

Sam sank on the lounge. 

"The bounder has quit!"

"The bounder? What bounder?"

"There is only one! Bream Mortimer, curse him! There may be others whomthoughtless critics rank as bounders, but he is the only man reallydeserving of the title. He refuses to appear! He has walked out on theact! He has left me flat! I went into his stateroom just now, asarranged, and the man was lying on his bunk, groaning. "

"I thought you said the sea was like a millpond. "

"It wasn't that! He's perfectly fit. But it seems that the silly asstook it into his head to propose to Billie just before dinner--apparently he's loved her for years in a silent, self-effacing way--andof course she told him that she was engaged to me, and the thing upsethim to such an extent that he says the idea of sitting down at a pianoand helping me give an imitation of Frank Tinney revolts him. He sayshe intends to spend the evening in bed, reading Schopenhauer. I hope itchokes him. "

"But this is splendid! This lets you out. "

"What do you mean? Lets me out?"

"Why, now you won't be able to appear. Oh, you will be thankful forthis in years to come. "

"Won't I appear! Won't I dashed well appear! Do you think I'm going todisappoint that dear girl when she is relying on me? I would ratherdie!"

"But you can't appear without a pianist. "

"I've got a pianist. "

"You have?"

"Yes. A little undersized shrimp of a fellow with a green face and earslike water-wings. "

"I don't think I know him. "

"Yes, you do. He's you!"

"Me!"

"Yes, you. You are going to sit at the piano to-night. "

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but it's impossible. I gave you my viewson the subject just now. "

"You've altered them. "

"I haven't. "

"Well, you soon will, and I'll tell you why. If you don't get up out ofthat damned berth you've been roosting in all your life, I'm going toring for J. B. Midgeley and I'm going to tell him to bring me a bit ofdinner in here and I'm going to eat it before your eyes. "

"But you've had dinner. "

"Well, I'll have another. I feel just ready for a nice fat porkchop.... "

"Stop. Stop!"

"A nice fat pork chop with potatoes and lots of cabbage, " repeated Sam, firmly. "And I shall eat it here on this very lounge. Now, how do wego?"

"You wouldn't do that!" said Eustace piteously. 

"I would and will. "

"But I shouldn't be any good at the piano. I've forgotten how the thingused to go. "

"You haven't done anything of the kind. I come in and say, 'Hullo, Ernest!' and you say 'Hullo, Frank!' and then you help me tell thestory about the Pullman car. A child could do your part of it. "

"Perhaps there is some child on board.... "

"No! I want you. I shall feel safe with you. We've done it togetherbefore. "

"But honestly, I really don't think ... It isn't as if.... "

Sam rose and extended a finger towards the bell. 

"Stop! Stop!" cried Eustace Hignett. "I'll do it!"

Sam withdrew his finger. 

"Good!" he said. "We've just got time for a rehearsal while you'redressing. 'Hullo, Ernest!'"

"Hullo, Frank, " said Eustace Hignett, brokenly, as he searched for hisunfamiliar trousers. 

CHAPTER SIX

Ship's concerts are given in aid of the seamen's orphans and widows, and, after one has been present at a few of them, one seems to feelthat any right-thinking orphan or widow would rather jog along and takea chance of starvation than be the innocent cause of such things. Theyopen with a long speech from the master of the ceremonies--so long, asa rule, that it is only the thought of what is going to happenafterwards that enables the audience to bear it with fortitude. Thisdone, the amateur talent is unleashed, and the grim work begins. 

It was not till after the all too brief intermission for rest andrecuperation that the newly formed team of Marlowe and Hignett wasscheduled to appear. Previous to this there had been dark deeds done inthe quiet saloon. The lecturer on deep-sea fish had fulfilled histhreat and spoken at great length on a subject which, treated by amaster of oratory, would have palled on the audience after ten orfifteen minutes; and at the end of fifteen minutes this speaker had onlyjust got past the haddocks and was feeling his way tentatively throughthe shrimps. 'The Rosary' had been sung and there was an uneasy doubtas to whether it was not going to be sung again after the interval--thelatest rumour being that the second of the rival lady singers had provedadamant to all appeals and intended to fight the thing out on the linesshe had originally chosen if they put her in irons. 

A young man recited 'Gunga Din' and, wilfully misinterpreting thegratitude of the audience that it was over for a desire for more, hadfollowed it with 'Fuzzy-Wuzzy. ' His sister--these things run infamilies--had sung 'My Little Gray Home in the West'--rather sombrely, for she had wanted to sing the 'Rosary, ' and, with the same obtusenesswhich characterised her brother, had come back and rendered twoplantation songs. The audience was now examining its programmes in theinterval of silence in order to ascertain the duration of the sentencestill remaining unexpired. 

It was shocked to read the following:

 7. A Little Imitation...... S. Marlowe

All over the saloon you could see fair women and brave men wilting intheir seats. Imitation... ! The word, as Keats would have said, waslike a knell! Many of these people were old travellers, and their mindswent back wincingly, as one recalls forgotten wounds, to occasions whenperformers at ships' concerts had imitated whole strings of Dickens'characters or, with the assistance of a few hats and a little falsehair, had endeavored to portray Napoleon, Bismarck, Shakespeare andothers of the famous dead. In this printed line on the programme therewas nothing to indicate the nature or scope of the imitation which thisS. Marlowe proposed to inflict upon them. They could only sit and waitand hope that it would be short. 

There was a sinking of hearts as Eustace Hignett moved down the roomand took his place at the piano. A pianist! This argued more singing. The more pessimistic began to fear that the imitation was going to beone of those imitations of well-known opera artistes which, thoughrare, do occasionally add to the horrors of ships' concerts. Theystared at Hignett apprehensively. There seemed to them somethingominous in the man's very aspect. His face was very pale and set, theface of one approaching a task at which his humanity shudders. Theycould not know that the pallor of Eustace Hignett was due entirely tothe slight tremor which, even on the calmest nights, the engines of anocean liner produce in the flooring of a dining saloon and to thatfaint, yet well-defined, smell of cooked meats which clings to a roomwhere a great many people have recently been eating a great many meals. A few beads of cold perspiration were clinging to Eustace Hignett'sbrow. He looked straight before him with unseeing eyes. He was thinkinghard of the Sahara. 

So tense was Eustace's concentration that he did not see BillieBennett, seated in the front row. Billie had watched him enter with alittle thrill of embarrassment. She wished that she had been contentwith one of the seats at the back. But her friend Jane Hubbard, whoaccompanied her, had insisted on the front row. 

In order to avoid recognition for as long as possible, Billie now putup her fan and turned to Jane. She was surprised to see that her friendwas staring eagerly before her with a fixity almost equal to that ofEustace. 

"What _is_ the matter, Jane?"

Jane Hubbard was a tall, handsome girl with large brown eyes. Abouther, as Bream Mortimer had said, there was something dynamic. Thedaughter of an eminent explorer and big-game hunter, she had frequentlyaccompanied her father on his expeditions. An out-doors girl. 

"Who is that man at the piano?" she whispered. "Do you know him?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, " said Billie. "His name is Hignett. Why?"

"I met him on the Subway not long ago. Poor little fellow, howmiserable he looks!"

At this moment their conversation was interrupted. Eustace Hignett, pulling himself together with a painful effort, raised his hands andstruck a crashing chord: and, as he did so, there appeared through thedoor at the far end of the saloon a figure at the sight of which theentire audience started convulsively with a feeling that a worse thinghad befallen them than even they had looked for. 

The figure was richly clad in some scarlet material. Its face was agrisly black and below the nose appeared what seemed a horrible gash. It advanced towards them, smoking a cigar. 

"Hullo, Ernest, " it said. 

And then it seemed to pause expectantly, as though desiring some reply. Dead silence reigned in the saloon. 

"Hullo, Ernest!"

Those nearest the piano--and nobody more quickly than Jane Hubbard--nowobserved that the white face of the man on the stool had grown whiterstill. His eyes gazed out glassily from under his damp brow. He lookedlike a man who was seeing some ghastly sight. The audience sympathisedwith him. They felt like that, too. 

In all human plans there is ever some slight hitch, some littlemiscalculation which just makes all the difference. A moment's thoughtshould have told Eustace Hignett that a half-smoked cigar was one ofthe essential properties to any imitation of the eminent Mr. Tinney:but he had completely overlooked the fact. The cigar came as anabsolute surprise to him and it could not have affected him morepowerfully if it had been a voice from the tomb. He stared at itpallidly, like Macbeth at the ghost of Banquo. It was a strong, livelyyoung cigar, and its curling smoke played lightly about his nostrils. His jaw fell. His eyes protruded. He looked for a long moment like oneof those deep-sea fishes concerning which the recent lecturer hadspoken so searchingly. Then with the cry of a stricken animal, hebounded from his seat and fled for the deck. 

There was a rustle of millinery at Billie's side as Jane Hubbard roseand followed him. Jane was deeply stirred. Even as he sat, looking sopale and piteous, at the piano, her big heart had gone out to him, andnow, in his moment of anguish, he seemed to bring to the surfaceeverything that was best and most compassionate in her nature. Thrusting aside a steward who happened to be between her and the door, she raced in pursuit. 

Sam Marlowe had watched his cousin's dash for the open with aconsternation so complete that his sense seemed to have left him. Ageneral, deserted by his men on some stricken field, might have feltsomething akin to his emotion. Of all the learned professions, theimitation of Mr. Frank Tinney is the one which can least easily becarried through single-handed. The man at the piano, the leader of theorchestra, is essential. He is the life-blood of the entertainment. Without him, nothing can be done. 

For an instant Sam stood there, gaping blankly. Then the open door ofthe saloon seemed to beckon an invitation. He made for it, reached it, passed through it. That concluded his efforts in aid of the Seamen'sOrphans and Widows. 

The spell which had lain on the audience broke. This imitation seemedto them to possess in an extraordinary measure the one quality whichrenders amateur imitations tolerable, that of brevity. They had seenmany amateur imitations, but never one as short as this. The saloonechoed with their applause. 

It brought no balm to Samuel Marlowe. He did not hear it. He had fledfor refuge to his stateroom and was lying in the lower berth, chewingthe pillow, a soul in torment. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

There was a tap at the door. Sam sat up dizzily. He had lost all countof time. 

"Who's that?"

"I have a note for you, sir. "

It was the level voice of J. B. Midgeley, the steward. The stewards ofthe White Star Line, besides being the civillest and most obliging bodyof men in the world, all have soft and pleasant voices. A White Starsteward, waking you up at six-thirty, to tell you that your bath isready, when you wanted to sleep on till twelve, is the nearest humanapproach to the nightingale. 

"A what?"

"A note, sir. "

Sam jumped up and switched on the light. He went to the door and tookthe note from J. B. Midgeley, who, his mission accomplished, retired inan orderly manner down the passage. Sam looked at the letter with athrill. He had never seen the hand-writing before, but, with the eye oflove, he recognized it. It was just the sort of hand he would haveexpected Billie to write, round and smooth and flowing, the writing of awarm-hearted girl. He tore open the envelope. 

"Please come up to the top deck. I want to speak to you. "

Sam could not disguise it from himself that he was a littledisappointed. I don't know if you see anything wrong with the letter, but the way Sam looked at it was that, for a first love-letter, itmight have been longer and perhaps a shade warmer. And, without runningany risk of writer's cramp, she might have signed it. 

However, these were small matters. No doubt she had been in a hurry andall that sort of thing. The important point was that he was going tosee her. When a man's afraid, sings the bard, a beautiful maid is acheering sight to see; and the same truth holds good when a man hasmade an exhibition of himself at a ship's concert. A woman's gentlesympathy, that was what Samuel Marlowe wanted more than anything elseat the moment. That, he felt, was what the doctor ordered. He scrubbedthe burnt cork off his face with all possible speed and changed hisclothes and made his way to the upper deck. It was like Billie, hefelt, to have chosen this spot for their meeting. It would be desertedand it was hallowed for them both by sacred associations. 

She was standing at the rail, looking out over the water. The moon wasquite full. Out on the horizon to the south its light shone on the sea, making it look like the silver beach of some distant fairy island. The girl appeared to be wrapped in thought, and it was not till thesharp crack of Sam's head against an overhanging stanchion announcedhis approach that she turned. 

"Oh, is that you?"

"Yes. "

"You've been a long time. "

"It wasn't an easy job, " explained Sam, "getting all that burnt corkoff. You've no notion how the stuff sticks. You have to use butter.... "

She shuddered. 

"Don't!"

"But I did. You have to with burnt cork. "

"Don't tell me these horrible things. " Her voice rose almosthysterically. "I never want to hear the words burnt cork mentionedagain as long as I live. "

"I feel exactly the same. " Sam moved to her side. 

"Darling, " he said in a low voice, "it was like you to ask me to meetyou here. I know what you were thinking. You thought that I should needsympathy. You wanted to pet me, to smooth my wounded feelings, to holdme in your arms, and tell me that, as we loved each other, what didanything else matter?"

"I didn't. "

"You didn't?"

"No, I didn't. "

"Oh, you didn't! I thought you did!" He looked at her wistfully. 

"I thought, " he said, "that possibly you might have wished to comfortme. I have been through a great strain. I have had a shock.... "

"And what about me?" she demanded passionately. "Haven't I had ashock?"

He melted at once. 

"Have you had a shock, too? Poor little thing! Sit down and tell me allabout it. "

She looked away from him, her face working. 

"Can't you understand what a shock I have had? I thought you were theperfect knight. "

"Yes, isn't it?"

"Isn't what?"

"I thought you said it was a perfect night. "

"I said I thought _you_ were a perfect knight. "

"Oh, ah!"

A sailor crossed the deck, a dim figure in the shadows, went over to asort of raised summerhouse with a brass thingummy in it, fooled aboutfor a moment, and went away again. Sailors earn their money easily. 

"Yes?" said Sam when he had gone. 

"I forget what I was saying. "

"Something about my being the perfect knight. "

"Yes. I thought you were. "

"That's good. "

"But you're not!"

"No?"

"No!"

"Oh!"

Silence fell. Sam was feeling hurt and bewildered. He could notunderstand her mood. He had come up expecting to be soothed andcomforted and she was like a petulant iceberg. Cynically, he recalledsome lines of poetry which he had had to write out a hundred times onone occasion at school as a punishment for having introduced a whitemouse into chapel. 

 "Oh, woman in our hours of ease, Un-something, something, something, please. When tiddly-umpty umpty brow, A something, something, something, thou!"

He had forgotten the exact words, but the gist of it had been thatwoman, however she might treat a man in times of prosperity, could berelied on to rally round and do the right thing when he was in trouble. How little the poet had known women. 

"Why not?" he said huffily.. 

She gave a little sob. 

"I put you on a pedestal and I find you have feet of clay. You haveblurred the image which I formed of you. I can never think of you againwithout picturing you as you stood in that saloon, stammering andhelpless.... "

"Well, what can you do when your pianist runs out on you?"

"You could have done _something_. I can't forgive a man forlooking ridiculous. Oh, what, what, " she cried, "induced you to try togive an imitation of Bert Williams?"

Sam started, stung to the quick. 

"It wasn't Bert Williams. It was Frank Tinney!"

"Well, how was I to know?"

"I did my best, " said Sam sullenly. 

"That is the awful thought. "

"I did it for your sake. "

"I know. It gives me a horrible sense of guilt. " She, shuddered again. Then suddenly, with the nervous quickness of a woman unstrung, thrust asmall black golliwog into his hand. 

"Take it!"

"What's this?"

"You bought it for me yesterday at the barber's shop. It is the onlypresent that you have given me. Take it back. "

"I don't want it. I shouldn't know what to do with it. "

"You must take it, " she said in a low voice. "It is a symbol. "

"A what?"

"A symbol of our broken love. "

"I don't see how you make that out. It's a golliwog. "

"I can never marry you now. "

"What! Good heavens! Don't be absurd. "

"I can't. "

"Oh, go on, have a dash at it, " he said encouragingly, though his heartwas sinking. 

She shook her head. 

"No, I couldn't. "

"Oh, hang it all!"

"I couldn't. I'm a strange girl.... "

"You're a darned silly girl.... "

"I don't see what right you have to say that, " she flared. 

"I don't see what right you have to say you can't marry me and try toload me up with golliwogs, " he retorted with equal heat. 

"Oh, can't you understand?"

"No, I'm dashed if I can. "

She looked at him despondently. 

"When I said I would marry you, you were a hero to me. You stood to mefor everything that was noble and brave and wonderful. I had only toshut my eyes to conjure up the picture of you as you dived off the railthat morning. Now"--her voice trembled--"if I shut my eyes now, --I canonly see a man with a hideous black face making himself the laughingstock of the ship. How can I marry you, haunted by that picture?"

"But, good heavens, you talk as if I made a habit of blacking up! Youtalk as if you expected me to come to the altar smothered in burnt cork. "

"I shall always think of you as I saw you to-night. "

She looked at him sadly, "There's a bit of black still on your leftear. "

He tried to take her hand. But she drew it away. He fell back as ifstruck. 

"So this is the end, " he muttered. 

"Yes. It's partly on your ear and partly on your cheek. "

"So this is the end, " he repeated. 

"You had better go below and ask your steward to give you some morebutter. "

He laughed bitterly. 

"Well, I might have expected it, I might have known what would happen!Eustace warned me. Eustace was right. He knows women--as I do--now. Women! What mighty ills have not been done by women? Who was't betrayedthe what's-its-name? A woman! Who lost ... Lost ... Who lost ... Who--er--and so on? A woman ... So all is over! There is nothing to be saidbut good-bye?"

"No. "

"Good-bye, then, Miss Bennett!"

"Good-bye, " said Billie sadly. "I--I'm sorry. "

"Don't mention it!"

"You do understand, don't you?"

"You have made everything perfectly clear. "

"I hope--I hope you won't be unhappy. "

"Unhappy!" Sam produced a strangled noise from his larynx, like the cryof a shrimp in pain. "Unhappy! I'm not unhappy! Whatever gave you thatidea? I'm smiling! I'm laughing! I feel I've had a merciful escape. "

"It's very unkind and rude of you to say that. "

"It reminds me of a moving picture I saw in New York. It was called'Saved from the Scaffold. '"

"Oh!"

"I'm not unhappy. What have I got to be unhappy about? What on earthdoes any man want to get married for? I don't ... Give me my gaybachelor life! My uncle Charlie used to say 'It's better luck to getmarried than it is to be kicked in the head by a mule. ' But _he_was an optimist. Good-night, Miss Bennett. And good-bye--for ever. "

He turned on his heel and strode across the deck. From a white heaventhe moon still shone benignantly down, mocking him. He had spokenbravely: the most captious critic could not but have admitted that hehad made a good exit. But already his heart was aching. 

As he drew near to his stateroom, he was amazed and disgusted to hear ahigh tenor voice raised in song proceeding from behind the closed door. 

 "I fee-er naw faw in shee-ining arr-mor, Though his lance be sharrrp and-er keen; But I fee-er, I fee-er the glah-mour Therough thy der-rooping lashes seen: I fee-er, I fee-er the glah-mour.... "

Sam flung open the door wrathfully. That Eustace Hignett should stillbe alive was bad--he had pictured him hurling himself overboard andbobbing about, a pleasing sight, in the wake of the vessel; that heshould be singing was an outrage. Remorse, Sam thought should havestricken Eustace Hignett dumb. Instead of which, here he was comportinghimself like a blasted linnet. It was all wrong. The man could have noconscience whatever. 

"Well, " he said sternly, "so there you are!"

Eustace Hignett looked up brightly, even beamingly. In the briefinterval which had elapsed since Sam had seen him last, anextraordinary transformation had taken place in this young man. His wan look had disappeared. His eyes were bright. His face worethat beastly self-satisfied smirk which you see in pictures advertisingcertain makes of fine-mesh underwear. If Eustace Hignett had beena full-page drawing in a magazine with "My dear fellow, I alwayswear Sigsbee's Superfine Featherweight!" printed underneath him, hecould not have looked more pleased with himself. 

"Hullo!" he said. "I was wondering where you had got to. "

"Never mind, " said Sam coldly, "where I had got to! Where did you getto, and why? You poor, miserable worm, " he went on in a burst ofgenerous indignation, "what have you to say for yourself? What do youmean by dashing away like that and killing my little entertainment?"

"Awfully sorry, old man. I hadn't foreseen the cigar. I was bearing uptolerably well till I began to sniff the smoke. Then everything seemedto go black--I don't mean you, of course. You were black already--and Igot the feeling that I simply must get on deck and drown myself. "

"Well, why didn't you?" demanded Sam, with a strong sense of injury. "I might have forgiven you then. But to come down here and find yousinging.... "

A soft light came into Eustace Hignett's eyes. 

"I want to tell you all about that, " he said, "It's the mostastonishing story. A miracle, you might almost call it. Makes youbelieve in Fate and all that sort of thing. A week ago I was on theSubway in New York.... "

He broke off while Sam cursed him, the Subway, and the city of NewYork, in the order named. 

"My dear chap, what is the matter?"

"What is the matter? Ha!"

"Something is the matter, " persisted Eustace Hignett, "I can tell it byyour manner. Something has happened to disturb and upset you. I knowyou so well that I can pierce the mask. What is it? Tell me. "

"Ha, ha!"

"You surely can't still be brooding on that concert business? Why, that's all over. I take it that after my departure you made the mostcolossal ass of yourself, but why let that worry you? These thingscannot affect one permanently. "

"Can't they? Let me tell you that as a result of that concert myengagement is broken off. "

Eustace sprang forward with outstretched hand. 

"Not really? How splendid! Accept my congratulations! This is thefinest thing that could possibly have happened. These are not idlewords. As one who has been engaged to the girl himself, I speakfeelingly. You are well out of it, Sam. "

Sam thrust aside his hand. Had it been his neck he might have clutchedit eagerly, but he drew the line at shaking hands with Eustace Hignett. 

"My heart is broken, " he said with dignity. 

"That feeling will pass, giving way to one of devout thankfulness. Iknow! I've been there. After all ... Wilhelmina Bennett ... What isshe? A rag and a bone and a hank of hair?"

"She is nothing of the kind, " said Sam, revolted. 

"Pardon me, " said Eustace firmly, "I speak as an expert. I know her andI repeat, she is a rag and a bone and a hank of hair!"

"She is the only girl in the world, and owing to your idiotic behaviourI have lost her. "

"You speak of the only girl in the world, " said Eustace blithely. "Ifyou want to hear about the only girl in the world, I will tell you. Aweek ago I was in the Subway in New York.... "

"I'm going to bed, " said Sam brusquely. 

"All right. I'll tell you while you're undressing. "

"I don't want to listen. "

"A week ago, " said Eustace Hignett, "I will ask you to picture meseated after some difficulty in a carriage in a New York subway; I gotinto conversation with a girl with an elephant gun. "

Sam revised his private commination service in order to include theelephant gun. 

"She was my soul-mate, " proceeded Eustace with quiet determination. "Ididn't know it at the time, but she was. She had grave brown eyes, awonderful personality, and this elephant gun. She was bringing the gunaway from the down-town place where she had taken it to be mended. "

"Did she shoot you with it?"

"Shoot me? What do you mean? Why, no!"

"The girl must have been a fool!" said Sam bitterly. "The chance of alife-time and she missed it. Where are my pyjamas?"

"I haven't seen your pyjamas. She talked to me about this elephant gun, and explained its mechanism. You can imagine how she soothed my achingheart. My heart, if you recollect, was aching at the moment--quiteunnecessarily if I had only known--because it was only a couple of dayssince my engagement to Wilhelmina Bennett had been broken off. Well, weparted at Sixty-sixth Street, and, strange as it may seem, I forgot allabout her. "

"Do it again!"

"Tell it again?"

"Good heavens, no! Forget all about her again. "

"Nothing, " said Eustace Hignett gravely, "could make me do that. Oursouls have blended. Our beings have called to one another from theirdeepest depths, saying ... There are your pyjamas, over in thecorner ... Saying, 'You are mine!' How could I forget her after that?Well, as I was saying, we parted. Little did I know that she wassailing on this very boat! But just now she came to me as I writhed ondeck.... "

"Did you writhe?" asked Sam with a flicker of moody interest. 

"I certainly did. "

"That's good!"

"But not for long. "

"That's bad!"

"She came to me and healed me. Sam, that girl is an angel. "

"Switch off the light when you've finished. "

"She seemed to understand without a word how I was feeling. There aresome situations which do not need words. She went away and returnedwith a mixture of some kind in a glass. 

"I don't know what it was. It had Worcester sauce in it. She put it tomy lips. She made me drink it. She said it was what her father alwaysused in Africa for bull-calves with the staggers. Well, believe me orbelieve me not ... Are you asleep?"

"Yes. "

"Believe me or believe me not, in under two minutes I was not merelyfreed from the nausea caused by your cigar. I was smoking myself! I waswalking the deck with her without the slightest qualm. I was even ableto look over the side from time to time and comment on the beautyof the moon on the water ... I have said some mordant things about womensince I came on board this boat. I withdraw them unreservedly. Theystill apply to girls like Wilhelmina Bennett, but I have ceased toinclude the whole sex in my remarks. Jane Hubbard has restored my faithin woman. Sam! Sam!"

"What?"

"I said that Jane Hubbard had restored my faith in woman. "

"Oh, all right. "

Eustace Hignett finished undressing and got into bed. With a soft smileon his face he switched off the light. There was a long silence, brokenonly by the distant purring of engines. At about twelve-thirty a voicecame from the lower berth. 

"Sam!"

"What is it now?"

"There is a sweet womanly strength about her, Sam. She was telling meshe once killed a panther with a hat-pin. "

Sam groaned and tossed on his mattress. 

Silence fell again. 

"At least I think it was a panther, " said Eustace Hignett, at a quarterpast one. "Either a panther or a puma. "

CHAPTER EIGHT

A week after the liner Atlantic had docked at Southampton, Sam Marlowemight have been observed--and was observed by various of theresidents--sitting on a bench on the esplanade of that repellentwatering-place, Bingley-on-the-Sea, in Sussex. All watering-places onthe South Coast of England are blots on the landscape, but, though I amaware that by saying it I shall offend the civic pride of some of theothers, none are so peculiarly foul as Bingley-on-the-Sea. The asphalton the Bingley esplanade is several degrees more depressing than theasphalt on other esplanades. The Swiss waiters at the Hotel Magnificent, where Sam was stopping, are in a class of bungling incompetence bythemselves, the envy and despair of all the other Swiss waiters at allthe other Hotels Magnificent along the coast. For dreariness of aspectBingley-on-the-Sea stands alone. The very waves that break on theshingle seem to creep up the beach reluctantly, as if it revolted themto come to such a place. 

Why, then, was Sam Marlowe visiting this ozone-swept Gehenna? Why, withall the rest of England at his disposal, had he chosen to spend a weekat breezy, blighted Bingley?

Simply because he had been disappointed in love. He had sought reliefby slinking off alone to the most benighted spot he knew, in the samespirit as other men in similar circumstances had gone off to theRockies to shoot grizzly-bears. 

To a certain extent the experiment had proved successful. If the HotelMagnificent had not cured his agony, the service and the cooking therehad at least done much to take his mind off it. His heart still ached, but he felt equal to going to London and seeing his father, which, ofcourse, he ought to have done immediately upon his arrival in England. 

He rose from his bench, and, going back to the hotel to enquire abouttrains, observed a familiar figure in the lobby. Eustace Hignett wasleaning over the counter, in conversation with the desk-clerk. 

"Hullo, Eustace!" said Sam. 

"Hullo, Sam!" said Eustace. 

There was a brief silence. The conversational opening had been a littleunfortunately chosen, for it reminded both men of a painful episode intheir recent lives. 

"What are you doing here?" asked Eustace. 

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Sam. 

"I came to see you, " said Eustace, leading his cousin out of the lobbyand onto the bleak esplanade. A fine rain had begun to fall, andBingley looked, if possible, worse than ever. "I asked for you at yourclub, and they told me you had come down here. "

"What did you want to see me about?"

"The fact is, old man, I'm in a bit of a hole. "

"What's the matter?"

"It's rather a long story, " said Eustace deprecatingly. 

"Go ahead. "

"I don't know where to begin. "

"Have a dash at starting at the beginning. "

Eustace stared gloomily at a stranded crab on the beach below. The crabstared gloomily back. 

"Well, you remember my telling you about the girl I met on the boat?"

"Jane Something?"

"Jane Hubbard, " said Eustace reverently. "Sam, I love that girl. "

"I know. You told me. "

"But I didn't tell _her_. I tried to muster up the nerve, but wegot to Southampton without my having clicked. What a dashed difficultthing a proposal is to bring off, isn't it! I didn't bring it off, andit began to look to me as though I was in the soup. And then she toldme something which gave me an idea. She said the Bennetts had invitedher to stay with them in the country when she got to England, Old Mr. Bennett and his pal Mortimer, Bream's father, were trying to get ahouse somewhere which they could share. Only so far they hadn't managedto find the house they wanted. When I heard that, I said 'Ha!'"

"You said what?" asked Sam. 

"I said 'Ha!'"

"Why?"

"Because I had an idea. Don't interrupt, old man, or you'll get memuddled. Where was I?"

"I don't know. "

"I remember. I'd just got the idea. I happened to know, you see, thatBennett and Mortimer were both frightfully keen on getting Windles forthe summer, but my mother wouldn't hear of it and gave them both themiss-in-baulk. It suddenly occurred to me that mother was going to beaway in America all the summer, so why shouldn't I make a private deal, let them the house, and make it a stipulation that I was to stay there tolook after things? And, to cut a long story short, that's what I did. "

"You let Windles?"

"Yes. Old Bennett was down on the dock at Southampton to meetWilhelmina, and I fixed it up with him then and there. He was so buckedat the idea of getting the place that he didn't kick for a moment atthe suggestion that I should stick on at the house. Said he would bedelighted to have me there, and wrote out a fat check on the spot. Wehired a car and drove straight over--it's only about twenty miles fromSouthampton, you know, --and we've been there ever since. Bennett sent awire to Mortimer, telling him to join us, and he came down next day. "

He paused, and looked at Sam as though desiring comment. Sam had noneto offer. 

"Why do you say you're in a hole?" he asked. "It seems to me as thoughyou had done yourself a bit of good. You've got the check, and you'rein the same house with Miss Hubbard. What more do you want?"

"But suppose mother gets to hear about it?"

"Well?"

"She'd be sorer than a sunburned neck. "

"Probably. But why should she hear of it?"

"Ah! I'm coming to that. "

"Is there some more of the story?"

"Quite a lot. "

"Charge on, " said Sam resignedly. 

Eustace Hignett fixed a despondent gaze on the shingle, up which thegray waves were crawling with their usual sluggish air of wishingthemselves elsewhere. A rain-drop fell down the back of his neck, buthe did not notice it. 

"It was the weather that really started it, " he said. 

"Started what?"

"The trouble. What sort of weather have you been having here?"

"I haven't noticed. "

"Well, down at Windles it has been raining practically all the time, and after about a couple of days it became fairly clear to me thatBennett and Mortimer were getting a bit fed. I mean to say, havingspent all their lives in America, don't you know, they weren't used toa country where it rained all the time, and pretty soon it began to geton their nerves. They started quarrelling. Nothing bad at first, buthotting up more and more, till at last they were hardly on speakingterms. Every little thing that happened seemed to get the wind up them. There was that business of Smith, for instance. "

"Who's Smith?"

"Mortimer's bull-dog. Old Bennett is scared of him, and wants him keptin the stables, but Mortimer insists on letting him roam about thehouse. Well, they scrapped a goodish bit about that. And then there wasthe orchestrion. You remember the orchestrion?"

"I haven't been down at Windles since I was a kid. "

"That's right. I forgot that. Well, my pater had an orchestrion put inthe drawing-room. One of these automatic things you switch on, youknow. Makes a devil of a row. Bennett can't stand it, and Mortimerinsists on playing it all day. Well, they hotted up a goodish bit overthat. "

"Well, I don't see how all this affects you. If they want to scrap, whynot let them?"

"Yes, but, you see, the most frightful thing has happened. At least, ithasn't happened yet, but it may any day. Bennett's talking about takinglegal advice to see if he can't induce Mortimer to cheese it by law as hecan't be stopped any other way. And the deuce of it is, your father'sBennett's legal representative over in England, and he's sure to goto him. "

"Well, that'll do the pater a bit of good. Legal fees. "

Eustace Hignett waved his arms despairingly at his cousin's obtuseness. 

"But don't you see? If Bennett goes to your father about this binge, your father will get onto the fact that Windles has been let, and he'llnose about and make enquiries, and the first thing that'll happen willbe that mother will get to hear of it, and then where shall I be?"

Sam pondered. 

"Yes, there's that, " he admitted. 

"Well, now you see what a hole I'm in. "

"Yes, you are. What are you going to do about it?"

"You're the only person who can help me. "

"What can _I_ do?"

"Why, your father wants you to join the firm, doesn't he? Well, forgoodness sake, buck up and join it. Don't waste a minute. Dash up toLondon by the next train, and sign on. Then, if Bennett does blow infor advice, you can fix it somehow that he sees you instead of yourfather, and it'll be all right. You can easily work it. Get the office-boyor somebody to tell Bennett that your father's engaged, but that you areon the spot. He won't mind so long as he sees somebody in the firm. "

"But I don't know anything about the law. What shall I say to him?"

"That's all right. I've been studying it up a bit. As far as I cangather, this legal advice business is quite simple. Anything that isn'ta tort is a misdemeanour. You've simply got to tell old Bennett that inyour opinion the whole thing looks jolly like a tort. "

"What's the word again?"

"Tort. "

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know. Probably nobody knows. But it's a safe card to play. Tort. Don't forget it. "

"Tort. Right ho!"

"Well, then, come along and pack your things. There's a train to Londonin about an hour. "

They walked back to the hotel. Sam gulped once or twice. 

"Oh, by the way, " he said, "Er--how is--er--Miss Bennett?"

"Oh, she's all right. " Eustace Hignett hummed a gay air. Sam's readyacquiescence in his scheme had relieved his apprehensive mind. 

"Going strong?" said Sam, after a pause. 

"Oh, absolutely. We're quite good friends again now. No use being inthe same house and not being on speaking terms. It's rummy how thepassage of time sort of changes a fellow's point of view. Why, when shetold me about her engagement, I congratulated her as cheerfully asdammit! And only a few weeks ago.... "

"Her engagement!" exclaimed Sam, leaping like a stricken blanc-mange. "Her en-gug-gug-gagement!"

"To Bream Mortimer, you know, " said Eustace Hignett. "She got engagedto him the day before yesterday. "

CHAPTER NINE

The offices of the old-established firm of Marlowe, Thorpe, Prescott, Winslow and Appleby are in Ridgeway's Inn, not far from Fleet Street. If you are a millionaire beset by blackmailers or anyone else to whosecomfort the best legal advice is essential, and have decided to putyour affairs in the hands of the ablest and discreetest firm in London, you proceed through a dark and grimy entry and up a dark and grimyflight of stairs; and, having felt your way along a dark and grimypassage, you come at length to a dark and grimy door. There is plentyof dirt in other parts of Ridgeway's Inn, but nowhere is it soplentiful, so rich in alluvial deposits, as on the exterior of theoffices of Marlowe, Thorpe, Prescott, Winslow and Appleby. As you tapon the topmost of the geological strata concealing the ground-glass ofthe door, a sense of relief and security floods your being. For inLondon grubbiness is the gauge of a lawyer's respectability. 

The brass plate, let into the woodwork of this door, is misleading. Reading it, you get the impression that on the other side quite a coveyof lawyers await your arrival. The name of the firm leads you tosuppose that there will be barely standing-room in the office. Youpicture Thorpe jostling you aside as he makes for Prescott to discusswith him the latest case of demurrer, and Winslow and Appleby treadingon your toes, deep in conversation on replevin. But these legal firmsdwindle. The years go by and take their toll, snatching away here aPrescott, there an Appleby, till before you know where you are, you aredown to your last lawyer. The only surviving member of the firm ofMarlowe, Thorpe--what I said before--was, at the time with which thisstory deals, Sir Mallaby Marlowe, son of the original founder of thefirm and father of the celebrated black-faced comedian, Samuel of thatilk; and the outer office, where callers were received and parked tillSir Mallaby could find time for them, was occupied by a single clerk. 

When Sam, reaching the office after his journey, opened the door, thisclerk, John Peters by name, was seated on a high stool, holding in onehand a half-eaten sausage, in the other an extraordinary large andpowerful revolver. At the sight of Sam he laid down both engines ofdestruction and beamed. He was not a particularly successful beamer, being hampered by a cast in one eye which gave him a truculent andsinister look; but those who knew him knew that he had a heart of goldand were not intimidated by his repellent face. Between Sam and himselfthere had always existed terms of cordiality, starting from the timewhen the former was a small boy, and it had been Jno. Peters' missionto take him now to the Zoo, now to the train back to school. 

"Why, Mr. Samuel!"

"Hullo, Peters!"

"We were expecting you back a week ago. So you got back safe?"

"Safe? Why, of course, "

Peters shook his head. 

"I confess that, when there was this delay in your coming here, Isometimes feared something might have happened to you. I recallmentioning it to the young lady who recently did me the honour topromise to become my wife. "

"Ocean liners aren't often wrecked nowadays. "

"I was thinking more of the brawls on shore. America's a dangerouscountry. But perhaps you were not in touch with the underworld?"

"I don't think I was. "

"Ah!" said Jno. Peters, significantly. 

He took up the revolver, gave it a fond and almost paternal look, andreplaced it on the desk. 

"What on earth are you doing with that thing?" asked Sam. 

Mr. Peters lowered his voice. 

"I'm going to America myself in a few days' time, Mr. Samuel. It's myannual holiday, and the guvnor's sending me over with papers inconnection with The People _v. _ Schultz and Bowen. It's a big caseover there. A client of ours is mixed up in it, an American gentleman. I am to take these important papers to his legal representative in NewYork. So I thought it best to be prepared. "

The first smile that he had permitted himself in nearly two weeksflitted across Sam's face. 

"What on earth sort of place do you think New York is?" he asked. "It'ssafer than London. "

"Ah, but what about the underworld? I've seen these American films thatthey send over here, Mr. Samuel. Every Saturday night regular I take myyoung lady to a cinema, and, I tell you, they teach you something. Didyou ever see 'Wolves of the Bowery'? There was a man in that in just myposition, carrying important papers, and what they didn't try to do tohim! No, I'm taking no chances, Mr. Samuel!"

"I should have said you were, lugging that thing about with you. "

Mr. Peters seemed wounded. 

"Oh, I understand the mechanism perfectly, and I am becoming a veryfair shot. I take my little bite of food in here early and go andpractice at the Rupert Street Rifle Range during my lunch hour. You'dbe surprised how quickly one picks it up. When I get home at night Itry how quick I can draw. You have to draw like a flash of lightning, Mr. Samuel. If you'd ever seen a film called 'Two-Gun-Thomas' you'drealise that. You haven't time to be loitering about. "

"I haven't, " agreed Sam. "Is my father in? I'd like to see him if he'snot busy. "

Mr. Peters, recalled to his professional duties, shed his sinisterfront like a garment. He picked up a speaking tube and blew down it. 

"Mr. Samuel to see you, Mr. Mallaby. Yes, sir, very good. Will you goright in, Mr. Samuel?"

Sam proceeded to the inner office, and found his father dictating intothe attentive ear of Miss Milliken, his elderly and respectablestenographer, replies to his morning mail. 

The grime which encrusted the lawyer's professional stamping ground didnot extend to his person. Sir Mallaby Marlowe was a dapper little man, with a round, cheerful face and a bright eye. His morning coat had beencut by London's best tailor, and his trousers perfectly creased by asedulous valet. A pink carnation in his buttonhole matched his healthycomplexion. His golf handicap was twelve. His sister, Mrs. HoraceHignett, considered him worldly. 

"Dear Sirs: We are in receipt of your favour and in reply beg to statethat nothing will induce us ... Will induce us ... Where did I put thatletter? Ah! ... Nothing will induce us ... Oh, tell 'em to go to blazes, Miss Milliken. "

"Very well, Sir Mallaby. "

"That's that. Ready? Messrs. Brigney, Goole and Butterworth. Whatinfernal names these people have. Sirs, on behalf of our client ... Oh, hullo, Sam!"

"Good morning, father. "

"Take a seat. I'm busy, but I'll be finished in a moment. Where was I, Miss Milliken?"

"On behalf of our client.... "

"Oh, yes. On behalf of our client, Mr. Wibblesley Eggshaw.... Wherethese people get their names I'm hanged if I know. Your poor motherwanted to call you Hyacinth, Sam. You may not know it, but in the'nineties, when you were born, children were frequently christenedHyacinth. Well, I saved you from that. "

His attention was now diverted to his son, Sir Mallaby seemed toremember that the latter had just returned from a long journey, andthat he had not seen him for many weeks. He inspected him withinterest. 

"Very glad to see you're back, Sam. So you didn't win?"

"No, I got beaten in the semi-finals. "

"American amateurs are a very hot lot: the best ones. I suppose youwere weak on the greens, I warned you about that. You'll have to rub upyour putting before next year. "

At the idea that any mundane pursuit as practising putting could appealto his broken spirit now, Sam uttered a bitter laugh. It was as ifDante had recommended some lost soul in the Inferno to occupy his mindby knitting jumpers. 

"Well, you seem to be in great spirits, " said Sir Mallaby approvingly. "It's pleasant to hear your merry laugh again, isn't it, MissMilliken?"

"Extremely exhilarating, " agreed the stenographer, adjusting herspectacles and smiling at Sam, for whom there was a soft spot in herheart. 

A sense of the futility of life oppressed Sam. As he gazed in the glassthat morning, he had thought, not without a certain gloomysatisfaction, how remarkably pale and drawn his face looked. And thesepeople seemed to imagine that he was in the highest spirits. Hislaughter, which had sounded to him like the wailing of a demon, struckMiss Milliken as exhilarating. 

"On behalf of our client, Mr. Wibblesley Eggshaw, " said Sir Mallaby, swooping back to duty once more, "we beg to state that we are preparedto accept service ... Sounds like a tennis match, eh, Sam? It isn't, though. This young ass, Eggshaw ... What time did you dock thismorning?"

"I landed nearly a week ago. "

"A week ago! Then what the deuce have you been doing with yourself?Why haven't I seen you?"

"I've been down at Bingley-on-the-Sea. "

"Bingley! What on earth were you doing at that Godforsaken place?"

"Wrestling with myself, " said Sam with simple dignity. 

Sir Mallaby's agile mind had leaped back to the letter which he wasanswering. 

"We should be glad to meet you.... Wrestling, eh! Well, I like a boy tobe fond of manly sports. Still, life isn't all athletics. Don't forgetthat. Life is real! Life is ... How does it go, Miss Milliken?"

Miss Milliken folded her hands and shut her eyes, her invariable habitwhen called upon to recite. 

"Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dustthou art to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Art is long andtime is fleeting. And our hearts though stout and brave, Still likemuffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. Lives of greatmen all remind us we can make our lives sublime, and, departing, leavebehind us footsteps on the sands of Time. Let us then ... " said MissMilliken respectfully ... "be up and doing.... "

"All right, all right, all right!" said Sir Mallaby. "I don't want it all. Life is real! Life is earnest, Sam. I want to speak to you about that whenI've finished answering these infernal letters. Where was I? 'We shouldbe glad to meet you at any time, if you will make an appointment... 'Bingley-on-the-Sea! Good heavens! Why Bingley-on-the-Sea? Why not Margate, while you are about it?"

"Margate is too bracing. I did not wish to be braced. Bingley suited mymood. It was gray and dark, and it rained all the time, and the seaslunk about in the distance like some baffled beast.... "

He stopped, becoming aware that his father was not listening. SirMallaby's attention had returned to the letter. 

"Oh, what's the good of answering the dashed thing at all?" said SirMallaby. "Brigney, Goole and Butterworth know perfectly well that theyhave got us in a cleft stick. Butterworth knows it better than Goole, and Brigney knows it better than Butterworth. This young fool, Eggshaw, Sam, admits that he wrote the girl twenty-three letters, twelve of themin verse, and twenty-one specifically asking her to marry him, and hecomes to me and expects me to get him out of it. The girl is suing himfor ten thousand. "

"How like a woman!"

Miss Milliken bridled reproachfully at this slur on her sex. SirMallaby took no notice of it whatever. 

"... If you will make an appointment, when we can discuss the matterwithout prejudice. Get those typed, Miss Milliken. Have a cigar, Sam. Miss Milliken, tell Peters as you go out that I am occupied with aconference and can see nobody for half an hour. "

When Miss Milliken had withdrawn, Sir Mallaby occupied ten seconds ofthe period which he had set aside for communion with his son in staringsilently at him. 

"I'm glad you're back, Sam, " he said at length. "I want to have a talkwith you. You know, it's time you were settling down. I've beenthinking about you while you were in America, and I've come to theconclusion that I've been letting you drift along. Very bad for a youngman. You're getting on. I don't say you're senile, but you're nottwenty-one any longer, and at your age I was working like a beaver. You've got to remember that life is--dash it! I've forgotten it again. "

He broke off and puffed vigorously into the speaking tube. "MissMilliken, kindly repeat what you were saying just now about life.... Yes, yes, that's enough!" He put down the instrument. "Yes, life isreal, life is earnest, " he said, gazing at Sam seriously, "and thegrave is not our goal. Lives of great men all remind us we can make ourlives sublime. In fact, it's time you took your coat off and startedwork. "

"I am quite ready, father. "

"You didn't hear what I said, " exclaimed Sir Mallaby with a look ofsurprise. "I said it was time you began work. "

"And I said I was quite ready. "

"Bless my soul! You've changed your views a trifle since I saw youlast. "

"I have changed them altogether. "

Long hours of brooding among the red plush settees in the lounge of theHotel Magnificent at Bingley-on-the-Sea had brought about this strange, even morbid, attitude of mind in Samuel Marlowe. Work, he had decidedeven before his conversation with Eustace, was the only medicine forhis sick soul. Here, he felt, in this quiet office, far from the tumultand noise of the world, in a haven of torts and misdemeanours and Vic. I Cap 3's, and all the rest of it, he might find peace. At any rate, itwas worth taking a stab at it. 

"Your trip has done you good, " said Sir Mallaby approvingly. "The seaair has given you some sense. I'm glad of it. It makes it easier for meto say something else that I've had on my mind for a good while. Sam, it's time you got married. "

Sam barked bitterly. His father looked at him with concern. 

"Swallow some smoke the wrong way?"

"I was laughing, " explained Sam with dignity. 

Sir Mallaby shook his head. 

"I don't want to discourage your high spirit, but I must ask you toapproach this matter seriously. Marriage would do you a world of good, Sam. It would brace you up. You really ought to consider the idea. Iwas two years younger than you are when I married your poor mother, andit was the making of me. A wife might make something of you. "

"Impossible!"

"I don't see why she shouldn't. There's lots of good in you, my boy, though you may not think so. "

"When I said it was impossible, " said Sam coldly, "I was referring tothe impossibility of the possibility.... I mean, that it was impossiblethat I could possibly ... In other words, father, I can never marry. Myheart is dead. "

"Your what?"

"My heart. "

"Don't be a fool. There's nothing wrong with your heart. All our familyhave had hearts like steam-engines. Probably you have been feeling asort of burning. Knock off cigars and that will soon stop. "

"You don't understand me. I mean that a woman has treated me in a waythat has finished her whole sex as far as I am concerned. For me, womendo not exist. "

"You didn't tell me about this, " said Sir Mallaby, interested. "Whendid this happen? Did she jilt you?"

"Yes. "

"In America was it?"

"On the boat. "

Sir Mallaby chuckled heartily. 

"My dear boy, you don't mean to tell me that you're taking a shipboardflirtation seriously. Why, you're expected to fall in love with adifferent girl every time you go on a voyage. You'll get over this in aweek. You'd have got over it now if you hadn't gone and buried yourselfin a depressing place like Bingley-on-the-Sea. "

The whistle of the speaking-tube blew. Sir Mallaby put the instrumentto his ear. 

"All right, " he turned to Sam. "I shall have to send you away now, Sam. Man waiting to see me. Good-bye. "

Miss Milliken intercepted Sam as he made for the door. 

"Oh, Mr. Sam!"

"Yes?"

"Excuse me, but will you be seeing Sir Mallaby again to-day? If so, would you--I don't like to disturb him now, when he is busy--would youmind telling him that I inadvertently omitted a stanza. It runs, " saidMiss Milliken, closing her eyes, "'Trust no future, howe'er pleasant. Let the dead past bury its dead! Act, act in the living Present, Heartwithin and God o'erhead!' Thank you so much. Good afternoon. "

CHAPTER TEN

At about the time when Sam Marlowe was having the momentous interviewwith his father, described in the last chapter, Mr. Rufus Bennett wokefrom an after-luncheon nap in Mrs. Hignett's delightful old-worldmansion, Windles, in the county of Hampshire. He had gone to his roomafter lunch, because there seemed nothing else to do. It was stillraining hard, so that a ramble in the picturesque garden wasimpossible, and the only alternative to sleep, the society of Mr. HenryMortimer, had become peculiarly distasteful to Mr. Bennett. 

Much has been written of great friendships between man and man, friendships which neither woman can mar nor death destroy. RufusBennett had always believed that his friendship for Mr. Mortimer was ofthis order. They had been boys together in the same small town, and hadkept together in after years. They had been Damon and Pythias, Davidand Jonathan. But never till now had they been cooped up togetherin an English country-house in the middle of a bad patch of Englishsummer weather. So this afternoon Mr. Bennett, in order to avoid hislife-long friend, had gone to bed. 

He awoke now with a start, and a moment later realized what it was thathad aroused him. There was music in the air. The room was full of it. It seemed to be coming up through the floor and rolling about in chunksall round his bed. He blinked the last fragments of sleep out of hissystem, and became filled with a restless irritability. 

He rang the bell violently, and presently there entered a grave, thin, intellectual man who looked like a duke, only more respectable. Thiswas Webster, Mr. Bennett's English valet. 

"Is that Mr. Mortimer?" he barked, as the door opened. 

"No, sir. It is I--Webster. " Not even the annoyance of being summonedlike this from an absorbing game of penny nap in the housekeeper's roomhad the power to make the valet careless of his grammar. "I fanciedthat I heard your bell ring, sir. "

"I wonder you could hear anything with that infernal noise going on, "snapped Mr. Bennett, "Is Mr. Mortimer playing that--that damnedgas-engine in the drawing-room?"

"Yes, sir. Tosti's Goodbye. A charming air, sir. "

"Charming air be--! Tell him to stop it. "

"Very good, sir. "

The valet withdrew like a duke leaving the royal presence, not actuallywalking backwards, but giving the impression of doing so. Mr. Bennettlay in bed and fumed. Presently the valet returned. The music stillcontinued to roll about the room. 

"I am sorry to have to inform you, sir, " said Webster, "that Mr. Mortimer declines to accede to your request. "

"Oh, he said that, did he!"

"That is the gist of his remarks, sir. "

"Did you tell him I was trying to get to sleep?"

"Yes, sir. I understood him to reply that he should worry and get apain in the neck. "

"Go down again and say that I insist on his stopping the thing. It's anoutrage. "

"Very good, sir. "

In a few minutes, Webster, like the dove despatched from the Ark, wasback again. 

"I fear my mission has been fruitless, sir. Mr. Mortimer appearsadamant on the point at issue. "

"You gave him my message?"

"Verbatim, sir. In reply Mr. Mortimer desired me to tell you that, ifyou did not like it, you could do the other thing. I quote the exactwords, sir. "

"He did, did he?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Very good! Webster!"

"Sir?"

"When is the next train to London?"

"I will ascertain, sir. Cook, I believe has a time-table. "

"Go and see, then. I want to know. And send Miss Wilhelmina to me. "

"Very good, sir. "

Somewhat consoled by the thought that he was taking definite action, Mr. Bennett lay back and waited for Billie. 

"I want you to go to London, " he said, when she appeared. 

"To London? Why?"

"I'll tell you why, " said Mr. Bennett vehemently. "Because of that pestMortimer. I must have legal advice. I want you to go and see SirMallaby Marlowe. Here's his address. Tell him the whole story. Tell himthat this man is annoying me in every possible way and ask if he can'tbe stopped. If you can't see Sir Mallaby himself, see someone else inthe firm. Go up to-night, so that you can see him first thing in themorning. You can stop the night at the Savoy. I've sent Webster to lookout a train. "

"There's a splendid train in about an hour. I'll take that. "

"It's giving you a lot of trouble, " said Mr. Bennett with belatedconsideration. 

"Oh no!" said Billie. "I'm only too glad to be able to do something foryou, father dear. This noise is a terrible nuisance, isn't it. "

"You're a good girl, " said Mr. Bennett. 

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"That's right!" said Sir Mallaby Marlowe. "Work while you're young, Sam, work while you're young. " He regarded his son's bent head withaffectionate approval. "What's the book to-day?"

"Widgery on Nisi prius Evidence, " said Sam, without looking up. 

"Capital!" said Sir Mallaby. "Highly improving and as interesting as anovel--some novels. There's a splendid bit on, I think, page twohundred and fifty-four where the hero finds out all about Copyhold andCustomary Estates. It's a wonderfully powerful situation. It appears--butI won't spoil it for you. Mind you don't skip to see how it all comesout in the end!" Sir Mallaby suspended conversation while he addressed animaginary ball with the mashie which he had taken out of his golf-bag. For this was the day when he went down to Walton Heath for his weeklyfoursome with three old friends. His tubby form was clad in tweed of aviolent nature, with knickerbockers and stockings. "Sam!"

"Well?"

"Sam, a man at the club showed me a new grip the other day. Instead ofoverlapping the little finger of the right hand ... Oh, by the way, Sam. "

"Yes?"

"I should lock up the office to-day if I were you, or anxious clientswill be coming in and asking for advice, and you'll find yourself indifficulties. I shall be gone, and Peters is away on his holiday. You'dbetter lock the outer door. "

"All right, " said Sam absently. He was finding Widgery stiff reading. He had just got to the bit about Raptu Haeredis, which, as of courseyou know, is a writ for taking away an heir holding insocage. 

Sir Mallaby looked at his watch. 

"Well, I'll have to be going. See you later, Sam. "

"Good-bye. "

Sir Mallaby went out, and Sam, placing both elbows on the desk andtwining his fingers in his hair, returned with a frown of concentration tohis grappling with Widgery. For perhaps ten minutes the struggle wasan even one, then gradually Widgery got the upper hand. Sam's mind, numbed by constant batterings against the stony ramparts of legalphraseology, weakened, faltered, and dropped away; and a momentlater his thoughts, as so often happened when he was alone, dartedoff and began to circle round the image of Billie Bennett. 

Since they had last met, Sam had told himself perhaps a hundred timesthat he cared nothing about Billie, that she had gone out of his lifeand was dead to him; but unfortunately he did not believe it. A mantakes a deal of convincing on a point like this, and Sam had neversucceeded in convincing himself for more than two minutes at a time. Itwas useless to pretend that he did not still love Billie more thanever, because he knew he did; and now, as the truth swept over him forthe hundred and first time, he groaned hollowly and gave himself up tothe gray despair which is the almost inseparable companion of young menin his position. 

So engrossed was he in his meditation that he did not hear the lightfootstep in the outer office, and it was only when it was followed by atap on the door of the inner office that he awoke with a start to thefact that clients were in his midst. He wished that he had taken hisfather's advice and locked up the office. Probably this was somefrightful bore who wanted to make his infernal will or something, and Sam had neither the ability nor the inclination to assist him. 

Was it too late to escape? Perhaps if he did not answer the knock, theblighter might think there was nobody at home. But suppose he openedthe door and peeped in? A spasm of Napoleonic strategy seized Sam. Hedropped silently to the floor and concealed himself under the desk. Napoleon was always doing that sort of thing. 

There was another tap. Then, as he had anticipated, the door opened. Sam, crouched like a hare in its form, held his breath. It seemed tohim that he was going to bring this delicate operation off withsuccess. He felt he had acted just as Napoleon would have done in asimilar crisis. And so, no doubt, he had to a certain extent; onlyNapoleon would have seen to it that his boots and about eighteen inchesof trousered legs were not sticking out, plainly visible to all whoentered. 

"Good morning, " said a voice. 

Sam thrilled from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. It wasthe voice which had been ringing in his ears through all his wakinghours. 

"Are you busy, Mr. Marlowe?" asked Billie, addressing the boots. 

Sam wriggled out from under the desk like a disconcerted tortoise. 

"Dropped my pen, " he mumbled, as he rose to the surface. 

He pulled himself with an effort that was like a physical exercise. Hestared at Billie dumbly. Then, recovering speech, he invited her to sitdown, and seated himself at the desk. 

"Dropped my pen!" he gurgled again. 

"Yes?" said Billie. 

"Fountain-pen, " babbled Sam, "with a broad nib. "

"Yes?"

"A broad gold nib, " went on Sam, with the painful exactitude whichcomes only from embarrassment or the early stages of intoxication. 

"Really?" said Billie, and Sam blinked and told himself resolutely thatthis would not do. He was not appearing to advantage. It suddenlyoccurred to him that his hair was standing on end as the resultof his struggle with Widgery. He smoothed it down hastily, andfelt a trifle more composed. The old fighting spirit of the Marlowesnow began to assert itself to some extent. He must make an effort toappear as little of a fool as possible in this girl's eyes. And whateyes they were! Golly! Like stars! Like two bright planets in.... 

However, that was neither here nor there. He pulled down his waistcoatand became cold and business-like--the dry young lawyer. 

"Er--how do you do, Miss Bennett?" he said with a question in hisvoice, raising his eyebrows in a professional way. He modelled thisperformance on that of lawyers he had seen on the stage, and wished hehad some snuff to take or something to tap against his front teeth. "Miss Bennett, I believe?"

Billie drew herself up stiffly. 

"Yes, " she replied. "How clever of you to remember me. "

"I have a good memory. "

"How nice! So have I!"

There was a pause, during which Billie allowed her gaze to travelcasually about the room. Sam occupied the intermission by staringfurtively at her profile. He was by now in a thoroughly overwroughtcondition, and the thumping of his heart sounded to him as if workmenwere mending the street outside. How beautiful she looked, with thatred hair peeping out beneath her hat and ... However!

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked in the sort of voiceWidgery might have used. Sam always pictured Widgery as a small manwith bushy eyebrows, a thin face, and a voice like a rusty file. 

"Well, I really wanted to see Sir Mallaby. "

"My father has been called away on important business to Walton Heath. Cannot I act as his substitute?"

"Do you know anything about the law?"

"Do I know anything about the law!" echoed Sam, amazed. "Do I know--!Why, I was reading my Widgery on Nisi Prius Evidence when you came in. "

"Oh, were you?" said Billie interested. "Do you always read on thefloor. "

"I told you I dropped my pen, " said Sam coldly. 

"And of course you couldn't read without that! Well, as a matter offact, this has nothing to do with Nisi--what you said. "

"I have not specialised exclusively on Nisi Prius Evidence. I know thelaw in all its branches. "

"Then what would you do if a man insisted on playing the orchestrionwhen you wanted to get to sleep?"

"The orchestrion?"

"Yes. "

"The orchestrion, eh? Ah! H'm!" said Sam. 

"You still haven't made it quite clear, " said Billie. 

"I was thinking. "

"Oh, if you want to think!"

"Tell me the facts, " said Sam. 

"Well, Mr. Mortimer and my father have taken a house together in thecountry, and for some reason or other they have quarrelled, and now Mr. Mortimer is doing everything he can to make father uncomfortable. Yesterday afternoon father wanted to sleep, and Mr. Mortimer startedhis orchestrion just to annoy him. "

"I think--I'm not quite sure--I think that's a tort, " said Sam. 

"A what?"

"Either a tort or a misdemeanour. "

"Why, you do know something about it after all!" cried Billie, startledinto a sort of friendliness in spite of herself. And at the words andthe sight of her quick smile Sam's professional composure reeled on itsfoundations. He had half risen, with the purpose of springing up andbabbling of the passion that consumed him, when the chill reflectioncame to him that this girl had once said that she considered himridiculous. If he let himself go, would she not continue to think himridiculous? He sagged back into his seat and at that moment there cameanother tap on the door which, opening, revealed the sinister face ofthe holiday-making Peters. 

"Good morning, Mr. Samuel, " said Jno. Peters. "Good morning, MissMilliken. Oh!"

He vanished as abruptly as he had appeared. He perceived that what hehad taken at first glance for the stenographer was a client, and thatthe junior partner was engaged on a business conference. He left behindhim a momentary silence. 

"What a horrible-looking man!" said Billie, breaking it with a littlegasp. Jno. Peters often affected the opposite sex like that at firstsight. 

"I beg your pardon?" said Sam absently. 

"What a dreadful-looking man! He quite frightened me!"

For some moments Sam sat without speaking. If this had not been one ofhis Napoleonic mornings, no doubt the sudden arrival of his old friend, Mr. Peters, whom he had imagined at his home in Putney packing for histrip to America, would have suggested nothing to him. As it was itsuggested a great deal. He had had a brain-wave, and for fully a minutehe sat tingling under its impact. He was not a young man who often hadbrain-waves, and, when they came, they made him rather dizzy. 

"Who is he?" asked Billie. "He seemed to know you? And who, " shedemanded after a slight pause, "is Miss Milliken?"

Sam drew a deep breath. 

"It's rather a sad story, " he said. "His name is John Peters. He usedto be clerk here. "

"But isn't he any longer?"

"No. " Sam shook his head. "We had to get rid of him. "

"I don't wonder. A man looking like that.... "

"It wasn't that so much, " said Sam. "The thing that annoyed father wasthat he tried to shoot Miss Milliken. "

Billie uttered a cry of horror!

"He tried to shoot Miss Milliken!"

"He did shoot her--the third time, " said Sam warming to his work. "Onlyin the arm, fortunately, " he added. "But my father is rather a sterndisciplinarian and he had to go. I mean, we couldn't keep him afterthat. "

"Good gracious!"

"She used to be my father's stenographer, and she was thrown a gooddeal with Peters. It was quite natural that he should fall in love withher. She was a beautiful girl, with rather your own shade of hair. Peters is a man of volcanic passions, and, when, after she had givenhim to understand that his love was returned, she informed him one daythat she was engaged to a fellow at Ealing West, he went right off hisonion--I mean, he became completely distraught. I must say that heconcealed it very effectively at first. We had no inkling of hiscondition till he came in with the pistol. And, after that ... Well, as Isay, we had to dismiss him. A great pity, for he was a good clerk. Still, it wouldn't do. It wasn't only that he tried to shoot MissMilliken. That wouldn't have mattered so much, as she left after he hadmade his third attempt, and got married. But the thing became anobsession with him, and we found that he had a fixed idea that everyred-haired woman who came into the office was the girl who had deceivedhim. You can see how awkward that made it. Red hair is so fashionablenowadays. "

"My hair is red!" whispered Billie pallidly. 

"Yes, I noticed it myself. I told you it was much the same shade asMiss Milliken's. It's rather fortunate that I happened to be here withyou when he came. "

"But he may be lurking out there still!"

"I expect he is, " said Sam carelessly. "Yes, I suppose he is. Would youlike me to go and send him away? All right. "

"But--but is it safe?"

Sam uttered a light laugh. 

"I don't mind taking a risk or two for your sake, " he said, andsauntered from the room, closing the door behind him. Billie followedhim with worshipping eyes. 

Jno. Peters rose politely from the chair in which he had seated himselffor more comfortable perusal of the copy of _Home Whispers_ whichhe had brought with him to refresh his mind in the event of the firm beingtoo busy to see him immediately. He was particularly interested in theseries of chats with Young Mothers. 

"Hullo, Peters, " said Sam. "Want anything?"

"Very sorry to have disturbed you, Mr. Samuel. I just looked in to saygood-bye. I sail on Saturday, and my time will be pretty fully taken upall the week. I have to go down to the country to get some finalinstructions from the client whose important papers I am taking over. I'm sorry to have missed your father, Mr. Samuel. "

"Yes, this is his golf day, I'll tell him you looked in. "

"Is there anything I can do before I go?"

"Do?"

"Well--"--Jno. Peters coughed tactfully--"I see that you are engagedwith a client, Mr. Samuel, and was wondering if any little point of lawhad arisen with which you did not feel yourself quite capable ofcoping, in which case I might perhaps be of assistance. "

"Oh, that lady, " said Sam. "That was Miss Milliken's sister. "

"Indeed? I didn't know Miss Milliken had a sister. "

"No?" said Sam. 

"She is not very like her in appearance. "

"No. This one is the beauty of the family, I believe. A very bright, intelligent girl. I was telling her about your revolver just before youcame in, and she was most interested. It's a pity you haven't got itwith you now, to show to her. "

"Oh, but I have! I have, Mr. Samuel!" said Peters, opening a smallhandbag and taking out a hymn-book, half a pound of mixed chocolates, atongue sandwich, and the pistol, in the order named. "I was on my wayto the Rupert Street range for a little practice. I should be glad toshow it to her. "

"Well, wait here a minute or two, " said Sam, "I'll have finishedtalking business in a moment, "

He returned to the inner office. 

"Well?" cried Billie. 

"Eh? Oh, he's gone, " said Sam. "I persuaded him to go away. He was alittle excited, poor fellow. And now let us return to what we weretalking about. You say.... " He broke off with an exclamation, andglanced at his watch. "Good Heavens! I had no idea of the time. Ipromised to run up and see a man in one of the offices in the nextcourt. He wants to consult me on some difficulty which has arisen withone of his clients. Rightly or wrongly he values my advice. Can youspare me for a short while? I shan't be more than ten minutes. "

"Certainly. "

"Here is something you may care to look at while I'm gone. I don't knowif you have read it? Widgery on Nisi Prius Evidence. Most interesting. "

He went out. Jno. Peters looked up from his _Home Whispers_. 

"You can go in now, " said Sam. 

"Certainly, Mr. Samuel, certainly. "

Sam took up the copy of _Home Whispers_, and sat down with hisfeet on the desk. He turned to the serial story and began to read thesynopsis. 

In the inner room, Billie, who had rejected the mental refreshmentoffered by Widgery, and was engaged in making a tour of the office, looking at the portraits of whiskered men whom she took correctly to bethe Thorpes, Prescotts, Winslows and Applebys mentioned on thecontents-bill outside, was surprised to hear the door open at her back. She had not expected Sam to return so instantaneously. 

Nor had he done so. It was not Sam who entered. It was a man ofrepellent aspect whom she recognised instantly, for Jno. Peters was oneof those men who, once seen, are not easily forgotten. He was smiling, a cruel, cunning smile--at least, she thought he was; Mr. Petershimself was under the impression that his face was wreathed in abenevolent simper; and in his hand he bore the largest pistol ever seenoutside a motion picture studio. 

"How do you do, Miss Milliken?" he said. 

CHAPTER TWELVE

Billie had been standing near the wall, inspecting a portrait of thelate Mr. Josiah Appleby, of which the kindest thing one can say is thatone hopes it did not do him justice. She now shrank back against thiswall, as if she were trying to get through it. The edge of theportrait's frame tilted her hat out of the straight, but in thissupreme moment she did not even notice it. 

"Er--how do you do?" she said. 

If she had not been an exceedingly pretty girl, one would have saidthat she spoke squeakily. The fighting spirit of the Bennetts, thoughit was considerable fighting spirit, had not risen to this emergency. It had ebbed out of her, leaving in its place a cold panic. She hadseen this sort of thing in the movies--there was one series ofpictures, The Dangers of Diana, where something of the kind hadhappened to the heroine in every reel--but she had not anticipated thatit would ever happen to her: and consequently she had not thought outany plan for coping with such a situation. A grave error. In this worldone should be prepared for everything, or where is one? The best shecould do was to stand and stare at the intruder. It would have done SamMarlowe good--he had now finished the synopsis and was skimmingthrough the current instalment--if he could have known how she yearnedfor his return. 

"I've brought the revolver, " said Mr. Peters. 

"So--so I see!" said Billie. 

Mr. Peters nursed the weapon affectionately in his hand. He was rathera shy man with women as a rule, but what Sam had told him about herbeing interested in his revolver had made his heart warm to this girl. 

"I was just on my way to have a little practice at the range, " he said. "Then I thought I might as well look in here. "

"I suppose--I suppose you're a good shot?" quavered Billie. 

"I seldom miss, " said Jno. Peters. 

Billie shuddered. Then, reflecting that the longer she engaged thismaniac in conversation, the more hope there was of Sam coming back intime to save her, she essayed further small-talk. 

"It's--it's very ugly!"

"Oh, no!" said Mr. Peters, hurt. 

Billie perceived that she had said the wrong thing. 

"Very deadly-looking, I meant, " she corrected herself hastily. 

"It may have deadly work to do, Miss Milliken, " said Mr. Peters. 

Conversation languished again. Billie had no further remarks to make ofimmediate interest, and Mr. Peters was struggling with a return of thedeplorable shyness which so handicapped him in his dealings with theother sex. After a few moments, he pulled himself together again, and, as his first act was to replace the pistol in the pocket of his coat, Billie became conscious of a faint stirring of relief. 

"The great thing, " said Jno. Peters, "is to learn to draw quickly. Likethis!" he added, producing the revolver with something of thesmoothness and rapidity with which Billie, in happier moments, had seenconjurers take a bowl of gold fish out of a tall hat. "Everythingdepends on getting the first shot! The first shot, Miss Milliken, isvital. "

Suddenly Billie had an inspiration. It was hopeless she knew, to try toconvince this poor demented creature, obsessed with his _ideefixe_, that she was not Miss Milliken. Denial would be a waste oftime, and might even infuriate him into precipitating the tragedy. It wasimperative that she should humour him. And, while she was humouringhim, it suddenly occurred to her, why not do it thoroughly. 

"Mr. Peters, " she cried, "you are quite mistaken!"

"I beg your pardon, " said Jno. Peters, with not a little asperity. "Nothing of the kind!"

"You are!"

"I assure you I am not. Quickness in the draw is essential. "

"You have been misinformed. "

"Well, I had it direct from the man at the Rupert Street range, " saidMr. Peters stiffly. "And if you had ever seen a picture called Two-GunThomas.... "

"Mr. Peters!" cried Billie desperately. He was making her head swimwith his meaningless ravings. "Mr. Peters, hear me! I am not married toa man at Ealing West!"

Mr. Peters betrayed no excitement at the information. This girl seemedfor some reason to consider her situation an extraordinary one, butmany women, he was aware, were in a similar position. In fact, he couldnot at the moment think of any of his feminine acquaintances who_were_ married to men at Ealing West. 

"Indeed?" he said politely. 

"Won't you believe me?" exclaimed Billie wildly. 

"Why, certainly, certainly, " said Jno. Peters. 

"Thank God!" said Billie. "I'm not even engaged! It's all been aterrible mistake!"

When two people in a small room are speaking on two distinct anddifferent subjects and neither knows what on earth the other is drivingat, there is bound to be a certain amount of mental confusion: but atthis point Jno. Peters, though still not wholly equal to theintellectual pressure of the conversation, began to see a faint shimmerof light behind the clouds. In a nebulous kind of way he began tounderstand that the girl had come to consult the firm about abreach-of-promise action. Some unknown man at Ealing West had beentrifling with her heart--hardened lawyer's clerk as he was, that poignantcry "I'm not engaged!" had touched Mr. Peters--and she wished to startproceedings. Mr. Peters felt almost in his depth again. He put therevolver in his pocket, and drew out a note-book. 

"I should be glad to hear the facts, " he said with professionalcourtesy. "In the absence of the Guv'nor.... "

"I have told you the facts!"

"This man at Ealing West, " said Mr. Peters, moistening the point of hispencil, "he wrote you letters proposing marriage?"

"No, no, no!"

"At any rate, " said Mr. Peters, disappointed but hopeful, "he made loveto you before witnesses?"

"Never! Never! There is no man at Ealing West! There never was a man atEaling West!"

It was at this point that Jno. Peters began for the first time toentertain serious doubts of the girl's mental balance. The mostelementary acquaintance with the latest census was enough to tell himthat there were any number of men at Ealing West. The place was full ofthem. Would a sane woman have made an assertion to the contrary? Hethought not, and he was glad that he had the revolver with him. She haddone nothing as yet actively violent, but it was nice to feel prepared. He took it out and laid it nonchalantly in his lap. 

The sight of the weapon acted on Billie electrically. She flung out herhands, in a gesture of passionate appeal, and played her last card. 

"I love _you_!" she cried. She wished she could have rememberedhis first name. It would have rounded off the sentence neatly. In sucha moment she could hardly call him 'Mr. Peters. ' "You are the only manI love. "

"My gracious goodness!" ejaculated Mr. Peters, and nearly fell overbackwards. To a naturally shy man this sudden and wholly unexpecteddeclaration was disconcerting: and the clerk was, moreover, engaged. Heblushed violently. And yet, even in that moment of consternation, hecould not check a certain thrill. No man ever thinks he is as homely ashe really is, but Jno. Peters had always come fairly near to a correctestimate of his charms, and it had always seemed to him, that, ininducing his fiancee to accept him, he had gone some. He now began towonder if he were not really rather a devil of a chap after all. Theremust, he felt, be precious few men going about capable of inspiringdevotion like this on the strength of about six and a half minutescasual conversation. 

Calmer thoughts succeeded this little flicker of complacency. The girlwas mad. That was the fact of the matter. He got up and began to edgetowards the door. Mr. Samuel would be returning shortly, and he oughtto be warned. 

"So that's all right, isn't it!" said Billie. 

"Oh, quite, quite!" said Mr. Peters. "Er--thank you very much!"

"I thought you would be pleased, " said Billie, relieved, but puzzled. For a man of volcanic passions, as Sam Marlowe had described him, heseemed to be taking the thing very calmly. She had anticipated astrenuous scene. 

"Oh, it's a great compliment, " Mr. Peters assured her. 

At this point Sam came in, interrupting the conversation at a momentwhen it had reached a somewhat difficult stage. He had finished theinstalment of the serial story in _Home Whispers_, and, looking athis watch he fancied that he had allowed sufficient time to elapse forevents to have matured along the lines which his imagination hadindicated. 

The atmosphere of the room seemed to him, as he entered, a littlestrained. Billie looked pale and agitated. Mr. Peters looked ratheragitated too. Sam caught Billie's eye. It had an unspoken appeal in it. He gave an imperceptible nod, a reassuring nod, the nod of a man whounderstood all and was prepared to handle the situation. 

"Come, Peters, " he said in a deep, firm, quiet voice, laying a hand onthe clerk's arm. "It's time that you went. "

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Samuel! yes, yes, indeed!"

"I'll see you out, " said Sam soothingly, and led him through the outeroffice and on to the landing outside. "Well, good luck, Peters, " hesaid, as they stood at the head of the stairs. "I hope you have apleasant trip. Why, what's the matter? You seem upset. "

"That girl, Mr. Samuel! I really think--really, she cannot be quiteright in her head. "

"Nonsense, nonsense!" said Sam firmly. "She's all right! Well, good-bye. "

"Good-bye, Mr. Samuel. "

"When did you say you were sailing?"

"Next Saturday, Mr. Samuel. But I fear I shall have no opportunity ofseeing you again before then. I have packing to do and I have to seethis gentleman down in the country.... "

"All right. Then we'll say good-bye now. Good-bye, Peters. Mind youhave a good time in America. I'll tell my father you called. "

Sam watched him out of sight down the stairs, then turned and made hisway back to the inner office. Billie was sitting limply on the chairwhich Jno. Peters had occupied. She sprang to her feet. 

"Has he really gone?"

"Yes, he's gone this time. "

"Was he--was he violent?"

"A little, " said Sam, "a little. But I calmed him down. " He looked ather gravely. "Thank God I was in time!"

"Oh, you are the bravest man in the world!" cried Billie, and, buryingher face in her hands, burst into tears. 

"There, there!" said Sam. "There, there! Come come! It's all right now!There, there, there!"

He knelt down beside her. He slipped one arm round her waist. He pattedher hands. 

I have tried to draw Samuel Marlowe so that he will live on the printedpage. I have endeavoured to delineate his character so that it will beas an open book. And, if I have succeeded in my task, the reader willby now have become aware that he was a young man with the gall of anArmy mule. His conscience, if he had ever had one, had become atrophiedthrough long disuse. He had given this sensitive girl the worst frightshe had had since a mouse had got into her bedroom at school. He hadcaused Jno. Peters to totter off to the Rupert Street range making low, bleating noises. And did he care? No! All he cared about was the factthat he had erased for ever from Billie's mind that undignified pictureof himself as he had appeared on the boat, and substituted anotherwhich showed him brave, resourceful, gallant. All he cared about wasthe fact that Billie, so cold ten minutes before, had allowed him tokiss her for the forty-second time. If you had asked him, he would havesaid that he had acted for the best, and that out of evil cometh good, or some sickening thing like that. That was the sort of man SamuelMarlowe was. 

His face was very close to Billie's, who had cheered up wonderfully bythis time, and he was whispering his degraded words of endearment intoher ear, when there was a sort of explosion in the doorway. 

"Great Godfrey!" exclaimed Mr. Rufus Bennett, gazing on the scene fromthis point of vantage and mopping with a large handkerchief a scarletface, which, as the result of climbing three flights of stairs, hadbecome slightly soluble. "Great Heavens above!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Remarkable as the apparition of Mr. Bennett appeared to his daughter, theexplanation of his presence at that moment in the office of Marlowe, Thorpe, Prescott, Winslow, and Appleby was simple. He had woken early thatmorning, and, glancing at his watch on the dressing-table, he had suddenlybecome aware of something bright and yellow beside it, and had paused, transfixed, like Robinson Crusoe staring at the footprint in the sand. If he had not been in England, he would have said it was a patch ofsunshine. Hardly daring to hope, he pulled up the shades and looked outon the garden. 

It was a superb morning. It was as if some giant had uncorked a greatbottle full of the distilled scent of grass, trees, flowers, and hay. Mr. Bennett sniffed luxuriantly. Gone was the gloom of the past days, swept away in a great exhilaration. 

Breakfast had deepened his content. Henry Mortimer, softened by thesame balmy influence, had been perfectly charming. All their littledifferences had melted away in the genial warmth. And then suddenlyMr. Bennett remembered that he had sent Billie up to London to enlistthe aid of the Law against his old friend, and remorse gripped him. Halfan hour later he was in the train, on his way to London to intercept herand cancel her mission. He had arrived, breathless at Sir Mallaby'soffice, and the first thing he had seen was his daughter in the arms ofa young man who was a total stranger to him. The shock took away hisbreath again just as it was coming back. He advanced shakily into theroom, and supported himself with one hand on the desk, while with theother he plied the handkerchief on his super-heated face. 

Billie was the first to speak. 

"Why, father, " she said, "I didn't expect you!"

As an explanation of her behaviour this might, no doubt, have beenconsidered sufficient, but as an excuse for it Mr. Bennett thought itinadequate. He tried to convey a fatherly reproof by puffing like aseal after a long dive in search of fish. 

"This is Sam, " proceeded Billie. "Sam Marlowe. "

Mr. Bennett became aware that the young man was moving towards him withoutstretched hand. It took a lot to disconcert Sam, and he was thecalmest person present. He gave evidence of this in a neat speech. Hedid not in so many words congratulate Mr. Bennett on the piece of luckwhich had befallen him, but he tried to make him understand by hismanner that he was distinctly to be envied as the prospectivefather-in-law of such a one as himself. 

Mr. Bennett stared in a frozen sort of way at the hand. He had placedSam by now. He knew that Sir Mallaby had a son. This, presumably, washe. But the discovery did not diminish his indignation. 

"I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Bennett, " said Sam. "You could nothave come at a more fortunate moment. You see for yourself how thingsare. There is no need for a long explanation. You came to find adaughter, Mr. Bennett, and you have found a son!"

And he would like to see the man, thought Sam, who could have put itmore cleverly and pleasantly and tactfully than that. 

"What are you talking about?" said Mr. Bennett, recovering breath. "Ihaven't got a son. "

"I will be a son to you! I will be the prop of your decliningyears.... "

"What the devil do you mean, my declining years?" demanded Mr. Bennettwith asperity. 

"He means when they do decline, father dear, " said Billie. 

"Of course, of course, " said Sam. "When they do decline. Not till then, of course! I wouldn't dream of it. But, once they do decline, count onme! And I should like to say for my part, " he went on handsomely, "whatan honour I think it, to become the son-in-law of a man like Mr. Bennett. Bennett of New York!" he added spaciously, not so much becausehe knew what he meant, for he would have been the first to admit thathe did not, but because it sounded well. 

"Oh!" said Mr. Bennett "You do, do you?"

Mr. Bennett sat down. He put away his handkerchief, which had certainlyearned a rest. Then he fastened a baleful stare upon his newly-discoveredson. It was not the sort of look a proud and happy father-in-law-to-beought to have directed at a prospective relative. It was not, as a matterof fact, the sort of look which anyone ought to have directed at anybodyexcept possibly an exceptionally prudish judge at a criminal in the dock, convicted of a more than usually atrocious murder. Billie, not being inthe actual line of fire, only caught the tail end of it, but it wasenough to create a misgiving. 

"Oh, father! You aren't angry. "

"Angry!"

"You _can't_ be angry!"

"Why can't I be angry!" demanded Mr. Bennett, with that sense of injurywhich comes to self-willed men when their whims are thwarted. "Why thedevil shouldn't I be angry? I _am_ angry! I come here and find youlike--like this, and you seem to expect me to throw my hat in the airand give three rousing cheers! Of course I'm angry! You are engaged tobe married to an excellent young man of the highest character, one ofthe finest young men I have ever met.... "

"Oh, well!" said Sam, straightening his tie modestly. "Of course, ifyou say so ... It's awfully good of you.... "

"But, father, " cried Billie, "I never really loved Bream. I like himvery much, but I could never love him. I only got engaged to himbecause you were so anxious for it, and because ... Because I hadquarrelled with the man I really loved ... I don't want to marry Bream. "

"Naturally!" said Sam. "Naturally! Quite out of the question. In a fewdays we'll all be roaring with laughter at the very idea. "

Mr. Bennett scorched him with a look compared with which his earliereffort had been a loving glance. 

"Wilhelmina, " he said, "go into the outer office. "

"But, father, you don't understand. You don't realise that Sam has justsaved my life. "

"Saved your life? What do you mean?"

"There was a lunatic in here with a pistol, and Sam saved me. "

"It was nothing, " said Sam modestly. "Nothing. "

"Go into the outer office!" thundered Mr. Bennett, quite unmoved bythis story. 

"Very well, " said Billie. "I shall always love you, Sam, " she said, pausing mutinously at the door. 

"I shall always love _you_, " said Sam. 

"Nobody can keep us apart. "

"They're wasting their time, trying, " said Sam. 

"You're the most wonderful man in the world. "

"There never was a girl like you!"

"Get _out_!" bellowed Mr. Bennett, on whose equanimity thislove-scene, which I think beautiful, was jarring profoundly. 

"Now, sir!" he said to Sam, as the door closed. 

"Yes, let's talk it over calmly, " said Sam. 

"I will not talk it over calmly!"

"Oh, come! You can do it if you try. "

"Bream Mortimer is the son of Henry Mortimer. "

"I know, " said Sam. "And, while it is no doubt unfair to hold thatagainst him, it's a point you can't afford to ignore. Henry Mortimer!You and I have Henry Mortimer's number. We know what Henry Mortimer islike! A man who spends his time thinking up ways of annoying you. Youcan't seriously want to have the Mortimer family linked to you bymarriage. "

"Henry Mortimer is my oldest friend. "

"That makes it all the worse. Fancy a man who calls himself your friendtreating you like that!"

"The misunderstanding to which you allude has been completely smoothedover. My relations with Mr. Mortimer are thoroughly cordial. "

"Well, have it your own way. Personally, I wouldn't trust a man likethat. And, as for letting my daughter marry his son... !"

"I have decided once and for all.... "

"If you'll take my advice, you will break the thing off. "

"I will not take your advice. "

"I wouldn't expect to charge you for it, " explained Sam, reassuringly. "I give it you as a friend, not as a lawyer. Six-and-eightpence toothers, free to you. "

"Will you understand that my daughter is going to marry Bream Mortimer?What are you giggling about?"

"It sounds so silly. The idea of anyone marrying Bream Mortimer, Imean. "

"Let me tell you he is a thoroughly estimable young man. "

"And there you put the whole thing in a nutshell. Your daughter is agirl of spirit. She would hate to be tied for life to an estimableyoung man. "

"She will do as I tell her. "

Sam regarded him sternly. 

"Have you no regard for her happiness?"

"I am the best judge of what is best for her. "

"If you ask me, " said Sam candidly, "I think you're a rotten judge. "

"I did not come here to be insulted!"

"I like that! You have been insulting me ever since you arrived. Whatright have you to say that I'm not fit to marry your daughter?"

"I did not say that. "

"You've implied it. And you've been looking at me as if I were a leperor something the Pure Food Committee has condemned. Why? That's what Iask you, " said Sam, warming up. This, he fancied, was the way Widgerywould have tackled a troublesome client. "Why? Answer me that!"

"I.... "

Sam rapped sharply on the desk. 

"Be careful, sir. Be very careful!" He knew that this was what lawyersalways said. Of course, there is a difference in position between amiscreant whom you suspect of an attempt at perjury and the father ofthe girl you love, whose consent to the match you wish to obtain, butSam was in no mood for these nice distinctions. He only knew thatlawyers told people to be very careful, so he told Mr. Bennett to bevery careful. 

"What do you mean, be very careful?" said Mr. Bennett. 

"I'm dashed if I know, " said Sam frankly. The question struck him as amean attack. He wondered how Widgery would have met it. Probably bysmiling quietly and polishing his spectacles. Sam had no spectacles. Heendeavoured, however, to smile quietly. 

"Don't laugh at me!" roared Mr. Bennett. 

"I'm not laughing at you. "

"You are!"

"I'm not!"

"Well, don't then!" said Mr. Bennett. He glowered at his youngcompanion. "I don't know why I'm wasting my time, talking to you. Theposition is clear to the meanest intelligence. You cannot have anydifficulty in understanding it. I have no objection to youpersonally.... "

"Come, this is better!" said Sam. 

"I don't know you well enough to have any objection to you or anyopinion of you at all. This is the first time I have ever met you in mylife. "

"Mark you, " said Sam. "I think I am one of those fellows who grow onpeople.... "

"As far as I am concerned, you simply do not exist. You may be thenoblest character in London or you may be wanted by the police. I don'tknow. And I don't care. It doesn't matter to me. You mean nothing in mylife. I don't know you. "

"You must persevere, " said Sam. "You must buckle to and get to know me. Don't give the thing up in this half-hearted way. Everything has tohave a beginning. Stick to it, and in a week or two you will findyourself knowing me quite well. "

"I don't want to know you!"

"You say that now, but wait!"

"And thank goodness I have not got to!" exploded Mr. Bennett, ceasingto be calm and reasonable with a suddenness which affected Sam much asthough half a pound of gunpowder had been touched off under his chair. "For the little I have seen of you has been quite enough! Kindlyunderstand that my daughter is engaged to be married to another man, andthat I do not wish to see or hear anything of you again! I shall try toforget your very existence, and I shall see to it that Wilhelmina doesthe same! You're an impudent scoundrel, sir! An impudent scoundrel! Idon't like you! I don't wish to see you again! If you were the last manin the world I wouldn't allow my daughter to marry you! If that isquite clear, I will wish you good morning!"

Mr. Bennett thundered out of the room, and Sam, temporarily stunned bythe outburst, remained where he was, gaping. A few minuteslater life began to return to his palsied limbs. It occurred to himthat Mr. Bennett had forgotten to kiss him good-bye, and he went intothe outer office to tell him so. But the outer office was empty. Samstood for a moment in thought, then he returned to the inner office, and, picking up a time-table, began to look out trains to the villageof Windlehurst in Hampshire, the nearest station to his aunt Adeline'scharming old-world house, Windles. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As I read over the last few chapters of this narrative, I see that Ihave been giving the reader a rather too jumpy time. To almost apainful degree I have excited his pity and terror; and, though that iswhat Aristotle tells one ought to do, I feel that a little respitewould not be out of order. The reader can stand having his emotionschurned up to a certain point; after that he wants to take it easy. Itis with pleasure, therefore, that I turn now to depict a quiet, peaceful scene in domestic life. It won't last long--three minutes, perhaps, by a stop-watch--but that is not my fault. My task is torecord facts as they happened. 

The morning sunlight fell pleasantly on the garden of Windles, turningit into the green and amber Paradise which Nature had intended it tobe. A number of the local birds sang melodiously in the under-growth atthe end of the lawn, while others, more energetic, hopped about thegrass in quest of worms. Bees, mercifully ignorant that, afterthey had worked themselves to the bone gathering honey, theproceeds of their labour would be collared and consumed by idle humans, buzzed industriously to and fro and dived head foremost into flowers. Winged insects danced sarabands in the sunshine. And in a deck-chairunder the cedar-tree Billie Bennett, with a sketching-block on herknee, was engaged in drawing a picture of the ruined castle. Besideher, curled up in a ball, lay her Pekinese dog, Pinky-Boodles. BesidePinky-Boodles slept Smith, the bulldog. In the distant stable-yard, unseen but audible, a boy in shirt sleeves was washing the car andsinging as much as treacherous memory would permit of a popularsentimental ballad. 

You may think that was all. You may suppose that nothing could be addedto deepen the atmosphere of peace and content. Not so. At this moment, Mr. Bennett emerged from the French windows of the drawing-room, cladin white flannels and buckskin shoes, supplying just the finishingtouch that was needed. 

Mr. Bennett crossed the lawn, and sat down beside his daughter. Smith, the bull-dog, raising a sleepy head, breathed heavily; but Mr. Bennettdid not quail. Of late, relations of distant but solid friendship hadcome to exist between them. Sceptical at first, Mr. Bennett had atlength allowed himself to be persuaded of the mildness of the animal'snature and the essential purity of his motives; and now it was only whenthey encountered each other unexpectedly round sharp corners that heever betrayed the slightest alarm. So now, while Smith slept on the grass, Mr. Bennett reclined in the chair. It was the nearest thing moderncivilization had seen to the lion lying down with the lamb. 

"Sketching?" said Mr. Bennett. 

"Yes, " said Billie, for there were no secrets between this girl and herfather. At least, not many. She occasionally omitted to tell him somesuch trifle as that she had met Samuel Marlowe on the previous morningin a leafy lane, and intended to meet him again this afternoon, butapart from that her mind was an open book. 

"It's a great morning, " said Mr. Bennett. 

"So peaceful, " said Billie. 

"The eggs you get in the country in England, " said Mr. Bennett, suddenly striking a lyrical note, "are extraordinary. I had three forbreakfast this morning which defied competition, simply defiedcompetition. They were large and brown, and as fresh as new-mown-hay!"

He mused for a while in a sort of ecstasy. 

"And the hams!" he went on. "The ham I had for breakfast was what Icall ham! I don't know when I've had ham like that. I suppose it'ssomething they feed the pigs, " he concluded, in soft meditation. And hegave a little sigh. Life was very beautiful. 

Silence fell, broken only by the snoring of Smith. Billie was thinkingof Sam, and of what Sam had said to her in the lane yesterday; of hisclean-cut face, and the look in his eyes--so vastly superior to anylook that ever came into the eyes of Bream Mortimer. She was tellingherself that her relations with Sam were an idyll; for, being young andromantic, she enjoyed this freshet of surreptitious meetings which hadcome to enliven the stream of her life. It was pleasant to go warilyinto deep lanes where forbidden love lurked. She cast a swift side-glanceat her father--the unconscious ogre in her fairy-story. What would he sayif he knew? But Mr. Bennett did not know, and consequently continued tomeditate peacefully on ham. 

They had sat like this for perhaps a minute--two happy mortals lulled bythe gentle beauty of the day--when from the window of the drawing-roomthere stepped out a white-capped maid. And one may just as well say atonce--and have done with it--that this is the point where the quiet, peaceful scene in domestic life terminates with a jerk, and pity andterror resume work at the old stand. 

The maid--her name, not that it matters, was Susan, and she was engagedto be married, though the point is of no importance, to the second assistant at Green's Grocery Stores in Windlehurst--approached Mr. Bennett. 

"Please, sir, a gentleman to see you. "

"Eh?" said Mr. Bennett, torn from a dream of large pink slices edgedwith bread-crumbed fat. "Eh?"

"A gentleman to see you, sir. In the drawing-room. He says you areexpecting him. "

"Of course, yes. To be sure. "

Mr. Bennett heaved himself out of the deck-chair. Beyond the Frenchwindows he could see an indistinct form in a gray suit, and rememberedthat this was the morning on which Sir Mallaby Marlowe's clerk--who wastaking those Schultz and Bowen papers for him to America--hadwritten that he would call. To-day was Friday; no doubt the man wassailing from Southampton to-morrow. 

He crossed the lawn, entered the drawing-room, and found Mr. Jno. Peters with an expression on his ill-favored face, which looked likeone of consternation, of uneasiness, even of alarm. 

"Morning, Mr. Peters, " said Mr. Bennett. "Very good of you to run down. Take a seat, and I'll just go through the few notes I have made aboutthe matter. "

"Mr. Bennett, " exclaimed Jno. Peters. "May--may I speak?"

"What do you mean? Eh? What? Something to say? What is it?"

Mr. Peters cleared his throat awkwardly. He was feeling embarrassed atthe unpleasantness of the duty which he had to perform, but it was aduty, and he did not intend to shrink from performing it. Ever since, gazing appreciatively through the drawing-room windows at the charmingscene outside, he had caught sight of the unforgettable form of Billie, seated in her chair with the sketching-block on her knee, he hadrealised that he could not go away in silence, leaving Mr. Bennettignorant of what he was up against. 

One almost inclines to fancy that there must have been a curse of somekind on this house of Windles. Certainly everybody who entered itseemed to leave his peace of mind behind him. Jno. Peters had beenfeeling notably happy during his journey in the train from London, andthe subsequent walk from the station. The splendor of the morning hadsoothed his nerves, and the faint wind that blew inshore from the seaspoke to him hearteningly of adventure and romance. There was a jar ofpot-pourri on the drawing-room table, and he had derived considerablepleasure from sniffing at it. In short, Jno. Peters was in the pink, without a care in the world, until he had looked out of the window andseen Billie. 

"Mr. Bennett, " he said, "I don't want to do anybody any harm, and, ifyou know all about it, and she suits you, well and good; but I think itis my duty to inform you that your stenographer is not quite right inthe head. I don't say she's dangerous, but she isn't compos. Shedecidedly is _not_ compos, Mr. Bennett!"

Mr. Bennett stared at his well-wisher dumbly for a moment. The thoughtcrossed his mind that, if ever there was a case of the pot calling thekettle black, this was it. His opinion of Jno. Peters' sanity went downto zero. 

"What are you talking about? My stenographer? What stenographer?"

It occurred to Mr. Peters that a man of the other's wealth and businessconnections might well have a troupe of these useful females. Heparticularised. 

"I mean the young lady out in the garden there, to whom you weredictating just now. The young lady with the writing-pad on her knee. "

"What! What!" Mr. Bennett spluttered. "Do you know who that is?" heexclaimed. 

"Oh, yes, indeed!" said Jno. Peters. "I have only met her once, whenshe came into our office to see Mr. Samuel, but her personality andappearance stamped themselves so forcibly on my mind, that I know I amnot mistaken. I am sure it is my duty to tell you exactly what happenedwhen I was left alone with her in the office. We had hardly exchanged adozen words, Mr. Bennett, when--" here Jno. Peters, modest to the core, turned vividly pink, "when she told me--she told me that I was the onlyman she loved!"

Mr. Bennett uttered a loud cry. 

"Sweet spirits of nitre!"

Mr. Peters could make nothing of this exclamation, and he was deterredfrom seeking light, by the sudden action of his host, who, boundingfrom his seat, with a vivacity of which one could not have believed himcapable, charged to the French window and emitted a bellow. 

"Wilhelmina!"

Billie looked up from her sketching-book with a start. It seemed to herthat there was a note of anguish, of panic, in that voice. What herfather could have found in the drawing-room to be frightened at, shedid not know; but she dropped her block and hurried to his assistance. 

"What it is, father?"

Mr. Bennett had retired within the room when she arrived; and, going inafter him, she perceived at once what had caused his alarm. Therebefore her, looking more sinister than ever, stood the lunatic Peters;and there was an ominous bulge in his right coat-pocket which betrayedthe presence of the revolver. What Jno. Peters was, as a matter offact, carrying in his right coat-pocket was a bag of mixed chocolateswhich he had purchased in Windlehurst. But Billie's eyes, though bright, had no X-ray quality. Her simple creed was that, if Jno. Peters bulged at any point, that bulge must be caused by a pistol. Shescreamed, and backed against the wall. Her whole acquaintance with Jno. Peters had been on constant backing against walls. 

"Don't shoot!" she cried, as Mr. Peters absent-mindedly dipped hishand into the pocket of his coat. "Oh, please don't shoot!"

"What the deuce do you mean?" said Mr. Bennett, irritably. 

He hated to have people gibbering around him in the morning. 

"Wilhelmina, this man says that you told him you loved him. "

"Yes, I did, and I do. Really, really, Mr. Peters, I do!"

"Suffering cats!"

Mr. Bennett clutched at the back of a chair. 

"But you've only met him once!" he added almost pleadingly. 

"You don't understand, father dear, " said Billie desperately. "I'llexplain the whole thing later, when.... "

"Father!" ejaculated Jno. Peters feebly. "Did you say 'father'?"

"Of course I said 'father'!"

"This is my daughter, Mr. Peters. "

"My daughter! I mean, your daughter! Are--are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Do you think I don't know my own daughter?"

"But she called me 'Mr. Peters'!"

"Well, it's your name, isn't it?"

"But, if she--if this young lady is your daughter, how did she know myname?"

The point seemed to strike Mr. Bennett. He turned to Billie. 

"That's true. Tell me, Wilhelmina, when did you and Mr. Peters meet?"

"Why, in--in Sir Mallaby Marlowe's office, the morning you came thereand found me when I was--talking to Sam. "

Mr. Peters uttered a subdued gargling sound. He was finding this sceneoppressive to a not very robust intellect. 

"He--Mr. Samuel--told me your name, Miss Milliken, " he said dully. 

Billie stared at him. 

"Mr. Marlowe told you my name was Miss Milliken!" she repeated. 

"He told me that you were the sister of the Miss Milliken who acts asstenographer for the guv'--for Sir Mallaby, and sent me in to show youmy revolver, because he said you were interested and wanted to see it. "

Billie uttered an exclamation. So did Mr. Bennett, who hated mysteries. 

"What revolver? Which revolver? What's all this about a revolver? Haveyou a revolver?"

"Why, yes, Mr. Bennett. It is packed now in my trunk, but usually Icarry it about with me everywhere in order to take a little practice atthe Rupert Street range. I bought it when Sir Mallaby told me he wassending me to America, because I thought I ought to be prepared--becauseof the Underworld, you know. "

A cold gleam had come into Billie's eyes. Her face was pale and hard. If Sam Marlowe--at that moment carolling blithely in his bedroom at theBlue Boar in Windlehurst, washing his hands preparatory to descendingto the coffee-room for a bit of cold lunch--could have seen her, thesong would have frozen on his lips. Which, one might mention, asshowing that there is always a bright side, would have been muchappreciated by the travelling gentleman in the adjoining room, who hadhad a wild night with some other travelling gentlemen, and was thennursing a rather severe headache, separated from Sam's penetratingbaritone, only by the thickness of a wooden wall. 

Billie knew all. And, terrible though the fact is as an indictment ofthe male sex, when a woman knows all, there is invariably trouble aheadfor some man. 

There was trouble ahead for Sam Marlowe. Billie, now in possession ofthe facts, had examined them and come to the conclusion that Sam hadplayed a practical joke on her, and she was a girl who stronglydisapproved of practical humor at her expense. 

"That morning I met you at Sir Mallaby's office, Mr. Peters, " she saidin a frosty voice, "Mr. Marlowe had just finished telling me a long andconvincing story to the effect that you were madly in love with a MissMilliken, who had jilted you, and that this had driven you off yourhead, and that you spent your time going about with a pistol, trying toshoot every red-haired woman you saw, because you thought they wereMiss Milliken. Naturally, when you came in and called me Miss Milliken, and brandished a revolver, I was very frightened. I thought it would beuseless to tell you that I wasn't Miss Milliken, so I tried to persuadeyou that I was, and hadn't jilted you after all. "

"Good gracious!" said Mr. Peters, vastly relieved; and yet--for alwaysthere is bitter mixed with the sweet--a shade disappointed. "Then--er--youdon't love me after all?"

"No!" said Billie. "I am engaged to Bream Mortimer, and I love him andnobody else in the world!"

The last portion of her observation was intended for the consumption ofMr. Bennett, rather than that of Mr. Peters, and he consumed itjoyfully. He folded Billie in his ample embrace. 

"I always thought you had a grain of sense hidden away somewhere, " hesaid, paying her a striking tribute. "I hope now that we've heard thelast of all this foolishness about that young hound Marlowe. "

"You certainly have! I don't want ever to see him again! I hate him!"

"You couldn't do better, my dear, " said Mr. Bennett, approvingly. "Andnow run away. Mr. Peters and I have some business to discuss. "

A quarter of an hour later, Webster, the valet, sunning himself in thestable-yard, was aware of the daughter of his employer approaching him. 

"Webster, " said Billie. She was still pale. Her face was still hard, and her eyes still gleamed coldly. 

"Miss?" said Webster politely, throwing away the cigarette with whichhe had been refreshing himself. 

"Will you do something for me?"

"I should be more than delighted, miss. "

Billie whisked into view an envelope which had been concealed in therecesses of her dress. 

"Do you know the country about here, well, Webster?"

"Within a certain radius, not unintimately, Miss. I have been forseveral enjoyable rambles since the fine weather set in. "

"Do you know the place where there is a road leading to Havant, andanother to Cosham? It's about a mile down.... "

"I know the spot well, miss. "

"Well, straight in front of you when you get to the sign-post there isa little lane.... "

"I know it, miss, " said Webster. "A delightfully romantic spot. Whatwith the overhanging trees, the wealth of blackberry bushes, the variedwild-flowers.... "

"Yes, never mind about the wild-flowers now. I want you after lunch totake this note to a gentleman you will find sitting on the gate at thebottom of the lane.... "

"Sitting on the gate, miss. Yes, miss. "

"Or leaning against it. You can't mistake him. He is rather tall and.... Oh, well, there isn't likely to be anybody else there, so you can'tmake a mistake. Give him this, will you?"

"Certainly, miss. Er--any message?"

"Any what?"

"Any verbal message, miss?"

"No, certainly not! You won't forget, will you, Webster?"

"On no account whatever, miss. Shall I wait for an answer?"

"There won't be any answer, " said Billie, setting her teeth for aninstant. "Oh, Webster!"

"Miss?"

"I can rely on you to say nothing to anybody?"

"Most undoubtedly, miss. Most undoubtedly!"

"Does anybody know anything about a feller named S. Marlowe?" enquiredWebster, entering the kitchen. "Don't all speak at once! S. Marlowe. Ever heard of him?"

He paused for a reply, but nobody had any information to impart. 

"Because there's something jolly well up! Our Miss B. Is sending mewith notes for him to the bottom of lanes. "

"And her engaged to young Mr. Mortimer!" said the scullery-maidshocked. "The way they go on! Chronic!" said the scullery-maid. 

"Don't you go getting alarmed. And don't you, " added Webster, "goshoving your ear in when your social superiors are talking. I've had tospeak to you about that before. My remarks were addressed to Mrs. Withers here. "

He indicated the cook with a respectful gesture. 

"Yes, here's the note, Mrs. Withers. Of course, if you had a steamykettle handy, in about half a moment we could ... But no, perhaps, it'swiser not to risk it. And, come to that, I don't need to unstick theenvelope to know what's inside here. It's the raspberry, ma'am, or I'velost all my power to read the human female countenance. Very cold andproud-looking she was! I don't know who this S. Marlowe is, but I doknow one thing; in this hand I hold the instrument that's going to giveit him in the neck, proper! Right in the neck, or my name isn't MontaguWebster!"

"Well!" said Mrs. Withers comfortably, pausing for a moment from herlabours. "Think of that!"

"The way I look at it, " said Webster, "is that there's been some sortof understanding between our Miss B. And this S. Marlowe, and she'sthought better of it and decided to stick to the man of her parent'schoice. She's chosen wealth and made up her mind to hand the humblesuitor the mitten. There was a rather similar situation in 'Cupid orMammon, ' that Nosegay Novelette I was reading in the train coming downhere, only that ended different. For my part I'd be better pleased ifour Miss B. Would let the cash go, and obey the dictates of her ownheart; but these modern girls are all alike. All out for the stuff, they are! Oh, well, it's none of my affair, " said Webster, stifling anot unmanly sigh. For beneath that immaculate shirt-front there beat awarm heart. Montagu Webster was a sentimentalist. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A half-past two that afternoon, full of optimism and cold beef, gailyunconscious that Webster, with measured strides was approaching evernearer with the note that was to give it him in the neck, proper, Samuel Marlowe dangled his feet from the top bar of the gate at the endof the lane and smoked contentedly as he waited for Billie to make herappearance. He had had an excellent lunch; his pipe was drawing well, and all Nature smiled. The breeze from the sea across the meadows, tickled pleasantly the back of his head, and sang a soothing song inthe long grass and ragged-robins at his feet. He was looking forwardwith a roseate glow of anticipation to the moment when the whiteflutter of Billie's dress would break the green of the foreground. Howeagerly he would jump from the gate! How lovingly he would.... 

The elegant figure of Webster interrupted his reverie. Sam had neverseen Webster before, and it was with no pleasure that he saw him now. Hehad come to regard this lane as his own property, and he resentedtrespassers. He tucked his legs under him, and scowled at Webster underthe brim of his hat. 

The valet advanced towards him with the air of an affable executionerstepping daintily to the block. 

"Mr. Marlowe, sir?" he enquired politely. 

Sam was startled. He could make nothing of this. 

"Eh? What?"

"Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. S. Marlowe?"

"Yes, that's my name. "

"Mine is Webster, sir, I am Mr. Bennett's personal gentleman'sgentleman. Miss Bennett entrusted me with this note to deliver to you, sir. "

Sam began to grasp the situation. For some reason or other, the deargirl had been prevented from coming this afternoon, and she had writtento explain and to relieve his anxiety. It was like her. It was just thesweet, thoughtful thing he would have expected her to do. Hiscontentment with the existing scheme of things returned. The sunshone out again, and he found himself amiably disposed towards themessenger. 

"Fine day, " he said, as he took the note. 

"Extremely, sir, " said Webster, outwardly unemotional, inwardly full ofa grave pity. 

It was plain to him that there had been no previous little rift toprepare the young man for the cervical operation which awaited him, andhe edged a little nearer, in order to be handy to catch Sam if theshock knocked him off the gate. 

As it happened, it did not. Having read the opening words of the note, Sam rocked violently; but his feet were twined about the lower bars andthis saved him from overbalancing. Webster stepped back, relieved. 

The note fluttered to the ground. Webster, picking it up and handing itback, was enabled to get a glimpse of the first two sentences. Theyconfirmed his suspicions. The note was hot stuff. Assuming that itcontinued as it began, it was about the warmest thing of its kind thatpen had ever written. Webster had received one or two heated epistlesfrom the sex in his time--your man of gallantry can hardly hope toescape these unpleasantnesses--but none had got off the markquite so swiftly, and with quite so much frigid violence as this. 

"Thanks, " said Sam, mechanically. 

"Not at all, sir. You are very welcome. "

Sam resumed his reading. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. His toes curled, and something seemed to be crawling down the small ofhis back. His heart had moved from its proper place and was now beatingin his throat. He swallowed once or twice to remove the obstruction, but without success. A kind of pall had descended on the landscape, blotting out the sun. 

Of all the rotten sensations in this world, the worst is therealisation that a thousand-to-one chance has come off, and caused ourwrong-doing to be detected. There had seemed no possibility of thatlittle ruse of his being discovered, and yet here was Billie in fullpossession of the facts. It almost made the thing worse that she didnot say how she had come into possession of them. This gave Sam thatfeeling of self-pity, that sense of having been ill-used by Fate, whichmakes the bringing home of crime so particularly poignant. 

"Fine day!" he muttered. He had a sort of subconscious feeling that itwas imperative to keep engaging Webster in light conversation. 

"Yes, sir. Weather still keeps up, " agreed the valet suavely. 

Sam frowned over the note. He felt injured. Sending a fellow notesdidn't give him a chance. If she had come in person and denounced himit would not have been an agreeable experience, but at least it wouldhave been possible then to have pleaded and cajoled and--and all thatsort of thing. But what could he do now? It seemed to him that his onlypossible course was to write a note in reply, begging her to see him. He explored his pockets and found a pencil and a scrap of paper. Forsome moments he scribbled desperately. Then he folded the note. 

"Will you take this to Miss Bennett, " he said, holding it out. 

Webster took the missive, because he wanted to read it later at hisleisure; but he shook his head. 

"Useless, I fear, sir, " he said gravely. 

"What do you mean?"

"I am afraid it would effect little or nothing, sir, sending our MissB. Notes. She is not in the proper frame of mind to appreciate them. I sawher face when she handed me the letter you have just read, and I assureyou, sir, she is not in a malleable mood. "

"You seem to know a lot about it!"

"I have studied the sex, sir, " said Webster modestly. 

"I mean, about my business, confound it! You seem to know all aboutit!"

"Why, yes, sir, I think I may say that I have grasped the position ofaffairs. And, if you will permit me to say so, sir, you have myrespectful sympathy. "

Dignity is a sensitive plant which flourishes only under the fairestconditions. Sam's had perished in the bleak east wind of Billie's note. In other circumstances he might have resented this intrusion of astranger into his most intimate concerns. His only emotion now, was oneof dull but distinct gratitude. The four winds of heaven blew chillyupon his raw and unprotected soul, and he wanted to wrap it up in amantle of sympathy, careless of the source from which he borrowed thatmantle. If Webster, the valet, felt disposed, as he seemed to indicate, to comfort him, let the thing go on. At that moment Sam would haveaccepted condolences from a coal-heaver. 

"I was reading a story--one of the Nosegay Novelettes; I do not know ifyou are familiar with the series, sir?--in which much the samesituation occurred. It was entitled 'Cupid or Mammon!' The heroine, Lady Blanche Trefusis, forced by her parents to wed a wealthy suitor, despatches a note to her humble lover, informing him it cannot be. Ibelieve it often happens like that, sir. "

"You're all wrong, " said Sam. "It's not that at all. "

"Indeed, sir? I supposed it was. "

"Nothing like it! I--I--"

Sam's dignity, on its death-bed, made a last effort to assert itself. 

"I don't know what it's got to do with you!"

"Precisely, sir!" said Webster, with dignity. "Just as you say! Goodafternoon, sir!"

He swayed gracefully, conveying a suggestion of departure withoutmoving his feet. The action was enough for Sam. Dignity gave anexpiring gurgle, and passed away, regretted by all. 

"Don't go!" he cried. 

The idea of being alone in this infernal lane, without human support, overpowered him. Moreover, Webster had personality. He exuded it. Already Sam had begun to cling to him in spirit, and rely on hissupport. 

"Don't go!"

"Certainly not, if you do not wish it, sir. "

Webster coughed gently, to show his appreciation of the delicate natureof the conversation. He was consumed with curiosity, and his threateneddeparture had been but a pretence. A team of horses could not havemoved Webster at that moment. 

"Might I ask, then what... ?"

"There's been a misunderstanding, " said Sam. "At least, there was, butnow there isn't, if you see what I mean. "

"I fear I have not quite grasped your meaning, sir. "

"Well, I--I--played a sort of--you might almost call it a sort of trickon Miss Bennett. With the best motives, of course!"

"Of course, sir!"

"And she's found out. I don't know how she's found out, but she has. Sothere you are!"

"Of what nature would the trick be, sir? A species of ruse, sir, --somekind of innocent deception?"

"Well, it was like this. "

It was a complicated story to tell, and Sam, a prey to conflictingemotions, told it badly; but such was the almost superhumanintelligence of Webster, that he succeeded in grasping the salientpoints. Indeed, he said that it reminded him of something of much thesame kind in the Nosegay Novelette, "All for Her, " where the hero, anxious to win the esteem of the lady of his heart, had bribed a trampto simulate an attack upon her in a lonely road. 

"The principle's the same, " said Webster. 

"Well what did he do when she found out?"

"She did not find out, sir. All ended happily, and never had thewedding-bells in the old village church rung out a blither peal thanthey did at the subsequent union. "

Sam was thoughtful. 

"Bribed a tramp to attack her, did he?"

"Yes, sir. She had never thought much of him till that moment, sir. Very cold and haughty she had been, his social status beingconsiderably inferior to her own. But, when she cried for help, and hedashed out from behind a hedge, well, it made all the difference. "

"I wonder where I could get a good tramp, " said Sam, meditatively. 

Webster shook his head. 

"I really would hardly recommend such a procedure, sir. "

"No, it would be difficult to make a tramp understand what you wanted. "

Sam brightened. 

"I've got it! _You_ pretend to attack her, and I'll.... "

"I couldn't, sir! I couldn't really! I should jeopardise my situation. "

"Oh, come! Be a man!"

"No, sir, I fear not. There's a difference between handing in yourresignation--I was compelled to do that only recently, owing to a fewwords I had with the guv'nor, though subsequently prevailed upon towithdraw it--I say there's a difference between handing in yourresignation and being given the sack, and that's what wouldhappen--without a character, what's more, and lucky if it didn't meana prison cell. No, sir; I could not contemplate such a thing. "

"Then I don't see that there's anything to be done, " said Sam morosely. 

"Oh, I shouldn't say that, sir, " said Webster, encouragingly. "It'ssimply a matter of finding the way. The problem confronting us--you, I should say.... "

"Us, " said Sam. "Most decidedly us. "

"Thank you very much, sir. I would not have presumed, but if you sayso--The problem confronting us, as I envisage it, resolves itself intothis. You have offended our Miss B. And she has expressed adisinclination ever to see you again. How, then, is it possible, inspite of her attitude, to recapture her esteem?"

"Exactly, " said Sam. 

"There are several methods which occur to one.... "

"They don't occur to _me!_"

"Well, for example, you might rescue her from a burning building as in'True As Steel'.... "

"Set fire to the house, eh?" said Sam, reflectively. "Yes, there mightbe something in that. "

"I would hardly advise such a thing, " said Webster, a littlehastily--flattered at the readiness with which his disciple was takinghis advice, yet acutely alive to the fact that he slept at the top ofthe house himself. 

"A little drastic, if I may say so. It might be better to save her fromdrowning, as in 'The Earl's Secret'. "

"Ah, but where could she drown?"

"Well, there is a lake in the grounds.... "

"Excellent!" said Sam. "Terrific! I knew I could rely on you. Say nomore! The whole thing's settled. You take her out rowing on the lake, and upset the boat. I plunge in ... I suppose you can swim?"

"No, sir. "

"Oh? Well, never mind. You'll manage somehow, I expect. Cling to theupturned boat or something, I shouldn't wonder. There's always a way. Yes, that's the plan. When is the earliest you could arrange this?"

"I fear such a course must be considered out of the question, sir. Itreally wouldn't do. "

"I can't see a flaw in it. "

"Well, in the first place, it would certainly jeopardise mysituation.... "

"Oh, hang your situation! You talk as if you were Prime Minister orsomething. You can easily get another situation. A valuable man likeyou, " said Sam, ingratiatingly. 

"No, sir, " said Webster firmly. "From boyhood up I've always had aregular horror of the water. I can't so much as go paddling without anuneasy feeling. "

The image of Webster paddling was arresting enough to occupy Sam'sthoughts for a moment. It was an inspiring picture, and for an instantuplifted his spirits. Then they fell again. 

"Well, I don't see what there _is_ to be done, " he said, gloomily. "It's no good making suggestions, if you have some frivolous objectionto all of them. "

"My idea, " said Webster, "would be something which did not involve myown personal and active co-operation, sir. If it is all the same toyou, I should prefer to limit my assistance to advice. I am anxious tohelp, but I am a man of regular habits, which I do not wish to disturb. Did you ever read 'Footpaths of Fate, ' in the Nosegay series, sir? I'veonly just remembered it, and it contains the most helpful suggestion ofthe lot. There had been a misunderstanding between the heroine and thehero--their names have slipped my mind, though I fancy his was Cyril--andshe had told him to hop it.... "

"To what?"

"To leave her for ever, sir. And what do you think he did?"

"How the deuce do I know?"

"He kidnapped her little brother, sir, to whom she was devoted, kept himhidden for a bit, and then returned him, and in her gratitude all wasforgotten and forgiven, and never.... "

"I know. Never had the bells of the old village church.... "

"Rung out a blither peal. Exactly, sir. Well, there, if you will allowme to say so, you are, sir! You need seek no further for a plan ofaction. "

"Miss Bennett hasn't got a little brother. "

"No, sir. But she has a dog, and is greatly attached to it. "

Sam stared. From the expression on his face it was evident that Websterimagined himself to have made a suggestion of exceptional intelligence. It struck Sam as the silliest he had ever heard. 

"You mean I ought to steal her dog?"

"Precisely, sir. "

"But, good heavens! Have you seen that dog?"

"The one to which I allude is a small brown animal with a fluffy tail. "

"Yes, and a bark like a steam siren, and, in addition to that, abouteighty-five teeth, all sharper than razors. I couldn't get within tenfeet of that dog without its lifting the roof off, and, if I did, itwould chew me into small pieces. "

"I had anticipated that difficulty, sir. In 'Footpaths of Fate' therewas a nurse who assisted the hero by drugging the child. "

"By Jove!" said Sam, impressed. 

"He rewarded her, " said Webster, allowing his gaze to straynonchalantly over the country-side, "liberally, very liberally. "

"If you mean that you expect me to reward you if you drug the dog, "said Sam, "don't worry. Let me bring this thing off, and you can haveall I've got, and my cuff-links as well. Come, now, this is reallybeginning to look like something. Speak to me more of this matter. Where do we go from here?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"I mean, what's the next step in the scheme? Oh, Lord!" Sam's facefell. The light of hope died out of his eyes. "It's all off! It can'tbe done! How could I possibly get into the house? I take it that thelittle brute sleeps in the house?"

"That need constitute no obstacle, sir; no obstacle at all. The animalsleeps in a basket in the hall.... Perhaps you are familiar with theinterior of the house, sir?"

"I haven't been inside it since I was at school. I'm Mr. Hignett'scousin, you know. "

"Indeed, sir? I wasn't aware. Mr. Hignett sprained his ankle thismorning, poor gentleman. "

"Has he?" said Sam, not particularly interested. "I used to stay withhim, " he went on, "during the holidays sometimes, but I've practicallyforgotten what the place is like inside. I remember the hall vaguely. Fireplace at one side, one or two suits of armour standing about, asort of window-ledge near the front door.. "

"Precisely, sir. It is close beside that window-ledge that the animal'sbasket is situated. If I administer a slight soporific.... "

"Yes, but you haven't explained yet how I am to get into the house inthe first place. "

"Quite easily, sir. I can admit you through the drawing-room windowswhile dinner is in progress. "

"Fine!"

"You can then secrete yourself in the cupboard in the drawing-room. Perhaps you recollect the cupboard to which I refer, sir?"

"No, I don't remember any cupboard. As a matter of fact, when I used tostay at the house the drawing-room was barred.... Mrs. Hignett wouldn'tlet us inside it for fear we should smash her china. Is there acupboard?"

"Immediately behind the piano, sir. A nice, roomy cupboard. I wasglancing into it myself in a spirit of idle curiosity only the otherday. It contains nothing except a few knick-knacks on an upper shelf. You could lock yourself in from the interior, and be quite comfortablyseated on the floor till the household retired to bed. "

"When would that be?"

"They retire quite early, sir, as a rule. By half-past ten the coast isgenerally clear. At that time I would suggest that I came down andknocked on the cupboard door to notify you that all was well. "

Sam was glowing with frank approval. 

"You know, you're a master-mind!" he said, enthusiastically. 

"You're very kind, sir!"

"One of the lads, by Jove!" said Sam. "And not the worst of them! Idon't want to flatter you, but there's a future for you in crime, ifyou cared to go in for it. "

"I am glad that you appreciate my poor efforts, sir. Then we willregard the scheme as passed and approved?"

"I should say we would! It's a bird!"

"Very good, sir. "

"I'll be round at about a quarter to eight. Will that be right?"

"Admirable, sir. "

"And, I say, about that soporific.... Don't overdo it. Don't go killingthe little beast. "

"Oh, no, sir. "

"Well, " said Sam, "you can't say it's not a temptation. And you knowwhat you Napoleons of the Underworld are!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

1

If there is one thing more than another which weighs upon the mind of astory-teller as he chronicles the events which he has set out todescribe, it is the thought that the reader may be growing impatientwith him for straying from the main channel of his tale and devotinghimself to what are after all minor developments. This story, forinstance, opened with Mrs. Horace Hignett, the world-famous writer onTheosophy, going over to America to begin a lecture-tour; and no onerealises more keenly than I do that I have left Mrs. Hignett flat. Ihave thrust that great thinker into the background and concentrated myattention on the affairs of one who is both her mental and moralinferior, Samuel Marlowe. I seem at this point to see the reader--agreat brute of a fellow with beetling eyebrows and a jaw like the ramof a battleship, the sort of fellow who is full of determination and willstand no nonsense--rising to remark that he doesn't care what happenedto Samuel Marlowe and that what he wants to know is, how Mrs. Hignettmade out on her lecturing-tour. Did she go big in Buffalo? Did she have'em tearing up the seats in Schenectady? Was she a riot in Chicago anda cyclone in St. Louis? Those are the points on which he desiresinformation, or give him his money back. 

I cannot supply the information. And, before you condemn me, let mehastily add that the fault is not mine but that of Mrs. Hignettherself. The fact is, she never went to Buffalo. Schenectady sawnothing of her. She did not get within a thousand miles of Chicago, nordid she penetrate to St. Louis. For the very morning after her sonEustace sailed for England in the liner _Atlantic_, she happenedto read in the paper one of those abridged passenger-lists which thejournals of New York are in the habit of printing, and got a nastyshock when she saw that, among those whose society Eustace would enjoyduring the voyage was Miss Wilhelmina Bennett, daughter of J. RufusBennett, of Bennett, Mandelbaum and Co. And within five minutes ofdigesting this information, she was at her desk writing outtelegrams cancelling all her engagements. Iron-souled as this womanwas, her fingers trembled as she wrote. She had a vision of Eustace andthe daughter of J. Rufus Bennett strolling together on moonlit decks, leaning over rails damp with sea-spray, and, in short, generallystarting the whole trouble over again. 

In the height of the tourist season it is not always possible for onewho wishes to leave America to spring on to the next boat. A longmorning's telephoning to the offices of the Cunard and the White Starbrought Mrs. Hignett the depressing information that it would be a fullweek before she could sail for England. That meant that the inflammableEustace would have over two weeks to conduct an uninterrupted wooing, and Mrs. Hignett's heart sank, till suddenly she remembered that sopoor a sailor as her son was not likely to have had leisure for anystrolling on the deck during the voyage of the _Atlantic_. 

Having realised this, she became calmer and went about her preparationsfor departure with an easier mind. The danger was still great, butthere was a good chance that she might be in time to intervene. Shewound up her affairs in New York and, on the following Wednesday, boarded the _Nuronia_ bound for Southampton. 

The _Nuronia_ is one of the slowest of the Cunard boats. It wasbuilt at a time when delirious crowds used to swoon on the dock if anocean liner broke the record by getting across in nine days. It rolledover to Cherbourg, dallied at that picturesque port for some hours, then sauntered across the Channel and strolled into Southampton Waterin the evening of the day on which Samuel Marlowe had sat in the laneplotting with Webster, the valet. At almost the exact moment when Sam, sidling through the windows of the drawing-room, slid into the cupboardbehind the piano, Mrs. Hignett was standing at the Customs barriertelling the officials that she had nothing to declare. 

Mrs. Hignett was a general who believed in forced marches. A lesserwoman might have taken the boat-train to London and proceeded toWindles at her ease on the following afternoon. Mrs. Hignett was madeof sterner stuff. Having fortified herself with a late dinner, shehired an automobile and set out on the cross-country journey. It wasonly when the car, a genuine antique, had broken down three times inthe first ten miles, that it became evident to her that it would be muchtoo late to go to Windles that night, and she directed the driver to takeher instead to the "Blue Boar" in Windlehurst, where she arrived, tiredbut thankful to have reached it at all, at about eleven o'clock. 

At this point many, indeed most, women, having had a tiring journey, would have gone to bed: but the familiar Hampshire air and theknowledge that half an hour's walking would take her to her belovedhome acted on Mrs. Hignett like a restorative. One glimpse of Windlesshe felt that she must have before she retired for the night, if onlyto assure herself that it was still there. She had a cup of coffee anda sandwich brought to her by the night-porter, whom she had roused fromsleep, for bedtime is early in Windlehurst, and then informed him thatshe was going for a short walk and would ring when she returned. 

Her heart leaped joyfully as she turned in at the drive gates of herhome and felt the well-remembered gravel crunching under her feet. Thesilhouette of the ruined castle against the summer sky gave her thefeeling which all returning wanderers know. And, when she steppedon to the lawn and looked at the black bulk of the house, indistinctand shadowy with its backing of trees, tears came into her eyes. Sheexperienced a rush of emotion which made her feel quite faint, andwhich lasted until, on tiptoeing nearer to the house in order to gloatmore adequately upon it, she perceived that the French windows of thedrawing-room were standing ajar. Sam had left them like this in orderto facilitate departure, if a hurried departure should by any mischancebe rendered necessary, and drawn curtains had kept the household fromnoticing the fact. 

All the proprietor in Mrs. Hignett was roused. This, she feltindignantly, was the sort of thing she had been afraid would happen themoment her back was turned. Evidently laxity--one might almost sayanarchy--had set in directly she had removed the eye of authority. Shemarched to the window and pushed it open. She had now completelyabandoned her kindly scheme of refraining from rousing the sleepinghouse and spending the night at the inn. She stepped into the drawing-roomwith the single-minded purpose of rousing Eustace out of his sleep andgiving him a good talking to for having failed to maintain her ownstandard of efficiency among the domestic staff. If there was one thingon which Mrs. Horace Hignett had always insisted it was that every windowin the house must be closed at lights-out. 

She pushed the curtains apart with a rattle and, at the same moment, from the direction of the door there came a low but distinct gasp whichmade her resolute heart jump and flutter. It was too dark to seeanything distinctly, but, in the instant before it turned and fled, shecaught sight of a shadowy male figure, and knew that her worst fearshad been realised. The figure was too tall to be Eustace, and Eustace, she knew, was the only man in the house. Male figures, therefore, thatwent flitting about Windles, must be the figures of burglars. 

Mrs. Hignett, bold woman though she was, stood for an instantspellbound, and for one moment of not unpardonable panic, tried to tellherself that she had been mistaken. Almost immediately, however, therecame from the direction of the hall a dull chunky sound as thoughsomething soft had been kicked, followed by a low gurgle and the noiseof staggering feet. Unless he was dancing a _pas seul_ out ofsheer lightness of heart, the nocturnal visitor must have tripped oversomething. 

The latter theory was the correct one. Montagu Webster was a man who atmany a subscription ball had shaken a wicked dancing-pump, and nothingin the proper circumstances pleased him better than to exercise theskill which had become his as the result of twelve private lessons athalf-a-crown a visit: but he recognized the truth of the scripturaladage that there is a time for dancing, and that this was not it. Hisonly desire when, stealing into the drawing-room he had been confrontedthrough the curtains by a female figure, was to get back to his bedroomundetected. He supposed that one of the feminine members of thehouse-party must have been taking a stroll in the grounds, and he did notwish to stay and be compelled to make laborious explanations of hispresence there in the dark. He decided to postpone the knocking on thecupboard door, which had been the signal arranged between himself andSam, until a more suitable occasion. In the meantime he boundedsilently out into the hall, and instantaneously tripped over the portlyform of Smith, the bulldog, who, roused from a light sleep to theknowledge that something was going on, and being a dog who always likedto be in the centre of the maelstrom of events, had waddled out toinvestigate. 

By the time Mrs. Hignett had pulled herself together sufficiently tofeel brave enough to venture into the hall, Webster's presence of mindand Smith's gregariousness had combined to restore that part of thehouse to its normal nocturnal condition of emptiness. Webster's staggerhad carried him almost up to the green baize door leading to theservants' staircase, and he proceeded to pass through it withoutchecking his momentum, closely followed by Smith who, now convincedthat interesting events were in progress which might possibly culminatein cake, had abandoned the idea of sleep and meant to see the thingthrough. He gambolled in Webster's wake up the stairs and along thepassage leading to the latter's room, and only paused when the door wasbrusquely shut in his face. Upon which he sat down to think the thingover. He was in no hurry. The night was before him, promising, as faras he could judge from the way it had opened, excellent entertainment. 

Mrs. Hignett had listened fearfully to the uncouth noises from thehall. The burglars--she had now discovered that there were at least twoof them--appeared to be actually romping. The situation had grown beyondher handling. If this troupe of terpsichorean marauders was to bedislodged she must have assistance. It was man's work. She made a bravedash through the hall, mercifully unmolested: found the stairs: raced upthem: and fell through the doorway of her son Eustace's bedroom like aspent Marathon runner staggering past the winning-post. 

2

In the moment which elapsed before either of the two could calm theiragitated brains to speech, Eustace became aware, as never before, ofthe truth of that well-known line, "Peace, perfect Peace, with lovedones far away!"

"Eustace!"

Mrs. Hignett gasped, hand on heart. 

"Eustace, there are men in the house!"

This fact was just the one which Eustace had been wondering how tobreak to her. 

"I know, " he said uneasily. 

"You know!" Mrs. Hignett stared. "Did you hear them!"

"Hear them?" said Eustace, puzzled. 

"The drawing-room window was left open, and there are two burglars inthe hall. "

"Oh, I say, no! That's rather rotten!" said Eustace. 

"I saw and heard them. Come with me and arrest them. "

"But I can't. I've sprained my ankle. "

"Sprained your ankle? How very inconvenient! When did you do that?"

"This morning. "

"How did it happen?"

Eustace hesitated. 

"I was jumping. "

"Jumping! But--oh!" Mrs. Hignett's sentence trailed off into asuppressed shriek, as the door opened. 

Immediately following on Eustace's accident, Jane Hubbard hadconstituted herself his nurse. It was she who had bound up his injuredankle in a manner which the doctor on his arrival had admitted himselfunable to improve upon. She had sat with him through the longafternoon. And now, fearing lest a return of the pain might render himsleepless, she had come to bring him a selection of books to see himthrough the night. 

Jane Hubbard was a girl who by nature and training was well adapted tobear shocks. She accepted the advent of Mrs. Hignett without visibleastonishment, though inwardly she was wondering who the visitor mightbe. 

"Good evening, " she said, placidly. 

Mrs. Hignett, having rallied from her moment of weakness, glared at thenew arrival dumbly. She could not place Jane. She had the air of anurse, and yet she wore no uniform. 

"Who are you?" she asked stiffly. 

"Who are _you_?" countered Jane. 

"I, " said Mrs. Hignett portentously, "am the owner of this house, and Ishould be glad to know what you are doing in it. I am Mrs. HoraceHignett. "

A charming smile spread itself over Jane's finely-cut face. 

"I'm so glad to meet you, " she said. "I have heard so much about you. "

"Indeed?" said Mrs. Hignett. "And now I should like to hear a littleabout you. "

"I've read all your books, " said Jane. "I think they're wonderful. "

In spite of herself, in spite of a feeling that this young woman wasstraying from the point, Mrs. Hignett could not check a slight influxof amiability. She was an authoress who received a good deal of incensefrom admirers, but she could always do with a bit more. Besides, mostof the incense came by mail. Living a quiet and retired life in thecountry, it was rarely that she got it handed to her face to face. Shemelted quite perceptibly. She did not cease to look like a basilisk, but she began to look like a basilisk who has had a good lunch. 

"My favorite, " said Jane, who for a week had been sitting daily in achair in the drawing-room adjoining the table on which the authoress'scomplete works were assembled, "is 'The Spreading Light. ' I _do_like 'The Spreading Light!'"

"It was written some years ago, " said Mrs. Hignett with somethingapproaching cordiality, "and I have since revised some of the views Istate in it, but I still consider it quite a good text-book. "

"Of course, I can see that 'What of the Morrow?' is more profound, "said Jane. "But I read 'The Spreading Light' first, and of course thatmakes a difference. "

"I can quite see that it would, " agreed Mrs. Hignett. "One's first stepacross the threshold of a new mind, one's first glimpse.... "

"Yes, it makes you feel.... "

"Like some watcher of the skies, " said Mrs. Hignett, "when a new planetswims into his ken, or like.... "

"Yes, doesn't it!" said Jane. 

Eustace, who had been listening to the conversation with every muscletense, in much the same mental attitude as that of a peaceful citizen ina Wild West saloon who holds himself in readiness to dive under a tabledirectly the shooting begins, began to relax. What he had shrinkinglyanticipated would be the biggest thing since the Dempsey-Carpentierfight seemed to be turning into a pleasant social and literary eveningnot unlike what he imagined a meeting of old Vassar alumni must be. Forthe first time since his mother had come into the room he indulged inthe luxury of a deep breath. 

"But what are you doing here?" asked Mrs. Hignett, returning almostreluctantly to the main issue. 

Eustace perceived that he had breathed too soon. In an unobtrusive wayhe subsided into the bed and softly pulled the sheets over his head, following the excellent tactics of the great Duke of Wellington in hisPeninsular campaign. "When in doubt, " the Duke used to say, "retire anddig yourself in. "

"I'm nursing dear Eustace, " said Jane. 

Mrs. Hignett quivered, and cast an eye on the hump in the bed-clotheswhich represented dear Eustace. A cold fear had come upon her. 

"'Dear Eustace'!" she repeated mechanically. 

"We're engaged, " said Jane. "We got engaged this morning. That's how hesprained his ankle. When I accepted him, he tried to jump a holly-bush. "

"Engaged! Eustace, is this true?"

"Yes, " said a muffled voice from the interior of the bed. 

"And poor Eustace is so worried, " continued Jane, "about the house. "She went on quickly. "He doesn't want to deprive you of it, because heknows what it means to you. So he is hoping--we are both hoping--thatyou will accept it as a present when we are married. We really shan'twant it, you know. We are going to live in London. So you will take it, won't you--to please us?"

We all of us, even the greatest of us, have our moments of weakness. Let us then not express any surprise at the sudden collapse of one ofthe world's greatest female thinkers. As the meaning of this speechsmote on Mrs. Horace Hignett's understanding, she sank weeping into achair. The ever-present fear that had haunted her had been exorcised. Windles was hers in perpetuity. The relief was too great. She sat inher chair and gulped: and Eustace, greatly encouraged, emerged slowlyfrom the bedclothes like a worm after a thunderstorm. 

How long this poignant scene would have lasted, one cannot say. It is apity that it was cut short, for I should have liked to dwell upon it. But at this moment, from the regions downstairs, there suddenly burstupon the silent night such a whirlwind of sound as effectuallydissipated the tense emotion in the room. Somebody had touched off theorchestrion in the drawing-room, and that willing instrument had begunagain in the middle of a bar at the point where it had been switchedoff. Its wailing lament for the passing of Summer filled the wholehouse. 

"That's too bad!" said Jane, a little annoyed. "At this time of night!"

"It's the burglars!" quavered Mrs. Hignett. In the stress of recentevents she had completely forgotten the existence of those enemies ofsociety. "They were dancing in the hall when I arrived, and now they'replaying the orchestrion!"

"Light-hearted chaps!" said Eustace, admiring the sang-froid of thecriminal world. "Full of spirits!"

"This won't do, " said Jane Hubbard, shaking her head. "We can't havethis sort of thing. I'll go and fetch my gun. "

"They'll murder you, dear!" panted Mrs. Hignett, clinging to her arm. 

Jane Hubbard laughed. 

"Murder _me_!" she said, amusedly. "I'd like to catch them at it!"

Mrs. Hignett stood staring at the door as Jane closed it safely behindher. 

"Eustace, " she said, solemnly, "that is a wonderful girl!"

"Yes! She once killed a panther--or a puma, I forget which--with ahat-pin!" said Eustace with enthusiasm. 

"I could wish you no better wife!" said Mrs. Hignett. 

She broke off with a sharp wail.... Out in the passage something like abattery of artillery had roared. 

The door opened and Jane Hubbard appeared, slipping a fresh cartridgeinto the elephant-gun. 

"One of them was popping about outside here, " she announced. "I took ashot at him, but I'm afraid I missed. The visibility was bad. At anyrate he went away. "

In this last statement she was perfectly accurate. Bream Mortimer, whohad been aroused by the orchestrion and who had come out to see whatwas the matter, had gone away at the rate of fifty miles an hour. Hehad been creeping down the passage when he found himself suddenlyconfronted by a dim figure which, without a word, had attempted to slayhim with an enormous gun. The shot had whistled past his ears and gonesinging down the corridor. This was enough for Bream. He had returnedto his room in three strides, and was now under the bed. The burglarsmight take everything in the house and welcome, so that they did notmolest his privacy. That was the way Bream looked at it. And verysensible of him, too, I consider. 

"We'd better go downstairs, " said Jane. "Bring the candle. Not you, Eustace, darling. Don't you stir out of bed!"

"I won't, " said Eustace obediently. 

3

Of all the leisured pursuits, there are few less attractive to thethinking man than sitting in a dark cupboard waiting for a house-partyto go to bed: and Sam, who had established himself in the one behindthe piano at a quarter to eight, soon began to feel as if he had beenthere for an eternity. He could dimly remember a previous existence inwhich he had not been sitting in his present position, but it seemed solong ago that it was shadowy and unreal to him. The ordeal of spendingthe evening in this retreat had not appeared formidable when he hadcontemplated it that afternoon in the lane: but, now that he wasactually undergoing it, it was extraordinary how many disadvantages ithad. 

Cupboards, as a class, are badly ventilated, and this one seemed tocontain no air at all: and the warmth of the night, combined with thecupboard's natural stuffiness, had soon begun to reduce Sam to acondition of pulp. He seemed to himself to be sagging like an ice-creamin front of a fire. The darkness, too, weighed upon him. He wasabominably thirsty. Also he wanted to smoke. In addition to this, thesmall of his back tickled, and he more than suspected the cupboard ofharboring mice. Not once nor twice but many hundred times he wishedthat the ingenious Webster had thought of something simpler. 

His was a position which would just have suited one of those Indianmystics who sit perfectly still for twenty years, contemplating theInfinite; but it reduced Sam to an almost imbecile state of boredom. Hetried counting sheep. He tried going over his past life in his mindfrom the earliest moment he could recollect, and thought he had neverencountered a duller series of episodes. He found a temporary solace byplaying a succession of mental golf-games over all the courses he couldremember, and he was just teeing up for the sixteenth at Muirfield, afterplaying Hoylake, St. Andrews, Westward Ho, Hanger Hill, Mid-Surrey, Walton Heath, Garden City, and the Engineers' Club at Roslyn, L. I. , when the light ceased to shine through the crack under the door, and he awoke with a sense of dull incredulity to the realisation thatthe occupants of the drawing-room had called it a day and that hisvigil was over. 

But was it? Once more alert, Sam became cautious. True, the lightseemed to be off, but did that mean anything in a country-house, wherepeople had the habit of going and strolling about the garden at allhours? Probably they were still popping about all over the place. At anyrate, it was not worth risking coming out of his lair. He remembered thatWebster had promised to come and knock an all-clear signal on the door. It would be safer to wait for that. 

But the moments went by, and there was no knock. Sam began to growimpatient. The last few minutes of waiting in a cupboard are always thehardest. Time seemed to stretch out again interminably. Once he thoughthe heard foot-steps, but that led to nothing. Eventually, havingstrained his ears and finding everything still, he decided to take achance. He fished in his pocket for the key, cautiously unlocked thedoor, opened it by slow inches, and peered out. 

The room was in blackness. The house was still. All was well. With thefeeling of a life-prisoner emerging from the Bastille, he began tocrawl stiffly forward: and it was just then that the first of thedisturbing events occurred which were to make this night memorable tohim. Something like a rattlesnake suddenly went off with a whirr, andhis head, jerking up, collided with the piano. It was only thecuckoo-clock, which now, having cleared its throat as was its custombefore striking, proceeded to cuck eleven times in rapid successionbefore subsiding with another rattle: but to Sam it sounded like the endof the world. 

He sat in the darkness, massaging his bruised skull. His hours ofimprisonment in the cupboard had had a bad effect on his nervoussystem, and he vacillated between tears of weakness and a militantdesire to get at the cuckoo-clock with a hatchet. He felt that it haddone it on purpose and was now chuckling to itself in fancied security. For quite a minute he raged silently, and any cuckoo-clock which hadstrayed within his reach would have had a bad time of it. Then hisattention was diverted. 

So concentrated was Sam on his private vendetta with the clock that noordinary happening would have had the power to distract him. Whatoccurred now was by no means ordinary, and it distracted him like anelectric shock. As he sat on the floor, passing a tender hand over theegg-shaped bump which had already begun to manifest itself beneath hishair, something cold and wet touched his face, and paralysed him socompletely both physically and mentally that he did not move a musclebut just congealed where he sat into a solid block of ice. He feltvaguely that this was the end. His heart stopped beating and he simplycould not imagine it ever starting again, and, if your heart refuses tobeat, what hope is there for you?

At this moment something heavy and solid struck him squarely in thechest, rolling him over. Something gurgled asthmatically in thedarkness. Something began to lick his eyes, ears, and chin in a sort ofecstasy: and, clutching out, he found his arms full of totallyunexpected bulldog. 

"Get out!" whispered Sam tensely, recovering his faculties with a jerk. "Go away!"

Smith took the opportunity of his lips having opened to lick the roofof his mouth. Smith's attitude in the matter was that providence in itsall-seeing wisdom had sent him a human being at a moment when he hadreluctantly been compelled to reconcile himself to a total absence ofsuch indispensable adjuncts to a good time, and that now the revelsmight commence. He had just trotted downstairs in rather a disconsolateframe of mind after waiting with no result in front of Webster'sbedroom door, and it was a real treat to him to meet a man, especiallyone seated in such a jolly and sociable manner on the floor. He welcomedSam like a long-lost friend. 

Between Smith and the humans who provided him with dog-biscuits andoccasionally with sweet cakes there had always existed a state ofmisunderstanding which no words could remove. The position of thehumans was quite clear. They had elected Smith to his present positionon a straight watch-dog ticket. They expected him to be one of thosedogs who rouse the house and save the spoons. They looked to him to pinburglars by the leg and hold on till the police arrived. Smith simplycould not grasp such an attitude of mind. He regarded Windles not as aprivate house but as a social club, and was utterly unable to see anydifference between the human beings he knew and the strangers whodropped in for a late chat after the place was locked up. He had nointention of biting Sam. The idea never entered his head. At thepresent moment what he felt about Sam was that he was one of the bestfellows he had ever met and that he loved him like a brother. 

Sam, in his unnerved state, could not bring himself to share theseamiable sentiments. He was thinking bitterly that Webster might havehad the intelligence to warn him of bulldogs on the premises. It wasjust the sort of woollen-headed thing fellows did, forgetting factslike that. He scrambled stiffly to his feet and tried to pierce thedarkness that hemmed him in. He ignored Smith, who snuffled sportivelyabout his ankles, and made for the slightly less black oblong which hetook to be the door leading into the hall. He moved warily, but notwarily enough to prevent him cannoning into and almost upsetting asmall table with a vase on it. The table rocked and the vase jumped, and the first bit of luck that had come to Sam that night was when hereached out at a venture and caught it just as it was about to bound onto the carpet. 

He stood there, shaking. The narrowness of the escape turned him cold. If he had been an instant later, there would have been a crash loudenough to wake a dozen sleeping houses. This sort of thing could not goon. He must have light. It might be a risk: there might be a chance ofsomebody upstairs seeing it and coming down to investigate: but it wasa risk that must be taken. He declined to go on stumbling about in thisdarkness any longer. He groped his way with infinite care to the door, on the wall adjoining which, he presumed, the electric-light switchwould be. 

It was nearly ten years since he had last been inside Windles, and itnever occurred to him that in this progressive age even a woman likehis aunt Adeline, of whom he could believe almost anything, would stillbe using candles and oil-lamps as a means of illumination. His onlydoubt was whether the switch was where it was in most houses, near thedoor. 

It is odd to reflect that, as his searching fingers touched the knob, adelicious feeling of relief came to Samuel Marlowe. This misguidedyoung man actually felt at that moment that his troubles were over. Hepositively smiled as he placed a thumb on the knob and shoved. 

He shoved strongly and sharply, and instantaneously there leaped at himout of the darkness a blare of music which appeared to his disorderedmind quite solid. It seemed to wrap itself round him. It was all overthe place. In a single instant the world had become one vast bellow ofTosti's "Goodbye. "

How long he stood there, frozen, he did not know: nor can one say howlong he would have stood there had nothing further come to invite hisnotice elsewhere. But, suddenly, drowning even the impromptu concert, there came from somewhere upstairs the roar of a gun, and, when he heardthat, Sam's rigid limbs relaxed and a violent activity descended uponhim. He bounded out into the hall, looking to right and to left for ahiding-place. One of the suits of armour which had been familiar to himin his boyhood loomed up in front of him, and with the sight came therecollection of how, when a mere child on his first visit to Windles, playing hide and seek with his cousin Eustace, he had concealed himselfinside this very suit and had not only baffled Eustace through a longsummer evening but had wound up by almost scaring him into a decline bybooing at him through the vizor of the helmet. Happy days, happy days!He leaped at the suit of armour. The helmet was a tight fit, but hemanaged to get his head into it at last, and the body of the thing wasquite roomy. 

"Thank heaven!" said Sam. 

He was not comfortable, but comfort just then was not his primary need. 

Smith, the bulldog, well satisfied with the way things had happened, sat down, wheezing slightly, to await developments. 

4

He had not long to wait. In a few minutes the hall had filled upnicely. There was Mr. Mortimer in his shirt-sleeves, Mr. Bennett in hispyjamas and a dressing-gown, Mrs. Hignett in a travelling costume, JaneHubbard with her elephant-gun, and Billie in a dinner dress. Smithwelcomed them all impartially. 

Somebody lit a lamp, and Mrs. Hignett stared speechlessly at the mob. 

"Mr. Bennett! Mr. Mortimer!"

"Mrs. Hignett! What are you doing here?"

Mrs. Hignett drew herself up stiffly. 

"What an odd question, Mr. Mortimer! I am in my own house!"

"But you rented it to me for the summer. At least, your son did. "

"Eustace let you Windles for the summer!" said Mrs. Hignett, incredulously. 

Jane Hubbard returned from the drawing-room, where she had beenswitching off the orchestrion. 

"Let us talk all that over cosily to-morrow, " she said. "The point nowis that there are burglars in the house. "

"Burglars!" cried Mr. Bennett aghast. "I thought it was you playingthat infernal instrument, Mortimer. "

"What on earth should I play it for at this time of night?" said Mr. Mortimer irritably. 

It appeared only too evident that the two old friends were again on theverge of one of their distressing fallings-out: but Jane Hubbardintervened once more. This practical-minded girl disliked theintroducing of side-issues into the conversation. She was there to talkabout burglars, and she intended to do so. 

"For goodness sake stop it!" she said, almost petulantly for oneusually so superior to emotion. "There'll be lots of time forquarrelling to-morrow. Just now we've got to catch these.... "

"I'm not quarrelling, " said Mr. Bennett. 

"Yes, you are, " said Mr. Mortimer. 

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"Don't argue!"

"I'm not arguing!"

"You are!"

"I'm not!"

Jane Hubbard had practically every noble quality which a woman canpossess with the exception of patience. A patient woman would havestood by, shrinking from interrupting the dialogue. Jane Hubbard'srobuster course was to raise the elephant-gun, point it at the frontdoor, and pull the trigger. 

"I thought that would stop you, " she said complacently, as the echoesdied away and Mr. Bennett had finished leaping into the air. Sheinserted a fresh cartridge, and sloped arms. "Now, the question is.... "

"You made me bite my tongue!" said Mr. Bennett, deeply aggrieved. 

"Serves you right!" said Jane placidly. "Now, the question is, have thefellows got away or are they hiding somewhere in the house? I thinkthey're still in the house. "

"The police!" exclaimed Mr. Bennett, forgetting his lacerated tongueand his other grievances. "We must summon the police!"

"Obviously!" said Mrs. Hignett, withdrawing her fascinated gaze fromthe ragged hole in the front door, the cost of repairing which she hadbeen mentally assessing. "We must send for the police at once. "

"We don't really need them, you know, " said Jane. "If you'll all go tobed and just leave me to potter round with my gun.... "

"And blow the whole house to pieces!" said Mrs. Hignett tartly. She hadbegun to revise her original estimate of this girl. To her, Windles wassacred, and anyone who went about shooting holes in it forfeited heresteem. 

"Shall I go for the police?" said Billie. "I could bring them back inten minutes in the car. "

"Certainly not!" said Mr. Bennett. "My daughter gadding about all overthe countryside in an automobile at this time of night!"

"If you think I ought not to go alone, I could take Bream. "

"Where _is_ Bream?" said Mr. Mortimer. 

The odd fact that Bream was not among those present suddenly presenteditself to the company. 

"Where can he be?" said Billie. 

Jane Hubbard laughed the wholesome, indulgent laugh of one who isbroad-minded enough to see the humor of the situation even when thejoke is at her expense. 

"What a silly girl I am!" she said. "I do believe that was Bream I shotat upstairs. How foolish of me making a mistake like that!"

"You shot my only son!" cried Mr. Mortimer. 

"I shot _at_ him, " said Jane. "My belief is that I missed him. Though how I came to do it beats me. I don't suppose I've missed asitter like that since I was a child in the nursery. Of course, " sheproceeded, looking on the reasonable side, "the visibility wasn't good, and I fired from the hip, but it's no use saying I oughtn't at least tohave winged him, because I ought. " She shook her head with a touch ofself-reproach. "I shall be chaffed about this if it comes out, " shesaid regretfully. 

"The poor boy must be in his room, " said Mr. Mortimer. 

"Under the bed, if you ask me, " said Jane, blowing on the barrel of hergun and polishing it with the side of her hand. "_He's_ all right!Leave him alone, and the housemaid will sweep him up in the morning. "

"Oh, he can't be!" cried Billie, revolted. 

A girl of high spirit, it seemed to her repellent that the man she wasengaged to marry should be displaying such a craven spirit. At thatmoment she despised and hated Bream Mortimer. I think she was wrong, mind you. It is not my place to criticise the little group of peoplewhose simple annals I am relating--my position is merely that of areporter--: but personally I think highly of Bream's sturdy common-sense. If somebody loosed off an elephant gun at me in a dark corridor, I wouldclimb on to the roof and pull it up after me. Still, rightly or wrongly, that was how Billie felt: and it flashed across her mind that SamuelMarlowe, scoundrel though he was, would not have behaved like this. Andfor a moment a certain wistfulness added itself to the varied emotionsthen engaging her mind. 

"I'll go and look, if you like, " said Jane agreeably. "You amuseyourselves somehow till I come back. "

She ran easily up the stairs, three at a time. Mr. Mortimer turned toMr. Bennett. 

"It's all very well your saying Wilhelmina mustn't go, but, if shedoesn't, how can we get the police? The house isn't on the 'phone, andnobody else can drive the car. "

"That's true, " said Mr. Bennett, wavering. 

"I'm going, " said Billie resolutely. It occurred to her, as it hasoccurred to so many women before her, how helpless men are in a crisis. The temporary withdrawal of Jane Hubbard had had the effect which theremoval of a rudder has on a boat. "It's the only thing to do. I shallbe back in no time. "

She stepped firmly to the coat-rack, and began to put on hermotoring-cloak. And just then Jane Hubbard came downstairs, shepherdingbefore her a pale and glassy-eyed Bream. 

"Right under the bed, " she announced cheerfully, "making a noise like apiece of fluff in order to deceive burglars. "

Billie cast a scornful look at her fiancee. Absolutely unjustified, inmy opinion, but nevertheless she cast it. But it had no effect at all. Terror had stunned Bream Mortimer's perceptions. His was what thedoctors call a penumbral mental condition. He was in a sort of trance. 

"Bream, " said Billie, "I want you to come in the car with me to fetchthe police. "

"All right, " said Bream. 

"Get your coat. "

"All right, " said Bream. 

"And cap. "

"All right, " said Bream. 

He followed Billie in a docile manner out through the front door, and theymade their way to the garage at the back of the house, both silent. Theonly difference between their respective silences was that Billie's wasthoughtful, while Bream's was just the silence of a man who has unhitchedhis brain and is getting along as well as he can without it. 

In the hall they had left, Jane Hubbard once more took command ofaffairs. 

"Well, that's something done, " she said, scratching Smith's broad backwith the muzzle of her weapon. "Something accomplished, something done, has earned a night's repose. Not that we're going to get it yet. Ithink those fellows are hiding somewhere, and we ought to search thehouse and rout them out. It's a pity Smith isn't a bloodhound. I likeyou personally, Smithy, but you're about as much practical use in asituation like this as a cold in the head. You're a good cake-hound, but as a watch-dog you don't finish in the first ten. "

The cake-hound, charmed at the compliment, frisked about her feet likea young elephant. 

"The first thing to do, " continued Jane, "is to go through theground-floor rooms.... " She paused to strike a match against the suitof armour nearest to her, a proceeding which elicited a sharp cry ofprotest from Mrs. Hignett, and lit a cigarette. "I'll go first, as I'vegot a gun.... " She blew a cloud of smoke. "I shall want somebody with meto carry a light, and.... "

"Tchoo!"

"What?" said Jane. 

"I didn't speak, " said Mr. Mortimer. "Who am I to speak?" he went onbitterly. "Who am I that it should be supposed that I have anythingsensible to suggest?"

"Somebody spoke, " said Jane. "I.... "

"Achoo!"

"Do you feel a draught, Mr. Bennett?" cried Jane sharply, wheelinground on him. 

"There _is_ a draught, " began Mr. Bennett. 

"Well, finish sneezing and I'll go on. "

"I didn't sneeze!"

"Somebody sneezed. "

"It seemed to come from just behind you, " said Mrs. Hignett nervously. 

"It couldn't have come from just behind me, " said Jane, "because thereisn't anything behind me from which it could have.... " She stoppedsuddenly, in her eyes the light of understanding, on her face the setexpression which was wont to come to it on the eve of action. "Oh!" shesaid in a different voice, a voice which was cold and tense andsinister. "Oh, I see!" She raised her gun, and placed a muscularforefinger on the trigger. "Come out of that!" she said. "Come out ofthat suit of armour and let's have a look at you!"

"I can explain everything, " said a muffled voice through the vizor ofthe helmet. "I can--achoo. " The smoke of the cigarette tickled Sam'snostrils again, and he suspended his remarks. 

"I shall count three, " said Jane Hubbard. "One--two--"

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" said Sam petulantly. 

"You'd better!" said Jane. 

"I can't get this dashed helmet off!"

"If you don't come quick, I'll blow it off. "

Sam stepped out into the hall, a picturesque figure which combined thecostumes of two widely separated centuries. Modern as far as the neck, he slipped back at that point to the Middle Ages. 

"Hands up!" commanded Jane Hubbard. 

"My hands _are_ up!" retorted Sam querulously, as he wrenched athis unbecoming head-wear. 

"Never mind trying to raise your hat, " said Jane. "If you've lost thecombination, we'll dispense with the formalities. What we're anxious tohear is what you're doing in the house at this time of night, and whoyour pals are. Come along, my lad, make a clean breast of it andperhaps you'll get off easier. Are you a gang?"

"Do I look like a gang?"

"If you ask me what you look like.... "

"My name is Marlowe ... Samuel Marlowe.... "

"Alias what?"

"Alias nothing! I say my name is Samuel Marlowe.... "

An explosive roar burst from Mr. Bennett. "The scoundrel! I know him! Iforbade him the house, and.... "

"And by what right did you forbid people my house, Mr. Bennett?" saidMrs. Hignett with acerbity. 

"I've rented the house, Mortimer and I rented it from your son.... "

"Yes, yes, yes, " said Jane Hubbard. "Never mind about that. So you knowthis fellow, do you?"

"I don't know him!"

"You said you did. "

"I refuse to know him!" went on Mr. Bennett. "I won't know him! Idecline to have anything to do with him!"

"But you identify him?"

"If he says he's Samuel Marlowe, " assented Mr. Bennett grudgingly, "Isuppose he is. I can't imagine anybody saying he was Samuel Marlowe ifhe didn't know it could be proved against him. "

"_Are_ you my nephew Samuel?" said Mrs. Hignett. 

"Yes, " said Sam. 

"Well, what are you doing in my house?"

"It's _my_ house, " said Mr. Bennett, "for the summer, HenryMortimer's and mine. Isn't that right, Henry?"

"Dead right, " said Mr. Mortimer. 

"There!" said Mr. Bennett. "You hear? And when Henry Mortimer says athing, it's so. There's nobody's word I'd take before HenryMortimer's. "

"When Rufus Bennett makes an assertion, " said Mr. Mortimer, highlyflattered by these kind words, "you can bank on it, Rufus Bennett'sword is his bond. Rufus Bennett is a white man!"

The two old friends clasped hands with a good deal of feeling. 

"I am not disputing Mr. Bennett's claim to belong to the Caucasianrace, " said Mrs. Hignett, "I merely maintain that this house is.... "

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" interrupted Jane. "You can thresh all that outsome other time. The point is, if this fellow is your nephew, I don'tsee what we can do. We'll have to let him go. "

"I came to this house, " said Sam, raising his vizor to facilitatespeech, "to make a social call.... "

"At this hour of the night!" snapped Mrs. Hignett. "You always werean inconsiderate boy, Samuel. "

"I came to enquire after poor Eustace's ankle. I've only just heardthat the poor chap was ill. "

"He's getting along quite well, " said Jane, melting. "If I had knownyou were so fond of Eustace.... "

"All right, is he?" said Sam. 

"Well, not quite all right, but he's going on very nicely. "

"Fine!"

"Eustace and I are engaged, you know!"

"No, really? Splendid! I can't see you very distinctly--how thoseJohnnies in the old days ever contrived to put up a scrap with things likethis on their heads beats me--but you sound a good sort. I hope you'llbe very happy. "

"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Marlowe. I'm sure we shall. "

"Eustace is one of the best. "

"How nice of you to say so. "

"All this, " interrupted Mrs. Hignett, who had been a chafing auditor ofthis interchange of courtesies, "is beside the point. Why did you dancein the hall, Samuel, and play the orchestrion?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Bennett, reminded of his grievance, "waking people up. "

"Scaring us all to death!" complained Mr. Mortimer. 

"I remember you as a boy, Samuel, " said Mrs. Hignett, "lamentablylacking in consideration for others and concentrated only on yourselfish pleasures. You seem to have altered very little. "

"Don't ballyrag the poor man, " said Jane Hubbard. "Be human! Lend him acan-opener!"

"I shall do nothing of the sort, " said Mrs. Hignett. "I never liked himand I dislike him now. He has got himself into this trouble through hisown wrong-headedness. "

"It's not his fault his head's the wrong size, " said Jane. 

"He must get himself out as best he can, " said Mrs. Hignett. 

"Very well, " said Sam with bitter dignity. "Then I will not trespassfurther on your hospitality, Aunt Adeline. I have no doubt the localblacksmith will be able to get this damned thing off me. I shall go tohim now. I will let you have the helmet back by parcel-post at theearliest possible opportunity. Good night!" He walked coldly to thefront door. "And there are people, " he remarked sardonically, "who saythat blood is thicker than water! I'll bet they never had any aunts!"

5

Billie, meanwhile, with Bream trotting docilely at her heels, hadreached the garage and started the car. Like all cars which have beenspending a considerable time in secluded inaction, it did not startreadily. At each application of Billie's foot on the self-starter, itemitted a tinny and reproachful sound and then seemed to go to sleepagain. Eventually, however, the engines began to revolve and themachine moved reluctantly out into the drive. 

"The battery must be run down, " said Billie. 

"All right, " said Bream. 

Billie cast a glance of contempt at him out of the corner of her eyes. She hardly knew why she had spoken to him except that, as allautomobilists are aware, the impulse to say rude things about theirbattery is almost irresistible. To an automobilist the art ofconversation consists in rapping out scathing remarks either about thebattery or the oiling-system. 

Billie switched on the head-lights and turned the car down the darkdrive. She was feeling thoroughly upset. Her idealistic nature hadreceived a painful shock on the discovery of the yellow streak inBream. To call it a yellow streak was to understate the facts. It was agreat belt of saffron encircling his whole soul. That she, WilhelminaBennett, who had gone through the world seeking a Galahad, shouldfinish her career as the wife of a man who hid under beds simplybecause people shot at him with elephant guns was abhorrent to her. Why, Samuel Marlowe would have perished rather than do such a thing. You might say what you liked about Samuel Marlowe--and, of course, hishabit of playing practical jokes put him beyond the pale--but nobodycould question his courage. Look at the way he had dived overboard thattime in the harbour at New York! Billie found herself thinking hardabout Samuel Marlowe. 

There are only a few makes of car in which you can think hard aboutanything except the actual driving without stalling the engines, andMr. Bennett's Twin-Six Complex was not one of them. It stopped as if ithad been waiting for the signal. The noise of the engine died away. Thewheels ceased to revolve. The automobile did everything except liedown. It was a particularly pig-headed car and right from the start ithad been unable to see the sense in this midnight expedition. It seemednow to have the idea that if it just lay low and did nothing, presentlyit would be taken back to its cosy garage. 

Billie trod on the self-starter. Nothing happened. 

"You'll have to get down and crank her, " she said curtly. 

"All right, " said Bream. 

"Well, go on, " said Billie impatiently. 

"Eh?"

"Get out and crank her. "

Bream emerged for an instant from his trance. 

"All right, " he said. 

The art of cranking a car is one that is not given to all men. Some ofour greatest and wisest stand helpless before the task. It is a jobtowards the consummation of which a noble soul and a fine brain helpnot at all. A man may have all the other gifts and yet be unable toaccomplish a task the fellow at the garage does with one quiet quickflick of the wrist without even bothering to remove his chewing gum. This being so, it was not only unkind but foolish of Billie to growimpatient as Bream's repeated efforts failed of their object. It waswrong of her to click her tongue, and certainly she ought not to havetold Bream that he was not fit to churn butter. But women are anemotional sex and must be forgiven much in moments of mental stress. 

"Give it a good sharp twist, " she said. 

"All right, " said Bream. 

"Here, let me do it, " cried Billie. 

She jumped down and snatched the thingummy from his hand. With bentbrows and set teeth she wrenched it round. The engine gave a faintprotesting mutter, like a dog that has been disturbed in its sleep, andwas still once more. 

"May I help?"

It was not Bream who spoke but a strange voice--a sepulchral voice, the sort of voice someone would have used in one of Edgar Allen Poe'scheerful little tales if he had been buried alive and were speakingfrom the family vault. Coming suddenly out of the night it affectedBream painfully. He uttered a sharp exclamation and gave a bound which, if he had been a Russian dancer, would probably have caused themanagement to raise his salary. He was in no frame of mind to bear upunder sudden sepulchral voices. 

Billie, on the other hand, was pleased. The high-spirited girl was justbeginning to fear that she was unequal to the task which she had chidedBream for being unable to perform and this was mortifying her. 

"Oh, would you mind? Thank you so much. The self-starter has gonewrong. "

Into the glare of the head-lights there stepped a strange figure, strange, that is to say, in these tame modern times. In the Middle Ageshe would have excited no comment at all. Passers-by would simply havesaid to themselves, "Ah, another of those knights off after thedragons!" and would have gone on their way with a civil greeting. Butin the present age it is always somewhat startling to see a helmetedhead pop up in front of your automobile. At any rate, it startledBream. I will go further. It gave Bream the shock of a lifetime. He hadhad shocks already that night, but none to be compared with this. Orperhaps it was that this shock, coming on top of those shocks, affectedhim more disastrously than it would have done if it had been the firstof the series instead of the last. One may express the thing briefly bysaying that, as far as Bream was concerned, Sam's unconventionalappearance put the lid on it. He did not hesitate. He did not pause tomake comments or ask questions. With a single cat-like screech whichtook years off the lives of the abruptly wakened birds roosting in theneighbouring trees, he dashed away towards the house and, reaching hisroom, locked the door and pushed the bed, the chest of drawers, twochairs, the towel stand, and three pairs of boots against it. Only thendid he feel comparatively safe. 

Out on the drive Billie was staring at the man in armour who had now, with a masterful wrench which informed the car right away that he wouldstand no nonsense, set the engine going again. 

"Why--why, " she stammered, "why are you wearing that thing on yourhead?"

"Because I can't get it off. "

Hollow as the voice was, Billie recognised it. 

"S--Mr. Marlowe!" she exclaimed. 

"Get in, " said Sam. He had seated himself at the steering wheel. "Wherecan I take you?"

"Go away!" said Billie. 

"Get in!"

"I don't want to talk to you. "

"I want to talk to _you!_ Get in!"

"I won't. "

Sam bent over the side of the car, put his hands under her arms, liftedher like a kitten and deposited her on the seat beside him. Thenthrowing in the clutch, he drove at an ever increasing speed down thedrive and out into the silent road. Strange creatures of the night cameand went in the golden glow of the head-lights. 

6

"Put me down, " said Billie. 

"You'd get hurt if I did, travelling at this pace. "

"What are you going to do?"

"Drive about till you promise to marry me. "

"You'll have to drive a long time. "

"Right ho!" said Sam. 

The car took a corner and purred down a lane. Billie reached out a handand grabbed at the steering wheel. "Of course, if you _want_ tosmash up in a ditch!" said Sam, righting the car with a wrench. 

"You're a brute!" said Billie. 

"Cave-man stuff, " explained Sam, "I ought to have tried it before. "

"I don't know what you expect to gain by this. "

"That's all right, " said Sam, "I know what I'm about. "

"I'm glad to hear it. "

"I thought you would be. "

"I'm not going to talk to you. "

"All right. Lean back and doze off. We've the whole night before us. "

"What do you mean?" cried Billie, sitting up with a jerk. 

"Have you ever been to Scotland?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought we might push up there. We've got to go somewhere and, oddlyenough, I've never been to Scotland. "

Billie regarded him blankly. 

"Are you crazy?"

"I'm crazy about you. If you knew what I've gone through to-night foryour sake you'd be more sympathetic. I love you, " said Sam swerving toavoid a rabbit. "And what's more, you know it. "

"I don't care. "

"You will!" said Sam confidently. "How about North Wales? I've heardpeople speak well of North Wales. Shall we head for North Wales?"

"I'm engaged to Bream Mortimer. "

"Oh no, that's all off, " Sam assured her. 

"It's not!"

"Right off!" said Sam firmly. "You could never bring yourself to marrya man who dashed away like that and deserted you in your hour of need. Why, for all he knew, I might have tried to murder you. And he ranaway! No, no, we eliminate Bream Mortimer once and for all. He won'tdo!"

This was so exactly what Billie was feeling herself that she could notbring herself to dispute it. 

"Anyway, I hate _you_!" she said, giving the conversation anotherturn. 

"Why? In the name of goodness, why?"

"How dared you make a fool of me in your father's office that morning?"

"It was a sudden inspiration. I had to do something to make you thinkwell of me, and I thought it might meet the case if I saved you from alunatic with a pistol. It wasn't my fault that you found out. "

"I shall never forgive you!"

"Why not Cornwall?" said Sam. "The Riviera of England! Let's go toCornwall. I beg your pardon. What were you saying?"

"I said I should never forgive you and I won't. "

"Well, I hope you're fond of motoring, " said Sam, "because we're goingon till you do. "

"Very well! Go on, then!"

"I intend to. Of course, it's all right now while it's dark. But haveyou considered what is going to happen when the sun gets up? We shallhave a sort of triumphal procession. How the small boys will laugh whenthey see a man in a helmet go by in a car! I shan't notice them myselfbecause it's a little difficult to notice anything from inside thisthing, but I'm afraid it will be rather unpleasant for you ... I knowwhat we'll do. We'll go to London and drive up and down Piccadilly!That will be fun!"

There was a long silence. 

"Is my helmet on straight?" said Sam. 

Billie made no reply. She was looking before her down the hedge-borderedroad. Always a girl of sudden impulse, she had just made a curiousdiscovery, to wit, that she was enjoying herself. There was somethingso novel and exhilarating about this midnight ride that imperceptiblyher dismay and resentment had ebbed away. She found herself strugglingwith a desire to laugh. 

"Lochinvar!" said Sam suddenly. "That's the name of the chap I've beentrying to think of! Did you ever read about Lochinvar? 'YoungLochinvar' the poet calls him rather familiarly. He did just what I'mdoing now, and everybody thought very highly of him. I suppose in thosedays a helmet was just an ordinary part of what the well-dressed manshould wear. Odd how fashions change!"

Till now dignity and wrath combined had kept Billie from making anyenquiries into a matter which had excited in her a quite painfulcuriosity. In her new mood she resisted the impulse no longer. 

"_Why_ are you wearing that thing?"

"I told you. Purely and simply because I can't get it off. You don'tsuppose I'm trying to set a new style in gents' headwear, do you?"

"But why did you ever put it on?"

"Well, it was this way. After I came out of the cupboard in thedrawing-room.... "

"What!"

"Didn't I tell you about that? Oh yes, I was sitting in the cupboard inthe drawing-room from dinner-time onwards. After that I came out andstarted cannoning about among Aunt Adeline's china, so I thought I'dbetter switch the light on. Unfortunately I switched on some sort ofmusical instrument instead. And then somebody started shooting. So, what with one thing and another, I thought it would be best to hidesomewhere. I hid in one of the suits of armour in the hall. "

"Were you inside there all the time we were... ?"

"Yes. I say, that was funny about Bream, wasn't it? Getting under thebed, I mean. "

"Don't let's talk about Bream. "

"That's the right spirit! I like to see it! All right, we won't. Let'sget back to the main issue. Will you marry me?"

"But why did you come to the house at all?"

"To see you. "

"To see me! At that time of night?"

"Well, perhaps not actually to see you. " Sam was a little perplexed fora moment. Something told him that it would be injudicious to reveal histrue motive and thereby risk disturbing the harmony which he felt hadbegun to exist between them. "To be near you! To be in the same housewith you!" he went on vehemently feeling that he had struck the rightnote. "You don't know the anguish I went through after I read thatletter of yours. I was mad! I was ... Well, to return to the point, will you marry me?"

Billie sat looking straight before her. The car, now on the main road, moved smoothly on. 

"Will you marry me?"

Billie rested her hand on her chin and searched the darkness withthoughtful eyes. 

"Will you marry me?"

The car raced on. 

"Will you marry me?" said Sam. "Will you marry me? Will you marry me?"

"Oh, don't talk like a parrot, " cried Billie. "It reminds me of Bream. "

"But will you?"

"Yes, " said Billie. 

Sam brought the car to a standstill with a jerk, probably very bad forthe tires. 

"Did you say 'yes'?"

"Yes!"

"Darling!" said Sam, leaning towards her, "Oh, curse this helmet!"

"Why?"

"Well, I rather wanted to kiss you and it hampers me. "

"Let me try and get it off. Bend down!"

"Ouch!" said Sam. 

"It's coming. There! How helpless men are!"

"We need a woman's tender care, " said Sam depositing the helmet on thefloor of the car, and rubbing his smarting ears. "Billie!"

"Sam!"

"You angel!"

"You're rather a darling after all, " said Billie. "But you want keepingin order, " she added severely. 

"You will do that when we're married. When we're married!" he repeatedluxuriously. "How splendid it sounds!"

"The only trouble is, " said Billie, "father won't hear of it. "

"No, he won't. Not till it is all over, " said Sam. 

He started the car again. 

"What are you going to do?" said Billie. "Where are you going?"

"To London, " said Sam. "It may be news to you but the old lawyer likemyself knows that, by going to Doctors' Commons or the Court of Archesor somewhere or by routing the Archbishop of Canterbury out of bed orsomething, you can get a special license and be married almost beforeyou know where you are. My scheme--roughly--is to dig this speciallicense out of whoever keeps such things, have a bit of breakfast, andthen get married at our leisure before lunch at a registrar's. "

"Oh, not a registrar's!" said Billie. 

"No?"

"I should hate a registrar's. "

"Very well, angel. Just as you say. We'll go to a church. There aremillions of churches in London. I've seen them all over the place. " Hemused for a moment. "Yes, you're quite right, " he said. "A church isthe thing. It'll please Webster. "

"Webster?"

"Yes, he's rather keen on the church bells never having rung out soblithe a peal before. And we must consider Webster's feelings. Afterall, he brought us together. "

"Webster? How?"

"Oh, I'll tell you all about that some other time, " said Sam. "Just forthe moment I want to sit quite still and think. Are you comfortable?Fine! Then off we go. "

The birds in the trees fringing the road stirred and twittered grumpilyas the noise of the engine disturbed their slumbers. But, if they hadknown it, they were in luck. At any rate, the worst had not befallenthem, for Sam was too happy to sing. 

THE END