The Gay Adventure: A Romance
through--whether his digestion was in first-class order or cried aloud
for a liver-pill,--whatever conditions obtained, duty and habit drew
Mr. Peters to a task not uncongenial. So, on this morning he went to his
work as usual, despite the heat, not slothful enough to delve in a
well-filled drawer and read over some "cold meat" for his parishioners.
He established himself in the dining-room--luckily, as it proved--for
his study was being "turned out."
As a preliminary he threw open both windows and removed his jacket and
waistcoat. Then he lighted a pipe and settled down to arrange his
thoughts. He had not been meditating for more than ten minutes when his
wife came in.
"The milkman's account, Charles," she said. "Can you settle it now?"
"Certainly, my dear," replied the vicar, unlocking his cash-box. "It's
extremely hot this morning, isn't it?"
"It is," agreed Mrs. Peters, waiting for the money. "But, Charles----"
"Yes, my dear?"
"Do you think it quite seemly to be writing your sermon in
shirt-sleeves?"
"It's extremely hot, Clara."
"Yes. But a _sermon_, Charles!"
The vicar laughed.
"Would you have me write it behind stained-glass windows, with incense
burning round me?"
"A strict Evangelical----!!!"
"I was only joking, Clara," said the vicar quickly. "Of course, I
shouldn't dream of----"
"I do not think one should be flippant under such circumstances.
Shirt-sleeves and a pipe! My dear Charles----"
The vicar moved a little restlessly.
"My dear Clara, the day's very hot and I'm doing nothing to be ashamed
of. If the bishop of London called I'm sure he'd say----"
"Mr. Bangs," said the housemaid at the door, and Robert entered with a
troubled mien.
The vicar made a dash for his discarded garments and performed a Protean
act with amazing speed. His wife, true to her salt, interposed between
her husband and the visitor, making a few banal remarks about the
weather. She did not shake hands.
"Excuse me, Mr. Bangs," said the vicar, blushing despite his late
assertions of independence. "You find me trying to keep cool under
adverse conditions. Had I known----"
"The weather is very sultry, is it not?" said Mrs. Peters, with a glare
that said, "I told you so!"
Robert surveyed them with a wild and unreceptive eye. He looked, so
thought the vicar's wife, like a man dogged by the officers of the law.
"I called," he said quickly, "because I wanted your advice and help."
"Certainly, if I can be of any use," replied the vicar. "Clara, my
love----?"
His tone indicated a request that she would leave them. To the vicar's
intense surprise, his love made no sign of compliance. "Perhaps I had
better stay, Charles," she said grimly.
"But, Clara----"
"I--I should like to speak to your husband alone," said Robert, nervous
but determined. "You see, it is very private----"
"Of course, Mr. Bangs. I quite understand. Perfectly natural. My
dear----"
"I think not, Charles. Mr. _Bangs_ will understand why."
"I don't at all," said Robert, dismayed and puzzled. "I have come here
for advice and help. As a matter of fact, I have to make a
confession----"
The vicar shrank.
"I do not hear confessions," he said. "I do not approve----"
"Evangelical," snapped Clara. (Yes: there are vicar's wives who snap,
and she was one.)
"I don't understand," repeated Robert wearily. Then suddenly a light
broke on him, and he laughed. It was his first laugh for five days. "Oh,
I see! I don't mean _that_ kind of confession. This is purely a personal
matter--man to man."
"In that case, my love, I think----"
"No," said the resolute woman. "I am determined that you shall not be
imposed on any longer. I have kept silence, perhaps too long. Mr.
_Bangs_, yesterday I telephoned to Bloomsbury 843B."
"_What!_" said Robert with a moan. "You telephoned _there_!"
CHAPTER XXIII
STILL RUNNING
With a glance of triumphant contempt at the bladder she had pricked so
easily, Mrs. Peters turned to her husband. "I think, Charles, that I
can safely leave you now to hear Mr. Hedderwick's explanation. I have
no wish to be present during a painful scene; besides, I am wanted in
the larder."
"_Mr. Hedderwick!_" repeated the vicar blankly. "What do you mean,
Clara? I can not understand--I have no idea--you must----"
"He will tell you," said the lady, vouchsafing nothing further. After
all, she had had a fair share of the lime-light, and there was no need
to risk an anticlimax. "If you had only listened to me when I warned
you ... but there! men are all alike."
She swept from the room, and the bewildered clergyman appealed to the
heap in the chair.
"Mr. Bangs--Mr. Hedderwick, perhaps I ought to say--will you be kind
enough to tell me what it all means?"
Robert raised a stricken head.
"I thought, Mr. Peters, that things were bad enough when I came. Your
wife's news proves to me that I am wrong. My name is not Bangs, but
Hedderwick."
"So I gathered," said the vicar uncomfortably. "I think you owe me an
explanation of your reasons for adopting a false name."
Robert glanced wildly at the clock.
"There is no time to go into details now. She may be here at any minute.
But for the moment, Mr. Peters, please accept my word that I am involved
in no disgrace--no shameful action. I am a churchwarden----"
"You really are?" There was excuse for the implied doubt.
"I really am, and innocent. My fault is an excessive love for romance
and a temporary desertion of my wife. Oh! do not misunderstand me!" he
begged, as he noticed an ecclesiastical stiffening. "I simply ran away
for a short holiday--I meant to go back very soon! Surely, surely, you
can understand! You are married--I mean, a clergyman in the exercise of
his duties must have a wide knowledge of the world--a certain
sympathy...."
"I can understand," said the vicar thoughtfully, perhaps flattered at
the tribute to his worldly knowledge. "I can not praise--possibly can
not sympathize; but at least I may fairly claim to understand."
"Thank you--thank you! Well, to be as brief as I can (and every minute
is precious!), my friend and I had reason to suspect the occupants of
The Quiet House----"
"Ha!" The vicar pricked up his ears. "Certain hints and whisperings have
drifted round to me in the course of my parochial visiting, but----"
"Please, _please_, don't interrupt. You forget the London train! Mr.
Wild and I entered The Quiet House garden by night to watch----"
"Surely that----"
"Yes--yes--yes! Most reprehensible, but you do not know all. We watched,
were discovered, and in making our escape Mr. Wild was captured. I have
not seen him since."
"What!"
"For five days I have been alone, miserable, in doubt and anguish. I
have wondered, waited, made cautious inquiries. Nothing has happened.
What am I to do?"
"You suspect----?" queried the vicar in delightful horror. He felt his
hair bristling in anticipation.
"I do not know ... I can not guess. They say it is high politics--the
Turkish government.... A spy.... I do not know what to believe. What can
I do?"
The vicar, who prided himself on being a business man, mused for a
moment, chin on hand.
"Suppose," he said brightly, "that Mott, the local policeman, applied
for a search-warrant?"
"I would rather not invoke the aid of the police, if possible. There may
be nothing serious after all, and in that case we should look
ridiculous. Besides ... I wondered if you could call?"
The vicar seemed pleased, but apprehensive.
"Of course," he said, "I would face any danger if necessary and for a
good cause. But I have my flock to think of.... If matters are as
serious as you suggest, might there not be a second kidnaping? One
hesitates to be melodramatic, but the possibilities of...."
"They would not dare to touch a minister of the church. There would be
an outcry----"
"True ... true ... but would they admit me? I have called and been
denied. Do you think----"
He paused, as a motor-horn sounded from the road. The noise of the
engine was plainly heard. A moment later and the gate leading to the
drive opened. The vicar walked to the window.
"Who can this be?" he said in surprise. "A motor-car, and in the
morning! I hope he'll be careful of the borders."
Robert joined him at the window, his heart filled with anxious
questioning. As he watched the car drive slowly in he clutched the
vicar's arm. "She has changed her plan!" he gasped. "It's my wife! You
must hide me quick!"
"B--but," stammered Mr. Peters, "there's no sense in that! Pull yourself
together, Mr. Bangs--Mr. Hedderwick, I mean. You say you have done
nothing wrong. Why not face her and get it over at once like a man?"
Robert, pallid in face and soul, gripped him more tightly, his knees
shaking. The desperate need of the moment scorned the veneer of
discretion. "You said you understood," he hissed fiercely. "Do you
always stand up to Mrs. Peters?"
The vicar avoided his eye, but his answer brought hope to Robert. "Come
along!" he said briskly, going to the door. He threw it open, and was
disappointed to find his wife in the hall. That way of escape was
blocked. "A caller, my dear!" he said, trying to cover his
embarrassment. "If I'm wanted, I shall be in here." He returned to the
room and closed the door. "You're caught, Mr. Hedderwick, I'm afraid.
I'm very sorry, but you'll have to face it, after all."
"No, no!" said Robert. "Isn't there another door--a window?"
"The chauffeur's outside. Yes; by jove! there's the buttery hatch.
Behind the screen! Get through that and out of the pantry window! It
opens on the back. After that you must look out for yourself. I won't
tell any lies on your behalf, but--but I'll try to give you a--a
sporting start!"
Robert breathed a blessing on his head. Then, with some ado, he lifted
the hatch and crawled through. The vicar closed it behind him, heard the
pantry window open with a noiseless chuckle, and then braced himself to
face a pair of indignant ladies. He had not long to wait, for, a minute
after Robert had gained the road, Mrs. Peters introduced his visitor.
Mrs. Hedderwick glanced round the room much as a terrier who has been
told there is a rat about, and without waiting for apologies or
declarations, said with an extraordinary bitterness, "Where is my
husband?"
"He was here a moment ago," replied the vicar, nervous, but not without
a certain enjoyment of the scene. "I suppose that you are looking
forward to--a reunion--a----"
"I am," said Mrs. Hedderwick with a vindictive quietness. "Where is he?
Hiding under the table?"
"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar, suppressing a wish to get there
himself, so alarming was her eye, "do you imagine----"
"I want to know where he _is_!" interrupted the lady, still dangerously
calm and determined. "Mrs. Peters most kindly--_most_ kindly telephoned
to say that he was in Shereling, and she has just said that she left him
here. Where is he?"
"He has gone," said the vicar dreamily, looking out of the window and
wondering whether Robert had reached The Happy Heart. A good runner, he
reflected, might perhaps have succeeded, but Mr. Bangs was no longer
young.
"_Gone!_" ejaculated both ladies together, and for once in his life the
amiable clergyman had the satisfaction of communicating dramatic and
exclusive news.
"Gone!" repeated Mrs. Peters. "Oh, Charles! Where? How?"
"Gone!" said Mrs. Hedderwick, with a rising inflection. "You have
helped----"
"How could I detain him?" urged the vicar, retreating behind a chair.
"Why blame me? Could I be expected to keep him here by force? If Mr.
Hedderwick preferred to depart by the buttery hatch----"
"The buttery hatch."
"Let me show you," said the vicar helpfully, thinking that a