The Gay Adventure: A Romance
reconstruction of the crime might divert a morbid interest in himself.
"You see here it is, behind the screen. Mr. Hedderwick opened it,
climbed through----"
"I do not believe it! It is too small for----"
"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar warmly, annoyed at having his
veracity impugned, "I assure you it _was_ so. Try for yourself!"
In her rage Mrs. Hedderwick raised her arm as if to strike the impious
suggester. Mrs. Peters interposed, as the vicar quailed, and the
situation was saved.
"Charles! What an indelicate thought! Imagine a lady like Mrs.
Hedderwick _crawling_----"
The vicar had been through an anxious quarter of an hour. His nerves
were on strings, and at any moment the tension might prove too strong.
Had he been master of himself--had he possessed no sense of humor--had
his late guest not presented so ridiculous an appearance in his exit,
all might have yet been well. But the image projected upon his brain by
the words of his wife (who had but an imperfect sympathy with comedy)
was too much. He did not roar aloud, as he could have wished, but he
buried his face in his hands and leaned upon the mantelpiece. The
heaving of the shoulders gave evidence of his emotion.
"I think," said Mrs. Hedderwick, after a dreadful pause, "that your
husband is hardly himself."
"I will attend to him presently," replied Mrs. Peters with menacing
sympathy. "Come, Mrs. Hedderwick: I am sorry you should meet with such a
disappointment. Your best course would be to drive to The Happy Heart,
where I understand the fugitive is staying."
They left the room, without deigning to bestow any further notice on the
vicar. He, unhappy man, pulled himself together too late. He wiped his
eyes and rushed after them to offer seemly apologies. But as he reached
his garden gate he saw the motor drive off. Behind the chauffeur were
seated Mrs. Hedderwick and his wife. Mrs. Peters was resolved, if
possible, to be in at the death.
"After all," thought the vicar when he realized that he could do nothing
to reestablish himself, "why shouldn't I, too, see what is going to
happen? Hedderwick suggested I should call at The Quiet House.... I
might try again.... His suspicion, surely, can not be founded on fact,
but at least it will be interesting--nay, a positive duty! If a fellow
creature wants our services, we ought to spare neither time nor
trouble--well, Brown! what is it?"
"Beg pardon, sir!" said the odd-job man, touching his hat. Mr. Peters
noticed with astonishment that he was in his Sunday clothes. "I want to
give notice!"
"I can't be bothered with that now," said the vicar impatiently. "I am
particularly busy. Come to me----"
"I am sorry, sir, but I want to go at once," he said, interrupting the
vicar.
The latter stared.
"But that's most unusual and inconsiderate. If you want to go, a week's
notice----"
"It's too important for that, sir. Of course I am ready to forego my
week's wages, but go I must."
"Not a death in the family, I hope?" said Mr. Peters, subduing the
impatience of his tone. "If so, I'm very sorry, and of course----"
"No, sir: nothing serious--serious in that sense at least. I am sorry to
have to give notice in such a hurry, but it must be done."
"Very well," replied the vicar, resuming an every-day voice. "Legally,
of course, you couldn't demand your wages; but I have no intention of
standing on the letter of the law. I might as well pay you now. Let's
see----" He searched his pockets for change.
"Thank you, sir," replied the odd-job man. "You're very good to be so
reasonable, and I wish I could oblige you by staying. Instead, if you'll
kindly put a sovereign in the poor-box for me, I shall be satisfied."
"Eh--eh!" stammered the vicar. "Has all the world gone mad this morning?
A sovereign in the poor-box, from my gardener! Wh--what----"
"A little mad, sir?" smiled Henry Brown. "Perhaps there's some excuse.
Good-by and thank you."
He touched his hat and left the Shereling garden forever. Mr. Peters
stared dumbly after him. He could make nothing of it, however, so he
came to the sensible resolution of setting out on his investigations at
once. Taking a stick in his hand, he trudged toward The Quiet House.
Here, by the way, he was told there was nobody at home.
Henry Brown, whistling a cheerful strain, betook himself to The Happy
Heart. He found the motor-car standing outside, the chauffeur indulging
in a cigarette. Voices from the parlor indicated that the landlord was
trying to reason with two ladies, neither of whom seemed to be amenable
to treatment.
"But he's gorn, I tell you, ma'am," said the voice of Mr. Glew
despairingly. "Ran in here, he did, a quarter of an hour ago: out again
in five minutes----"
"I think you are prevaricating, Glew," said the acid tones of Mrs.
Peters. "Your manner is not straightforward at all this morning----"
"And we shan't be satisfied till you have shown us his room," added Mrs.
Hedderwick. "So there!"
As the landlord resumed the mournful chant, apparently relying on
tautological emphasis rather than reasoned argument or ocular
demonstration (a suggestion that seemed unwelcome), Henry Brown smiled
and passed into the bar. Addressing the Boots, a "lad" of sixty-three,
who acted as barman, beater, stable-boy, or butler as occasion or the
seasons demanded, he said, "Is Miss Schmidt ready?"
"B'leeve so," said the Boots. "But I'll tell her you're here."
He went out, but returned shortly, followed by Mizzi, who was dressed
for traveling. "Ah!" said she, with a radiant smile of welcome. "I have
not kept you waiting long, have I?"
"Five days," answered Henry, to the astonishment of the Boots. "Five
wasted days. Can't think why you wanted to stay here all that time.
After being----"
He paused. He was about to say "sacked," but from consideration of his
audience, refrained. Mizzi thanked him with a laugh.
"Ah!" she said very cheerfully. "The separation--shall we say?--was due
to--guess!"
"Dunno," said Henry, watching her fasten her glove with admiring eyes.
"Jealousy!" she flashed, with a ripple of merriment. "Think of it!
_Jealousy!_ Even I could have hardly credited it. But I bear her no
ill-will. On the contrary, I regard her as more human and could love her
still more. (Bother--_bother--r--r_ this glove. Can you----?")
"But why did you wait?" he grumbled, fastening the glove and taking as
long as he could for the pleasure of pressing her dainty wrist.
"I will be frank," she said, laughing temptingly. Henry dumbly cursed
the Boots. "Curiosity! I wanted to watch a little longer. But I foresee
the end of the play and am ready to go. Let us be off!"
"Your luggage has gone to the station?"
"Yes, and it is time we followed. Come!"
"A kiss first," said Henry, hungrily bending forward.
At this moment Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Hedderwick and the landlord (the latter
still emitting "But he's gorn--varnished, I tell you!") came from the
parlor. They halted on observing the obvious sweethearts standing in the
passage. Mrs. Peters, her finest instincts revolting from such a naked
display of animalism--and in the morning, too!--at once relinquished the
lacquered Mr. Hedderwick for a more congenial theme.
"_Brown!_" she ejaculated in tones that would have chilled a satyr.
"_Brown!_ how disgusting! Go to your work at once!"
The odd-job man could not restrain a natural blush, but he was man
enough to stand his ground. The presence of Mizzi confirmed his courage
and quickened his wits.
"Mr. Brown, if you please, ma'am," he said quietly but with resolution.
"I've left your service and am my own master now."
Mrs. Peters, justly annoyed at being thus spoken to by a menial, changed
her line of attack.
"So this is the explanation!" she said, wishing she had a lorgnette for
Mizzi's benefit. She surveyed her with a severity that ought to have
appalled. The survey gave her no comfort, for Mizzi was dressed to
perfection. "So this is the young woman!"
"A deplorable exhibition," said Mrs. Hedderwick dispassionately. "The
lower classes--"
The young woman gave a most impertinent laugh, and said, "Come, Henry!
We shall miss the train!"
They left The Happy Heart; and the landlord, who had recovered breath,
but not a fresh inspiration, during the interlude, took up the tale
again.
Outside, the odd-job man, whose face was flushed, swore. "I wish they
were men!" he said vindictively: "if they were, I'd teach 'em a lesson
in manners. By jove! I'd like to get even with----"
"Do not worry," said Mizzi soothingly. "After all, I _am_ a young woman.
Mesdames would give their ears to be the same."
Henry stopped dead, an idea having come upon him. With a growing light
in his eye he surveyed the motor-car and the chauffeur, who in turn
surveyed Mizzi with a gathering admiration. He even threw away the
cigarette.
"I say," said Henry, "this isn't a private car?"
"No," said the chauffeur, glad of a chance further to admire this
enchanting damsel. "General Motor-Car Company. Druv the ole gal down
from London s'morning. Made me crawl, too."
"Driving her back?"
The chauffeur suppressed an instinct to spit disgustedly and said, "Yes,
wuss luck." Mizzi observed them, wondering.
"What would you take," said Henry, breathing hard, "to drive us back
instead?"
The chauffeur shook his head.
"I'd lose my job."
"Five pounds?" hinted Henry.
"A job's a job."
"I'll find you another."
"Garn!"
"Straight! I'm Henry Brown, taxicab proprietor, Bloomsbury. Is that good
enough?"
"_And_ a fiver?" stipulated the chauffeur, avaricious but cautious.
"Here you are," said Henry, diving into his pocket. A note changed
hands, and the chauffeur assumed a bland demeanor. "Jump in!" he said
concisely; "it's a bet!"
"Oh, but----" objected Mizzi, hanging back.
"_Romance!_" whispered Henry. "You said you liked it! Quick! Quick!"
She jumped in, smiling happily.
"You are a dear!"
"And you're a darling!" he said, getting in beside her and shutting the
door. "Now, William, give 'em the horn and then London!"
_Honk! Honk!_
"Once more!"
_Honk! Honk!_
Mrs. Hedderwick appeared fretfully at the porch. "Do not make that
exasperating noise!" she commanded. And then--"_What!_ what
impertinence--what----!"
"Higher up, William!" said Henry peacefully.
"Good-by, madam!" and he raised his hat. "There, my little foreigner;
will that do?"
"Oh, Harry dear!"
And Harry dear had no time even to say "Good biz!"
CHAPTER XXIV
CERTAINTY--AHA!
Let us go back a couple of hours and see what has been engaging Miss
Arkwright and Lionel since their interview with Tony. They are still
reclining in the hammock-chair, which they have been obliged to move,
more than once, retreating before the all-conquering sun. They have
talked for a space, but nothing of their conversation is worthy of a
recorder's pen, and at last they have fallen silent, each occupied with
busy musings. Lionel, of course, has had plenty to think about since the
early telegram--new schemes to mature, fresh hopes to be weighed, old
difficulties to brush aside or evade. Winifred's silence, too, is not
extraordinary. Apart from her secret history--and she must have a
secret, to be sure, if not a dozen--there is matter for consideration in
her present _milieu_. Putting aside the trivial incident of the
five-days'-old attack (and an intriguer can not spend much time on
trifles, especially when they end happily), there is the problem of Tony
to be pondered over. But, at the worst, he can only be looked on as a
light-hearted dilettante, whose greatest misfortune is the curse of
wealth. Such, at least, is Winifred's shrewd guess, and we know how near
the mark the arrow has fallen. Then, Lionel ... what shall she do with