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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14835-0.txt b/14835-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9f0ca15 --- /dev/null +++ b/14835-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2655 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14835 *** + +[Illustration: The Burglar] + + + + +The Burglar and the Blizzard + +_A CHRISTMAS STORY_ + +BY ALICE DUER MILLER + + +AUTHOR OF “THE BLUE ARCH,” ETC. + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY +CHARLOTTE HARDING + +Hearst’s International Library Co., Inc. + + +1914 + + + + +[Illustration] + + +Contents + + Chapter I + Chapter II + Chapter III + Chapter IV + Chapter V + Chapter VI + Chapter VII + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + + The Burglar + “It was a young lady who disposed of the silver” + “Good God,” he cried, “what a night you have had” + He let McVay out of the closet + She was dressed in his sister’s sables—ready for departure + “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire” + “My dear fellow—pray allow me” + “I have here a slight token, in honor of the day” + + + + +The Burglar and the Blizzard + + + + +I + + +Geoffrey Holland stood up and for the second time surveyed the +restaurant in search of other members of his party, two fingers in the +pocket of his waistcoat, as if they had just relinquished his watch. He +was tall enough to be conspicuous and well bred enough to be +indifferent to the fact, good looking, in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven +way, and branded in the popular imagination as a young and active +millionaire. + +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other +men and women with him: + +“Do you know who that is?—that is young Holland.” + +“What, that boy! He doesn’t look as if he were out of school.” + +“No,” said one of the women, elaborating the comment, “he does not look +old enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines.” + +“Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right,” said the first man. “He +is older than he looks. He must be twenty-six.” + +“What do you suppose he does with all that money?” + +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an +evening paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who +promptly ran to get him one. + +“Well, one thing he does,” answered the man who had first given +information, “he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I +bet that costs him a pretty penny.” + +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, +and was about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of +interest caught his eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised +it to his eyes that his admirers at the next table noticed it, and +speculated on the subject of the paragraph. + +It was headed: “Millionaires’ Summer Homes Looted,” and said further: + +“Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring +robberies which have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the +past month occurred last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of +New York was entered and valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The +robbery was not discovered until this morning when a shutter was +observed unfastened on the second story. On entering the watchman found +the house had been carefully gone over, and although only a few objects +seem to be missing, these are of the greatest value. The thief +apparently had plenty of time, and probably occupied the whole night in +his search. This is the more remarkable because the watchman asserts +that he spent at least an hour on the piazza during the night. How the +thief effected an entrance by the second story is not clear. During the +past five weeks the houses of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham +Marheim have been entered in a manner almost precisely similar. There +was a report yesterday that some of the Marheim silver had been +discovered with a dealer in Boston, but that he could not identify the +person from whom he bought them further than that she was a young lady +to whom they might very well have belonged. The fact that it was a +young lady who disposed of them to him suggests that the goods must +have changed hands several times. The Marheim family is abroad, and the +servants....” + +Here a waiter touched his elbow. + +“Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir,” he said. + +“Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to +dinner,” returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous +looking couple approaching. + +“I’m afraid we are late,” said the lady, “but can you blame us? Have +you heard? We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon +to find out what has gone.” + +“You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading +about your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?” + +“Oh, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and +beginning to draw off her gloves. “We had a Van Dyke etching, and some +enamels that have gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his +wine.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. “I tell you he is going to have a +happy time with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted.” + +“Upon my word,” said Geoffrey, “they are a nice lot of countrymen up +there. Four robberies and not so much as a clue.” + +“_You_ need not be afraid,” said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. “In +spite of all your treasures, I don’t believe any thief would take the +trouble to climb to the top of your mountain.” + +Holland’s selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no +true Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and +as a property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of +Hillsborough real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. + +Mrs. Vaughan’s irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he +laughed very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the +thief was as poor a pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should +not like to lose any of his things; and he added that in his opinion +Vaughan ought to be starting for Hillsborough at once. + +“Pooh,” said that gentleman, “I can’t go with the market in this +condition,—would lose more than the whole house is worth.” + +“You would go duck-shooting in a minute,” said Holland, “and this would +be a good deal better sport.” + +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. “The thing to do,” he said, “is to +offer a reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class +detective.” + +“All right,” said Geoffrey readily, “I’ll join you. Those other fellows +ought to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,—that will be five +thousand. Is that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What +shall I say? Five thousand dollars reward will be paid for information +leading to the conviction—and so on. I’ll go and telephone now,” and +with a promptness which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. + +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all +discussing the burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older +than her brother, had some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, +that is to say she had imagination and a good memory for detail. + +“For my part,” she was saying, “I have the greatest respect and +admiration for him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking +at the Wilsons’,—after all his trouble. I have often sat in that +drawing-room myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in +it as a present, whether I could find something that would not actually +disgrace me. I never could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons +make a great to-do about the house having been entered, and tell you +how he must have been frightened away,—frightened away by the +hideousness of their things! Those woolly paintings on wood, and the +black satin parasol that turns out to be an umbrella stand.” + +“My dear Florence,” said her brother mildly, “how can a black satin +parasol be an umbrella-stand?” + +“Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the +Wilsons’ house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, +only painted to resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks +of trees, and the match boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is +really what it looks like, except the beds; they look uncomfortable, +and some one who had stayed there told me that they were.” + +“Dear Florence,” said Mrs. Vaughan, “is it not like her kindness of +heart—it runs in the family—to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a +connoisseur I could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my +last hope that my very best escaped his attention.” + +“No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven’t you +an admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he +has entered four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him.” + +“There must be _traces_ of him,” said Geoffrey. “The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There +must have been footprints.” + +“Of course,” said Mr. Vaughan, “that is what makes me think that the +watchmen are in it. It’s probably a combination of two or three of +them.” + +“Well, that lets Geoffrey out,” said the irrepressible Florence. “No +one would take his watchman into any combination,—he is a thousand and +two and feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the +possibility, for it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your +pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a +slouch hat. That is the way I imagine him. Do you really suppose that a +watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness’ best linen sheets, +embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it scratches +your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,—all just out from +Paris. I saw them when she first had them.” + +“What,” said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, “do +you make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver +in Boston?” + + +[Illustration: “It was a young lady who disposed of the silver”] + + +But it was Mrs. May who answered: “She is of course the lady of his +love—a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a +book about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one +more grand coup, rob the bank or something and then the world will be +startled by the news of their elopement. They will go and live +somewhere luxuriously in the south Pacific, and travellers will bring +home strange stories of their happiness and charm. Perhaps, though, he +would turn pirate. That would suit his style.” + +“I hope,” said Holland, “that he won’t take a fancy to rob the +Hillsborough Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a +little money there. You begin to make me nervous.” + +“No bank robbery would make _me_ nervous,” replied his sister, “that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank +to know the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, +who would take the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey’s palace is within +an easy walk. Besides, I haven’t anything worth the attention of a +respectable burglar like this one.” + +“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, “I’m sorry I spent so much time choosing +your Christmas present a year ago.” + +“Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but +it is put away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my +sable coat, and I am going to send for that as soon as I have time to +have it cut over.” + +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Vaughan, “the man is no longer in the +neighbourhood. He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the +whole country was so aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an +attractive place to thieves. It is such an easy place to get away +from,—three railroads within reach. A man would be pretty sure to be +able to catch a passing freight train on one of them at almost any +time, to say nothing of the increased difficulty of tracing him.” + +“I don’t suppose he will ever be caught,” said Florence. “When he has +got all he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were +caught—” + +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her +plate. It had come to her brother’s apartment, and been sent down. + +“Who is telegraphing me,” she said, as she tore it open. “I hope Jack +has not been breaking himself.” + +Opening it, she read: + +“Your house was entered about five o’clock this afternoon. Tea-set and +sable coat missing.” + + + + +II + + +The next evening at seven o’clock, Holland stepped out of the train on +the Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had +been bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in +small close flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a +wild wind was blowing. + +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the +old man to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to +be seen. The station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was +a busy scene with well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now +utterly deserted except for one native who had charge of the mails. + +“Hullo, Harris,” Geoffrey sung out. “Is McFarlane here for me?” + +“Ain’t seen him. Guess it’s too stormy for the old man,” Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. + +“Then you’ve got to drive me out.” + +“What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for +me, too.” + +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was +worth, induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail +cart, and having stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at +the stable to change the cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on +their five-mile drive. + +“Guess you come up to see about Mr. May’s house being robbed?” Harris +hazarded before they had gone far. + +“You’re a nice lot, aren’t you?” returned Geoffrey. “Five robberies and +not a motion to catch the thief!” + +“Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day,” said Harris, +divided between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of +his native town. + +“Yes, but not by any of you.” + +“Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more +houses was robbed.” + +“They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen.” + +“Well, to tell the truth,” said Harris, “it seems like he only went for +you city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to +lose a few things than they could to lose their sleep. That’s about the +size of it.” + +Geoffrey could not but laugh. “That’s a fine spirited way to look at +it, I must say.” + +“Well,” returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable +in order to collect and arrange his ideas. “’Tain’t lack of sand +exactly, either, for most of the fellows about here thinks it is a +woman.” + +“A woman?” cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. + +“Yes, _sir_,” said Harris, “a young woman. Look at the things took. +What burglar would want sheets and a lady’s coat? Besides just before +the first one happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way +and a young woman, pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood +and asks for a lift. Well, Will takes her some two miles, and when they +got to that piece of woods at the back of your place she says of a +sudden that she guesses she wants exercise, and will walk the rest of +the way, and out she gets, and no one has seen her since. Seems kinder +strange, no house but yours within six miles, and you away.” + +“It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home,” returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. + +“Well,” Harris went on imperturbably, “you can’t tell the rights of +them stories. Will Brown, he’s a liar, just like all the Browns; still +this time he seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we +were going to have a blizzard, don’t it?” + +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared +bobbing on the threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all +occasions with courtesy. It appeared that Holland’s telegram had been +duly telephoned from the office, but that her husband was down with +rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, and the “boy” allowed to go +home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no one to send. +Geoffrey suggested that she might have telephoned to the local +livery-stable, and she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity +that she could do nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her +away to get him something to eat. + +It was about ten o’clock, when he determined to take a turn about his +house. The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of +the Hillsborough bank. + +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up +hill against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already +fallen. He had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a +fair prospect of being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him +so much longer to reach the house than he had supposed, that he +abandoned all idea of entering it. It stood before him grimly like a +mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with snow. He walked round +it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the fastenings. Once +past the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was +conscious of that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the +same time the atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up +houses, even one’s own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and +felt in his pocket for his revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, +in the interior of the house, he heard a clock strike. + +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously +in Geoffrey’s ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. +It was that of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put +in order. He had never been able to make it go, but once touching it +inadvertently he had aroused in it a breath of life so that it had +struck one,—this same sweet piercing note. Who, he wondered, was +touching it now? + +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now +he hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, +and he moved quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung +silently on its hinges. It was not so much that he believed that there +was any one in the house—perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar +comes as a surprise—but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion +to fail to investigate. + +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was +put an end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the +library door, fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down +and took off his boots, and then cautiously approached the open door +and looked in, knowing that darkness and preparation were in his +favour. + +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to +the ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the +bookcases with his elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a +volume in his hands with the careful ease of a book fancier. The man’s +back was turned so that a sandy head and a strongly built figure were +all Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been for a glimpse of a mask on +his face, he might have been a student at work. + +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation +to make his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other’s elbow, +revolver in hand, he said gently: + +“Fond of reading?” + +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward +his own revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing +blow. Geoffrey secured the weapon, and seeing the man’s retreat, may be +excused for supposing the struggle over. + +He underestimated his adversary’s resources, for the burglar, +retreating with a look of surrender, came within reach of the electric +light, turned it off, and fled in the total darkness that followed. +Geoffrey sprang to the switch, but the few seconds that his fingers +were fumbling for it told against him. When he turned it on the room +was empty. The door by which the thief had gone opened on the main hall +and not on the passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to secure +the outer door. Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its +illumination told nothing. It was Geoffrey’s own sharp ears that told +him of light footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland +recognised at once that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight +of stairs from the hall reached the upper story at a point very near +where the back stairs came up, while they descended to widely different +places in the lower story, so that the burglar, looking down, could +choose his flight of stairs as soon as he saw his pursuer committed to +the other, and thus reach the lower hall with several seconds to spare. +Fortunately, however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a door at the +foot of the back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off the +light again, threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the +sound would give the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked +the door at the foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran +up the front stairs and down the back. The result was somewhat as he +expected. The burglar had reached the door at the foot of the stairs, +and finding it locked was half way up again when he and Geoffrey met. +The impetus of Geoffrey’s descent carried the man backward. They both +landed against the locked door with a force that burst it open. +Geoffrey, on top and armed, had little difficulty in securing his +bruised foe, and marching him back to the library where he now took the +precaution of locking all the doors. + +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural +love of the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with +his capture. He thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the +two undermen, and the helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he +remembered the telephone, which, fortunately, stood in a closet off the +library. + +He turned to the burglar. “Stand with your face to the wall and your +hands up,” he said; “and if I see you move I’d just as lief shoot you +as look at you,” with which warning he approached the telephone and, +still keeping an eye on the other, rang up central. There was no +answer. He rang again,—six, seven times he repeated the process +unavailingly. He tried the private wire to the McFarlane cottage with +no better result. + +At this point the burglar spoke. + +“Oh, what the devil!” he said mildly; “I can’t stand here with my hands +over my head all night.” + +“You’ll stand there,” replied Geoffrey with some temper, “until I’m +ready for you to move.” + +“And when will that be?” + +“When this fool of a Central answers.” + +“Oh, not as long as that, I hope,” said the burglar, “because, to tell +the truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house.” + +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless +smile of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar’s face. At length +Geoffrey said: + +“In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay +here until morning.” He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, +alarmed at his absence, would send some one to look for him,—some one +who could be used as a messenger to fetch the constable. + +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at +once into an armchair—an armchair toward which Holland himself was +making his way, knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night +session. Feeling the absurdity of making any point of the matter, +however, he contented himself with the sofa. + +“Take off your mask,” he said as he sat down. + +“So I will, thank you,” said the burglar as if he had been asked to +remove his hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that +met Geoffrey’s interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by +exposure so that his very light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark +a surrounding. Above, his sandy hair, which had receded somewhat from +his forehead, curled up from his temples like a baby’s. His upper lip +was long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face an expression of +humour. His hands were ugly, but small. + +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging +the cut on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland’s +presence, Geoffrey meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of +bandaging over, the man reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, +selecting a volume of Sterne, settled back comfortably in his chair. +Holland stared at him an instant in wonder, and then attempted to +follow his example. But his attention to his book was much less +concentrated than that of his captive, whose expression soon showed him +to be completely absorbed. + +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show +signs of restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked +distinctly disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence +again. + +“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. + +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving—his revolver was +drooping in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal +acquaintance unsuccessfully, and repeated: + +“Remember you?” + +“Yes, we were at school together for a time.” + +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: + +“You used to be able to wag your ears.” + +“Can still.” + +“Why, you are Skinny McVay.” + +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw +nothing comic in these untender reminiscences. + +“I remember the masters all hated you,” said Geoffrey, “but you were +straight enough then, weren’t you?” + +Again the man nodded. “I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago.” + +After a moment Geoffrey said: + +“Did not I hear you were in the navy?” + +“No,” said McVay. “I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I +should like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. +They threw me out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. +It was worse than State’s prison.” + +“Are you in a position to judge?” asked Geoffrey coolly. + +“No,” said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. + +“Well, you will be soon,” said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to +point out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his +school days. But McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. + +“Yes,” he said ruminatively; “I’ve done a lot of things in my time.” + +“Well, I don’t want to hear about them,” said Geoffrey, who had no +intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar +looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said: + +“Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?” + +“No,” said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to +start a cheering blaze with his left hand. + +For a few minutes Geoffrey’s determined attention to his book +discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram +Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed: + +“Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it +sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so +unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant +nothing to him—too original—sees life from another standpoint, +entirely. That’s me! I—” + +“Sit down,” roared Geoffrey. + +“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said McVay, “only I talk better on my +feet.” + +“Well, you wouldn’t talk as well with a bullet in you.” + +McVay sank back again in his chair. “Yes,” he said, “that’s me. Why, +Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number +of things that I can do—that I am really proficient in. Anything with +the hands,” he waved his fingers supplely in the air, “is no trouble to +me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a +lifetime to acquire.” + +“I’m told there’s work for all where you are going.” + +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing +himself to remain at a loss, he said: + +“Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian +Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part—” + +“I had reference to the penitentiary,” said Geoffrey. + +“Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in +the penitentiary. You don’t admit that, I suppose, with your +conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other +great creative artist,—sculptor or financier. I see you don’t quite get +that. You are hemmed in by conventional standards, and your +possessions, and all the things to which you attach such great +importance.” + +“I don’t attach so much importance that I steal them from other +people,” said Geoffrey. + +“Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything +stealing from some one or other? Of course. But I see you don’t catch +the idea. Well, I dare say I would not either in your place—rather +think I would not. My sister is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in +her own way, but philistine. She is so good as to be my companion, +apparently on equal terms, in many ways my superior, but it would be +impossible for me even to mention these ideas to her,—ideas which are +of the greatest interest to me.” + +“I wonder,” said Geoffrey, “how much of all this rubbish you believe?” + +McVay smiled with great sweetness. “I wonder myself, Holland. Still it +is undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,—a hard +life too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a +coincidence as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year.” + +“It was scarcely a coincidence. I came—” + +“Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister’s things, but +still, if you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it +_was_ a coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt +action. Nine men out of ten in your place—still, I’m not depressed. You +cannot say, Holland, that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years +of hard labour before him, can you? I dare say you have never been +thrown with a person who showed less anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, +there is something preying on my mind. Something entirely aside from +anything you could imagine.” + +“You don’t tell me!” said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most +amused or infuriated by his companion’s conversation. + +“I am about to tell you,” said McVay graciously, “I am very seriously +worried about my sister. In fact I don’t see that there is any getting +away from it; you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get +her.” + +“Let you do _what_?” + +“Get my sister. She’s living in a little hut in your woods, and I am +actually afraid she will be snowed up.” + +“It seems highly probable.” + +“Well, then, I must go and get her.” + +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: “You must be crazy.” + +“Maybe I am,” answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an +amusing side. “Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, +Holland, alone, all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is +not a position in which you would leave your sister, is it?” + +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself +with a laugh. + +“There you see,” said McVay. “It’s out of the question. The place is +draughty, too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at +all? You would be surprised to see how nicely I’ve fixed it up for +her.” + +“No doubt I should,” replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and +Marheim valuables. + +“It is surprisingly livable, but it _is_ draughty,” McVay went on. “The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But +one cannot foresee everything. The winters have been open until +Christmas so often lately. However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly +willing to rectify it. If you have no objection, I’ll go and bring her +back here.” + +“If you have any respect for your skin you won’t move from that chair.” + +“Oh, the devil, Holland, don’t be so—” he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,—“so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It’s cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty.” + +“Very unpleasant, I should think.” + +“More than that, more than that,—suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not +safe. It’s a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like +this would scare any girl alone in a place like that, there is some +danger to her life. Don’t you see that?” + +“Yes, I see,” returned Geoffrey, “but you ought to have thought of that +before you came burgling in a blizzard.” + +“Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever +of being caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it +did seem about the safest job yet.” + +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even +arguing the matter, and presently McVay continued: + +“Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went +wrong with her, and you knew you could have helped it!” + +“Helped it!” said Geoffrey. “What do you mean? Let you loose on the +county for the sake of a story no sane man would believe?” + +“Well,” returned McVay judicially, “perhaps you could not do that, +but,” he added brightly, “you could go yourself.” + +“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I _could_—” + +“Then I think you ought to be getting along.” + +“Upon my word, McVay,” said Holland, “you are something of a humorist, +aren’t you?” + +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. + +“Oh, hardly that,” he said. “Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,—a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just +thinking that it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison +for years to have some one come in with a new point of view.” + +“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life. It’s an ill wind, you +know.” + +“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you +certainly can trust me. Do be starting.” + +“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey. “Do you +really suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices +in order to give you a chance to escape?” + +“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of +anger crossed his brow; “‘_accomplices’_! I have no accomplices. +Anything I do I think I am able to do alone. Still,” he added putting +aside his annoyance, “if you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as +lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back.” + +“Your _what_?” + +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a +good deal tried. “Oh, anything you like,” he said. “I suppose you could +lock me up in a closet.” + +“I don’t think we need trouble to arrange the details,” said Geoffrey +drily. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in +jail to-morrow, I’ll get a trap and go and look up this hut.” + +“It may be too late then.” + +“It may,” said Geoffrey, and continued to read. + +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the +burglar kept casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such +brutality, and in truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by +any chance the story were true,—if there was a woman at his doors +freezing to death, how could he sit enjoying the fire? But, on the +other hand, could any one have a more evident motive for deception than +his informant? What better opportunity for escape could be arranged? It +was so evident, so impudent as to be almost convincing. What more +likely for instance, than that the hut was a regular rendezvous for +criminals and tramps, that by going he would be walking into the +veriest trap? Yet again there was the report confirmed by Harris’s +story that a woman was in some way connected with these robberies. The +wind whistled round the house with a suggestion of difficulty, of +combat with the elements, of actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave +Geoffrey a new view of delay. Had it not something the air of +cowardice, or at least of laziness? He found his eyes had read the same +page three times, while his brain was busy devising means by which +McVay could be secured in his absence—if he went. + +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. + +“I’ll go,” he said, “but before I go, I’ll tie you up so safely that, +if I don’t come back, you’ll starve to death before you’ll be able to +get out or make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me +to go?” + +“Oh, yes, I want you to go,” said McVay, “only for goodness sake be +careful. If you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep +don’t yield to it; they say it’s fatal. The great thing is to keep on +walking—” + +“Oh, shut up,” said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was +going to meet death at the hands of his fluent companion’s accomplices +he found this friendly advice unbearable. + +“This hut, I take it,” he said, “is an old woodcutter’s shanty in the +north woods?” + +“Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here.” + +“I know the place,” said Geoffrey, “now come along, and we’ll see how I +can fix you up until I come back.” + +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that +opened in and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, +having removed a complete burglar’s outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey +disposed McVay, being met with a readiness on McVay’s part that seemed +to prove either that he was sincere in his belief in Holland’s safe +return, or else was perfectly confident of being able to open the door +as soon as Geoffrey’s back was turned. + +“But he’ll find himself mistaken,” Geoffrey murmured as, having locked +the door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, +and, gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey +again opened the door. + +“By the way,” said the burglar, and for the first time a certain +constraint, amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his +manner, “my sister has no idea about—it would be a great shock to +her—in fact, you understand, she has not discovered exactly how our +money comes to us.” + +“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Geoffrey. + +“I grant it does not sound likely,” returned McVay, “and indeed would +not be possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty +good yarn,—worked out well everyway. I told her—” + +“I don’t want to hear your infernal lies.” + +“But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her,” McVay +chuckled, “that I was employed as night watchman at Drake’s paper mill. +That of course kept me out all night, and—” + +“She must think night watchmen get good wages.” + +“That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just +wanted an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better +job. You see I just lost a nice job in a bank—” + +“I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?” + +“Well, we won’t discuss it,” said McVay with an agreeable smile. “Of +course she could understand that such an inferior position as a +watchman’s had to be kept a profound secret, hence our remote mode of +life, and the fact that I don’t allow a butcher or baker to come near +us. I tell her that if it were known that I had held such a poor +position, it would interfere with my getting a better. So, if you +should happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am detained +here—” + +“_If_ I should explain to her,” said Geoffrey. “What do you suppose I +am going to do?” + +“Well, I suppose you will find it necessary,” said McVay. “Indeed, as a +matter of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. +Still, you might bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she +were your own sister—” + +“Oh, go to the devil,” said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. + + + + +III + + +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his +present expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that +if he did run into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass +to have come. Indeed, there seemed a fair chance that he might think +this even if nothing worse happened than that the hut proved empty, for +he would have had a long walk for nothing better than to provide McVay +with an opportunity to escape. He did not see exactly how McVay could +get out, but he was aware that few people would think it wise to leave +a burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some hours of +leisure at his disposal. + +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; +the wind was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not +gone a hundred yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more +difficult than he had imagined. To make headway against the wind was a +constant struggle, and he seemed to slip back in the snow at every +step. Still the natural obstinacy of his nature was aroused, and as his +attention was more and more engaged with the endeavor to make his way, +he had less time to think of the probable futility of his proceeding. + +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only +because he had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had +penetrated every crevice of his clothing. + +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey +on the stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave +an impression of desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, +sit idle under that recurrent bang? + +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention +of giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so +did not knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved +mightily. The hinges broke from the rotten wood at once, and he +stumbled in. + +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing +interior, for the window was not the only opening. There was a great +gap in the roof where, earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, +and now its bricks littered the floor, already well covered with snow. +Some attempt must have been made, as McVay had boasted, of “fixing it +up”; there were books in the shelves on the walls, and a black iron +stove on which the snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey took in the +situation, something in a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap of +rugs, stirred and moved, and finally rose, betraying itself to be a +woman. Geoffrey had been prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing +at all, or even a girl, as McVay had said. He told himself he would be +surprised at nothing, yet found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the +sight of a beautiful face. + +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, +for all sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all +a silk coverlet originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had +slipped sideways, and fell like a Hussar’s jacket from one shoulder. +Her hair stood like a dark halo about her little face, making it seem +smaller and younger, almost too small for the magnificent eyes that lit +it. Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine attractions, said to +himself that he had never seen such blue eyes. + +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity +became in him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the +masculine instinct toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the +other women he had admired—well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young +creatures—had always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other +men, had seen their hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take +a trolley car instead of her father’s carriage, but he had thought +himself hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but now he knew better. Now he +knew what it was to feel personally outraged at a woman’s discomfort. + +“Good God!” he cried, “what a night you have had. How wicked, how +abominable, how criminal—” + + +[Illustration: “Good god,” he cried “what a night you have had”] + + +“It has been a dreadful night,” said the girl, “but it is nobody’s +fault.” + +“Of course it is somebody’s fault,” answered Geoffrey. “It must be. Do +you mean to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all +night with my feet on the fender, and you—” + +“Certainly,” said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, “I +could wish we might have changed places.” + +“I wish to Heaven we might,” returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never +before had he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often +seen that it was advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly +to want to was a new experience. + +“Thank you,” said the girl, “but I’m afraid there is nothing to be +done.” + +“Nothing to be done!” He dropped on his knees before the black monster +of a stove, “Do you suppose I’m here to do nothing?” + +“You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm.” + +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. + +“That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I +left my fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every +blast, ‘that poor, poor girl.’ I set out to bring you to safety. I +begin to think I was born for no other reason.” + +She smiled rather wearily, “Your coming at all is so strange that I +could almost believe you.” + +“You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I +did not particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and +cold because I did not know what I was going to find....” + +“But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a +girl?” + +“A girl, yes. But what’s a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I +seen in my life? Is that a thought to turn a man’s head? What I did not +know was that I was going to find _you_.” + +“The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor,” she +said mildly. + +“Well, I’ve said it, you see,” he answered, “and you won’t forget it, +even if you do change the subject.” He turned his attention to the +fire. Where is the man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire +building is not serious? + +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and +tried to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed +fingers touched his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her +hand in both of his. + +“Your hands are as cold as ice,” he said, holding them tightly, and +thanking Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. + +She withdrew them. “You are too conscientious,” she said. “That is not +part of the duty of a rescue party.” + +“It is, it is,” said Geoffrey violently. “It is the merest humanity.” + +“Humanity?” + +“To me, of course, if you will pin me down.” + +“Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane.” + +“They ought to be grateful.” + +“They are.” + +“_Gratefuller_ then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to +be born and grow up and live just to come here for you?” + +“Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire.” + +“Oh, curse the fire,” said Geoffrey rising from his knees. “Who minds +about it?” + +“I mind very much.” + +“Well, you mustn’t. You must not mind about anything, because it sets +up too strong a reaction in me. There’s no telling what I might not do +under the stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will +burn in my house, and that is where we are going.” + +“I can’t do that,” she said, looking very grave. + +“You can’t do anything else.” + +“I must wait for my brother. He’s out somewhere in this storm, and if +he comes back and finds me gone—” + +“Oh, your brother,” said Geoffrey, “I forgot all about him. He’s at my +house already. He sent me for you.” + +“Oh,” said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: “then +my plight was not revealed to you in a vision?” + +“The vision is with me now.” + +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when +she thought it advisable. + +“And so you took poor Billy in?” she said. + +Geoffrey coughed. “Well, in a sense,” he answered. + +She rose. “We’ll go at once,” she said. “Is it far?” + +“Not very, but it is going to be hard work.” + +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the +realisation of her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt +depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the +comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her +a service. And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the +ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister’s sables. + +There was a pause. + +“What are you looking at?” she asked. + +“That is a nice warm coat you have on.” + +“Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a +tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker. “It saved my life.” + +It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to +a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it +possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? +Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to +the lot of night watchmen? Her manner was candour itself, but how +should it not be? What more inevitable than that she should make an +effort to deceive a casual stranger? She had the most evident motives +for behaving exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had reasoned +about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in +distress exactly as he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it +was true. Might not the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked +himself, and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. +He chose to believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who +could drag her through such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a +high-minded woman tricked out in stolen finery, and remembered with a +pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment of disillusion. + +“I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me. Is it +impossible for me to carry a bag?” + +“Yes, but not for me.” + +“It would be only this.” She held up a small Russia leather affair +legibly marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials. + +“I will take it,” said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. + +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: + +“But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?” + +“Oh, because—” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. + +“He’s hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me.” + +“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked +at her to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put +into words. + +She did not appear to understand. “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked. + +“He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn.” + +“I think you must be stronger than Billy.” She cast a reflective glance +at his shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately +flattered. + +“He is really safe at your house?” + +“I hope so, I did my best,” he returned grimly. + +She looked at him gravely. “You have been very kind to a stranger,” she +said. + +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with +her. It did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he +thought a more advantageous time could be found for telling her the +truth, in case of course she did not know it already. He felt that he +himself would be better able to deal a cold blow when she was warm and +sheltered. No man, he said to himself, could be disagreeable to a girl +who had no one to depend on but himself. So he said: + +“He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together.” + +“Oh, another of Billy’s friends. I never knew such a person for +discovering friends at the most opportune times. He never wants +anything but what a friend turns up. Did you find him wandering about, +or did he come and demand admittance?” + +“Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he +knew me well enough to walk in.” + +“He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood.” + +“We have not met since we were at school.” + +“He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew +you well enough to walk in on you!” + +“Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go.” + +“Men are so queer!” she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice +of admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under +such false colours as her brother’s benefactor. + +“We ought to be starting,” he said. + +She looked round the room. “I hate to leave all these nice things,” she +said. “Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave +him that he says is really priceless.” + +“Leave it,” said Geoffrey shortly. + +“One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I +could not take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to +contribute something to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I +leave it, it may be stolen.” + +“Yes, it may be stolen.” He looked down into her face. + +“Then—” + +“I ask you as a favour to leave it behind.” + +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, +sweet and quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it +all was. + +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose +to remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and +that it was his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to +overcome united them. They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing +interest. They had nothing to think of but accomplishing their task,—of +that and of each other. As far as they could see were snow and black +trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered that any one but themselves +existed. + +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage +warmed his heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert +her independence. She turned to him at every point. He guided her past +the scenes of his own disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had +already made. + +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she +did answer him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor +encouragement, but plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her +skirts, however, wet and heavy, hampered her desperately, and the +exertion of walking through the thick snow began to tell. Geoffrey made +her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, but at length she +stopped of herself. + +“Have we done half yet?” she asked. + +“Just about,” he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. +But he saw at once that he had failed,—that she had had a hope that +they were nearer their destination—that she began to doubt her own +powers. Presently she moved forward again in silence. + +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took +comfort in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she +had, she would use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her +beforehand. She would not fail through lack of determination. Whether +or not she were the confederate of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, +and a beautiful one, he thought, looking down upon her in the glare of +the snow. + +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. +This was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what +men were made for. + +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at +their backs the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained +an instant, too weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet +again. + +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and +when they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the +little step had he not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to +the library and laid her on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of +McVay, had gone out. It took Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands +to build a blaze. When he turned toward her again she was sleeping like +a child. + +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay +was either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug +and was soon asleep also. + + + + +IV + + +It was after two o’clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have +slept three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still +sleeping peacefully. He almost wished that she would never awake to all +the dreadful surprises that the house held for her. Her eye-lashes +curved long and dark on her cheek. Geoffrey turned away quickly. + +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have +been known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the +library and ran up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great +was his dread that he would have been really relieved to see the closet +door standing open as an immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. +It was, however, locked as he had left it. But as he hastened to undo +it, a voice from within reassured him: + + +[Illustration: He let McVay out of the closet] + + +“Well, where have you been all this time?” + +“You may be thankful I’m back at all. It did not look like it, at one +time.” + +“Where is Cecilia?” + +“Down stairs asleep.” + +McVay gave a little giggle. “Ah,” he said, “I bet you have had the +devil of a time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be +the one to go.” + +“It wasn’t child’s play.” + +“Child’s play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough +among men, but women!” he waved his hand; “so sensitive, so +cloistered!” + +“Your sister behaved nobly,” said Geoffrey severely. + +“Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock.” + +“It was a hard trip for any woman.” + +McVay looked up. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t speaking of the trip. I meant +about me. What did she say?” + +“She did not say anything. She went to sleep.” + +“She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the +penitentiary?” + +“Oh,” said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: “Why +should I tell her what she must know.” + +“I tell you she knows nothing about my—profession.” + +“Your _profession_!” + +“Hasn’t a notion of it.” + +“What, with my sister’s coat on her back, and the Innes’ bag in her +hand?” + +“No!” McVay drew a step nearer. “You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing.” He chuckled, +and Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently +disappointed the other. + +“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” he asked with a faint appeal in his +voice. “She thought it was likely, anyhow.” + +“She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally. + +“Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good +dissembler.” + +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his +impulse, would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. +Instead, he said: + +“Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.” + +“Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.” + +“You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for +the pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of +my sight.” + +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to +ignore this speech. + +“You know,” he said, as they went down stairs, “I suppose that most men +shut up in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, +but, to me it was a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is +one of my theories that every one ought to have resources within. Now I +dare say you were quite anxious about me.” + +“I never thought of you at all,” said Geoffrey. “After I got in I went +to sleep for three hours.” + +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with +dignity: “Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don’t think that was very +considerate.” + +“Don’t talk so loud,” said Geoffrey, “you’ll wake your sister.” + +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at +short notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned +eatables in the house to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these +he now depended, and was not a little annoyed to find the kitchen store +room where they were kept securely locked. + +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools +and on being given them set to work on the door. + +“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “the heavy handed way in which some +men use tools? Look at my touch,—so light, yet so accurate. I take no +credit to myself. I was born so. It’s a very fortunate thing to be +naturally dexterous.” + +“It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little +less so.” + +“Oh, I don’t know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death +years ago.” + +“I wish to God you had,” said Geoffrey. + +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but +otherwise preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work +heating soup and smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the +dining-room—this was McVay’s suggestion; he said food was unappetising +unless it were nicely served—Geoffrey said: + +“Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is,” he added firmly, +“I’ll give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain +the situation fully.” + +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door +behind him, and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could +command both doors. + +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told +himself no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely +nervous. He felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He +thought of her as he had seen her asleep, of the curve of her +eye-lashes on her cheek, of her raising those lashes, awaking to be met +with McVay’s revelations. Even if she were guilty, Geoffrey found it in +his heart to pity her waking to learn that her brother was a prisoner. +How unfortunate, too, would be her own position,—the guest, if only for +a few hours, of a man who was concerned only to lodge her brother in +jail. + +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they +came out together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it +unperturbed. Didn’t she care, or had she always known? + +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: + +“Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat—shock +on an empty stomach, so bad—so hard to bear.” + +Geoffrey shook his arm free. “You infernal coward,” he whispered back. + +“Well, I like that,” retorted McVay, “you didn’t tell her yourself when +you had the chance.” + +“It wasn’t my affair. I did not tell her because—” + +“Oh, I know,” McVay interrupted with a chuckle. “I’ve been knowing why +for the last ten minutes.” + +They followed her into the dining-room. + +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey +asked nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,—a position +evidently decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look +at her, and now and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could +force her to meet his eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more +apparent than that, for both of them, a momentous event had occurred. + +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the +general conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so +entirely mechanical that he was scarcely aware of them himself. + +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. + +“And _this_ is our Christmas dinner,” observed McVay regretfully. + +“Oh, no,” returned the girl, “this is luncheon. I’ll cook your dinner. +You’ll see.” + +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for +disillusioning her had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet +it would not be at his dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal +court rose before him. + +“Miss McVay,” he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning +which the other man was directing toward him; “we shall not be here at +dinner. Your brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down +the mountain.” + +“Now?” + +“At once.” + +She coloured slowly and deeply,—the only evidence of anger. “I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go,” she said, +rising. “I should thank you for having borne with us so long.” + +“Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this,” said +McVay. “It will be dark in an hour.” + +She turned on her brother quickly: “Please say no more about the +matter, Billy,” she said. “We will start at once.” + +“You won’t start if it means certainly freezing to death,” he +remonstrated. + +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to +compel the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. + +“I _would_,” she answered and shut the door behind her. + +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. +“One moment,” he said, “you are quite right. It is too late to start +to-night. We must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a +night here without your sister’s being told—” + +“My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!” + +“I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we +are starting, but in that case I must—” + +“I know what you are going to ask,—my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly.” + +“I’m not going to ask for anything at all,” said Geoffrey. “I’m going +to tell you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We +won’t have any nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick +man with a gun. There may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it +wasn’t in the East I got my training. You will always keep in front of +me where I can see you plainly, and you will never, under any +circumstances come nearer than six feet to me. If you should ever come +nearer than that or take a sudden step in my direction, I’d shoot you +just as sure as I stand here.” + +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. “Oh, come, Holland,” he said, +“isn’t that the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me +before my own sister?” + +“I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, +and having you escape is one of them.” + +The other thought it over. “The trouble is,” he explained, “that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I +am. I’m not at all sure that I shall remember.” + +“I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get.” + +“I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold +blood in the presence of my own sister.” + +“You had better behave as if you believed it.” + +“I don’t like this arrangement,” McVay broke out peevishly. “Suppose, +for the sake of argument, that I did forget,—that I put my hand on your +shoulder—a very natural gesture.” + +“I should shoot instantly.” + +“But fancy the shock to Cecilia.” + +“Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. +And another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling +about the subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me.” + +“Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing.” + +“It won’t amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not +only a thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving +her.” + +Again McVay’s gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. “Very true,” he said, +“I had not thought of that. But then,” he added more brightly, “who can +tell if it will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so +strangely. It may turn out that that is _your_ part.” + +“It may,” said Geoffrey, “but only because I have had to shoot after +all.” With which he opened the door and they returned to the library. + + + + +V + + +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her +absence, turned at once to his book. + +“If you won’t think me impolite, Holland, I’ll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,—especially +as your books are so unusual.” + +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey +could not read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his +eyes were fixed on the carpet. The knowledge of the girl’s presence in +his house distracted him like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave +himself up to steeping himself in his emotion, which, in some +situations, is the nearest thing possible to thinking. + +Geoffrey’s success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for +he was good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of +fact, however, his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this +very reason he was not afraid to give it full sway. The deeply +susceptible man learns to be cautious, to distrust his feelings, but +Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his fundamental indifference +to have any reason to distrust himself. He had never been in love. Like +Ferdinand he, “for different virtues had liked many women,” although in +his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had attracted +him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or +another pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature +responded. He had often thought that if he could make up a composite +woman of all of them he might be in great danger of falling in love. +But now he was aware that his whole nature responded to the attraction +of the girl upstairs, as a dog answers instinctively to the call of its +master. He could say to himself that she was this or that,—brave and +beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were but an insignificant +part of the total effect. His reason could find causes enough to +approve her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made +straight the paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and +which in case of a divergence between the two, his reason could never +overcome. + +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied +fell coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to +himself in so many words that he was in love,—far less had anything so +definite as marriage crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so +practical. He only knew that McVay’s mere existence was a contamination +and a tragedy. + +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the +stairs. He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his +eye on McVay’s studious figure in the library. + +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. + + +[Illustration: She Was Dressed In His Sister’s Sables—ready For +Departure] + + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, +with a cold blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could +make her take further notice of him as a living being. + +“Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?” he said, +with directness. + +“I have not been thinking about the matter at all,” she answered, +turning her head a little aside from his direct gaze. “But I do think +so of course. After all why should you not wish it?” + +“You think me likely to want anything that would part us—that is the +way my manner strikes you?” He was surprised to find his voice not +absolutely steady. + +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. “You seem to +forget that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. +Possibly you have changed your mind, but I have made mine up.” She made +a motion as if to pass in, and go on toward the library. + +“I have changed so completely since I saw you,” said Geoffrey, “that I +scarcely recognise life in this—this ecstasy. That is the only change. +Am I likely to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for +you to come?” + +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had +been fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to +work once again. She said very coolly: + +“You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,—or have +you forgotten saying that?” + +“Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going +because—” + +“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of +her mouth had softened by not a little. + +“There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there +would be greater danger in starting out so late. And,—and equally +desperate for me, whatever we do.” + +“Desperate?” + +“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—to hate me, +as your look said.” + +“I do not hate you.” + +“You are very eager to be rid of my company.” + +“I did not understand.” + +“You are going to stay?” + +“Until we can go safely.” + +“Not longer?” + +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she +said, “We are under sufficiently large obligations to you already.” + +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing +them with satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. + +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be +observed at all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to +be observed by one who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. +Never, said Geoffrey to himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay’s +clear little eyes, never should any influence lead him to let a thief +slip through his fingers. + +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another +word alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous +sort of revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man’s +company. Geoffrey had not appreciated the full meaning of his +instructions to McVay to keep always in sight. Not a word or a look +could be exchanged without McVay’s seeing and rejoicing. + +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the +brother of so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. + +“Well, my dear,” he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, “feel +better? Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me +about it—saying how well you behaved,” (Geoffrey favoured him with a +scowl behind her back), “a perfect heroine,—so he says.” + +“Mr. Holland is very kind,” said the girl. + +“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically. “Kind! I should rather think he +was. Why, I could give you instances of his kindness—” + +“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey. + +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... +so modest, so unassuming. + +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing +enough to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination +of facility and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any +question of playing upon Cecilia’s unconsciousness of the situation, he +writhed. Yet, a little discernment would have shown him how natural, +how encouraging from his own point of view her unconsciousness was. To +fall in love thoroughly is sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us +needs to be told that it is an absorbing process, that life looks +different, and that all past experiences must be reviewed in the light +of this unexpected illumination. And if this is true of the more usual +forms of the great passion, what is to be said of a girl who, in a +single day, sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young +creature, who comes to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a +prince, who comes not only to save and protect, but as host and +dispenser of all comfort and beauty. + +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one +fact, one personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd +conclusions from the little happenings going on before her, she was but +dimly aware of the existence of her brother, of the world, of anything +but Geoffrey. + +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: + +“And this is where you sat all night?” And if the thought was +interesting to her, it was not on account of her brother’s share in it. + +“Yes,” returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. “Here we sat +discussing plans for your safety.” He took a step toward the pair at +the fire, and then remembering, stopped. “Please move a little back, +Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire. I’m cold.” + + +[Illustration: “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want +to get nearer the fire”] + + +“You can go to the fire,” said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. + +“Of course you can,” said the girl, “Mr. Holland is not in your way, +Billy.” + +But Billy continued to eye his host. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said +warily. “Not unless you move back. Do move, there’s a good fellow.” And +Geoffrey laughed and moved, somewhat to the girl’s mystification. She +forgot to wonder, however, in pursuing the more wonderful train of +thought which had already been occupying her. Suppose that their plans +for her relief had been decided differently, suppose her brother had +come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with what different +eyes she might now be looking on life—this ecstasy as Holland had +defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so blessed, +she asked: + +“Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?” + +“Just what I said to him,” replied McVay eagerly. “If I said once, I +said a dozen times: ‘Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my +_right_ to go,’ but ...” McVay shrugged his shoulders, “when he once +gets an idea into his head, it takes a gimlet to get it out.” + +“Upon my word, Billy,” the girl said indignantly, “I don’t think you +ought to talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. +Holland only insisted on going because he thought he was better able to +bear the physical strain.” + +“Physical strain!” exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy +hair, from pure annoyance; “I don’t know what you mean,... Holland is, +of course, a larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far +as mere brute force goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing +physical strain, you betray the most absurd ignorance. It is well known +scientifically that medium-sized men like myself, when their muscles +are at all developed (and you know my muscles), are better fitted for +endurance than any of these over-grown giants.” + +“Then,” said she calmly, “if you knew you were better fitted I can’t +see why you did not go.” + +“You are not quite fair to your brother,” said Geoffrey interrupting, +for McVay looked as if he would explode in another moment under the +sense of injustice. “He did propose going himself, but I would not let +him; I—I made it a personal matter.” + +“Very personal,” replied McVay with feeling. “I’ll just explain how it +was. Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up +my mind that I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after +some trouble, came to this room, turned on the light—a spooky thing; an +empty house, picked up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the +world, everything, when a voice at my elbow said: ‘Fond of reading?’ I +was never more surprised in my life. I felt distinctly caught,—an +interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw that Holland did not at +once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he would not hear +of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was his +wish to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty +accurate account of the night’s proceeding, isn’t it?” + +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay’s +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the +twinkling joy of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be +doing mankind a favour by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn +of another day. Unconscious of this possibility, McVay continued to his +sister: + +“Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long +and dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. +A handsome coat, is it not, Holland?” + +“Very,” said Geoffrey chillingly. + +“Now that coat,” McVay went on unchilled, “was a real bargain. I may +say I paid nothing for it,—little more than the trouble of taking it +home. Although from another point of view, its price was pretty +high....” + +“Really, Billy, I don’t think Mr. Holland is interested in our +bargains.” + +“In _some_, he is.” + +“Yes, indeed,” said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, “I +think I know of just about a dozen people who will want a +circumstantial account of all of them.” + +“Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,—circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation—(are you familiar with that +word?)—the only suggestion it has for me is a _jury_?” + +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. + +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was +almost time to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They +all rose as if glad of a break. As they passed out of the door, +Geoffrey laid his hand on McVay’s arm. + +“Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?” he said. + +McVay smiled. “Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in +freezing weather? Don’t I amuse you? Be candid.” + +“No.” + +McVay looked regretful. “As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you +had more sense of humour,” he said gently. + + + + +VI + + +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for +organisation rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the +wall, and tilting back at his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at +work. Geoffrey, engaged in lighting the range-fire, looked up at her as +she moved about filling the kettle and washing out pots and pans, and +thought that he and she presented the aspect of a young couple of the +labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a roof over their +heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. + +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, +apples and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, +which, with a burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well +for plum-pudding. + +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even +his irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more +friendly than before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. + +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in +each hand, when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, +handkerchief in hand, exclaiming: + +“My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me—” + + +[Illustration: “My dear fellow—pray allow me”] + + +“Look out,” roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay +sprang back ten feet. “I was afraid of burning you with the soup,” +Geoffrey explained politely. + +“I own you made me jump,” said McVay. + +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an +unfortunate impression on her. + +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently +sat down to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed +themselves as inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines +and toasted biscuits, canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, +bacon and a potato salad, a bottle of champagne, and finally the +wedding cake. + +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk +would be to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this +nature, however, was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart +of champagne had not produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was +clear, his speech perfect, and he was more than usually aware of his +own powers, confident of appreciation. + +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the +tips of his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. + +“My dear Holland,” he said, “I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for +it has already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to +make it. Let me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this +delightful occasion. You have referred to the fare as meagre, to our +position as constrained, but believe me, I am not exaggerating when I +say that I so little agree with you that I am confident that, during +many of the remaining years of my life I shall look back to this +Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, perhaps, the +warm glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in +situations like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland,” he +paused impressively, “has stood the test.” + +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: + +“I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little +pecuniary value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer +mentioned. I feel that it will be recommended to you more than mere +worth could recommend it by the fact that it is peculiarly my own,—my +own as few human possessions can be said to be. I offer it,” he said, +drawing from his pocket a square flat little package, “with best wishes +for a happy New Year.” + + +[Illustration: “I Have Here A Slight Token, In Honor Of The Day”] + + +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey’s mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so +perfectly in keeping with McVay’s consuming desire to triumph in minor +matters, that he was able to smile pleasantly and receive it +appropriately. He exchanged a glance of real appreciation with the +donor, and received a grave bow in return. + +Cecilia smiled, too, “I don’t know exactly why you should think Mr. +Holland wants your picture, Billy,” she said. + +“It may be of the greatest service to him,” said McVay. + +The girl turned to Geoffrey. “I can’t make a speech like Billy’s,” she +said, “but I have a small present for you which I hope you won’t +despise because it is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some +time, and I hope _you_ will now, in remembrance of the time when you +sheltered the houseless.” She held out on her pink palm a flat gold +pencil with a single topaz set in the top. + +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay’s +eye in which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey’s +half-formed question was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms +of delight at the idea that Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of +stolen goods that he could not well conceal it. And instinctively +Geoffrey drew back his hand. The next moment he realised that he must +at once accept the gift with decent gratitude, whatever he might choose +to do with it afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed his +hesitation. + +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, +rose from the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the +feast as best they could. + +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the +part of a waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over +his arm and began to clear the table. + +“Wait a moment,” said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; “I +have something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my +sentiments in regard to your sister.... I think her a wonder,—that’s +all it is necessary for you to know.” + +“Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is.” + +“I won’t discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under +the impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won’t. You +stand just where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. +Then I settle my affairs.” + +McVay’s face fell. “Really, Holland,” he said, “I don’t see how, if you +are fond of a woman you can want ...” + +“... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over.” + +“There are worse brothers than I,” replied McVay, “how many men would +have sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her +comfortably.” + +“Not many, I hope.” + +“She is extraordinarily fond of me.” + +“Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of.” + +“We can scarcely say that _now_,” returned McVay encouragingly. + +“I won’t discuss it with you.” + +“You can’t mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean +to send me to state’s prison?” + +“I mean exactly that.” + +“Why, she’d never forgive you.” + +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and +presently McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, +asked: “Are you serious, Holland?” + +“What do you suppose I am?” Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his +head went on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent +and abstracted and for the first time seemed to realise his position. +When they had put away the last plate, Geoffrey said: + +“Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you.” + +“A pipe! Why?” + +“Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be +more apt to take it.” + +“I’m afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little +gift. As a matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had +given her the pencil. A pretty little thing, singularly like one which +you may have seen Mrs.—” + +“Don’t tell me where you took it from. I don’t want to know. Come and +get your pipe and mind you are grateful.” + +“A pipe,” observed McVay thoughtfully. “I think I’ll take that large +meerschaum on the mantelpiece.” + +Geoffrey laughed. “I think you won’t,” he answered. “The best pipe I +own! No, indeed, you’ll take a horrid little one that won’t draw. It +will be just the thing for you.” + +“No,” said McVay, “no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall +make it appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at +the last moment. And I can do it, Holland.” His little eyes gleamed at +the thought. “I shall say, ‘My dear fellow, I’m glad you changed your +mind about the meerschaum; it was as you say, too handsome for a man in +my position.’ That will make her mad if anything will. You know she is +not quite satisfied with the way you treat me, as it is.” + +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the +gift was to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his +favourite pipe. The affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate +over accepting so handsome an offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon +him with a good grace. + +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less +and less willing to make it in McVay’s presence, and more and more +unable to think of any way of getting rid of him except murder or the +cedar-closet. His anxiety was rendered more acute by the fact that once +or twice he could not help suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her +anger, would have been glad of a few words alone with him, also. + +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat +upstairs for her. + +“Certainly I will,” cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at +the door before Holland’s warning shout “_McVay_” stopped him. + +“Let me take it up for your sister,” he said warningly. + +“Oh, not at all. Let _me_,” replied McVay courteously. + +“Couldn’t hear of it,” returned Geoffrey. + +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it +with a snap. + +“You would, would you?” he said angrily. + +“Now, Holland,” said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into +an irrational confusion, “this is exactly a case in point. I am by +nature a gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions.” + +“I wonder?” said Geoffrey. + +“It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, +and I doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been +at my head. She asked me. That was enough.” + +“I’ve warned you once.” + +“Holland, I think,—you’ll excuse my telling you,—that you have a very +unfortunate manner at times.” + +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, +with his eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. + +“Can you play?” he said. + +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his +last speech. “Yes,” he answered, “I can. Well, I’m not a professional, +you understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much +technique and a good deal more sentiment than most.” + +“I don’t care _how_ you play,” said Holland. “There is a piano. Sit +down and play, and _don’t stop_.” + +“No, Holland, no,” said the other with unusual firmness; “that I will +not do. No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in +public without practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a +year.” + +“You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play +finger exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a +noise so that I’ll know you are there.” + +“Well,” said McVay yielding, “you must remember to make allowances. Not +the best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say +it will come back to me quicker than to most people. You must make +allowances for my lack of practice.” + +“There is only one thing I won’t make allowances for, and that is your +moving from that music stool.” + +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen +the joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover +which of the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped +lightly upon the notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that +an air of Schubert’s was growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was +astonished to find that he really was, as he said, something of an +artist. He waited until he was fairly started and then returned to the +library. + +“Is that Billy?” said the girl. “It must be a great pleasure to him to +have a piano again. He is so fond of music.” + +“He was not as eager to play as I to have him,” said Geoffrey. + +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then +he said, stretching out his hand: + +“I want my Christmas present.” + +“I have none to give you.” + +“You had.” + +“I’ve changed my mind.” + +“Why?” + +For the first time she looked at him. “Mr. Holland,” she said, “you +must think me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don’t see that +you dislike my brother. You refused the pencil—you did refuse it +plainly enough—because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to +you again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong +way, but I should think any one of any discernment could see that his +faults are only faults of manner.” + +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned +with something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, +covered his face with his hands. + +“Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you +by any chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his +own comfort? You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that +it is only for my sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does +not want to make my position here more unendurable by quarrelling with +you. It makes me furious to see what you force him to put up with, the +way you speak to him, and look at him, as if he were your slave, or a +disobedient dog. His self-control is wonderful. I admire him more than +I can say.” + +“And is my self-control nothing?” he asked, without moving his hands +from his face. + +“Yours? I don’t see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at +your mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose +to be. Self-control? I don’t see any evidence of it.” + +“No?” he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might +have set her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and +probably in the instant forgot all that she had been saying and +feeling, for when he added: “I love you,” her hands moved toward his, +and she made no resistance when he took her in his arms. + + + + +VII + + +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a +series of discords in order to recall himself to Holland’s mind. His +existence, if he had only realised the fact, was so completely +forgotten that he might have made his escape with a good half hour to +spare before either of the others appreciated that the music had +ceased. Not knowing this, however, he did not dare stop his playing for +an instant, until sheer physical fatigue interfered. It was at this +point that the discords began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. + +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey +had given a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as +a safe prison, but in the face of McVay’s repeated assertions that the +air had barely sufficed to support him during his former occupancy, it +looked like murder to insist. Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, +locked him in a dressing-room off his own room. The window—the room was +on the third floor—gave on empty space, and against the only door he +placed his own bed, so that escape seemed tolerably difficult. + +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, +although toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell +asleep. + +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his +name called by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the +hall. She was wrapped in her sable coat, but shivering from cold or +fear. + +“There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and +steps on the piazza, below my room. What can it be?” + +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to +the obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay’s +escape. On the opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the +roof of this a neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed +out. + +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before +the approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly +across the snow. There was no question of its identity. His revolver, +which he had snatched from under his pillow and brought with him, he at +once levelled on the vanishing form; his finger was on the trigger, +when he felt a hand on his arm. + +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. “Don’t +fire,” she said. “Don’t you see it is Billy?” + +There was a pause—the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that +touch on his arm he could not shoot. + +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: “McVay!” + +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on +steel and began to retrace his steps. + +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. +Under the piazza he stopped and waved his hand. + +“I’m afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best.” + +“There _was_ a burglar then!” said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. + +“By Heaven, he shall not trouble you,” returned Holland with more +earnestness than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down +to meet McVay. + +“You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet,” he remarked, +ushering him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so +ignominious a position that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a +disadvantage, but looked in vain. The aspect worn was a particularly +self-satisfied one. + +“I was aware I took a risk,” he answered; “I took it gladly for my +sister’s sake.” + +“For your sister’s sake?” + +“Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to +you as to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too +honourable, you would say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted +to know that you need not prosecute me.” + +“If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting.” + +“But at what a cost! I refer to my sister’s regard. No, no, the thing, +if you had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It +was a risk, of course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister’s sake. I +would take longer ones for her.” + +“Do you mean that?” + +“Of course.” + +“Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself.” + +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, “No, no, Holland. +To take a risk is one thing,—to kill myself quite another. I have +always had a strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly +action. And it would be no help to you. She would not believe that I +had committed suicide. She knows my views on the subject, and could +imagine no motive. No, that would not do at all. I’m surprised at the +suggestion. It is against my principles.” + +“Your principles!” Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little +altered in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find +that he could not shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his +faith in himself. He began to doubt if he would be capable of sending +the man to state’s prison when Cecilia besought his pity. His own +limitations faced him. He was not the relentless judge he had supposed +himself. Yet on the other hand, the remembrance of Vaughan and the +other men he was representing held him to his idea of justice. “Sit +down,” he said suddenly turning to McVay, “and write me out a list of +everything you have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and +how it may be obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better +try to do it for on the completeness of your list depends your only +chance of avoiding the law. If I can return all properly, perhaps—I +have a mine in Mexico, a hell on earth, where you can go if you prefer +it to penal servitude. There won’t be much difference, except for the +publicity of a trial. I’ve a man there who, when I give him his orders, +would infinitely rather shoot you than take any risk of your getting +away. Which will you have?” + +“Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?” + +“Sit down and write your list, then.” + +“An interesting occupation, mining,” observed McVay as he opened the +portfolio. After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft +noise of the pencil and an occasional comment from the writer: + +“A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur—appealed to my artistic side.” + +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside +and the door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. + +“My God, Holland,” said McVay, “if that is the police, keep your wits +about you or we are lost.” + +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm +showed, he had cast in his interests with McVay’s. He stepped forward +in silence and opened the door. + +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. + +“I’m glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland,” he said. “There has been great +anxiety felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan +and Marheim cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not +get back to the gardener’s cottage the night before last.” + +“The snow detained me,” said Geoffrey slowly. + +“Come in, come in, friend,” said McVay briskly. “You must be cold.” + +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after +studying McVay for an instant, asked: + +“I did not catch this gentleman’s name. Who is he?” + +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: +“That is the man you are after.” + +“Are you crazy, Holland?” shouted McVay. + +“What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?” Envy +and admiration struggled on the detective’s countenance. “I must +congratulate you, sir.” + +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. “You needn’t,” he said; +“I am no subject for congratulation. I can’t even prosecute him, +confound him, for several reasons. We were at school together, and I +can take no steps in the matter.” + +“But I can,” said the detective; “indeed it is my duty to.” + +“No,” said Geoffrey, “nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. +Yes, I know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we’ll +compound it.” + +“I could not agree to anything of the kind,” said the detective. + +“I don’t see exactly what you can do about it.” Geoffrey was deliberate +and very polite. “For reasons which I can’t explain, but which you +would appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from +jail. If you intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape +at once. Don’t draw your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only +person with a weapon in my hand. He has made a list of all the things +he has stolen, and I shall see that they are returned to their owners +at any cost. Will you undertake to get him safely to a mine I own in +Mexico? Once there he can’t get away. It is forty-five miles from a +railway. If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make +up for the reward you didn’t get,—five thousand down, and five thousand +at the end of a year.” + +“I don’t know what to say,” said the man. “It sounds like a bribe.” + +“It is,” said Geoffrey coolly. + +“I never received such a proposition,” returned the man. + +“That scheme won’t do, Holland,” put in McVay. “Can’t you see it lays +you open to blackmail?” + +“From you?” said Geoffrey. “I had thought of that, but you can’t +blackmail me at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close +enough to blackmail me, I’ll put you in prison without a moment’s +hesitation. I shall be in a position by that time to take care of the +feelings of the other people concerned.” + +“You don’t understand me,” answered McVay; “I meant blackmail from this +man.” + +“Oh,” said Geoffrey civilly, “I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. +And besides, he won’t get his second five thousand for a year, and as I +was saying to you, after a year I don’t so much mind having the whole +thing known. My reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his +will.” + +“I’m no blackmailer,” said this detective. “If I accept, I’ll be on the +square.” + +“If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice,” observed Geoffrey, +“and that is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He +is a slippery customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my +money at all, if you give him the smallest loophole.” + +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he +said gravely: + +“Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don’t +see my way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to +slip overboard from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless +maybe the sharks.” + +“Very true,” agreed Geoffrey amiably. “Fortunately you can get a +steamer in New York.” + +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good +reason for declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey’s, and they +were presently deep in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile +studying the map with unfeigned interest in the situation of his future +residence. + +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, +for she had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, +and the men must have been talking for two hours when she appeared at +the library door. + +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey +saw with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as +the burglar whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any +betrayal of this opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, +although as he did so, he realised that he had nothing to answer when +she asked, as of course she did ask: “Who is that?” + +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the +brave took hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would +perhaps in another instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not +the least disconcerted, taken the lead. + +“This, Cecilia,” he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the +detective’s shoulder, “is my old friend Picklebody,—Henderson +Picklebody. You have heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. +Eh, Henderson, in the old Machita days?” + +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his +surprise at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard +McVay. He began to guess something of the motives that led Holland to +shield this offender against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise +to yield to the whims of young millionaires. + +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she +heard the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked +in a tone as cheerful as she could make it: + +“I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now.” + +“Can and will,” rejoined McVay beamingly. “Hen comes as he has always +come to his friends, as a rescuer.” + +“I seem to require a great deal of rescuing,” said the girl, looking up +at the monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. + +“Ah, but you don’t understand, my dear,” went on McVay ruthlessly +cutting into the look which the lovers were exchanging; “You don’t yet +understand how fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it +is true, come to find me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting +me here. It seems that he and Holland are both interested in a mine in +Mexico, and what do you think?” McVay paused and rubbed his hands; +“Really, we have the kindest friends; they have been arranging between +them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of that?” + +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the +shelter of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been +thoroughly candid that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance +away, but she only observed: + +“How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico.” + +“There, there, do you hear that? ‘We.’ Gentlemen,” cried McVay, +throwing up his hands, “I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. +Consider it all off.” + +“Oh, I wasn’t to go?” asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. + +“My dear,” replied McVay, “I must own that I was base enough to +consider a plan that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place +for ladies. But we will think no more about it. I see by your manner +that your feelings...” + +“Dear Billy,” said the girl gently, “you must not give it up. You know +that I can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And +nothing is so important as that you should have work that is +satisfactory to you. Of course you must accept.” + +“Did you ever hear anything so noble?” asked McVay. “Yes, I suppose I +ought to accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn’t I, Hen?” + +“Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did,” replied +the detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American +humour. + +“There is another point, Cecilia,” McVay went on, “if I do accept, I +shall have to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?” + +“Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow.” + +“Oh, dear. That’s very sudden,” said Cecilia. + +“At a word from you, dear, I’ll give it up,” remarked McVay. + +“No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. +Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves +me just that amount.” + +“We’ve no time to lose,” remarked McVay briskly, “if we are going to +try for that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the +gardener’s, Holland, if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we +must hurry off.” + +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his +sister, flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who +was of a solider build, found it hard to keep up with. + +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate +man. Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray +the real state of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his +money, McVay took special delight in making him look like a fool, +calling upon him to remember happenings which existed only in McVay’s +own fertile brain. + +“What, Hen,” he would cry suddenly, “was the name of that pretty black +haired girl you were so sweet on,—you know, the daughter of the +canal-boat man.” + +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he +did not know what McVay was talking about. + +“There, there,” McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the +shoulder, “I’m not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can +always trust to my discretion. But I would like just to remember her +name. It was so peculiar,—a name I never heard before.” + +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, +found himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony +suggested “Mary.” + +“Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There +is nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I +was trying to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don’t you?” + +“No, I don’t,” said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. + +“How sad that is,” said McVay philosophically. “You don’t even remember +her name, and at one time—well, well.” + +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective’s +countenance. + +“Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney’s bullet has entirely gone. I +was afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it +would interest her.” + +“Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody,” said the girl politely and McVay, when he +had sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a +story himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of +treatment, it soon appeared that McVay’s ease and facility had made an +impression on him, and that he looked at his prisoner with a sort of +wondering admiration. + +“Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little +bag?” he began when they were about to depart. “Holland, my dear +fellow, don’t think me interfering if I ask whether you have looked to +all the doors and windows? Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into +shut-up houses, and it would be such a pity if anything happened to any +of your pretty things. Ah, what an expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn’t +it? You may talk about your tropical scenery, Hen, but we shan’t see +anything finer than this the world over. What a contrast the south will +be though, eh, old man?” and, drawing the detective’s arm through his, +leaning heavily upon him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking +volubly. + +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that +had seen such momentous changes in their lives. + +“When we come back, it will be spring,” said Geoffrey softly. + +“Oh,” said the girl in rather a shaky voice, “you like me well enough +to ask me to stay again?” + +“Well enough,” said Geoffrey, “to ask you to stay forever.” + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14835 *** diff --git a/14835-0.txt~ b/14835-0.txt~ new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45b0b10 --- /dev/null +++ b/14835-0.txt~ @@ -0,0 +1,3033 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Burglar and the Blizzard, by Alice Duer Miller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Burglar and the Blizzard + +Author: Alice Duer Miller + +Illustrator: Charlotte Harding + +Release Date: January 29, 2005 [eBook #14835] +[Most recently updated: October 30, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Eric Betts and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD *** + + + + +[Illustration: The Burglar] + + + + +The Burglar and the Blizzard + +_A CHRISTMAS STORY_ + +BY ALICE DUER MILLER + + +AUTHOR OF “THE BLUE ARCH,” ETC. + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY +CHARLOTTE HARDING + +Hearst’s International Library Co., Inc. + + +1914 + + + + +[Illustration] + + +Contents + + Chapter I + Chapter II + Chapter III + Chapter IV + Chapter V + Chapter VI + Chapter VII + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + + The Burglar + “It was a young lady who disposed of the silver” + “Good God,” he cried, “what a night you have had” + He let McVay out of the closet + She was dressed in his sister’s sables—ready for departure + “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire” + “My dear fellow—pray allow me” + “I have here a slight token, in honor of the day” + + + + +The Burglar and the Blizzard + + + + +I + + +Geoffrey Holland stood up and for the second time surveyed the +restaurant in search of other members of his party, two fingers in the +pocket of his waistcoat, as if they had just relinquished his watch. He +was tall enough to be conspicuous and well bred enough to be +indifferent to the fact, good looking, in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven +way, and branded in the popular imagination as a young and active +millionaire. + +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other +men and women with him: + +“Do you know who that is?—that is young Holland.” + +“What, that boy! He doesn’t look as if he were out of school.” + +“No,” said one of the women, elaborating the comment, “he does not look +old enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines.” + +“Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right,” said the first man. “He +is older than he looks. He must be twenty-six.” + +“What do you suppose he does with all that money?” + +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an +evening paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who +promptly ran to get him one. + +“Well, one thing he does,” answered the man who had first given +information, “he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I +bet that costs him a pretty penny.” + +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, +and was about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of +interest caught his eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised +it to his eyes that his admirers at the next table noticed it, and +speculated on the subject of the paragraph. + +It was headed: “Millionaires’ Summer Homes Looted,” and said further: + +“Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring +robberies which have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the +past month occurred last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of +New York was entered and valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The +robbery was not discovered until this morning when a shutter was +observed unfastened on the second story. On entering the watchman found +the house had been carefully gone over, and although only a few objects +seem to be missing, these are of the greatest value. The thief +apparently had plenty of time, and probably occupied the whole night in +his search. This is the more remarkable because the watchman asserts +that he spent at least an hour on the piazza during the night. How the +thief effected an entrance by the second story is not clear. During the +past five weeks the houses of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham +Marheim have been entered in a manner almost precisely similar. There +was a report yesterday that some of the Marheim silver had been +discovered with a dealer in Boston, but that he could not identify the +person from whom he bought them further than that she was a young lady +to whom they might very well have belonged. The fact that it was a +young lady who disposed of them to him suggests that the goods must +have changed hands several times. The Marheim family is abroad, and the +servants....” + +Here a waiter touched his elbow. + +“Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir,” he said. + +“Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to +dinner,” returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous +looking couple approaching. + +“I’m afraid we are late,” said the lady, “but can you blame us? Have +you heard? We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon +to find out what has gone.” + +“You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading +about your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?” + +“Oh, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and +beginning to draw off her gloves. “We had a Van Dyke etching, and some +enamels that have gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his +wine.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. “I tell you he is going to have a +happy time with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted.” + +“Upon my word,” said Geoffrey, “they are a nice lot of countrymen up +there. Four robberies and not so much as a clue.” + +“_You_ need not be afraid,” said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. “In +spite of all your treasures, I don’t believe any thief would take the +trouble to climb to the top of your mountain.” + +Holland’s selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no +true Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and +as a property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of +Hillsborough real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. + +Mrs. Vaughan’s irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he +laughed very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the +thief was as poor a pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should +not like to lose any of his things; and he added that in his opinion +Vaughan ought to be starting for Hillsborough at once. + +“Pooh,” said that gentleman, “I can’t go with the market in this +condition,—would lose more than the whole house is worth.” + +“You would go duck-shooting in a minute,” said Holland, “and this would +be a good deal better sport.” + +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. “The thing to do,” he said, “is to +offer a reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class +detective.” + +“All right,” said Geoffrey readily, “I’ll join you. Those other fellows +ought to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,—that will be five +thousand. Is that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What +shall I say? Five thousand dollars reward will be paid for information +leading to the conviction—and so on. I’ll go and telephone now,” and +with a promptness which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. + +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all +discussing the burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older +than her brother, had some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, +that is to say she had imagination and a good memory for detail. + +“For my part,” she was saying, “I have the greatest respect and +admiration for him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking +at the Wilsons’,—after all his trouble. I have often sat in that +drawing-room myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in +it as a present, whether I could find something that would not actually +disgrace me. I never could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons +make a great to-do about the house having been entered, and tell you +how he must have been frightened away,—frightened away by the +hideousness of their things! Those woolly paintings on wood, and the +black satin parasol that turns out to be an umbrella stand.” + +“My dear Florence,” said her brother mildly, “how can a black satin +parasol be an umbrella-stand?” + +“Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the +Wilsons’ house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, +only painted to resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks +of trees, and the match boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is +really what it looks like, except the beds; they look uncomfortable, +and some one who had stayed there told me that they were.” + +“Dear Florence,” said Mrs. Vaughan, “is it not like her kindness of +heart—it runs in the family—to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a +connoisseur I could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my +last hope that my very best escaped his attention.” + +“No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven’t you +an admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he +has entered four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him.” + +“There must be _traces_ of him,” said Geoffrey. “The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There +must have been footprints.” + +“Of course,” said Mr. Vaughan, “that is what makes me think that the +watchmen are in it. It’s probably a combination of two or three of +them.” + +“Well, that lets Geoffrey out,” said the irrepressible Florence. “No +one would take his watchman into any combination,—he is a thousand and +two and feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the +possibility, for it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your +pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a +slouch hat. That is the way I imagine him. Do you really suppose that a +watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness’ best linen sheets, +embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it scratches +your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,—all just out from +Paris. I saw them when she first had them.” + +“What,” said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, “do +you make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver +in Boston?” + + +[Illustration: “It was a young lady who disposed of the silver”] + + +But it was Mrs. May who answered: “She is of course the lady of his +love—a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a +book about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one +more grand coup, rob the bank or something and then the world will be +startled by the news of their elopement. They will go and live +somewhere luxuriously in the south Pacific, and travellers will bring +home strange stories of their happiness and charm. Perhaps, though, he +would turn pirate. That would suit his style.” + +“I hope,” said Holland, “that he won’t take a fancy to rob the +Hillsborough Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a +little money there. You begin to make me nervous.” + +“No bank robbery would make _me_ nervous,” replied his sister, “that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank +to know the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, +who would take the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey’s palace is within +an easy walk. Besides, I haven’t anything worth the attention of a +respectable burglar like this one.” + +“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, “I’m sorry I spent so much time choosing +your Christmas present a year ago.” + +“Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but +it is put away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my +sable coat, and I am going to send for that as soon as I have time to +have it cut over.” + +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Vaughan, “the man is no longer in the +neighbourhood. He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the +whole country was so aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an +attractive place to thieves. It is such an easy place to get away +from,—three railroads within reach. A man would be pretty sure to be +able to catch a passing freight train on one of them at almost any +time, to say nothing of the increased difficulty of tracing him.” + +“I don’t suppose he will ever be caught,” said Florence. “When he has +got all he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were +caught—” + +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her +plate. It had come to her brother’s apartment, and been sent down. + +“Who is telegraphing me,” she said, as she tore it open. “I hope Jack +has not been breaking himself.” + +Opening it, she read: + +“Your house was entered about five o’clock this afternoon. Tea-set and +sable coat missing.” + + + + +II + + +The next evening at seven o’clock, Holland stepped out of the train on +the Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had +been bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in +small close flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a +wild wind was blowing. + +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the +old man to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to +be seen. The station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was +a busy scene with well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now +utterly deserted except for one native who had charge of the mails. + +“Hullo, Harris,” Geoffrey sung out. “Is McFarlane here for me?” + +“Ain’t seen him. Guess it’s too stormy for the old man,” Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. + +“Then you’ve got to drive me out.” + +“What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for +me, too.” + +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was +worth, induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail +cart, and having stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at +the stable to change the cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on +their five-mile drive. + +“Guess you come up to see about Mr. May’s house being robbed?” Harris +hazarded before they had gone far. + +“You’re a nice lot, aren’t you?” returned Geoffrey. “Five robberies and +not a motion to catch the thief!” + +“Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day,” said Harris, +divided between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of +his native town. + +“Yes, but not by any of you.” + +“Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more +houses was robbed.” + +“They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen.” + +“Well, to tell the truth,” said Harris, “it seems like he only went for +you city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to +lose a few things than they could to lose their sleep. That’s about the +size of it.” + +Geoffrey could not but laugh. “That’s a fine spirited way to look at +it, I must say.” + +“Well,” returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable +in order to collect and arrange his ideas. “’Tain’t lack of sand +exactly, either, for most of the fellows about here thinks it is a +woman.” + +“A woman?” cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. + +“Yes, _sir_,” said Harris, “a young woman. Look at the things took. +What burglar would want sheets and a lady’s coat? Besides just before +the first one happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way +and a young woman, pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood +and asks for a lift. Well, Will takes her some two miles, and when they +got to that piece of woods at the back of your place she says of a +sudden that she guesses she wants exercise, and will walk the rest of +the way, and out she gets, and no one has seen her since. Seems kinder +strange, no house but yours within six miles, and you away.” + +“It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home,” returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. + +“Well,” Harris went on imperturbably, “you can’t tell the rights of +them stories. Will Brown, he’s a liar, just like all the Browns; still +this time he seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we +were going to have a blizzard, don’t it?” + +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared +bobbing on the threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all +occasions with courtesy. It appeared that Holland’s telegram had been +duly telephoned from the office, but that her husband was down with +rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, and the “boy” allowed to go +home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no one to send. +Geoffrey suggested that she might have telephoned to the local +livery-stable, and she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity +that she could do nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her +away to get him something to eat. + +It was about ten o’clock, when he determined to take a turn about his +house. The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of +the Hillsborough bank. + +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up +hill against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already +fallen. He had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a +fair prospect of being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him +so much longer to reach the house than he had supposed, that he +abandoned all idea of entering it. It stood before him grimly like a +mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with snow. He walked round +it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the fastenings. Once +past the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was +conscious of that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the +same time the atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up +houses, even one’s own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and +felt in his pocket for his revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, +in the interior of the house, he heard a clock strike. + +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously +in Geoffrey’s ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. +It was that of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put +in order. He had never been able to make it go, but once touching it +inadvertently he had aroused in it a breath of life so that it had +struck one,—this same sweet piercing note. Who, he wondered, was +touching it now? + +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now +he hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, +and he moved quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung +silently on its hinges. It was not so much that he believed that there +was any one in the house—perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar +comes as a surprise—but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion +to fail to investigate. + +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was +put an end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the +library door, fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down +and took off his boots, and then cautiously approached the open door +and looked in, knowing that darkness and preparation were in his +favour. + +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to +the ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the +bookcases with his elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a +volume in his hands with the careful ease of a book fancier. The man’s +back was turned so that a sandy head and a strongly built figure were +all Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been for a glimpse of a mask on +his face, he might have been a student at work. + +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation +to make his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other’s elbow, +revolver in hand, he said gently: + +“Fond of reading?” + +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward +his own revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing +blow. Geoffrey secured the weapon, and seeing the man’s retreat, may be +excused for supposing the struggle over. + +He underestimated his adversary’s resources, for the burglar, +retreating with a look of surrender, came within reach of the electric +light, turned it off, and fled in the total darkness that followed. +Geoffrey sprang to the switch, but the few seconds that his fingers +were fumbling for it told against him. When he turned it on the room +was empty. The door by which the thief had gone opened on the main hall +and not on the passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to secure +the outer door. Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its +illumination told nothing. It was Geoffrey’s own sharp ears that told +him of light footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland +recognised at once that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight +of stairs from the hall reached the upper story at a point very near +where the back stairs came up, while they descended to widely different +places in the lower story, so that the burglar, looking down, could +choose his flight of stairs as soon as he saw his pursuer committed to +the other, and thus reach the lower hall with several seconds to spare. +Fortunately, however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a door at the +foot of the back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off the +light again, threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the +sound would give the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked +the door at the foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran +up the front stairs and down the back. The result was somewhat as he +expected. The burglar had reached the door at the foot of the stairs, +and finding it locked was half way up again when he and Geoffrey met. +The impetus of Geoffrey’s descent carried the man backward. They both +landed against the locked door with a force that burst it open. +Geoffrey, on top and armed, had little difficulty in securing his +bruised foe, and marching him back to the library where he now took the +precaution of locking all the doors. + +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural +love of the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with +his capture. He thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the +two undermen, and the helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he +remembered the telephone, which, fortunately, stood in a closet off the +library. + +He turned to the burglar. “Stand with your face to the wall and your +hands up,” he said; “and if I see you move I’d just as lief shoot you +as look at you,” with which warning he approached the telephone and, +still keeping an eye on the other, rang up central. There was no +answer. He rang again,—six, seven times he repeated the process +unavailingly. He tried the private wire to the McFarlane cottage with +no better result. + +At this point the burglar spoke. + +“Oh, what the devil!” he said mildly; “I can’t stand here with my hands +over my head all night.” + +“You’ll stand there,” replied Geoffrey with some temper, “until I’m +ready for you to move.” + +“And when will that be?” + +“When this fool of a Central answers.” + +“Oh, not as long as that, I hope,” said the burglar, “because, to tell +the truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house.” + +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless +smile of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar’s face. At length +Geoffrey said: + +“In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay +here until morning.” He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, +alarmed at his absence, would send some one to look for him,—some one +who could be used as a messenger to fetch the constable. + +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at +once into an armchair—an armchair toward which Holland himself was +making his way, knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night +session. Feeling the absurdity of making any point of the matter, +however, he contented himself with the sofa. + +“Take off your mask,” he said as he sat down. + +“So I will, thank you,” said the burglar as if he had been asked to +remove his hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that +met Geoffrey’s interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by +exposure so that his very light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark +a surrounding. Above, his sandy hair, which had receded somewhat from +his forehead, curled up from his temples like a baby’s. His upper lip +was long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face an expression of +humour. His hands were ugly, but small. + +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging +the cut on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland’s +presence, Geoffrey meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of +bandaging over, the man reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, +selecting a volume of Sterne, settled back comfortably in his chair. +Holland stared at him an instant in wonder, and then attempted to +follow his example. But his attention to his book was much less +concentrated than that of his captive, whose expression soon showed him +to be completely absorbed. + +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show +signs of restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked +distinctly disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence +again. + +“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. + +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving—his revolver was +drooping in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal +acquaintance unsuccessfully, and repeated: + +“Remember you?” + +“Yes, we were at school together for a time.” + +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: + +“You used to be able to wag your ears.” + +“Can still.” + +“Why, you are Skinny McVay.” + +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw +nothing comic in these untender reminiscences. + +“I remember the masters all hated you,” said Geoffrey, “but you were +straight enough then, weren’t you?” + +Again the man nodded. “I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago.” + +After a moment Geoffrey said: + +“Did not I hear you were in the navy?” + +“No,” said McVay. “I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I +should like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. +They threw me out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. +It was worse than State’s prison.” + +“Are you in a position to judge?” asked Geoffrey coolly. + +“No,” said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. + +“Well, you will be soon,” said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to +point out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his +school days. But McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. + +“Yes,” he said ruminatively; “I’ve done a lot of things in my time.” + +“Well, I don’t want to hear about them,” said Geoffrey, who had no +intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar +looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said: + +“Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?” + +“No,” said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to +start a cheering blaze with his left hand. + +For a few minutes Geoffrey’s determined attention to his book +discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram +Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed: + +“Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it +sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so +unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant +nothing to him—too original—sees life from another standpoint, +entirely. That’s me! I—” + +“Sit down,” roared Geoffrey. + +“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said McVay, “only I talk better on my +feet.” + +“Well, you wouldn’t talk as well with a bullet in you.” + +McVay sank back again in his chair. “Yes,” he said, “that’s me. Why, +Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number +of things that I can do—that I am really proficient in. Anything with +the hands,” he waved his fingers supplely in the air, “is no trouble to +me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a +lifetime to acquire.” + +“I’m told there’s work for all where you are going.” + +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing +himself to remain at a loss, he said: + +“Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian +Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part—” + +“I had reference to the penitentiary,” said Geoffrey. + +“Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in +the penitentiary. You don’t admit that, I suppose, with your +conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other +great creative artist,—sculptor or financier. I see you don’t quite get +that. You are hemmed in by conventional standards, and your +possessions, and all the things to which you attach such great +importance.” + +“I don’t attach so much importance that I steal them from other +people,” said Geoffrey. + +“Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything +stealing from some one or other? Of course. But I see you don’t catch +the idea. Well, I dare say I would not either in your place—rather +think I would not. My sister is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in +her own way, but philistine. She is so good as to be my companion, +apparently on equal terms, in many ways my superior, but it would be +impossible for me even to mention these ideas to her,—ideas which are +of the greatest interest to me.” + +“I wonder,” said Geoffrey, “how much of all this rubbish you believe?” + +McVay smiled with great sweetness. “I wonder myself, Holland. Still it +is undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,—a hard +life too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a +coincidence as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year.” + +“It was scarcely a coincidence. I came—” + +“Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister’s things, but +still, if you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it +_was_ a coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt +action. Nine men out of ten in your place—still, I’m not depressed. You +cannot say, Holland, that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years +of hard labour before him, can you? I dare say you have never been +thrown with a person who showed less anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, +there is something preying on my mind. Something entirely aside from +anything you could imagine.” + +“You don’t tell me!” said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most +amused or infuriated by his companion’s conversation. + +“I am about to tell you,” said McVay graciously, “I am very seriously +worried about my sister. In fact I don’t see that there is any getting +away from it; you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get +her.” + +“Let you do _what_?” + +“Get my sister. She’s living in a little hut in your woods, and I am +actually afraid she will be snowed up.” + +“It seems highly probable.” + +“Well, then, I must go and get her.” + +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: “You must be crazy.” + +“Maybe I am,” answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an +amusing side. “Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, +Holland, alone, all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is +not a position in which you would leave your sister, is it?” + +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself +with a laugh. + +“There you see,” said McVay. “It’s out of the question. The place is +draughty, too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at +all? You would be surprised to see how nicely I’ve fixed it up for +her.” + +“No doubt I should,” replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and +Marheim valuables. + +“It is surprisingly livable, but it _is_ draughty,” McVay went on. “The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But +one cannot foresee everything. The winters have been open until +Christmas so often lately. However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly +willing to rectify it. If you have no objection, I’ll go and bring her +back here.” + +“If you have any respect for your skin you won’t move from that chair.” + +“Oh, the devil, Holland, don’t be so—” he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,—“so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It’s cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty.” + +“Very unpleasant, I should think.” + +“More than that, more than that,—suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not +safe. It’s a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like +this would scare any girl alone in a place like that, there is some +danger to her life. Don’t you see that?” + +“Yes, I see,” returned Geoffrey, “but you ought to have thought of that +before you came burgling in a blizzard.” + +“Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever +of being caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it +did seem about the safest job yet.” + +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even +arguing the matter, and presently McVay continued: + +“Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went +wrong with her, and you knew you could have helped it!” + +“Helped it!” said Geoffrey. “What do you mean? Let you loose on the +county for the sake of a story no sane man would believe?” + +“Well,” returned McVay judicially, “perhaps you could not do that, +but,” he added brightly, “you could go yourself.” + +“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I _could_—” + +“Then I think you ought to be getting along.” + +“Upon my word, McVay,” said Holland, “you are something of a humorist, +aren’t you?” + +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. + +“Oh, hardly that,” he said. “Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,—a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just +thinking that it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison +for years to have some one come in with a new point of view.” + +“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life. It’s an ill wind, you +know.” + +“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you +certainly can trust me. Do be starting.” + +“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey. “Do you +really suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices +in order to give you a chance to escape?” + +“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of +anger crossed his brow; “‘_accomplices’_! I have no accomplices. +Anything I do I think I am able to do alone. Still,” he added putting +aside his annoyance, “if you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as +lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back.” + +“Your _what_?” + +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a +good deal tried. “Oh, anything you like,” he said. “I suppose you could +lock me up in a closet.” + +“I don’t think we need trouble to arrange the details,” said Geoffrey +drily. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in +jail to-morrow, I’ll get a trap and go and look up this hut.” + +“It may be too late then.” + +“It may,” said Geoffrey, and continued to read. + +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the +burglar kept casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such +brutality, and in truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by +any chance the story were true,—if there was a woman at his doors +freezing to death, how could he sit enjoying the fire? But, on the +other hand, could any one have a more evident motive for deception than +his informant? What better opportunity for escape could be arranged? It +was so evident, so impudent as to be almost convincing. What more +likely for instance, than that the hut was a regular rendezvous for +criminals and tramps, that by going he would be walking into the +veriest trap? Yet again there was the report confirmed by Harris’s +story that a woman was in some way connected with these robberies. The +wind whistled round the house with a suggestion of difficulty, of +combat with the elements, of actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave +Geoffrey a new view of delay. Had it not something the air of +cowardice, or at least of laziness? He found his eyes had read the same +page three times, while his brain was busy devising means by which +McVay could be secured in his absence—if he went. + +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. + +“I’ll go,” he said, “but before I go, I’ll tie you up so safely that, +if I don’t come back, you’ll starve to death before you’ll be able to +get out or make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me +to go?” + +“Oh, yes, I want you to go,” said McVay, “only for goodness sake be +careful. If you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep +don’t yield to it; they say it’s fatal. The great thing is to keep on +walking—” + +“Oh, shut up,” said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was +going to meet death at the hands of his fluent companion’s accomplices +he found this friendly advice unbearable. + +“This hut, I take it,” he said, “is an old woodcutter’s shanty in the +north woods?” + +“Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here.” + +“I know the place,” said Geoffrey, “now come along, and we’ll see how I +can fix you up until I come back.” + +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that +opened in and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, +having removed a complete burglar’s outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey +disposed McVay, being met with a readiness on McVay’s part that seemed +to prove either that he was sincere in his belief in Holland’s safe +return, or else was perfectly confident of being able to open the door +as soon as Geoffrey’s back was turned. + +“But he’ll find himself mistaken,” Geoffrey murmured as, having locked +the door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, +and, gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey +again opened the door. + +“By the way,” said the burglar, and for the first time a certain +constraint, amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his +manner, “my sister has no idea about—it would be a great shock to +her—in fact, you understand, she has not discovered exactly how our +money comes to us.” + +“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Geoffrey. + +“I grant it does not sound likely,” returned McVay, “and indeed would +not be possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty +good yarn,—worked out well everyway. I told her—” + +“I don’t want to hear your infernal lies.” + +“But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her,” McVay +chuckled, “that I was employed as night watchman at Drake’s paper mill. +That of course kept me out all night, and—” + +“She must think night watchmen get good wages.” + +“That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just +wanted an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better +job. You see I just lost a nice job in a bank—” + +“I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?” + +“Well, we won’t discuss it,” said McVay with an agreeable smile. “Of +course she could understand that such an inferior position as a +watchman’s had to be kept a profound secret, hence our remote mode of +life, and the fact that I don’t allow a butcher or baker to come near +us. I tell her that if it were known that I had held such a poor +position, it would interfere with my getting a better. So, if you +should happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am detained +here—” + +“_If_ I should explain to her,” said Geoffrey. “What do you suppose I +am going to do?” + +“Well, I suppose you will find it necessary,” said McVay. “Indeed, as a +matter of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. +Still, you might bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she +were your own sister—” + +“Oh, go to the devil,” said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. + + + + +III + + +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his +present expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that +if he did run into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass +to have come. Indeed, there seemed a fair chance that he might think +this even if nothing worse happened than that the hut proved empty, for +he would have had a long walk for nothing better than to provide McVay +with an opportunity to escape. He did not see exactly how McVay could +get out, but he was aware that few people would think it wise to leave +a burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some hours of +leisure at his disposal. + +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; +the wind was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not +gone a hundred yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more +difficult than he had imagined. To make headway against the wind was a +constant struggle, and he seemed to slip back in the snow at every +step. Still the natural obstinacy of his nature was aroused, and as his +attention was more and more engaged with the endeavor to make his way, +he had less time to think of the probable futility of his proceeding. + +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only +because he had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had +penetrated every crevice of his clothing. + +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey +on the stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave +an impression of desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, +sit idle under that recurrent bang? + +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention +of giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so +did not knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved +mightily. The hinges broke from the rotten wood at once, and he +stumbled in. + +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing +interior, for the window was not the only opening. There was a great +gap in the roof where, earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, +and now its bricks littered the floor, already well covered with snow. +Some attempt must have been made, as McVay had boasted, of “fixing it +up”; there were books in the shelves on the walls, and a black iron +stove on which the snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey took in the +situation, something in a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap of +rugs, stirred and moved, and finally rose, betraying itself to be a +woman. Geoffrey had been prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing +at all, or even a girl, as McVay had said. He told himself he would be +surprised at nothing, yet found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the +sight of a beautiful face. + +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, +for all sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all +a silk coverlet originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had +slipped sideways, and fell like a Hussar’s jacket from one shoulder. +Her hair stood like a dark halo about her little face, making it seem +smaller and younger, almost too small for the magnificent eyes that lit +it. Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine attractions, said to +himself that he had never seen such blue eyes. + +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity +became in him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the +masculine instinct toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the +other women he had admired—well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young +creatures—had always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other +men, had seen their hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take +a trolley car instead of her father’s carriage, but he had thought +himself hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but now he knew better. Now he +knew what it was to feel personally outraged at a woman’s discomfort. + +“Good God!” he cried, “what a night you have had. How wicked, how +abominable, how criminal—” + + +[Illustration: “Good god,” he cried “what a night you have had”] + + +“It has been a dreadful night,” said the girl, “but it is nobody’s +fault.” + +“Of course it is somebody’s fault,” answered Geoffrey. “It must be. Do +you mean to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all +night with my feet on the fender, and you—” + +“Certainly,” said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, “I +could wish we might have changed places.” + +“I wish to Heaven we might,” returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never +before had he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often +seen that it was advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly +to want to was a new experience. + +“Thank you,” said the girl, “but I’m afraid there is nothing to be +done.” + +“Nothing to be done!” He dropped on his knees before the black monster +of a stove, “Do you suppose I’m here to do nothing?” + +“You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm.” + +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. + +“That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I +left my fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every +blast, ‘that poor, poor girl.’ I set out to bring you to safety. I +begin to think I was born for no other reason.” + +She smiled rather wearily, “Your coming at all is so strange that I +could almost believe you.” + +“You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I +did not particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and +cold because I did not know what I was going to find....” + +“But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a +girl?” + +“A girl, yes. But what’s a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I +seen in my life? Is that a thought to turn a man’s head? What I did not +know was that I was going to find _you_.” + +“The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor,” she +said mildly. + +“Well, I’ve said it, you see,” he answered, “and you won’t forget it, +even if you do change the subject.” He turned his attention to the +fire. Where is the man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire +building is not serious? + +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and +tried to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed +fingers touched his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her +hand in both of his. + +“Your hands are as cold as ice,” he said, holding them tightly, and +thanking Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. + +She withdrew them. “You are too conscientious,” she said. “That is not +part of the duty of a rescue party.” + +“It is, it is,” said Geoffrey violently. “It is the merest humanity.” + +“Humanity?” + +“To me, of course, if you will pin me down.” + +“Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane.” + +“They ought to be grateful.” + +“They are.” + +“_Gratefuller_ then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to +be born and grow up and live just to come here for you?” + +“Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire.” + +“Oh, curse the fire,” said Geoffrey rising from his knees. “Who minds +about it?” + +“I mind very much.” + +“Well, you mustn’t. You must not mind about anything, because it sets +up too strong a reaction in me. There’s no telling what I might not do +under the stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will +burn in my house, and that is where we are going.” + +“I can’t do that,” she said, looking very grave. + +“You can’t do anything else.” + +“I must wait for my brother. He’s out somewhere in this storm, and if +he comes back and finds me gone—” + +“Oh, your brother,” said Geoffrey, “I forgot all about him. He’s at my +house already. He sent me for you.” + +“Oh,” said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: “then +my plight was not revealed to you in a vision?” + +“The vision is with me now.” + +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when +she thought it advisable. + +“And so you took poor Billy in?” she said. + +Geoffrey coughed. “Well, in a sense,” he answered. + +She rose. “We’ll go at once,” she said. “Is it far?” + +“Not very, but it is going to be hard work.” + +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the +realisation of her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt +depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the +comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her +a service. And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the +ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister’s sables. + +There was a pause. + +“What are you looking at?” she asked. + +“That is a nice warm coat you have on.” + +“Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a +tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker. “It saved my life.” + +It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to +a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it +possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? +Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to +the lot of night watchmen? Her manner was candour itself, but how +should it not be? What more inevitable than that she should make an +effort to deceive a casual stranger? She had the most evident motives +for behaving exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had reasoned +about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in +distress exactly as he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it +was true. Might not the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked +himself, and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. +He chose to believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who +could drag her through such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a +high-minded woman tricked out in stolen finery, and remembered with a +pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment of disillusion. + +“I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me. Is it +impossible for me to carry a bag?” + +“Yes, but not for me.” + +“It would be only this.” She held up a small Russia leather affair +legibly marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials. + +“I will take it,” said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. + +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: + +“But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?” + +“Oh, because—” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. + +“He’s hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me.” + +“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked +at her to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put +into words. + +She did not appear to understand. “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked. + +“He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn.” + +“I think you must be stronger than Billy.” She cast a reflective glance +at his shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately +flattered. + +“He is really safe at your house?” + +“I hope so, I did my best,” he returned grimly. + +She looked at him gravely. “You have been very kind to a stranger,” she +said. + +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with +her. It did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he +thought a more advantageous time could be found for telling her the +truth, in case of course she did not know it already. He felt that he +himself would be better able to deal a cold blow when she was warm and +sheltered. No man, he said to himself, could be disagreeable to a girl +who had no one to depend on but himself. So he said: + +“He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together.” + +“Oh, another of Billy’s friends. I never knew such a person for +discovering friends at the most opportune times. He never wants +anything but what a friend turns up. Did you find him wandering about, +or did he come and demand admittance?” + +“Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he +knew me well enough to walk in.” + +“He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood.” + +“We have not met since we were at school.” + +“He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew +you well enough to walk in on you!” + +“Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go.” + +“Men are so queer!” she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice +of admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under +such false colours as her brother’s benefactor. + +“We ought to be starting,” he said. + +She looked round the room. “I hate to leave all these nice things,” she +said. “Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave +him that he says is really priceless.” + +“Leave it,” said Geoffrey shortly. + +“One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I +could not take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to +contribute something to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I +leave it, it may be stolen.” + +“Yes, it may be stolen.” He looked down into her face. + +“Then—” + +“I ask you as a favour to leave it behind.” + +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, +sweet and quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it +all was. + +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose +to remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and +that it was his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to +overcome united them. They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing +interest. They had nothing to think of but accomplishing their task,—of +that and of each other. As far as they could see were snow and black +trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered that any one but themselves +existed. + +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage +warmed his heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert +her independence. She turned to him at every point. He guided her past +the scenes of his own disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had +already made. + +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she +did answer him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor +encouragement, but plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her +skirts, however, wet and heavy, hampered her desperately, and the +exertion of walking through the thick snow began to tell. Geoffrey made +her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, but at length she +stopped of herself. + +“Have we done half yet?” she asked. + +“Just about,” he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. +But he saw at once that he had failed,—that she had had a hope that +they were nearer their destination—that she began to doubt her own +powers. Presently she moved forward again in silence. + +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took +comfort in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she +had, she would use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her +beforehand. She would not fail through lack of determination. Whether +or not she were the confederate of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, +and a beautiful one, he thought, looking down upon her in the glare of +the snow. + +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. +This was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what +men were made for. + +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at +their backs the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained +an instant, too weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet +again. + +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and +when they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the +little step had he not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to +the library and laid her on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of +McVay, had gone out. It took Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands +to build a blaze. When he turned toward her again she was sleeping like +a child. + +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay +was either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug +and was soon asleep also. + + + + +IV + + +It was after two o’clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have +slept three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still +sleeping peacefully. He almost wished that she would never awake to all +the dreadful surprises that the house held for her. Her eye-lashes +curved long and dark on her cheek. Geoffrey turned away quickly. + +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have +been known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the +library and ran up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great +was his dread that he would have been really relieved to see the closet +door standing open as an immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. +It was, however, locked as he had left it. But as he hastened to undo +it, a voice from within reassured him: + + +[Illustration: He let McVay out of the closet] + + +“Well, where have you been all this time?” + +“You may be thankful I’m back at all. It did not look like it, at one +time.” + +“Where is Cecilia?” + +“Down stairs asleep.” + +McVay gave a little giggle. “Ah,” he said, “I bet you have had the +devil of a time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be +the one to go.” + +“It wasn’t child’s play.” + +“Child’s play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough +among men, but women!” he waved his hand; “so sensitive, so +cloistered!” + +“Your sister behaved nobly,” said Geoffrey severely. + +“Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock.” + +“It was a hard trip for any woman.” + +McVay looked up. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t speaking of the trip. I meant +about me. What did she say?” + +“She did not say anything. She went to sleep.” + +“She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the +penitentiary?” + +“Oh,” said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: “Why +should I tell her what she must know.” + +“I tell you she knows nothing about my—profession.” + +“Your _profession_!” + +“Hasn’t a notion of it.” + +“What, with my sister’s coat on her back, and the Innes’ bag in her +hand?” + +“No!” McVay drew a step nearer. “You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing.” He chuckled, +and Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently +disappointed the other. + +“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” he asked with a faint appeal in his +voice. “She thought it was likely, anyhow.” + +“She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally. + +“Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good +dissembler.” + +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his +impulse, would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. +Instead, he said: + +“Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.” + +“Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.” + +“You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for +the pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of +my sight.” + +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to +ignore this speech. + +“You know,” he said, as they went down stairs, “I suppose that most men +shut up in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, +but, to me it was a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is +one of my theories that every one ought to have resources within. Now I +dare say you were quite anxious about me.” + +“I never thought of you at all,” said Geoffrey. “After I got in I went +to sleep for three hours.” + +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with +dignity: “Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don’t think that was very +considerate.” + +“Don’t talk so loud,” said Geoffrey, “you’ll wake your sister.” + +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at +short notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned +eatables in the house to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these +he now depended, and was not a little annoyed to find the kitchen store +room where they were kept securely locked. + +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools +and on being given them set to work on the door. + +“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “the heavy handed way in which some +men use tools? Look at my touch,—so light, yet so accurate. I take no +credit to myself. I was born so. It’s a very fortunate thing to be +naturally dexterous.” + +“It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little +less so.” + +“Oh, I don’t know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death +years ago.” + +“I wish to God you had,” said Geoffrey. + +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but +otherwise preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work +heating soup and smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the +dining-room—this was McVay’s suggestion; he said food was unappetising +unless it were nicely served—Geoffrey said: + +“Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is,” he added firmly, +“I’ll give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain +the situation fully.” + +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door +behind him, and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could +command both doors. + +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told +himself no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely +nervous. He felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He +thought of her as he had seen her asleep, of the curve of her +eye-lashes on her cheek, of her raising those lashes, awaking to be met +with McVay’s revelations. Even if she were guilty, Geoffrey found it in +his heart to pity her waking to learn that her brother was a prisoner. +How unfortunate, too, would be her own position,—the guest, if only for +a few hours, of a man who was concerned only to lodge her brother in +jail. + +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they +came out together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it +unperturbed. Didn’t she care, or had she always known? + +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: + +“Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat—shock +on an empty stomach, so bad—so hard to bear.” + +Geoffrey shook his arm free. “You infernal coward,” he whispered back. + +“Well, I like that,” retorted McVay, “you didn’t tell her yourself when +you had the chance.” + +“It wasn’t my affair. I did not tell her because—” + +“Oh, I know,” McVay interrupted with a chuckle. “I’ve been knowing why +for the last ten minutes.” + +They followed her into the dining-room. + +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey +asked nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,—a position +evidently decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look +at her, and now and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could +force her to meet his eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more +apparent than that, for both of them, a momentous event had occurred. + +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the +general conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so +entirely mechanical that he was scarcely aware of them himself. + +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. + +“And _this_ is our Christmas dinner,” observed McVay regretfully. + +“Oh, no,” returned the girl, “this is luncheon. I’ll cook your dinner. +You’ll see.” + +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for +disillusioning her had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet +it would not be at his dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal +court rose before him. + +“Miss McVay,” he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning +which the other man was directing toward him; “we shall not be here at +dinner. Your brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down +the mountain.” + +“Now?” + +“At once.” + +She coloured slowly and deeply,—the only evidence of anger. “I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go,” she said, +rising. “I should thank you for having borne with us so long.” + +“Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this,” said +McVay. “It will be dark in an hour.” + +She turned on her brother quickly: “Please say no more about the +matter, Billy,” she said. “We will start at once.” + +“You won’t start if it means certainly freezing to death,” he +remonstrated. + +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to +compel the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. + +“I _would_,” she answered and shut the door behind her. + +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. +“One moment,” he said, “you are quite right. It is too late to start +to-night. We must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a +night here without your sister’s being told—” + +“My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!” + +“I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we +are starting, but in that case I must—” + +“I know what you are going to ask,—my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly.” + +“I’m not going to ask for anything at all,” said Geoffrey. “I’m going +to tell you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We +won’t have any nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick +man with a gun. There may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it +wasn’t in the East I got my training. You will always keep in front of +me where I can see you plainly, and you will never, under any +circumstances come nearer than six feet to me. If you should ever come +nearer than that or take a sudden step in my direction, I’d shoot you +just as sure as I stand here.” + +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. “Oh, come, Holland,” he said, +“isn’t that the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me +before my own sister?” + +“I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, +and having you escape is one of them.” + +The other thought it over. “The trouble is,” he explained, “that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I +am. I’m not at all sure that I shall remember.” + +“I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get.” + +“I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold +blood in the presence of my own sister.” + +“You had better behave as if you believed it.” + +“I don’t like this arrangement,” McVay broke out peevishly. “Suppose, +for the sake of argument, that I did forget,—that I put my hand on your +shoulder—a very natural gesture.” + +“I should shoot instantly.” + +“But fancy the shock to Cecilia.” + +“Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. +And another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling +about the subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me.” + +“Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing.” + +“It won’t amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not +only a thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving +her.” + +Again McVay’s gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. “Very true,” he said, +“I had not thought of that. But then,” he added more brightly, “who can +tell if it will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so +strangely. It may turn out that that is _your_ part.” + +“It may,” said Geoffrey, “but only because I have had to shoot after +all.” With which he opened the door and they returned to the library. + + + + +V + + +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her +absence, turned at once to his book. + +“If you won’t think me impolite, Holland, I’ll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,—especially +as your books are so unusual.” + +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey +could not read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his +eyes were fixed on the carpet. The knowledge of the girl’s presence in +his house distracted him like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave +himself up to steeping himself in his emotion, which, in some +situations, is the nearest thing possible to thinking. + +Geoffrey’s success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for +he was good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of +fact, however, his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this +very reason he was not afraid to give it full sway. The deeply +susceptible man learns to be cautious, to distrust his feelings, but +Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his fundamental indifference +to have any reason to distrust himself. He had never been in love. Like +Ferdinand he, “for different virtues had liked many women,” although in +his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had attracted +him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or +another pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature +responded. He had often thought that if he could make up a composite +woman of all of them he might be in great danger of falling in love. +But now he was aware that his whole nature responded to the attraction +of the girl upstairs, as a dog answers instinctively to the call of its +master. He could say to himself that she was this or that,—brave and +beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were but an insignificant +part of the total effect. His reason could find causes enough to +approve her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made +straight the paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and +which in case of a divergence between the two, his reason could never +overcome. + +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied +fell coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to +himself in so many words that he was in love,—far less had anything so +definite as marriage crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so +practical. He only knew that McVay’s mere existence was a contamination +and a tragedy. + +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the +stairs. He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his +eye on McVay’s studious figure in the library. + +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. + + +[Illustration: She Was Dressed In His Sister’s Sables—ready For +Departure] + + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, +with a cold blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could +make her take further notice of him as a living being. + +“Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?” he said, +with directness. + +“I have not been thinking about the matter at all,” she answered, +turning her head a little aside from his direct gaze. “But I do think +so of course. After all why should you not wish it?” + +“You think me likely to want anything that would part us—that is the +way my manner strikes you?” He was surprised to find his voice not +absolutely steady. + +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. “You seem to +forget that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. +Possibly you have changed your mind, but I have made mine up.” She made +a motion as if to pass in, and go on toward the library. + +“I have changed so completely since I saw you,” said Geoffrey, “that I +scarcely recognise life in this—this ecstasy. That is the only change. +Am I likely to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for +you to come?” + +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had +been fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to +work once again. She said very coolly: + +“You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,—or have +you forgotten saying that?” + +“Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going +because—” + +“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of +her mouth had softened by not a little. + +“There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there +would be greater danger in starting out so late. And,—and equally +desperate for me, whatever we do.” + +“Desperate?” + +“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—to hate me, +as your look said.” + +“I do not hate you.” + +“You are very eager to be rid of my company.” + +“I did not understand.” + +“You are going to stay?” + +“Until we can go safely.” + +“Not longer?” + +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she +said, “We are under sufficiently large obligations to you already.” + +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing +them with satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. + +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be +observed at all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to +be observed by one who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. +Never, said Geoffrey to himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay’s +clear little eyes, never should any influence lead him to let a thief +slip through his fingers. + +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another +word alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous +sort of revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man’s +company. Geoffrey had not appreciated the full meaning of his +instructions to McVay to keep always in sight. Not a word or a look +could be exchanged without McVay’s seeing and rejoicing. + +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the +brother of so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. + +“Well, my dear,” he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, “feel +better? Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me +about it—saying how well you behaved,” (Geoffrey favoured him with a +scowl behind her back), “a perfect heroine,—so he says.” + +“Mr. Holland is very kind,” said the girl. + +“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically. “Kind! I should rather think he +was. Why, I could give you instances of his kindness—” + +“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey. + +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... +so modest, so unassuming. + +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing +enough to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination +of facility and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any +question of playing upon Cecilia’s unconsciousness of the situation, he +writhed. Yet, a little discernment would have shown him how natural, +how encouraging from his own point of view her unconsciousness was. To +fall in love thoroughly is sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us +needs to be told that it is an absorbing process, that life looks +different, and that all past experiences must be reviewed in the light +of this unexpected illumination. And if this is true of the more usual +forms of the great passion, what is to be said of a girl who, in a +single day, sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young +creature, who comes to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a +prince, who comes not only to save and protect, but as host and +dispenser of all comfort and beauty. + +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one +fact, one personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd +conclusions from the little happenings going on before her, she was but +dimly aware of the existence of her brother, of the world, of anything +but Geoffrey. + +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: + +“And this is where you sat all night?” And if the thought was +interesting to her, it was not on account of her brother’s share in it. + +“Yes,” returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. “Here we sat +discussing plans for your safety.” He took a step toward the pair at +the fire, and then remembering, stopped. “Please move a little back, +Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire. I’m cold.” + + +[Illustration: “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want +to get nearer the fire”] + + +“You can go to the fire,” said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. + +“Of course you can,” said the girl, “Mr. Holland is not in your way, +Billy.” + +But Billy continued to eye his host. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said +warily. “Not unless you move back. Do move, there’s a good fellow.” And +Geoffrey laughed and moved, somewhat to the girl’s mystification. She +forgot to wonder, however, in pursuing the more wonderful train of +thought which had already been occupying her. Suppose that their plans +for her relief had been decided differently, suppose her brother had +come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with what different +eyes she might now be looking on life—this ecstasy as Holland had +defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so blessed, +she asked: + +“Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?” + +“Just what I said to him,” replied McVay eagerly. “If I said once, I +said a dozen times: ‘Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my +_right_ to go,’ but ...” McVay shrugged his shoulders, “when he once +gets an idea into his head, it takes a gimlet to get it out.” + +“Upon my word, Billy,” the girl said indignantly, “I don’t think you +ought to talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. +Holland only insisted on going because he thought he was better able to +bear the physical strain.” + +“Physical strain!” exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy +hair, from pure annoyance; “I don’t know what you mean,... Holland is, +of course, a larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far +as mere brute force goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing +physical strain, you betray the most absurd ignorance. It is well known +scientifically that medium-sized men like myself, when their muscles +are at all developed (and you know my muscles), are better fitted for +endurance than any of these over-grown giants.” + +“Then,” said she calmly, “if you knew you were better fitted I can’t +see why you did not go.” + +“You are not quite fair to your brother,” said Geoffrey interrupting, +for McVay looked as if he would explode in another moment under the +sense of injustice. “He did propose going himself, but I would not let +him; I—I made it a personal matter.” + +“Very personal,” replied McVay with feeling. “I’ll just explain how it +was. Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up +my mind that I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after +some trouble, came to this room, turned on the light—a spooky thing; an +empty house, picked up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the +world, everything, when a voice at my elbow said: ‘Fond of reading?’ I +was never more surprised in my life. I felt distinctly caught,—an +interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw that Holland did not at +once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he would not hear +of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was his +wish to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty +accurate account of the night’s proceeding, isn’t it?” + +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay’s +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the +twinkling joy of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be +doing mankind a favour by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn +of another day. Unconscious of this possibility, McVay continued to his +sister: + +“Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long +and dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. +A handsome coat, is it not, Holland?” + +“Very,” said Geoffrey chillingly. + +“Now that coat,” McVay went on unchilled, “was a real bargain. I may +say I paid nothing for it,—little more than the trouble of taking it +home. Although from another point of view, its price was pretty +high....” + +“Really, Billy, I don’t think Mr. Holland is interested in our +bargains.” + +“In _some_, he is.” + +“Yes, indeed,” said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, “I +think I know of just about a dozen people who will want a +circumstantial account of all of them.” + +“Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,—circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation—(are you familiar with that +word?)—the only suggestion it has for me is a _jury_?” + +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. + +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was +almost time to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They +all rose as if glad of a break. As they passed out of the door, +Geoffrey laid his hand on McVay’s arm. + +“Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?” he said. + +McVay smiled. “Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in +freezing weather? Don’t I amuse you? Be candid.” + +“No.” + +McVay looked regretful. “As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you +had more sense of humour,” he said gently. + + + + +VI + + +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for +organisation rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the +wall, and tilting back at his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at +work. Geoffrey, engaged in lighting the range-fire, looked up at her as +she moved about filling the kettle and washing out pots and pans, and +thought that he and she presented the aspect of a young couple of the +labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a roof over their +heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. + +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, +apples and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, +which, with a burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well +for plum-pudding. + +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even +his irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more +friendly than before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. + +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in +each hand, when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, +handkerchief in hand, exclaiming: + +“My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me—” + + +[Illustration: “My dear fellow—pray allow me”] + + +“Look out,” roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay +sprang back ten feet. “I was afraid of burning you with the soup,” +Geoffrey explained politely. + +“I own you made me jump,” said McVay. + +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an +unfortunate impression on her. + +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently +sat down to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed +themselves as inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines +and toasted biscuits, canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, +bacon and a potato salad, a bottle of champagne, and finally the +wedding cake. + +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk +would be to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this +nature, however, was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart +of champagne had not produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was +clear, his speech perfect, and he was more than usually aware of his +own powers, confident of appreciation. + +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the +tips of his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. + +“My dear Holland,” he said, “I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for +it has already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to +make it. Let me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this +delightful occasion. You have referred to the fare as meagre, to our +position as constrained, but believe me, I am not exaggerating when I +say that I so little agree with you that I am confident that, during +many of the remaining years of my life I shall look back to this +Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, perhaps, the +warm glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in +situations like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland,” he +paused impressively, “has stood the test.” + +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: + +“I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little +pecuniary value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer +mentioned. I feel that it will be recommended to you more than mere +worth could recommend it by the fact that it is peculiarly my own,—my +own as few human possessions can be said to be. I offer it,” he said, +drawing from his pocket a square flat little package, “with best wishes +for a happy New Year.” + + +[Illustration: “I Have Here A Slight Token, In Honor Of The Day”] + + +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey’s mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so +perfectly in keeping with McVay’s consuming desire to triumph in minor +matters, that he was able to smile pleasantly and receive it +appropriately. He exchanged a glance of real appreciation with the +donor, and received a grave bow in return. + +Cecilia smiled, too, “I don’t know exactly why you should think Mr. +Holland wants your picture, Billy,” she said. + +“It may be of the greatest service to him,” said McVay. + +The girl turned to Geoffrey. “I can’t make a speech like Billy’s,” she +said, “but I have a small present for you which I hope you won’t +despise because it is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some +time, and I hope _you_ will now, in remembrance of the time when you +sheltered the houseless.” She held out on her pink palm a flat gold +pencil with a single topaz set in the top. + +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay’s +eye in which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey’s +half-formed question was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms +of delight at the idea that Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of +stolen goods that he could not well conceal it. And instinctively +Geoffrey drew back his hand. The next moment he realised that he must +at once accept the gift with decent gratitude, whatever he might choose +to do with it afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed his +hesitation. + +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, +rose from the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the +feast as best they could. + +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the +part of a waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over +his arm and began to clear the table. + +“Wait a moment,” said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; “I +have something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my +sentiments in regard to your sister.... I think her a wonder,—that’s +all it is necessary for you to know.” + +“Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is.” + +“I won’t discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under +the impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won’t. You +stand just where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. +Then I settle my affairs.” + +McVay’s face fell. “Really, Holland,” he said, “I don’t see how, if you +are fond of a woman you can want ...” + +“... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over.” + +“There are worse brothers than I,” replied McVay, “how many men would +have sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her +comfortably.” + +“Not many, I hope.” + +“She is extraordinarily fond of me.” + +“Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of.” + +“We can scarcely say that _now_,” returned McVay encouragingly. + +“I won’t discuss it with you.” + +“You can’t mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean +to send me to state’s prison?” + +“I mean exactly that.” + +“Why, she’d never forgive you.” + +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and +presently McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, +asked: “Are you serious, Holland?” + +“What do you suppose I am?” Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his +head went on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent +and abstracted and for the first time seemed to realise his position. +When they had put away the last plate, Geoffrey said: + +“Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you.” + +“A pipe! Why?” + +“Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be +more apt to take it.” + +“I’m afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little +gift. As a matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had +given her the pencil. A pretty little thing, singularly like one which +you may have seen Mrs.—” + +“Don’t tell me where you took it from. I don’t want to know. Come and +get your pipe and mind you are grateful.” + +“A pipe,” observed McVay thoughtfully. “I think I’ll take that large +meerschaum on the mantelpiece.” + +Geoffrey laughed. “I think you won’t,” he answered. “The best pipe I +own! No, indeed, you’ll take a horrid little one that won’t draw. It +will be just the thing for you.” + +“No,” said McVay, “no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall +make it appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at +the last moment. And I can do it, Holland.” His little eyes gleamed at +the thought. “I shall say, ‘My dear fellow, I’m glad you changed your +mind about the meerschaum; it was as you say, too handsome for a man in +my position.’ That will make her mad if anything will. You know she is +not quite satisfied with the way you treat me, as it is.” + +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the +gift was to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his +favourite pipe. The affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate +over accepting so handsome an offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon +him with a good grace. + +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less +and less willing to make it in McVay’s presence, and more and more +unable to think of any way of getting rid of him except murder or the +cedar-closet. His anxiety was rendered more acute by the fact that once +or twice he could not help suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her +anger, would have been glad of a few words alone with him, also. + +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat +upstairs for her. + +“Certainly I will,” cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at +the door before Holland’s warning shout “_McVay_” stopped him. + +“Let me take it up for your sister,” he said warningly. + +“Oh, not at all. Let _me_,” replied McVay courteously. + +“Couldn’t hear of it,” returned Geoffrey. + +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it +with a snap. + +“You would, would you?” he said angrily. + +“Now, Holland,” said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into +an irrational confusion, “this is exactly a case in point. I am by +nature a gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions.” + +“I wonder?” said Geoffrey. + +“It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, +and I doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been +at my head. She asked me. That was enough.” + +“I’ve warned you once.” + +“Holland, I think,—you’ll excuse my telling you,—that you have a very +unfortunate manner at times.” + +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, +with his eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. + +“Can you play?” he said. + +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his +last speech. “Yes,” he answered, “I can. Well, I’m not a professional, +you understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much +technique and a good deal more sentiment than most.” + +“I don’t care _how_ you play,” said Holland. “There is a piano. Sit +down and play, and _don’t stop_.” + +“No, Holland, no,” said the other with unusual firmness; “that I will +not do. No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in +public without practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a +year.” + +“You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play +finger exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a +noise so that I’ll know you are there.” + +“Well,” said McVay yielding, “you must remember to make allowances. Not +the best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say +it will come back to me quicker than to most people. You must make +allowances for my lack of practice.” + +“There is only one thing I won’t make allowances for, and that is your +moving from that music stool.” + +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen +the joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover +which of the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped +lightly upon the notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that +an air of Schubert’s was growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was +astonished to find that he really was, as he said, something of an +artist. He waited until he was fairly started and then returned to the +library. + +“Is that Billy?” said the girl. “It must be a great pleasure to him to +have a piano again. He is so fond of music.” + +“He was not as eager to play as I to have him,” said Geoffrey. + +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then +he said, stretching out his hand: + +“I want my Christmas present.” + +“I have none to give you.” + +“You had.” + +“I’ve changed my mind.” + +“Why?” + +For the first time she looked at him. “Mr. Holland,” she said, “you +must think me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don’t see that +you dislike my brother. You refused the pencil—you did refuse it +plainly enough—because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to +you again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong +way, but I should think any one of any discernment could see that his +faults are only faults of manner.” + +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned +with something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, +covered his face with his hands. + +“Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you +by any chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his +own comfort? You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that +it is only for my sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does +not want to make my position here more unendurable by quarrelling with +you. It makes me furious to see what you force him to put up with, the +way you speak to him, and look at him, as if he were your slave, or a +disobedient dog. His self-control is wonderful. I admire him more than +I can say.” + +“And is my self-control nothing?” he asked, without moving his hands +from his face. + +“Yours? I don’t see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at +your mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose +to be. Self-control? I don’t see any evidence of it.” + +“No?” he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might +have set her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and +probably in the instant forgot all that she had been saying and +feeling, for when he added: “I love you,” her hands moved toward his, +and she made no resistance when he took her in his arms. + + + + +VII + + +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a +series of discords in order to recall himself to Holland’s mind. His +existence, if he had only realised the fact, was so completely +forgotten that he might have made his escape with a good half hour to +spare before either of the others appreciated that the music had +ceased. Not knowing this, however, he did not dare stop his playing for +an instant, until sheer physical fatigue interfered. It was at this +point that the discords began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. + +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey +had given a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as +a safe prison, but in the face of McVay’s repeated assertions that the +air had barely sufficed to support him during his former occupancy, it +looked like murder to insist. Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, +locked him in a dressing-room off his own room. The window—the room was +on the third floor—gave on empty space, and against the only door he +placed his own bed, so that escape seemed tolerably difficult. + +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, +although toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell +asleep. + +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his +name called by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the +hall. She was wrapped in her sable coat, but shivering from cold or +fear. + +“There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and +steps on the piazza, below my room. What can it be?” + +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to +the obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay’s +escape. On the opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the +roof of this a neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed +out. + +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before +the approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly +across the snow. There was no question of its identity. His revolver, +which he had snatched from under his pillow and brought with him, he at +once levelled on the vanishing form; his finger was on the trigger, +when he felt a hand on his arm. + +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. “Don’t +fire,” she said. “Don’t you see it is Billy?” + +There was a pause—the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that +touch on his arm he could not shoot. + +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: “McVay!” + +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on +steel and began to retrace his steps. + +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. +Under the piazza he stopped and waved his hand. + +“I’m afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best.” + +“There _was_ a burglar then!” said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. + +“By Heaven, he shall not trouble you,” returned Holland with more +earnestness than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down +to meet McVay. + +“You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet,” he remarked, +ushering him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so +ignominious a position that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a +disadvantage, but looked in vain. The aspect worn was a particularly +self-satisfied one. + +“I was aware I took a risk,” he answered; “I took it gladly for my +sister’s sake.” + +“For your sister’s sake?” + +“Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to +you as to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too +honourable, you would say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted +to know that you need not prosecute me.” + +“If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting.” + +“But at what a cost! I refer to my sister’s regard. No, no, the thing, +if you had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It +was a risk, of course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister’s sake. I +would take longer ones for her.” + +“Do you mean that?” + +“Of course.” + +“Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself.” + +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, “No, no, Holland. +To take a risk is one thing,—to kill myself quite another. I have +always had a strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly +action. And it would be no help to you. She would not believe that I +had committed suicide. She knows my views on the subject, and could +imagine no motive. No, that would not do at all. I’m surprised at the +suggestion. It is against my principles.” + +“Your principles!” Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little +altered in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find +that he could not shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his +faith in himself. He began to doubt if he would be capable of sending +the man to state’s prison when Cecilia besought his pity. His own +limitations faced him. He was not the relentless judge he had supposed +himself. Yet on the other hand, the remembrance of Vaughan and the +other men he was representing held him to his idea of justice. “Sit +down,” he said suddenly turning to McVay, “and write me out a list of +everything you have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and +how it may be obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better +try to do it for on the completeness of your list depends your only +chance of avoiding the law. If I can return all properly, perhaps—I +have a mine in Mexico, a hell on earth, where you can go if you prefer +it to penal servitude. There won’t be much difference, except for the +publicity of a trial. I’ve a man there who, when I give him his orders, +would infinitely rather shoot you than take any risk of your getting +away. Which will you have?” + +“Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?” + +“Sit down and write your list, then.” + +“An interesting occupation, mining,” observed McVay as he opened the +portfolio. After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft +noise of the pencil and an occasional comment from the writer: + +“A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur—appealed to my artistic side.” + +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside +and the door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. + +“My God, Holland,” said McVay, “if that is the police, keep your wits +about you or we are lost.” + +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm +showed, he had cast in his interests with McVay’s. He stepped forward +in silence and opened the door. + +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. + +“I’m glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland,” he said. “There has been great +anxiety felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan +and Marheim cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not +get back to the gardener’s cottage the night before last.” + +“The snow detained me,” said Geoffrey slowly. + +“Come in, come in, friend,” said McVay briskly. “You must be cold.” + +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after +studying McVay for an instant, asked: + +“I did not catch this gentleman’s name. Who is he?” + +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: +“That is the man you are after.” + +“Are you crazy, Holland?” shouted McVay. + +“What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?” Envy +and admiration struggled on the detective’s countenance. “I must +congratulate you, sir.” + +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. “You needn’t,” he said; +“I am no subject for congratulation. I can’t even prosecute him, +confound him, for several reasons. We were at school together, and I +can take no steps in the matter.” + +“But I can,” said the detective; “indeed it is my duty to.” + +“No,” said Geoffrey, “nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. +Yes, I know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we’ll +compound it.” + +“I could not agree to anything of the kind,” said the detective. + +“I don’t see exactly what you can do about it.” Geoffrey was deliberate +and very polite. “For reasons which I can’t explain, but which you +would appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from +jail. If you intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape +at once. Don’t draw your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only +person with a weapon in my hand. He has made a list of all the things +he has stolen, and I shall see that they are returned to their owners +at any cost. Will you undertake to get him safely to a mine I own in +Mexico? Once there he can’t get away. It is forty-five miles from a +railway. If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make +up for the reward you didn’t get,—five thousand down, and five thousand +at the end of a year.” + +“I don’t know what to say,” said the man. “It sounds like a bribe.” + +“It is,” said Geoffrey coolly. + +“I never received such a proposition,” returned the man. + +“That scheme won’t do, Holland,” put in McVay. “Can’t you see it lays +you open to blackmail?” + +“From you?” said Geoffrey. “I had thought of that, but you can’t +blackmail me at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close +enough to blackmail me, I’ll put you in prison without a moment’s +hesitation. I shall be in a position by that time to take care of the +feelings of the other people concerned.” + +“You don’t understand me,” answered McVay; “I meant blackmail from this +man.” + +“Oh,” said Geoffrey civilly, “I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. +And besides, he won’t get his second five thousand for a year, and as I +was saying to you, after a year I don’t so much mind having the whole +thing known. My reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his +will.” + +“I’m no blackmailer,” said this detective. “If I accept, I’ll be on the +square.” + +“If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice,” observed Geoffrey, +“and that is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He +is a slippery customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my +money at all, if you give him the smallest loophole.” + +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he +said gravely: + +“Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don’t +see my way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to +slip overboard from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless +maybe the sharks.” + +“Very true,” agreed Geoffrey amiably. “Fortunately you can get a +steamer in New York.” + +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good +reason for declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey’s, and they +were presently deep in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile +studying the map with unfeigned interest in the situation of his future +residence. + +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, +for she had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, +and the men must have been talking for two hours when she appeared at +the library door. + +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey +saw with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as +the burglar whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any +betrayal of this opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, +although as he did so, he realised that he had nothing to answer when +she asked, as of course she did ask: “Who is that?” + +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the +brave took hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would +perhaps in another instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not +the least disconcerted, taken the lead. + +“This, Cecilia,” he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the +detective’s shoulder, “is my old friend Picklebody,—Henderson +Picklebody. You have heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. +Eh, Henderson, in the old Machita days?” + +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his +surprise at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard +McVay. He began to guess something of the motives that led Holland to +shield this offender against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise +to yield to the whims of young millionaires. + +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she +heard the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked +in a tone as cheerful as she could make it: + +“I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now.” + +“Can and will,” rejoined McVay beamingly. “Hen comes as he has always +come to his friends, as a rescuer.” + +“I seem to require a great deal of rescuing,” said the girl, looking up +at the monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. + +“Ah, but you don’t understand, my dear,” went on McVay ruthlessly +cutting into the look which the lovers were exchanging; “You don’t yet +understand how fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it +is true, come to find me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting +me here. It seems that he and Holland are both interested in a mine in +Mexico, and what do you think?” McVay paused and rubbed his hands; +“Really, we have the kindest friends; they have been arranging between +them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of that?” + +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the +shelter of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been +thoroughly candid that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance +away, but she only observed: + +“How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico.” + +“There, there, do you hear that? ‘We.’ Gentlemen,” cried McVay, +throwing up his hands, “I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. +Consider it all off.” + +“Oh, I wasn’t to go?” asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. + +“My dear,” replied McVay, “I must own that I was base enough to +consider a plan that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place +for ladies. But we will think no more about it. I see by your manner +that your feelings...” + +“Dear Billy,” said the girl gently, “you must not give it up. You know +that I can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And +nothing is so important as that you should have work that is +satisfactory to you. Of course you must accept.” + +“Did you ever hear anything so noble?” asked McVay. “Yes, I suppose I +ought to accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn’t I, Hen?” + +“Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did,” replied +the detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American +humour. + +“There is another point, Cecilia,” McVay went on, “if I do accept, I +shall have to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?” + +“Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow.” + +“Oh, dear. That’s very sudden,” said Cecilia. + +“At a word from you, dear, I’ll give it up,” remarked McVay. + +“No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. +Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves +me just that amount.” + +“We’ve no time to lose,” remarked McVay briskly, “if we are going to +try for that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the +gardener’s, Holland, if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we +must hurry off.” + +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his +sister, flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who +was of a solider build, found it hard to keep up with. + +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate +man. Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray +the real state of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his +money, McVay took special delight in making him look like a fool, +calling upon him to remember happenings which existed only in McVay’s +own fertile brain. + +“What, Hen,” he would cry suddenly, “was the name of that pretty black +haired girl you were so sweet on,—you know, the daughter of the +canal-boat man.” + +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he +did not know what McVay was talking about. + +“There, there,” McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the +shoulder, “I’m not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can +always trust to my discretion. But I would like just to remember her +name. It was so peculiar,—a name I never heard before.” + +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, +found himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony +suggested “Mary.” + +“Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There +is nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I +was trying to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don’t you?” + +“No, I don’t,” said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. + +“How sad that is,” said McVay philosophically. “You don’t even remember +her name, and at one time—well, well.” + +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective’s +countenance. + +“Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney’s bullet has entirely gone. I +was afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it +would interest her.” + +“Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody,” said the girl politely and McVay, when he +had sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a +story himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of +treatment, it soon appeared that McVay’s ease and facility had made an +impression on him, and that he looked at his prisoner with a sort of +wondering admiration. + +“Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little +bag?” he began when they were about to depart. “Holland, my dear +fellow, don’t think me interfering if I ask whether you have looked to +all the doors and windows? Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into +shut-up houses, and it would be such a pity if anything happened to any +of your pretty things. Ah, what an expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn’t +it? You may talk about your tropical scenery, Hen, but we shan’t see +anything finer than this the world over. What a contrast the south will +be though, eh, old man?” and, drawing the detective’s arm through his, +leaning heavily upon him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking +volubly. + +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that +had seen such momentous changes in their lives. + +“When we come back, it will be spring,” said Geoffrey softly. + +“Oh,” said the girl in rather a shaky voice, “you like me well enough +to ask me to stay again?” + +“Well enough,” said Geoffrey, “to ask you to stay forever.” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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He was tall enough to be +conspicuous and well bred enough to be indifferent to the fact, good looking, +in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven way, and branded in the popular imagination as +a young and active millionaire. +</p> + +<p> +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other men and +women with him: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know who that is?—that is young Holland.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, that boy! He doesn’t look as if he were out of school.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said one of the women, elaborating the comment, “he does not look old +enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right,” said the first man. “He is older +than he looks. He must be twenty-six.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suppose he does with all that money?” +</p> + +<p> +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an evening +paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who promptly ran to get +him one. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one thing he does,” answered the man who had first given information, +“he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I bet that costs him a +pretty penny.” +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, and was +about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of interest caught his +eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised it to his eyes that his +admirers at the next table noticed it, and speculated on the subject of the +paragraph. +</p> + +<p> +It was headed: “Millionaires’ Summer Homes Looted,” and said further: +</p> + +<p> +“Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring robberies which +have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the past month occurred +last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of New York was entered and +valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The robbery was not discovered until +this morning when a shutter was observed unfastened on the second story. On +entering the watchman found the house had been carefully gone over, and +although only a few objects seem to be missing, these are of the greatest +value. The thief apparently had plenty of time, and probably occupied the whole +night in his search. This is the more remarkable because the watchman asserts +that he spent at least an hour on the piazza during the night. How the thief +effected an entrance by the second story is not clear. During the past five +weeks the houses of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham Marheim have been +entered in a manner almost precisely similar. There was a report yesterday that +some of the Marheim silver had been discovered with a dealer in Boston, but +that he could not identify the person from whom he bought them further than +that she was a young lady to whom they might very well have belonged. The fact +that it was a young lady who disposed of them to him suggests that the goods +must have changed hands several times. The Marheim family is abroad, and the +servants....” +</p> + +<p> +Here a waiter touched his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to dinner,” +returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous looking couple +approaching. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid we are late,” said the lady, “but can you blame us? Have you heard? +We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon to find out what +has gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading about +your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and beginning to +draw off her gloves. “We had a Van Dyke etching, and some enamels that have +gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his wine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. “I tell you he is going to have a happy time +with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” said Geoffrey, “they are a nice lot of countrymen up there. +Four robberies and not so much as a clue.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> need not be afraid,” said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. “In spite +of all your treasures, I don’t believe any thief would take the trouble to +climb to the top of your mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +Holland’s selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no true +Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and as a +property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of Hillsborough +real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Vaughan’s irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he laughed +very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the thief was as poor a +pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should not like to lose any of his +things; and he added that in his opinion Vaughan ought to be starting for +Hillsborough at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh,” said that gentleman, “I can’t go with the market in this +condition,—would lose more than the whole house is worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would go duck-shooting in a minute,” said Holland, “and this would be a +good deal better sport.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. “The thing to do,” he said, “is to offer a +reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class detective.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Geoffrey readily, “I’ll join you. Those other fellows ought +to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,—that will be five thousand. Is +that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What shall I say? Five +thousand dollars reward will be paid for information leading to the +conviction—and so on. I’ll go and telephone now,” and with a promptness +which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. +</p> + +<p> +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all discussing the +burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older than her brother, had +some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, that is to say she had +imagination and a good memory for detail. +</p> + +<p> +“For my part,” she was saying, “I have the greatest respect and admiration for +him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking at the +Wilsons’,—after all his trouble. I have often sat in that drawing-room +myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in it as a present, +whether I could find something that would not actually disgrace me. I never +could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons make a great to-do about the +house having been entered, and tell you how he must have been frightened +away,—frightened away by the hideousness of their things! Those woolly +paintings on wood, and the black satin parasol that turns out to be an umbrella +stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Florence,” said her brother mildly, “how can a black satin parasol be +an umbrella-stand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the Wilsons’ +house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, only painted to +resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks of trees, and the match +boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is really what it looks like, except +the beds; they look uncomfortable, and some one who had stayed there told me +that they were.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Florence,” said Mrs. Vaughan, “is it not like her kindness of +heart—it runs in the family—to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a connoisseur I +could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my last hope that my very +best escaped his attention.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven’t you an +admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he has entered +four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must be <i>traces</i> of him,” said Geoffrey. “The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There must have +been footprints.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Mr. Vaughan, “that is what makes me think that the watchmen +are in it. It’s probably a combination of two or three of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that lets Geoffrey out,” said the irrepressible Florence. “No one would +take his watchman into any combination,—he is a thousand and two and +feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the possibility, for +it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is +lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a slouch hat. That is the way I imagine +him. Do you really suppose that a watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness’ +best linen sheets, embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it +scratches your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,—all just +out from Paris. I saw them when she first had them.” +</p> + +<p> +“What,” said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, “do you +make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver in Boston?” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<img src="images/image2.png" width="377" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“It was a young lady who disposed of the silver” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +But it was Mrs. May who answered: “She is of course the lady of his +love—a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a book +about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one more grand coup, +rob the bank or something and then the world will be startled by the news of +their elopement. They will go and live somewhere luxuriously in the south +Pacific, and travellers will bring home strange stories of their happiness and +charm. Perhaps, though, he would turn pirate. That would suit his style.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” said Holland, “that he won’t take a fancy to rob the Hillsborough +Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a little money there. You +begin to make me nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +“No bank robbery would make <i>me</i> nervous,” replied his sister, “that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank to know +the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, who would take +the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey’s palace is within an easy walk. Besides, +I haven’t anything worth the attention of a respectable burglar like this one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, “I’m sorry I spent so much time choosing your +Christmas present a year ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but it is put +away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my sable coat, and I am +going to send for that as soon as I have time to have it cut over.” +</p> + +<p> +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Vaughan, “the man is no longer in the neighbourhood. +He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the whole country was so +aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an attractive place to thieves. +It is such an easy place to get away from,—three railroads within reach. +A man would be pretty sure to be able to catch a passing freight train on one +of them at almost any time, to say nothing of the increased difficulty of +tracing him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose he will ever be caught,” said Florence. “When he has got all +he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were caught—” +</p> + +<p> +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her plate. It had +come to her brother’s apartment, and been sent down. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is telegraphing me,” she said, as she tore it open. “I hope Jack has not +been breaking himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Opening it, she read: +</p> + +<p> +“Your house was entered about five o’clock this afternoon. Tea-set and sable +coat missing.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>II</h2> + +<p> +The next evening at seven o’clock, Holland stepped out of the train on the +Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had been +bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in small close +flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a wild wind was blowing. +</p> + +<p> +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the old man +to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to be seen. The +station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was a busy scene with +well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now utterly deserted except for +one native who had charge of the mails. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Harris,” Geoffrey sung out. “Is McFarlane here for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t seen him. Guess it’s too stormy for the old man,” Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve got to drive me out.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for me, +too.” +</p> + +<p> +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was worth, +induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail cart, and having +stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at the stable to change the +cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on their five-mile drive. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess you come up to see about Mr. May’s house being robbed?” Harris hazarded +before they had gone far. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a nice lot, aren’t you?” returned Geoffrey. “Five robberies and not a +motion to catch the thief!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day,” said Harris, divided +between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of his native town. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but not by any of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more houses was +robbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to tell the truth,” said Harris, “it seems like he only went for you +city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to lose a few +things than they could to lose their sleep. That’s about the size of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey could not but laugh. “That’s a fine spirited way to look at it, I must +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable in order +to collect and arrange his ideas. “’Tain’t lack of sand exactly, either, for +most of the fellows about here thinks it is a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“A woman?” cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, <i>sir</i>,” said Harris, “a young woman. Look at the things took. What +burglar would want sheets and a lady’s coat? Besides just before the first one +happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way and a young woman, +pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood and asks for a lift. Well, +Will takes her some two miles, and when they got to that piece of woods at the +back of your place she says of a sudden that she guesses she wants exercise, +and will walk the rest of the way, and out she gets, and no one has seen her +since. Seems kinder strange, no house but yours within six miles, and you +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home,” returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Harris went on imperturbably, “you can’t tell the rights of them +stories. Will Brown, he’s a liar, just like all the Browns; still this time he +seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we were going to have a +blizzard, don’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared bobbing on the +threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all occasions with courtesy. +It appeared that Holland’s telegram had been duly telephoned from the office, +but that her husband was down with rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, +and the “boy” allowed to go home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no +one to send. Geoffrey suggested that she might have telephoned to the local +livery-stable, and she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity that she +could do nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her away to get him +something to eat. +</p> + +<p> +It was about ten o’clock, when he determined to take a turn about his house. +The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of the +Hillsborough bank. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up hill +against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already fallen. He +had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a fair prospect of +being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him so much longer to reach +the house than he had supposed, that he abandoned all idea of entering it. It +stood before him grimly like a mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with +snow. He walked round it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the +fastenings. Once past the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was +conscious of that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the same +time the atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up houses, even one’s +own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and felt in his pocket for his +revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, in the interior of the house, he +heard a clock strike. +</p> + +<p> +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously in +Geoffrey’s ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. It was that +of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put in order. He had +never been able to make it go, but once touching it inadvertently he had +aroused in it a breath of life so that it had struck one,—this same sweet +piercing note. Who, he wondered, was touching it now? +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now he +hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, and he moved +quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung silently on its hinges. It +was not so much that he believed that there was any one in the +house—perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar comes as a +surprise—but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion to fail to +investigate. +</p> + +<p> +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was put an +end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the library door, +fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down and took off his boots, +and then cautiously approached the open door and looked in, knowing that +darkness and preparation were in his favour. +</p> + +<p> +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to the +ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the bookcases with his +elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a volume in his hands with the +careful ease of a book fancier. The man’s back was turned so that a sandy head +and a strongly built figure were all Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been +for a glimpse of a mask on his face, he might have been a student at work. +</p> + +<p> +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation to make +his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other’s elbow, revolver in hand, +he said gently: +</p> + +<p> +“Fond of reading?” +</p> + +<p> +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward his own +revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing blow. Geoffrey +secured the weapon, and seeing the man’s retreat, may be excused for supposing +the struggle over. +</p> + +<p> +He underestimated his adversary’s resources, for the burglar, retreating with a +look of surrender, came within reach of the electric light, turned it off, and +fled in the total darkness that followed. Geoffrey sprang to the switch, but +the few seconds that his fingers were fumbling for it told against him. When he +turned it on the room was empty. The door by which the thief had gone opened on +the main hall and not on the passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to +secure the outer door. Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its +illumination told nothing. It was Geoffrey’s own sharp ears that told him of +light footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland recognised at once +that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight of stairs from the hall +reached the upper story at a point very near where the back stairs came up, +while they descended to widely different places in the lower story, so that the +burglar, looking down, could choose his flight of stairs as soon as he saw his +pursuer committed to the other, and thus reach the lower hall with several +seconds to spare. Fortunately, however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a +door at the foot of the back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off +the light again, threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the sound +would give the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked the door at +the foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran up the front stairs +and down the back. The result was somewhat as he expected. The burglar had +reached the door at the foot of the stairs, and finding it locked was half way +up again when he and Geoffrey met. The impetus of Geoffrey’s descent carried +the man backward. They both landed against the locked door with a force that +burst it open. Geoffrey, on top and armed, had little difficulty in securing +his bruised foe, and marching him back to the library where he now took the +precaution of locking all the doors. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural love of +the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with his capture. He +thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the two undermen, and the +helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he remembered the telephone, which, +fortunately, stood in a closet off the library. +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the burglar. “Stand with your face to the wall and your hands up,” +he said; “and if I see you move I’d just as lief shoot you as look at you,” +with which warning he approached the telephone and, still keeping an eye on the +other, rang up central. There was no answer. He rang again,—six, seven +times he repeated the process unavailingly. He tried the private wire to the +McFarlane cottage with no better result. +</p> + +<p> +At this point the burglar spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what the devil!” he said mildly; “I can’t stand here with my hands over my +head all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll stand there,” replied Geoffrey with some temper, “until I’m ready for +you to move.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when will that be?” +</p> + +<p> +“When this fool of a Central answers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not as long as that, I hope,” said the burglar, “because, to tell the +truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless smile +of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar’s face. At length Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay here until +morning.” He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, alarmed at his +absence, would send some one to look for him,—some one who could be used +as a messenger to fetch the constable. +</p> + +<p> +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at once into +an armchair—an armchair toward which Holland himself was making his way, +knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night session. Feeling the +absurdity of making any point of the matter, however, he contented himself with +the sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“Take off your mask,” he said as he sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“So I will, thank you,” said the burglar as if he had been asked to remove his +hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that met Geoffrey’s +interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by exposure so that his very +light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark a surrounding. Above, his sandy +hair, which had receded somewhat from his forehead, curled up from his temples +like a baby’s. His upper lip was long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face +an expression of humour. His hands were ugly, but small. +</p> + +<p> +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging the cut +on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland’s presence, Geoffrey +meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of bandaging over, the man +reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, selecting a volume of Sterne, +settled back comfortably in his chair. Holland stared at him an instant in +wonder, and then attempted to follow his example. But his attention to his book +was much less concentrated than that of his captive, whose expression soon +showed him to be completely absorbed. +</p> + +<p> +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show signs of +restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked distinctly +disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence again. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving—his revolver was drooping +in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal acquaintance +unsuccessfully, and repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“Remember you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we were at school together for a time.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: +</p> + +<p> +“You used to be able to wag your ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can still.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you are Skinny McVay.” +</p> + +<p> +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw nothing +comic in these untender reminiscences. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember the masters all hated you,” said Geoffrey, “but you were straight +enough then, weren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Again the man nodded. “I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago.” +</p> + +<p> +After a moment Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Did not I hear you were in the navy?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay. “I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I should +like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. They threw me +out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. It was worse than +State’s prison.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in a position to judge?” asked Geoffrey coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you will be soon,” said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to point +out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his school days. But +McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said ruminatively; “I’ve done a lot of things in my time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t want to hear about them,” said Geoffrey, who had no intention of +being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar looked more surprised +than angered at this shortness, and only said: +</p> + +<p> +“Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to start a +cheering blaze with his left hand. +</p> + +<p> +For a few minutes Geoffrey’s determined attention to his book discouraged his +companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram Shandy with the back of +his hand, he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it sometimes +strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so unfortunately different +from other people. Ordinary standards meant nothing to him—too +original—sees life from another standpoint, entirely. That’s me! +I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” roared Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said McVay, “only I talk better on my feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you wouldn’t talk as well with a bullet in you.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay sank back again in his chair. “Yes,” he said, “that’s me. Why, Holland, I +have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number of things that I +can do—that I am really proficient in. Anything with the hands,” he waved +his fingers supplely in the air, “is no trouble to me at all. I have at once a +natural skill that most people take a lifetime to acquire.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m told there’s work for all where you are going.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing himself to +remain at a loss, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian Heaven, +where we are going to work with our hands? For my part—” +</p> + +<p> +“I had reference to the penitentiary,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in the +penitentiary. You don’t admit that, I suppose, with your conventional ideas; +but to me they are just as admirable as any other great creative +artist,—sculptor or financier. I see you don’t quite get that. You are +hemmed in by conventional standards, and your possessions, and all the things +to which you attach such great importance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t attach so much importance that I steal them from other people,” said +Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything stealing from +some one or other? Of course. But I see you don’t catch the idea. Well, I dare +say I would not either in your place—rather think I would not. My sister +is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in her own way, but philistine. She is +so good as to be my companion, apparently on equal terms, in many ways my +superior, but it would be impossible for me even to mention these ideas to +her,—ideas which are of the greatest interest to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” said Geoffrey, “how much of all this rubbish you believe?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled with great sweetness. “I wonder myself, Holland. Still it is +undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,—a hard life +too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a coincidence +as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was scarcely a coincidence. I came—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister’s things, but still, if +you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it <i>was</i> a +coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt action. Nine men out +of ten in your place—still, I’m not depressed. You cannot say, Holland, +that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years of hard labour before him, +can you? I dare say you have never been thrown with a person who showed less +anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, there is something preying on my mind. +Something entirely aside from anything you could imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t tell me!” said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most amused +or infuriated by his companion’s conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I am about to tell you,” said McVay graciously, “I am very seriously worried +about my sister. In fact I don’t see that there is any getting away from it; +you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let you do <i>what</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get my sister. She’s living in a little hut in your woods, and I am actually +afraid she will be snowed up.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems highly probable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, I must go and get her.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: “You must be crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I am,” answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an amusing +side. “Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, Holland, alone, +all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is not a position in which +you would leave your sister, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself with a +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“There you see,” said McVay. “It’s out of the question. The place is draughty, +too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at all? You would be +surprised to see how nicely I’ve fixed it up for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt I should,” replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and Marheim +valuables. +</p> + +<p> +“It is surprisingly livable, but it <i>is</i> draughty,” McVay went on. “The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But one cannot +foresee everything. The winters have been open until Christmas so often lately. +However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly willing to rectify it. If you have +no objection, I’ll go and bring her back here.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you have any respect for your skin you won’t move from that chair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the devil, Holland, don’t be so—” he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,—“so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It’s cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very unpleasant, I should think.” +</p> + +<p> +“More than that, more than that,—suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not safe. +It’s a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like this would scare +any girl alone in a place like that, there is some danger to her life. Don’t +you see that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see,” returned Geoffrey, “but you ought to have thought of that before +you came burgling in a blizzard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever of being +caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it did seem about the +safest job yet.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even arguing the +matter, and presently McVay continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went wrong +with her, and you knew you could have helped it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Helped it!” said Geoffrey. “What do you mean? Let you loose on the county for +the sake of a story no sane man would believe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned McVay judicially, “perhaps you could not do that, but,” he +added brightly, “you could go yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I <i>could</i>—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think you ought to be getting along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, McVay,” said Holland, “you are something of a humorist, aren’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hardly that,” he said. “Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,—a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just thinking that +it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison for years to have some +one come in with a new point of view.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life. It’s an ill wind, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you certainly +can trust me. Do be starting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey. “Do you really +suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices in order to give +you a chance to escape?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of anger +crossed his brow; “‘<i>accomplices’</i>! I have no accomplices. Anything I do I +think I am able to do alone. Still,” he added putting aside his annoyance, “if +you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as lief give you my word of honour +to stay here until you come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your <i>what</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a good deal +tried. “Oh, anything you like,” he said. “I suppose you could lock me up in a +closet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think we need trouble to arrange the details,” said Geoffrey drily. +“But I’ll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in jail to-morrow, +I’ll get a trap and go and look up this hut.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be too late then.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may,” said Geoffrey, and continued to read. +</p> + +<p> +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the burglar kept +casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such brutality, and in +truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by any chance the story were +true,—if there was a woman at his doors freezing to death, how could he +sit enjoying the fire? But, on the other hand, could any one have a more +evident motive for deception than his informant? What better opportunity for +escape could be arranged? It was so evident, so impudent as to be almost +convincing. What more likely for instance, than that the hut was a regular +rendezvous for criminals and tramps, that by going he would be walking into the +veriest trap? Yet again there was the report confirmed by Harris’s story that a +woman was in some way connected with these robberies. The wind whistled round +the house with a suggestion of difficulty, of combat with the elements, of +actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave Geoffrey a new view of delay. Had it +not something the air of cowardice, or at least of laziness? He found his eyes +had read the same page three times, while his brain was busy devising means by +which McVay could be secured in his absence—if he went. +</p> + +<p> +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go,” he said, “but before I go, I’ll tie you up so safely that, if I +don’t come back, you’ll starve to death before you’ll be able to get out or +make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I want you to go,” said McVay, “only for goodness sake be careful. If +you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep don’t yield to it; +they say it’s fatal. The great thing is to keep on walking—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shut up,” said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was going to +meet death at the hands of his fluent companion’s accomplices he found this +friendly advice unbearable. +</p> + +<p> +“This hut, I take it,” he said, “is an old woodcutter’s shanty in the north +woods?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know the place,” said Geoffrey, “now come along, and we’ll see how I can fix +you up until I come back.” +</p> + +<p> +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that opened in +and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, having removed a +complete burglar’s outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey disposed McVay, being met +with a readiness on McVay’s part that seemed to prove either that he was +sincere in his belief in Holland’s safe return, or else was perfectly confident +of being able to open the door as soon as Geoffrey’s back was turned. +</p> + +<p> +“But he’ll find himself mistaken,” Geoffrey murmured as, having locked the +door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, and, +gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey again opened +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” said the burglar, and for the first time a certain constraint, +amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his manner, “my sister +has no idea about—it would be a great shock to her—in fact, you +understand, she has not discovered exactly how our money comes to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“I grant it does not sound likely,” returned McVay, “and indeed would not be +possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty good +yarn,—worked out well everyway. I told her—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to hear your infernal lies.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her,” McVay chuckled, “that +I was employed as night watchman at Drake’s paper mill. That of course kept me +out all night, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“She must think night watchmen get good wages.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just wanted +an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better job. You see I +just lost a nice job in a bank—” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we won’t discuss it,” said McVay with an agreeable smile. “Of course she +could understand that such an inferior position as a watchman’s had to be kept +a profound secret, hence our remote mode of life, and the fact that I don’t +allow a butcher or baker to come near us. I tell her that if it were known that +I had held such a poor position, it would interfere with my getting a better. +So, if you should happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am +detained here—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>If</i> I should explain to her,” said Geoffrey. “What do you suppose I am +going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose you will find it necessary,” said McVay. “Indeed, as a matter +of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. Still, you might +bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she were your own +sister—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, go to the devil,” said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>III</h2> + +<p> +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his present +expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that if he did run +into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass to have come. Indeed, +there seemed a fair chance that he might think this even if nothing worse +happened than that the hut proved empty, for he would have had a long walk for +nothing better than to provide McVay with an opportunity to escape. He did not +see exactly how McVay could get out, but he was aware that few people would +think it wise to leave a burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some +hours of leisure at his disposal. +</p> + +<p> +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; the wind +was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not gone a hundred +yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more difficult than he had +imagined. To make headway against the wind was a constant struggle, and he +seemed to slip back in the snow at every step. Still the natural obstinacy of +his nature was aroused, and as his attention was more and more engaged with the +endeavor to make his way, he had less time to think of the probable futility of +his proceeding. +</p> + +<p> +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only because he +had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had penetrated every +crevice of his clothing. +</p> + +<p> +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey on the +stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave an impression of +desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, sit idle under that +recurrent bang? +</p> + +<p> +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention of +giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so did not +knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved mightily. The hinges +broke from the rotten wood at once, and he stumbled in. +</p> + +<p> +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing interior, for +the window was not the only opening. There was a great gap in the roof where, +earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, and now its bricks littered the +floor, already well covered with snow. Some attempt must have been made, as +McVay had boasted, of “fixing it up”; there were books in the shelves on the +walls, and a black iron stove on which the snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey +took in the situation, something in a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap +of rugs, stirred and moved, and finally rose, betraying itself to be a woman. +Geoffrey had been prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing at all, or even +a girl, as McVay had said. He told himself he would be surprised at nothing, +yet found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the sight of a beautiful face. +</p> + +<p> +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, for all +sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all a silk coverlet +originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had slipped sideways, and fell +like a Hussar’s jacket from one shoulder. Her hair stood like a dark halo about +her little face, making it seem smaller and younger, almost too small for the +magnificent eyes that lit it. Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine +attractions, said to himself that he had never seen such blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity became in +him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the masculine instinct +toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the other women he had +admired—well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young creatures—had +always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other men, had seen their +hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take a trolley car instead of her +father’s carriage, but he had thought himself hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but +now he knew better. Now he knew what it was to feel personally outraged at a +woman’s discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” he cried, “what a night you have had. How wicked, how abominable, +how criminal—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<img src="images/image3.png" width="383" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Good god,” he cried “what a night you have had” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“It has been a dreadful night,” said the girl, “but it is nobody’s fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is somebody’s fault,” answered Geoffrey. “It must be. Do you mean +to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all night with my feet +on the fender, and you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, “I could wish +we might have changed places.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to Heaven we might,” returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never before had +he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often seen that it was +advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly to want to was a new +experience. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said the girl, “but I’m afraid there is nothing to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing to be done!” He dropped on his knees before the black monster of a +stove, “Do you suppose I’m here to do nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm.” +</p> + +<p> +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. +</p> + +<p> +“That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I left my +fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every blast, ‘that +poor, poor girl.’ I set out to bring you to safety. I begin to think I was born +for no other reason.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled rather wearily, “Your coming at all is so strange that I could +almost believe you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I did not +particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and cold because I +did not know what I was going to find....” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“A girl, yes. But what’s a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I seen in my +life? Is that a thought to turn a man’s head? What I did not know was that I +was going to find <i>you</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor,” she said +mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve said it, you see,” he answered, “and you won’t forget it, even if +you do change the subject.” He turned his attention to the fire. Where is the +man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire building is not serious? +</p> + +<p> +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and tried +to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed fingers touched +his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her hand in both of his. +</p> + +<p> +“Your hands are as cold as ice,” he said, holding them tightly, and thanking +Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew them. “You are too conscientious,” she said. “That is not part of +the duty of a rescue party.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, it is,” said Geoffrey violently. “It is the merest humanity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humanity?” +</p> + +<p> +“To me, of course, if you will pin me down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane.” +</p> + +<p> +“They ought to be grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Gratefuller</i> then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to be +born and grow up and live just to come here for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, curse the fire,” said Geoffrey rising from his knees. “Who minds about +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mind very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you mustn’t. You must not mind about anything, because it sets up too +strong a reaction in me. There’s no telling what I might not do under the +stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will burn in my house, +and that is where we are going.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t do that,” she said, looking very grave. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t do anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must wait for my brother. He’s out somewhere in this storm, and if he comes +back and finds me gone—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, your brother,” said Geoffrey, “I forgot all about him. He’s at my house +already. He sent me for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: “then my +plight was not revealed to you in a vision?” +</p> + +<p> +“The vision is with me now.” +</p> + +<p> +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when she +thought it advisable. +</p> + +<p> +“And so you took poor Billy in?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey coughed. “Well, in a sense,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +She rose. “We’ll go at once,” she said. “Is it far?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very, but it is going to be hard work.” +</p> + +<p> +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the realisation of +her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt depressed, then as he saw her +struggling to undo the knot that held the comforter about her, he forgot +everything but the pleasure of doing her a service. And in the midst of this +joy, the coverlet slid to the ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in +his sister’s sables. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a nice warm coat you have on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a tenderness +trying to any masculine onlooker. “It saved my life.” +</p> + +<p> +It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to a +similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it possible that +she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? Could any sane woman +really believe that sable coats fell naturally to the lot of night watchmen? +Her manner was candour itself, but how should it not be? What more inevitable +than that she should make an effort to deceive a casual stranger? She had the +most evident motives for behaving exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had +reasoned about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in +distress exactly as he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it was +true. Might not the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked himself, +and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. He chose to +believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her through +such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked out in stolen +finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment +of disillusion. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me. Is it impossible +for me to carry a bag?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but not for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be only this.” She held up a small Russia leather affair legibly +marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials. +</p> + +<p> +“I will take it,” said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. +</p> + +<p> +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, because—” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked at her +to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put into words. +</p> + +<p> +She did not appear to understand. “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you must be stronger than Billy.” She cast a reflective glance at his +shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately flattered. +</p> + +<p> +“He is really safe at your house?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so, I did my best,” he returned grimly. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him gravely. “You have been very kind to a stranger,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with her. It +did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he thought a more +advantageous time could be found for telling her the truth, in case of course +she did not know it already. He felt that he himself would be better able to +deal a cold blow when she was warm and sheltered. No man, he said to himself, +could be disagreeable to a girl who had no one to depend on but himself. So he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, another of Billy’s friends. I never knew such a person for discovering +friends at the most opportune times. He never wants anything but what a friend +turns up. Did you find him wandering about, or did he come and demand +admittance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he knew me +well enough to walk in.” +</p> + +<p> +“He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have not met since we were at school.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew you well +enough to walk in on you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Men are so queer!” she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice of +admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under such false +colours as her brother’s benefactor. +</p> + +<p> +“We ought to be starting,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She looked round the room. “I hate to leave all these nice things,” she said. +“Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave him that he +says is really priceless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it,” said Geoffrey shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I could not +take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to contribute something +to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I leave it, it may be stolen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it may be stolen.” He looked down into her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Then—” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask you as a favour to leave it behind.” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, sweet and +quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it all was. +</p> + +<p> +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose to +remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and that it was +his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to overcome united them. +They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing interest. They had nothing to +think of but accomplishing their task,—of that and of each other. As far +as they could see were snow and black trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered +that any one but themselves existed. +</p> + +<p> +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage warmed his +heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert her independence. +She turned to him at every point. He guided her past the scenes of his own +disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had already made. +</p> + +<p> +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she did answer +him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor encouragement, but +plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her skirts, however, wet and heavy, +hampered her desperately, and the exertion of walking through the thick snow +began to tell. Geoffrey made her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, +but at length she stopped of herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Have we done half yet?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Just about,” he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. But he +saw at once that he had failed,—that she had had a hope that they were +nearer their destination—that she began to doubt her own powers. +Presently she moved forward again in silence. +</p> + +<p> +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took comfort +in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she had, she would +use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her beforehand. She would +not fail through lack of determination. Whether or not she were the confederate +of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, and a beautiful one, he thought, looking +down upon her in the glare of the snow. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. This +was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what men were made +for. +</p> + +<p> +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at their backs +the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained an instant, too +weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet again. +</p> + +<p> +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and when +they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the little step had he +not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to the library and laid her +on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of McVay, had gone out. It took +Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands to build a blaze. When he turned +toward her again she was sleeping like a child. +</p> + +<p> +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay was +either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug and was soon +asleep also. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>IV</h2> + +<p> +It was after two o’clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have slept +three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still sleeping peacefully. +He almost wished that she would never awake to all the dreadful surprises that +the house held for her. Her eye-lashes curved long and dark on her cheek. +Geoffrey turned away quickly. +</p> + +<p> +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have been +known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the library and ran +up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great was his dread that he +would have been really relieved to see the closet door standing open as an +immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. It was, however, locked as he +had left it. But as he hastened to undo it, a voice from within reassured him: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus04"></a> +<img src="images/image4.png" width="263" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">He let McVay out of the closet +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Well, where have you been all this time?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may be thankful I’m back at all. It did not look like it, at one time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Cecilia?” +</p> + +<p> +“Down stairs asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay gave a little giggle. “Ah,” he said, “I bet you have had the devil of a +time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be the one to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t child’s play.” +</p> + +<p> +“Child’s play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough among men, +but women!” he waved his hand; “so sensitive, so cloistered!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister behaved nobly,” said Geoffrey severely. +</p> + +<p> +“Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a hard trip for any woman.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked up. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t speaking of the trip. I meant about +me. What did she say?” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say anything. She went to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the penitentiary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: “Why should I +tell her what she must know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you she knows nothing about my—profession.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your <i>profession</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t a notion of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, with my sister’s coat on her back, and the Innes’ bag in her hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” McVay drew a step nearer. “You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing.” He chuckled, and +Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently disappointed the +other. +</p> + +<p> +“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” he asked with a faint appeal in his voice. +“She thought it was likely, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally. +</p> + +<p> +“Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good +dissembler.” +</p> + +<p> +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his impulse, +would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. Instead, he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for the +pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of my sight.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to ignore this +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” he said, as they went down stairs, “I suppose that most men shut up +in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, but, to me it was +a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is one of my theories that +every one ought to have resources within. Now I dare say you were quite anxious +about me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought of you at all,” said Geoffrey. “After I got in I went to sleep +for three hours.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with dignity: +“Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don’t think that was very considerate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk so loud,” said Geoffrey, “you’ll wake your sister.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at short +notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned eatables in the house +to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these he now depended, and was not a +little annoyed to find the kitchen store room where they were kept securely +locked. +</p> + +<p> +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools and on +being given them set to work on the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “the heavy handed way in which some men use +tools? Look at my touch,—so light, yet so accurate. I take no credit to +myself. I was born so. It’s a very fortunate thing to be naturally dexterous.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little less so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death years +ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to God you had,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but otherwise +preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work heating soup and +smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the dining-room—this was +McVay’s suggestion; he said food was unappetising unless it were nicely +served—Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is,” he added firmly, “I’ll +give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain the situation +fully.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door behind him, +and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could command both doors. +</p> + +<p> +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told himself +no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely nervous. He +felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He thought of her as he +had seen her asleep, of the curve of her eye-lashes on her cheek, of her +raising those lashes, awaking to be met with McVay’s revelations. Even if she +were guilty, Geoffrey found it in his heart to pity her waking to learn that +her brother was a prisoner. How unfortunate, too, would be her own +position,—the guest, if only for a few hours, of a man who was concerned +only to lodge her brother in jail. +</p> + +<p> +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they came out +together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it unperturbed. Didn’t +she care, or had she always known? +</p> + +<p> +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: +</p> + +<p> +“Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat—shock +on an empty stomach, so bad—so hard to bear.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey shook his arm free. “You infernal coward,” he whispered back. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I like that,” retorted McVay, “you didn’t tell her yourself when you had +the chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t my affair. I did not tell her because—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know,” McVay interrupted with a chuckle. “I’ve been knowing why for the +last ten minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +They followed her into the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey asked +nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,—a position evidently +decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look at her, and now +and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could force her to meet his +eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more apparent than that, for both of +them, a momentous event had occurred. +</p> + +<p> +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the general +conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so entirely mechanical +that he was scarcely aware of them himself. +</p> + +<p> +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>this</i> is our Christmas dinner,” observed McVay regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” returned the girl, “this is luncheon. I’ll cook your dinner. You’ll +see.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for disillusioning her +had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet it would not be at his +dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal court rose before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss McVay,” he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning which the +other man was directing toward him; “we shall not be here at dinner. Your +brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down the mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now?” +</p> + +<p> +“At once.” +</p> + +<p> +She coloured slowly and deeply,—the only evidence of anger. “I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go,” she said, rising. “I +should thank you for having borne with us so long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this,” said McVay. +“It will be dark in an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned on her brother quickly: “Please say no more about the matter, +Billy,” she said. “We will start at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t start if it means certainly freezing to death,” he remonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to compel +the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>would</i>,” she answered and shut the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. “One +moment,” he said, “you are quite right. It is too late to start to-night. We +must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a night here without +your sister’s being told—” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!” +</p> + +<p> +“I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we are +starting, but in that case I must—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you are going to ask,—my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to ask for anything at all,” said Geoffrey. “I’m going to tell +you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We won’t have any +nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick man with a gun. There +may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it wasn’t in the East I got my +training. You will always keep in front of me where I can see you plainly, and +you will never, under any circumstances come nearer than six feet to me. If you +should ever come nearer than that or take a sudden step in my direction, I’d +shoot you just as sure as I stand here.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. “Oh, come, Holland,” he said, “isn’t that +the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me before my own sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, and +having you escape is one of them.” +</p> + +<p> +The other thought it over. “The trouble is,” he explained, “that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I am. I’m +not at all sure that I shall remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold blood in the +presence of my own sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better behave as if you believed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like this arrangement,” McVay broke out peevishly. “Suppose, for the +sake of argument, that I did forget,—that I put my hand on your +shoulder—a very natural gesture.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should shoot instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But fancy the shock to Cecilia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. And +another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling about the +subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not only a +thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving her.” +</p> + +<p> +Again McVay’s gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. “Very true,” he said, “I had +not thought of that. But then,” he added more brightly, “who can tell if it +will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so strangely. It may +turn out that that is <i>your</i> part.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may,” said Geoffrey, “but only because I have had to shoot after all.” With +which he opened the door and they returned to the library. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>V</h2> + +<p> +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her absence, +turned at once to his book. +</p> + +<p> +“If you won’t think me impolite, Holland, I’ll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,—especially as +your books are so unusual.” +</p> + +<p> +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey could not +read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his eyes were fixed on +the carpet. The knowledge of the girl’s presence in his house distracted him +like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave himself up to steeping himself in +his emotion, which, in some situations, is the nearest thing possible to +thinking. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey’s success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for he was +good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of fact, however, +his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this very reason he was not +afraid to give it full sway. The deeply susceptible man learns to be cautious, +to distrust his feelings, but Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his +fundamental indifference to have any reason to distrust himself. He had never +been in love. Like Ferdinand he, “for different virtues had liked many women,” +although in his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had +attracted him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or another +pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature responded. He had often +thought that if he could make up a composite woman of all of them he might be +in great danger of falling in love. But now he was aware that his whole nature +responded to the attraction of the girl upstairs, as a dog answers +instinctively to the call of its master. He could say to himself that she was +this or that,—brave and beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were +but an insignificant part of the total effect. His reason could find causes +enough to approve her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made +straight the paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and which in +case of a divergence between the two, his reason could never overcome. +</p> + +<p> +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied fell +coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to himself in so many +words that he was in love,—far less had anything so definite as marriage +crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so practical. He only knew that +McVay’s mere existence was a contamination and a tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the stairs. +He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his eye on McVay’s +studious figure in the library. +</p> + +<p> +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus05"></a> +<img src="images/image5.png" width="289" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">She Was Dressed In His Sister’s Sables—ready For +Departure +</p> +</div> + +<p> +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, with a cold +blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could make her take further +notice of him as a living being. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?” he said, with +directness. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not been thinking about the matter at all,” she answered, turning her +head a little aside from his direct gaze. “But I do think so of course. After +all why should you not wish it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You think me likely to want anything that would part us—that is the way +my manner strikes you?” He was surprised to find his voice not absolutely +steady. +</p> + +<p> +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. “You seem to forget +that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. Possibly you have +changed your mind, but I have made mine up.” She made a motion as if to pass +in, and go on toward the library. +</p> + +<p> +“I have changed so completely since I saw you,” said Geoffrey, “that I scarcely +recognise life in this—this ecstasy. That is the only change. Am I likely +to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for you to come?” +</p> + +<p> +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had been +fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to work once again. +She said very coolly: +</p> + +<p> +“You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,—or have you +forgotten saying that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going because—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of her mouth +had softened by not a little. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there would +be greater danger in starting out so late. And,—and equally desperate for +me, whatever we do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Desperate?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—to hate me, as +your look said.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not hate you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very eager to be rid of my company.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Until we can go safely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not longer?” +</p> + +<p> +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she said, “We +are under sufficiently large obligations to you already.” +</p> + +<p> +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing them with +satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. +</p> + +<p> +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be observed at +all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to be observed by one +who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. Never, said Geoffrey to +himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay’s clear little eyes, never should +any influence lead him to let a thief slip through his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another word +alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous sort of +revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man’s company. Geoffrey +had not appreciated the full meaning of his instructions to McVay to keep +always in sight. Not a word or a look could be exchanged without McVay’s seeing +and rejoicing. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the brother of +so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear,” he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, “feel better? +Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me about +it—saying how well you behaved,” (Geoffrey favoured him with a scowl +behind her back), “a perfect heroine,—so he says.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Holland is very kind,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically. “Kind! I should rather think he was. Why, +I could give you instances of his kindness—” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... so +modest, so unassuming. +</p> + +<p> +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing enough +to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination of facility +and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any question of playing +upon Cecilia’s unconsciousness of the situation, he writhed. Yet, a little +discernment would have shown him how natural, how encouraging from his own +point of view her unconsciousness was. To fall in love thoroughly is +sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us needs to be told that it is an +absorbing process, that life looks different, and that all past experiences +must be reviewed in the light of this unexpected illumination. And if this is +true of the more usual forms of the great passion, what is to be said of a girl +who, in a single day, sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young +creature, who comes to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a prince, +who comes not only to save and protect, but as host and dispenser of all +comfort and beauty. +</p> + +<p> +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one fact, one +personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd conclusions from the +little happenings going on before her, she was but dimly aware of the existence +of her brother, of the world, of anything but Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: +</p> + +<p> +“And this is where you sat all night?” And if the thought was interesting to +her, it was not on account of her brother’s share in it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. “Here we sat discussing +plans for your safety.” He took a step toward the pair at the fire, and then +remembering, stopped. “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to +get nearer the fire. I’m cold.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus06"></a> +<img src="images/image6.png" width="600" height="468" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to +get nearer the fire” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“You can go to the fire,” said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you can,” said the girl, “Mr. Holland is not in your way, Billy.” +</p> + +<p> +But Billy continued to eye his host. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said warily. “Not +unless you move back. Do move, there’s a good fellow.” And Geoffrey laughed and +moved, somewhat to the girl’s mystification. She forgot to wonder, however, in +pursuing the more wonderful train of thought which had already been occupying +her. Suppose that their plans for her relief had been decided differently, +suppose her brother had come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with +what different eyes she might now be looking on life—this ecstasy as +Holland had defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so +blessed, she asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I said to him,” replied McVay eagerly. “If I said once, I said a +dozen times: ‘Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my <i>right</i> to +go,’ but ...” McVay shrugged his shoulders, “when he once gets an idea into his +head, it takes a gimlet to get it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Billy,” the girl said indignantly, “I don’t think you ought to +talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. Holland only +insisted on going because he thought he was better able to bear the physical +strain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Physical strain!” exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy hair, +from pure annoyance; “I don’t know what you mean,... Holland is, of course, a +larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far as mere brute force +goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing physical strain, you betray the +most absurd ignorance. It is well known scientifically that medium-sized men +like myself, when their muscles are at all developed (and you know my muscles), +are better fitted for endurance than any of these over-grown giants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said she calmly, “if you knew you were better fitted I can’t see why +you did not go.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not quite fair to your brother,” said Geoffrey interrupting, for McVay +looked as if he would explode in another moment under the sense of injustice. +“He did propose going himself, but I would not let him; I—I made it a +personal matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very personal,” replied McVay with feeling. “I’ll just explain how it was. +Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up my mind that +I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after some trouble, came +to this room, turned on the light—a spooky thing; an empty house, picked +up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the world, everything, when a voice +at my elbow said: ‘Fond of reading?’ I was never more surprised in my life. I +felt distinctly caught,—an interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw +that Holland did not at once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he +would not hear of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was +his wish to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty accurate +account of the night’s proceeding, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay’s +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the twinkling joy +of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be doing mankind a favour +by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn of another day. Unconscious of +this possibility, McVay continued to his sister: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long and +dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. A handsome +coat, is it not, Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said Geoffrey chillingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that coat,” McVay went on unchilled, “was a real bargain. I may say I paid +nothing for it,—little more than the trouble of taking it home. Although +from another point of view, its price was pretty high....” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Billy, I don’t think Mr. Holland is interested in our bargains.” +</p> + +<p> +“In <i>some</i>, he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed,” said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, “I think I +know of just about a dozen people who will want a circumstantial account of all +of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,—circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation—(are you familiar with that +word?)—the only suggestion it has for me is a <i>jury</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. +</p> + +<p> +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was almost time +to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They all rose as if glad +of a break. As they passed out of the door, Geoffrey laid his hand on McVay’s +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled. “Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in freezing +weather? Don’t I amuse you? Be candid.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked regretful. “As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you had more +sense of humour,” he said gently. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>VI</h2> + +<p> +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for organisation +rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the wall, and tilting back at +his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at work. Geoffrey, engaged in lighting +the range-fire, looked up at her as she moved about filling the kettle and +washing out pots and pans, and thought that he and she presented the aspect of +a young couple of the labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a +roof over their heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. +</p> + +<p> +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, apples +and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, which, with a +burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well for plum-pudding. +</p> + +<p> +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even his +irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more friendly than +before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. +</p> + +<p> +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in each hand, +when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, handkerchief in hand, +exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus07"></a> +<img src="images/image7.png" width="600" height="430" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“My dear fellow—pray allow me” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Look out,” roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay sprang back +ten feet. “I was afraid of burning you with the soup,” Geoffrey explained +politely. +</p> + +<p> +“I own you made me jump,” said McVay. +</p> + +<p> +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an unfortunate +impression on her. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently sat down +to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed themselves as +inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines and toasted biscuits, +canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, bacon and a potato salad, a +bottle of champagne, and finally the wedding cake. +</p> + +<p> +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk would be +to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this nature, however, +was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart of champagne had not +produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was clear, his speech perfect, and +he was more than usually aware of his own powers, confident of appreciation. +</p> + +<p> +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the tips of +his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Holland,” he said, “I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for it has +already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to make it. Let +me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this delightful occasion. You +have referred to the fare as meagre, to our position as constrained, but +believe me, I am not exaggerating when I say that I so little agree with you +that I am confident that, during many of the remaining years of my life I shall +look back to this Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, +perhaps, the warm glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in +situations like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland,” he paused +impressively, “has stood the test.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: +</p> + +<p> +“I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little pecuniary +value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer mentioned. I feel +that it will be recommended to you more than mere worth could recommend it by +the fact that it is peculiarly my own,—my own as few human possessions +can be said to be. I offer it,” he said, drawing from his pocket a square flat +little package, “with best wishes for a happy New Year.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus08"></a> +<img src="images/image8.png" width="302" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“I Have Here A Slight Token, In Honor Of The Day” +</p> + +</div> + +<p> +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey’s mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so perfectly in +keeping with McVay’s consuming desire to triumph in minor matters, that he was +able to smile pleasantly and receive it appropriately. He exchanged a glance of +real appreciation with the donor, and received a grave bow in return. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia smiled, too, “I don’t know exactly why you should think Mr. Holland +wants your picture, Billy,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be of the greatest service to him,” said McVay. +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned to Geoffrey. “I can’t make a speech like Billy’s,” she said, +“but I have a small present for you which I hope you won’t despise because it +is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some time, and I hope <i>you</i> +will now, in remembrance of the time when you sheltered the houseless.” She +held out on her pink palm a flat gold pencil with a single topaz set in the +top. +</p> + +<p> +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay’s eye in +which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey’s half-formed question +was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms of delight at the idea that +Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of stolen goods that he could not well +conceal it. And instinctively Geoffrey drew back his hand. The next moment he +realised that he must at once accept the gift with decent gratitude, whatever +he might choose to do with it afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed +his hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, rose from +the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the feast as best they +could. +</p> + +<p> +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the part of a +waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over his arm and began +to clear the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment,” said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; “I have +something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my sentiments in regard +to your sister.... I think her a wonder,—that’s all it is necessary for +you to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under the +impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won’t. You stand just +where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. Then I settle my +affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay’s face fell. “Really, Holland,” he said, “I don’t see how, if you are +fond of a woman you can want ...” +</p> + +<p> +“... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are worse brothers than I,” replied McVay, “how many men would have +sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her comfortably.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not many, I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is extraordinarily fond of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can scarcely say that <i>now</i>,” returned McVay encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t discuss it with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean to send +me to state’s prison?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean exactly that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, she’d never forgive you.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and presently +McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, asked: “Are you +serious, Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suppose I am?” Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his head went +on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent and abstracted and +for the first time seemed to realise his position. When they had put away the +last plate, Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pipe! Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be more +apt to take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little gift. As a +matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had given her the pencil. +A pretty little thing, singularly like one which you may have seen Mrs.—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me where you took it from. I don’t want to know. Come and get your +pipe and mind you are grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pipe,” observed McVay thoughtfully. “I think I’ll take that large meerschaum +on the mantelpiece.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey laughed. “I think you won’t,” he answered. “The best pipe I own! No, +indeed, you’ll take a horrid little one that won’t draw. It will be just the +thing for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay, “no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall make it +appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at the last moment. +And I can do it, Holland.” His little eyes gleamed at the thought. “I shall +say, ‘My dear fellow, I’m glad you changed your mind about the meerschaum; it +was as you say, too handsome for a man in my position.’ That will make her mad +if anything will. You know she is not quite satisfied with the way you treat +me, as it is.” +</p> + +<p> +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the gift was +to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his favourite pipe. The +affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate over accepting so handsome an +offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon him with a good grace. +</p> + +<p> +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less and less +willing to make it in McVay’s presence, and more and more unable to think of +any way of getting rid of him except murder or the cedar-closet. His anxiety +was rendered more acute by the fact that once or twice he could not help +suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her anger, would have been glad of a few +words alone with him, also. +</p> + +<p> +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat upstairs +for her. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I will,” cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at the +door before Holland’s warning shout “<i>McVay</i>” stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me take it up for your sister,” he said warningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not at all. Let <i>me</i>,” replied McVay courteously. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t hear of it,” returned Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it with a +snap. +</p> + +<p> +“You would, would you?” he said angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Holland,” said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into an +irrational confusion, “this is exactly a case in point. I am by nature a +gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder?” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, and I +doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been at my head. +She asked me. That was enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve warned you once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Holland, I think,—you’ll excuse my telling you,—that you have a +very unfortunate manner at times.” +</p> + +<p> +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, with his +eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you play?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his last +speech. “Yes,” he answered, “I can. Well, I’m not a professional, you +understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much technique and a +good deal more sentiment than most.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care <i>how</i> you play,” said Holland. “There is a piano. Sit down +and play, and <i>don’t stop</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Holland, no,” said the other with unusual firmness; “that I will not do. +No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in public without +practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play finger +exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a noise so that +I’ll know you are there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said McVay yielding, “you must remember to make allowances. Not the +best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say it will come +back to me quicker than to most people. You must make allowances for my lack of +practice.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is only one thing I won’t make allowances for, and that is your moving +from that music stool.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen the +joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover which of +the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped lightly upon the +notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that an air of Schubert’s was +growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was astonished to find that he really was, +as he said, something of an artist. He waited until he was fairly started and +then returned to the library. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that Billy?” said the girl. “It must be a great pleasure to him to have a +piano again. He is so fond of music.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was not as eager to play as I to have him,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then he said, +stretching out his hand: +</p> + +<p> +“I want my Christmas present.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have none to give you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve changed my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time she looked at him. “Mr. Holland,” she said, “you must think +me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don’t see that you dislike my +brother. You refused the pencil—you did refuse it plainly +enough—because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to you +again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong way, but I +should think any one of any discernment could see that his faults are only +faults of manner.” +</p> + +<p> +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned with +something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, covered his +face with his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you by any +chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his own comfort? +You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that it is only for my +sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does not want to make my +position here more unendurable by quarrelling with you. It makes me furious to +see what you force him to put up with, the way you speak to him, and look at +him, as if he were your slave, or a disobedient dog. His self-control is +wonderful. I admire him more than I can say.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is my self-control nothing?” he asked, without moving his hands from his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yours? I don’t see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at your +mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose to be. +Self-control? I don’t see any evidence of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might have set +her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and probably in the +instant forgot all that she had been saying and feeling, for when he added: “I +love you,” her hands moved toward his, and she made no resistance when he took +her in his arms. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>VII</h2> + +<p> +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a series of +discords in order to recall himself to Holland’s mind. His existence, if he had +only realised the fact, was so completely forgotten that he might have made his +escape with a good half hour to spare before either of the others appreciated +that the music had ceased. Not knowing this, however, he did not dare stop his +playing for an instant, until sheer physical fatigue interfered. It was at this +point that the discords began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. +</p> + +<p> +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey had given +a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as a safe prison, +but in the face of McVay’s repeated assertions that the air had barely sufficed +to support him during his former occupancy, it looked like murder to insist. +Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, locked him in a dressing-room off his own +room. The window—the room was on the third floor—gave on empty +space, and against the only door he placed his own bed, so that escape seemed +tolerably difficult. +</p> + +<p> +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, although +toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his name called +by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the hall. She was wrapped in +her sable coat, but shivering from cold or fear. +</p> + +<p> +“There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and steps on +the piazza, below my room. What can it be?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to the +obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay’s escape. On the +opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the roof of this a +neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed out. +</p> + +<p> +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before the +approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly across the snow. +There was no question of its identity. His revolver, which he had snatched from +under his pillow and brought with him, he at once levelled on the vanishing +form; his finger was on the trigger, when he felt a hand on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. “Don’t fire,” she +said. “Don’t you see it is Billy?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause—the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that touch on +his arm he could not shoot. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: “McVay!” +</p> + +<p> +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on steel and +began to retrace his steps. +</p> + +<p> +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. Under the +piazza he stopped and waved his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best.” +</p> + +<p> +“There <i>was</i> a burglar then!” said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. +</p> + +<p> +“By Heaven, he shall not trouble you,” returned Holland with more earnestness +than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down to meet McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet,” he remarked, ushering +him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so ignominious a position +that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a disadvantage, but looked in vain. +The aspect worn was a particularly self-satisfied one. +</p> + +<p> +“I was aware I took a risk,” he answered; “I took it gladly for my sister’s +sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“For your sister’s sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to you as +to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too honourable, you would +say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted to know that you need not +prosecute me.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting.” +</p> + +<p> +“But at what a cost! I refer to my sister’s regard. No, no, the thing, if you +had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It was a risk, of +course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister’s sake. I would take longer ones +for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, “No, no, Holland. To take +a risk is one thing,—to kill myself quite another. I have always had a +strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly action. And it would be +no help to you. She would not believe that I had committed suicide. She knows +my views on the subject, and could imagine no motive. No, that would not do at +all. I’m surprised at the suggestion. It is against my principles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your principles!” Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little altered +in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find that he could not +shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his faith in himself. He began to +doubt if he would be capable of sending the man to state’s prison when Cecilia +besought his pity. His own limitations faced him. He was not the relentless +judge he had supposed himself. Yet on the other hand, the remembrance of +Vaughan and the other men he was representing held him to his idea of justice. +“Sit down,” he said suddenly turning to McVay, “and write me out a list of +everything you have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and how it may +be obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better try to do it for +on the completeness of your list depends your only chance of avoiding the law. +If I can return all properly, perhaps—I have a mine in Mexico, a hell on +earth, where you can go if you prefer it to penal servitude. There won’t be +much difference, except for the publicity of a trial. I’ve a man there who, +when I give him his orders, would infinitely rather shoot you than take any +risk of your getting away. Which will you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down and write your list, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“An interesting occupation, mining,” observed McVay as he opened the portfolio. +After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft noise of the pencil +and an occasional comment from the writer: +</p> + +<p> +“A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur—appealed to my artistic side.” +</p> + +<p> +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside and the +door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, Holland,” said McVay, “if that is the police, keep your wits about you +or we are lost.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm showed, he +had cast in his interests with McVay’s. He stepped forward in silence and +opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland,” he said. “There has been great anxiety +felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan and Marheim +cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not get back to the +gardener’s cottage the night before last.” +</p> + +<p> +“The snow detained me,” said Geoffrey slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, come in, friend,” said McVay briskly. “You must be cold.” +</p> + +<p> +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after studying +McVay for an instant, asked: +</p> + +<p> +“I did not catch this gentleman’s name. Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: “That is +the man you are after.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you crazy, Holland?” shouted McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?” Envy and +admiration struggled on the detective’s countenance. “I must congratulate you, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. “You needn’t,” he said; “I am +no subject for congratulation. I can’t even prosecute him, confound him, for +several reasons. We were at school together, and I can take no steps in the +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can,” said the detective; “indeed it is my duty to.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Geoffrey, “nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. Yes, I +know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we’ll compound it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could not agree to anything of the kind,” said the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see exactly what you can do about it.” Geoffrey was deliberate and +very polite. “For reasons which I can’t explain, but which you would +appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from jail. If you +intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape at once. Don’t draw +your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only person with a weapon in my hand. +He has made a list of all the things he has stolen, and I shall see that they +are returned to their owners at any cost. Will you undertake to get him safely +to a mine I own in Mexico? Once there he can’t get away. It is forty-five miles +from a railway. If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make up +for the reward you didn’t get,—five thousand down, and five thousand at +the end of a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to say,” said the man. “It sounds like a bribe.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” said Geoffrey coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“I never received such a proposition,” returned the man. +</p> + +<p> +“That scheme won’t do, Holland,” put in McVay. “Can’t you see it lays you open +to blackmail?” +</p> + +<p> +“From you?” said Geoffrey. “I had thought of that, but you can’t blackmail me +at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close enough to blackmail me, +I’ll put you in prison without a moment’s hesitation. I shall be in a position +by that time to take care of the feelings of the other people concerned.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand me,” answered McVay; “I meant blackmail from this man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Geoffrey civilly, “I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. And +besides, he won’t get his second five thousand for a year, and as I was saying +to you, after a year I don’t so much mind having the whole thing known. My +reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m no blackmailer,” said this detective. “If I accept, I’ll be on the +square.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice,” observed Geoffrey, “and that +is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He is a slippery +customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my money at all, if you give +him the smallest loophole.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he said +gravely: +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don’t see my +way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to slip overboard +from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless maybe the sharks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” agreed Geoffrey amiably. “Fortunately you can get a steamer in New +York.” +</p> + +<p> +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good reason for +declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey’s, and they were presently deep +in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile studying the map with +unfeigned interest in the situation of his future residence. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, for she +had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, and the men must +have been talking for two hours when she appeared at the library door. +</p> + +<p> +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey saw +with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as the burglar +whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any betrayal of this +opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, although as he did so, he +realised that he had nothing to answer when she asked, as of course she did +ask: “Who is that?” +</p> + +<p> +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the brave took +hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would perhaps in another +instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not the least disconcerted, +taken the lead. +</p> + +<p> +“This, Cecilia,” he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the detective’s +shoulder, “is my old friend Picklebody,—Henderson Picklebody. You have +heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. Eh, Henderson, in the old +Machita days?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his surprise +at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard McVay. He began +to guess something of the motives that led Holland to shield this offender +against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise to yield to the whims of young +millionaires. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she heard +the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked in a tone as +cheerful as she could make it: +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can and will,” rejoined McVay beamingly. “Hen comes as he has always come to +his friends, as a rescuer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I seem to require a great deal of rescuing,” said the girl, looking up at the +monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but you don’t understand, my dear,” went on McVay ruthlessly cutting into +the look which the lovers were exchanging; “You don’t yet understand how +fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it is true, come to find +me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting me here. It seems that he and +Holland are both interested in a mine in Mexico, and what do you think?” McVay +paused and rubbed his hands; “Really, we have the kindest friends; they have +been arranging between them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of +that?” +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the shelter +of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been thoroughly candid +that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance away, but she only +observed: +</p> + +<p> +“How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico.” +</p> + +<p> +“There, there, do you hear that? ‘We.’ Gentlemen,” cried McVay, throwing up his +hands, “I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. Consider it all off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I wasn’t to go?” asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” replied McVay, “I must own that I was base enough to consider a plan +that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place for ladies. But we will +think no more about it. I see by your manner that your feelings...” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Billy,” said the girl gently, “you must not give it up. You know that I +can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And nothing is +so important as that you should have work that is satisfactory to you. Of +course you must accept.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear anything so noble?” asked McVay. “Yes, I suppose I ought to +accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn’t I, Hen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did,” replied the +detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American humour. +</p> + +<p> +“There is another point, Cecilia,” McVay went on, “if I do accept, I shall have +to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear. That’s very sudden,” said Cecilia. +</p> + +<p> +“At a word from you, dear, I’ll give it up,” remarked McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. Perhaps it +is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me just that +amount.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve no time to lose,” remarked McVay briskly, “if we are going to try for +that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the gardener’s, Holland, +if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we must hurry off.” +</p> + +<p> +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his sister, +flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who was of a +solider build, found it hard to keep up with. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate man. +Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray the real state +of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his money, McVay took +special delight in making him look like a fool, calling upon him to remember +happenings which existed only in McVay’s own fertile brain. +</p> + +<p> +“What, Hen,” he would cry suddenly, “was the name of that pretty black haired +girl you were so sweet on,—you know, the daughter of the canal-boat man.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he did not +know what McVay was talking about. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there,” McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the shoulder, “I’m +not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can always trust to my +discretion. But I would like just to remember her name. It was so +peculiar,—a name I never heard before.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, found +himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony suggested +“Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There is +nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I was trying +to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“How sad that is,” said McVay philosophically. “You don’t even remember her +name, and at one time—well, well.” +</p> + +<p> +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective’s countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney’s bullet has entirely gone. I was +afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it would +interest her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody,” said the girl politely and McVay, when he had +sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a story +himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of treatment, it soon +appeared that McVay’s ease and facility had made an impression on him, and that +he looked at his prisoner with a sort of wondering admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little bag?” he +began when they were about to depart. “Holland, my dear fellow, don’t think me +interfering if I ask whether you have looked to all the doors and windows? +Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into shut-up houses, and it would be +such a pity if anything happened to any of your pretty things. Ah, what an +expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn’t it? You may talk about your tropical scenery, +Hen, but we shan’t see anything finer than this the world over. What a contrast +the south will be though, eh, old man?” and, drawing the detective’s arm +through his, leaning heavily upon him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking +volubly. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that had seen +such momentous changes in their lives. +</p> + +<p> +“When we come back, it will be spring,” said Geoffrey softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the girl in rather a shaky voice, “you like me well enough to ask me +to stay again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well enough,” said Geoffrey, “to ask you to stay forever.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14835 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/14835-h/14835-h.htm~ b/14835-h/14835-h.htm~ new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c30f1b --- /dev/null +++ b/14835-h/14835-h.htm~ @@ -0,0 +1,4355 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Burglar and the Blizzard, by Alice Duer Miller</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em;} + +p.caption {font-weight: bold; + text-align: center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Burglar and the Blizzard, by Alice Duer Miller</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Burglar and the Blizzard</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Alice Duer Miller</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Charlotte Harding</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 29, 2005 [eBook #14835]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 30, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Eric Betts and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus01"></a> +<img src="images/image1.png" width="600" height="316" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">The Burglar</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h1>The Burglar and the Blizzard</h1> + +<h4><i>A CHRISTMAS STORY</i></h4> + +<h2 class="no-break">BY ALICE DUER MILLER</h2> + +<p class="center"> +AUTHOR OF “THE BLUE ARCH,” ETC.</p> + +<h3>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY<br/> +CHARLOTTE HARDING</h3> + +<h5>Hearst’s International Library Co., Inc.</h5> + +<p class="center"> +1914 +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/image-title.png" width="394" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">Chapter I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">Chapter II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">Chapter III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">Chapter IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">Chapter V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">Chapter VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">Chapter VII</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus01">The Burglar</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus02">“It was a young lady who disposed of the silver”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus03">“Good God,” he cried, “what a night you have had”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus04">He let McVay out of the closet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus05">She was dressed in his sister’s sables—ready for departure</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus06">“Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus07">“My dear fellow—pray allow me”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus08">“I have here a slight token, in honor of the day”</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>The Burglar and the Blizzard</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>I</h2> + +<p> +Geoffrey Holland stood up and for the second time surveyed the restaurant in +search of other members of his party, two fingers in the pocket of his +waistcoat, as if they had just relinquished his watch. He was tall enough to be +conspicuous and well bred enough to be indifferent to the fact, good looking, +in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven way, and branded in the popular imagination as +a young and active millionaire. +</p> + +<p> +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other men and +women with him: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know who that is?—that is young Holland.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, that boy! He doesn’t look as if he were out of school.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said one of the women, elaborating the comment, “he does not look old +enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right,” said the first man. “He is older +than he looks. He must be twenty-six.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suppose he does with all that money?” +</p> + +<p> +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an evening +paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who promptly ran to get +him one. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one thing he does,” answered the man who had first given information, +“he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I bet that costs him a +pretty penny.” +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, and was +about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of interest caught his +eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised it to his eyes that his +admirers at the next table noticed it, and speculated on the subject of the +paragraph. +</p> + +<p> +It was headed: “Millionaires’ Summer Homes Looted,” and said further: +</p> + +<p> +“Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring robberies which +have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the past month occurred +last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of New York was entered and +valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The robbery was not discovered until +this morning when a shutter was observed unfastened on the second story. On +entering the watchman found the house had been carefully gone over, and +although only a few objects seem to be missing, these are of the greatest +value. The thief apparently had plenty of time, and probably occupied the whole +night in his search. This is the more remarkable because the watchman asserts +that he spent at least an hour on the piazza during the night. How the thief +effected an entrance by the second story is not clear. During the past five +weeks the houses of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham Marheim have been +entered in a manner almost precisely similar. There was a report yesterday that +some of the Marheim silver had been discovered with a dealer in Boston, but +that he could not identify the person from whom he bought them further than +that she was a young lady to whom they might very well have belonged. The fact +that it was a young lady who disposed of them to him suggests that the goods +must have changed hands several times. The Marheim family is abroad, and the +servants....” +</p> + +<p> +Here a waiter touched his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to dinner,” +returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous looking couple +approaching. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid we are late,” said the lady, “but can you blame us? Have you heard? +We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon to find out what +has gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading about +your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and beginning to +draw off her gloves. “We had a Van Dyke etching, and some enamels that have +gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his wine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. “I tell you he is going to have a happy time +with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” said Geoffrey, “they are a nice lot of countrymen up there. +Four robberies and not so much as a clue.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> need not be afraid,” said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. “In spite +of all your treasures, I don’t believe any thief would take the trouble to +climb to the top of your mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +Holland’s selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no true +Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and as a +property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of Hillsborough +real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Vaughan’s irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he laughed +very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the thief was as poor a +pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should not like to lose any of his +things; and he added that in his opinion Vaughan ought to be starting for +Hillsborough at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh,” said that gentleman, “I can’t go with the market in this +condition,—would lose more than the whole house is worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would go duck-shooting in a minute,” said Holland, “and this would be a +good deal better sport.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. “The thing to do,” he said, “is to offer a +reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class detective.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Geoffrey readily, “I’ll join you. Those other fellows ought +to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,—that will be five thousand. Is +that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What shall I say? Five +thousand dollars reward will be paid for information leading to the +conviction—and so on. I’ll go and telephone now,” and with a promptness +which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. +</p> + +<p> +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all discussing the +burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older than her brother, had +some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, that is to say she had +imagination and a good memory for detail. +</p> + +<p> +“For my part,” she was saying, “I have the greatest respect and admiration for +him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking at the +Wilsons’,—after all his trouble. I have often sat in that drawing-room +myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in it as a present, +whether I could find something that would not actually disgrace me. I never +could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons make a great to-do about the +house having been entered, and tell you how he must have been frightened +away,—frightened away by the hideousness of their things! Those woolly +paintings on wood, and the black satin parasol that turns out to be an umbrella +stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Florence,” said her brother mildly, “how can a black satin parasol be +an umbrella-stand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the Wilsons’ +house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, only painted to +resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks of trees, and the match +boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is really what it looks like, except +the beds; they look uncomfortable, and some one who had stayed there told me +that they were.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Florence,” said Mrs. Vaughan, “is it not like her kindness of +heart—it runs in the family—to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a connoisseur I +could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my last hope that my very +best escaped his attention.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven’t you an +admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he has entered +four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must be <i>traces</i> of him,” said Geoffrey. “The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There must have +been footprints.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Mr. Vaughan, “that is what makes me think that the watchmen +are in it. It’s probably a combination of two or three of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that lets Geoffrey out,” said the irrepressible Florence. “No one would +take his watchman into any combination,—he is a thousand and two and +feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the possibility, for +it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is +lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a slouch hat. That is the way I imagine +him. Do you really suppose that a watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness’ +best linen sheets, embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it +scratches your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,—all just +out from Paris. I saw them when she first had them.” +</p> + +<p> +“What,” said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, “do you +make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver in Boston?” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<img src="images/image2.png" width="377" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“It was a young lady who disposed of the silver” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +But it was Mrs. May who answered: “She is of course the lady of his +love—a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a book +about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one more grand coup, +rob the bank or something and then the world will be startled by the news of +their elopement. They will go and live somewhere luxuriously in the south +Pacific, and travellers will bring home strange stories of their happiness and +charm. Perhaps, though, he would turn pirate. That would suit his style.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” said Holland, “that he won’t take a fancy to rob the Hillsborough +Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a little money there. You +begin to make me nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +“No bank robbery would make <i>me</i> nervous,” replied his sister, “that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank to know +the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, who would take +the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey’s palace is within an easy walk. Besides, +I haven’t anything worth the attention of a respectable burglar like this one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, “I’m sorry I spent so much time choosing your +Christmas present a year ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but it is put +away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my sable coat, and I am +going to send for that as soon as I have time to have it cut over.” +</p> + +<p> +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Vaughan, “the man is no longer in the neighbourhood. +He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the whole country was so +aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an attractive place to thieves. +It is such an easy place to get away from,—three railroads within reach. +A man would be pretty sure to be able to catch a passing freight train on one +of them at almost any time, to say nothing of the increased difficulty of +tracing him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose he will ever be caught,” said Florence. “When he has got all +he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were caught—” +</p> + +<p> +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her plate. It had +come to her brother’s apartment, and been sent down. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is telegraphing me,” she said, as she tore it open. “I hope Jack has not +been breaking himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Opening it, she read: +</p> + +<p> +“Your house was entered about five o’clock this afternoon. Tea-set and sable +coat missing.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>II</h2> + +<p> +The next evening at seven o’clock, Holland stepped out of the train on the +Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had been +bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in small close +flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a wild wind was blowing. +</p> + +<p> +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the old man +to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to be seen. The +station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was a busy scene with +well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now utterly deserted except for +one native who had charge of the mails. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Harris,” Geoffrey sung out. “Is McFarlane here for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t seen him. Guess it’s too stormy for the old man,” Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve got to drive me out.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for me, +too.” +</p> + +<p> +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was worth, +induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail cart, and having +stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at the stable to change the +cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on their five-mile drive. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess you come up to see about Mr. May’s house being robbed?” Harris hazarded +before they had gone far. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a nice lot, aren’t you?” returned Geoffrey. “Five robberies and not a +motion to catch the thief!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day,” said Harris, divided +between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of his native town. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but not by any of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more houses was +robbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to tell the truth,” said Harris, “it seems like he only went for you +city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to lose a few +things than they could to lose their sleep. That’s about the size of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey could not but laugh. “That’s a fine spirited way to look at it, I must +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable in order +to collect and arrange his ideas. “’Tain’t lack of sand exactly, either, for +most of the fellows about here thinks it is a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“A woman?” cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, <i>sir</i>,” said Harris, “a young woman. Look at the things took. What +burglar would want sheets and a lady’s coat? Besides just before the first one +happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way and a young woman, +pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood and asks for a lift. Well, +Will takes her some two miles, and when they got to that piece of woods at the +back of your place she says of a sudden that she guesses she wants exercise, +and will walk the rest of the way, and out she gets, and no one has seen her +since. Seems kinder strange, no house but yours within six miles, and you +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home,” returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Harris went on imperturbably, “you can’t tell the rights of them +stories. Will Brown, he’s a liar, just like all the Browns; still this time he +seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we were going to have a +blizzard, don’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared bobbing on the +threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all occasions with courtesy. +It appeared that Holland’s telegram had been duly telephoned from the office, +but that her husband was down with rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, +and the “boy” allowed to go home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no +one to send. Geoffrey suggested that she might have telephoned to the local +livery-stable, and she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity that she +could do nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her away to get him +something to eat. +</p> + +<p> +It was about ten o’clock, when he determined to take a turn about his house. +The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of the +Hillsborough bank. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up hill +against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already fallen. He +had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a fair prospect of +being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him so much longer to reach +the house than he had supposed, that he abandoned all idea of entering it. It +stood before him grimly like a mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with +snow. He walked round it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the +fastenings. Once past the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was +conscious of that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the same +time the atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up houses, even one’s +own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and felt in his pocket for his +revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, in the interior of the house, he +heard a clock strike. +</p> + +<p> +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously in +Geoffrey’s ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. It was that +of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put in order. He had +never been able to make it go, but once touching it inadvertently he had +aroused in it a breath of life so that it had struck one,—this same sweet +piercing note. Who, he wondered, was touching it now? +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now he +hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, and he moved +quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung silently on its hinges. It +was not so much that he believed that there was any one in the +house—perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar comes as a +surprise—but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion to fail to +investigate. +</p> + +<p> +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was put an +end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the library door, +fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down and took off his boots, +and then cautiously approached the open door and looked in, knowing that +darkness and preparation were in his favour. +</p> + +<p> +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to the +ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the bookcases with his +elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a volume in his hands with the +careful ease of a book fancier. The man’s back was turned so that a sandy head +and a strongly built figure were all Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been +for a glimpse of a mask on his face, he might have been a student at work. +</p> + +<p> +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation to make +his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other’s elbow, revolver in hand, +he said gently: +</p> + +<p> +“Fond of reading?” +</p> + +<p> +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward his own +revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing blow. Geoffrey +secured the weapon, and seeing the man’s retreat, may be excused for supposing +the struggle over. +</p> + +<p> +He underestimated his adversary’s resources, for the burglar, retreating with a +look of surrender, came within reach of the electric light, turned it off, and +fled in the total darkness that followed. Geoffrey sprang to the switch, but +the few seconds that his fingers were fumbling for it told against him. When he +turned it on the room was empty. The door by which the thief had gone opened on +the main hall and not on the passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to +secure the outer door. Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its +illumination told nothing. It was Geoffrey’s own sharp ears that told him of +light footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland recognised at once +that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight of stairs from the hall +reached the upper story at a point very near where the back stairs came up, +while they descended to widely different places in the lower story, so that the +burglar, looking down, could choose his flight of stairs as soon as he saw his +pursuer committed to the other, and thus reach the lower hall with several +seconds to spare. Fortunately, however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a +door at the foot of the back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off +the light again, threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the sound +would give the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked the door at +the foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran up the front stairs +and down the back. The result was somewhat as he expected. The burglar had +reached the door at the foot of the stairs, and finding it locked was half way +up again when he and Geoffrey met. The impetus of Geoffrey’s descent carried +the man backward. They both landed against the locked door with a force that +burst it open. Geoffrey, on top and armed, had little difficulty in securing +his bruised foe, and marching him back to the library where he now took the +precaution of locking all the doors. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural love of +the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with his capture. He +thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the two undermen, and the +helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he remembered the telephone, which, +fortunately, stood in a closet off the library. +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the burglar. “Stand with your face to the wall and your hands up,” +he said; “and if I see you move I’d just as lief shoot you as look at you,” +with which warning he approached the telephone and, still keeping an eye on the +other, rang up central. There was no answer. He rang again,—six, seven +times he repeated the process unavailingly. He tried the private wire to the +McFarlane cottage with no better result. +</p> + +<p> +At this point the burglar spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what the devil!” he said mildly; “I can’t stand here with my hands over my +head all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll stand there,” replied Geoffrey with some temper, “until I’m ready for +you to move.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when will that be?” +</p> + +<p> +“When this fool of a Central answers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not as long as that, I hope,” said the burglar, “because, to tell the +truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless smile +of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar’s face. At length Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay here until +morning.” He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, alarmed at his +absence, would send some one to look for him,—some one who could be used +as a messenger to fetch the constable. +</p> + +<p> +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at once into +an armchair—an armchair toward which Holland himself was making his way, +knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night session. Feeling the +absurdity of making any point of the matter, however, he contented himself with +the sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“Take off your mask,” he said as he sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“So I will, thank you,” said the burglar as if he had been asked to remove his +hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that met Geoffrey’s +interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by exposure so that his very +light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark a surrounding. Above, his sandy +hair, which had receded somewhat from his forehead, curled up from his temples +like a baby’s. His upper lip was long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face +an expression of humour. His hands were ugly, but small. +</p> + +<p> +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging the cut +on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland’s presence, Geoffrey +meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of bandaging over, the man +reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, selecting a volume of Sterne, +settled back comfortably in his chair. Holland stared at him an instant in +wonder, and then attempted to follow his example. But his attention to his book +was much less concentrated than that of his captive, whose expression soon +showed him to be completely absorbed. +</p> + +<p> +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show signs of +restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked distinctly +disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence again. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving—his revolver was drooping +in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal acquaintance +unsuccessfully, and repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“Remember you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we were at school together for a time.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: +</p> + +<p> +“You used to be able to wag your ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can still.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you are Skinny McVay.” +</p> + +<p> +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw nothing +comic in these untender reminiscences. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember the masters all hated you,” said Geoffrey, “but you were straight +enough then, weren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Again the man nodded. “I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago.” +</p> + +<p> +After a moment Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Did not I hear you were in the navy?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay. “I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I should +like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. They threw me +out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. It was worse than +State’s prison.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in a position to judge?” asked Geoffrey coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you will be soon,” said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to point +out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his school days. But +McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said ruminatively; “I’ve done a lot of things in my time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t want to hear about them,” said Geoffrey, who had no intention of +being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar looked more surprised +than angered at this shortness, and only said: +</p> + +<p> +“Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to start a +cheering blaze with his left hand. +</p> + +<p> +For a few minutes Geoffrey’s determined attention to his book discouraged his +companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram Shandy with the back of +his hand, he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it sometimes +strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so unfortunately different +from other people. Ordinary standards meant nothing to him—too +original—sees life from another standpoint, entirely. That’s me! +I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” roared Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said McVay, “only I talk better on my feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you wouldn’t talk as well with a bullet in you.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay sank back again in his chair. “Yes,” he said, “that’s me. Why, Holland, I +have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number of things that I +can do—that I am really proficient in. Anything with the hands,” he waved +his fingers supplely in the air, “is no trouble to me at all. I have at once a +natural skill that most people take a lifetime to acquire.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m told there’s work for all where you are going.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing himself to +remain at a loss, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian Heaven, +where we are going to work with our hands? For my part—” +</p> + +<p> +“I had reference to the penitentiary,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in the +penitentiary. You don’t admit that, I suppose, with your conventional ideas; +but to me they are just as admirable as any other great creative +artist,—sculptor or financier. I see you don’t quite get that. You are +hemmed in by conventional standards, and your possessions, and all the things +to which you attach such great importance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t attach so much importance that I steal them from other people,” said +Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything stealing from +some one or other? Of course. But I see you don’t catch the idea. Well, I dare +say I would not either in your place—rather think I would not. My sister +is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in her own way, but philistine. She is +so good as to be my companion, apparently on equal terms, in many ways my +superior, but it would be impossible for me even to mention these ideas to +her,—ideas which are of the greatest interest to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” said Geoffrey, “how much of all this rubbish you believe?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled with great sweetness. “I wonder myself, Holland. Still it is +undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,—a hard life +too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a coincidence +as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was scarcely a coincidence. I came—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister’s things, but still, if +you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it <i>was</i> a +coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt action. Nine men out +of ten in your place—still, I’m not depressed. You cannot say, Holland, +that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years of hard labour before him, +can you? I dare say you have never been thrown with a person who showed less +anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, there is something preying on my mind. +Something entirely aside from anything you could imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t tell me!” said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most amused +or infuriated by his companion’s conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I am about to tell you,” said McVay graciously, “I am very seriously worried +about my sister. In fact I don’t see that there is any getting away from it; +you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let you do <i>what</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get my sister. She’s living in a little hut in your woods, and I am actually +afraid she will be snowed up.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems highly probable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, I must go and get her.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: “You must be crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I am,” answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an amusing +side. “Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, Holland, alone, +all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is not a position in which +you would leave your sister, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself with a +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“There you see,” said McVay. “It’s out of the question. The place is draughty, +too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at all? You would be +surprised to see how nicely I’ve fixed it up for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt I should,” replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and Marheim +valuables. +</p> + +<p> +“It is surprisingly livable, but it <i>is</i> draughty,” McVay went on. “The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But one cannot +foresee everything. The winters have been open until Christmas so often lately. +However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly willing to rectify it. If you have +no objection, I’ll go and bring her back here.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you have any respect for your skin you won’t move from that chair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the devil, Holland, don’t be so—” he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,—“so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It’s cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very unpleasant, I should think.” +</p> + +<p> +“More than that, more than that,—suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not safe. +It’s a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like this would scare +any girl alone in a place like that, there is some danger to her life. Don’t +you see that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see,” returned Geoffrey, “but you ought to have thought of that before +you came burgling in a blizzard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever of being +caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it did seem about the +safest job yet.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even arguing the +matter, and presently McVay continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went wrong +with her, and you knew you could have helped it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Helped it!” said Geoffrey. “What do you mean? Let you loose on the county for +the sake of a story no sane man would believe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned McVay judicially, “perhaps you could not do that, but,” he +added brightly, “you could go yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I <i>could</i>—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think you ought to be getting along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, McVay,” said Holland, “you are something of a humorist, aren’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hardly that,” he said. “Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,—a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just thinking that +it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison for years to have some +one come in with a new point of view.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life. It’s an ill wind, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you certainly +can trust me. Do be starting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey. “Do you really +suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices in order to give +you a chance to escape?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of anger +crossed his brow; “‘<i>accomplices’</i>! I have no accomplices. Anything I do I +think I am able to do alone. Still,” he added putting aside his annoyance, “if +you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as lief give you my word of honour +to stay here until you come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your <i>what</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a good deal +tried. “Oh, anything you like,” he said. “I suppose you could lock me up in a +closet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think we need trouble to arrange the details,” said Geoffrey drily. +“But I’ll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in jail to-morrow, +I’ll get a trap and go and look up this hut.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be too late then.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may,” said Geoffrey, and continued to read. +</p> + +<p> +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the burglar kept +casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such brutality, and in +truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by any chance the story were +true,—if there was a woman at his doors freezing to death, how could he +sit enjoying the fire? But, on the other hand, could any one have a more +evident motive for deception than his informant? What better opportunity for +escape could be arranged? It was so evident, so impudent as to be almost +convincing. What more likely for instance, than that the hut was a regular +rendezvous for criminals and tramps, that by going he would be walking into the +veriest trap? Yet again there was the report confirmed by Harris’s story that a +woman was in some way connected with these robberies. The wind whistled round +the house with a suggestion of difficulty, of combat with the elements, of +actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave Geoffrey a new view of delay. Had it +not something the air of cowardice, or at least of laziness? He found his eyes +had read the same page three times, while his brain was busy devising means by +which McVay could be secured in his absence—if he went. +</p> + +<p> +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go,” he said, “but before I go, I’ll tie you up so safely that, if I +don’t come back, you’ll starve to death before you’ll be able to get out or +make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I want you to go,” said McVay, “only for goodness sake be careful. If +you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep don’t yield to it; +they say it’s fatal. The great thing is to keep on walking—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shut up,” said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was going to +meet death at the hands of his fluent companion’s accomplices he found this +friendly advice unbearable. +</p> + +<p> +“This hut, I take it,” he said, “is an old woodcutter’s shanty in the north +woods?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know the place,” said Geoffrey, “now come along, and we’ll see how I can fix +you up until I come back.” +</p> + +<p> +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that opened in +and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, having removed a +complete burglar’s outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey disposed McVay, being met +with a readiness on McVay’s part that seemed to prove either that he was +sincere in his belief in Holland’s safe return, or else was perfectly confident +of being able to open the door as soon as Geoffrey’s back was turned. +</p> + +<p> +“But he’ll find himself mistaken,” Geoffrey murmured as, having locked the +door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, and, +gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey again opened +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” said the burglar, and for the first time a certain constraint, +amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his manner, “my sister +has no idea about—it would be a great shock to her—in fact, you +understand, she has not discovered exactly how our money comes to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“I grant it does not sound likely,” returned McVay, “and indeed would not be +possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty good +yarn,—worked out well everyway. I told her—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to hear your infernal lies.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her,” McVay chuckled, “that +I was employed as night watchman at Drake’s paper mill. That of course kept me +out all night, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“She must think night watchmen get good wages.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just wanted +an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better job. You see I +just lost a nice job in a bank—” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we won’t discuss it,” said McVay with an agreeable smile. “Of course she +could understand that such an inferior position as a watchman’s had to be kept +a profound secret, hence our remote mode of life, and the fact that I don’t +allow a butcher or baker to come near us. I tell her that if it were known that +I had held such a poor position, it would interfere with my getting a better. +So, if you should happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am +detained here—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>If</i> I should explain to her,” said Geoffrey. “What do you suppose I am +going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose you will find it necessary,” said McVay. “Indeed, as a matter +of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. Still, you might +bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she were your own +sister—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, go to the devil,” said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>III</h2> + +<p> +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his present +expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that if he did run +into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass to have come. Indeed, +there seemed a fair chance that he might think this even if nothing worse +happened than that the hut proved empty, for he would have had a long walk for +nothing better than to provide McVay with an opportunity to escape. He did not +see exactly how McVay could get out, but he was aware that few people would +think it wise to leave a burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some +hours of leisure at his disposal. +</p> + +<p> +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; the wind +was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not gone a hundred +yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more difficult than he had +imagined. To make headway against the wind was a constant struggle, and he +seemed to slip back in the snow at every step. Still the natural obstinacy of +his nature was aroused, and as his attention was more and more engaged with the +endeavor to make his way, he had less time to think of the probable futility of +his proceeding. +</p> + +<p> +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only because he +had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had penetrated every +crevice of his clothing. +</p> + +<p> +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey on the +stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave an impression of +desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, sit idle under that +recurrent bang? +</p> + +<p> +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention of +giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so did not +knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved mightily. The hinges +broke from the rotten wood at once, and he stumbled in. +</p> + +<p> +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing interior, for +the window was not the only opening. There was a great gap in the roof where, +earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, and now its bricks littered the +floor, already well covered with snow. Some attempt must have been made, as +McVay had boasted, of “fixing it up”; there were books in the shelves on the +walls, and a black iron stove on which the snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey +took in the situation, something in a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap +of rugs, stirred and moved, and finally rose, betraying itself to be a woman. +Geoffrey had been prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing at all, or even +a girl, as McVay had said. He told himself he would be surprised at nothing, +yet found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the sight of a beautiful face. +</p> + +<p> +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, for all +sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all a silk coverlet +originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had slipped sideways, and fell +like a Hussar’s jacket from one shoulder. Her hair stood like a dark halo about +her little face, making it seem smaller and younger, almost too small for the +magnificent eyes that lit it. Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine +attractions, said to himself that he had never seen such blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity became in +him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the masculine instinct +toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the other women he had +admired—well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young creatures—had +always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other men, had seen their +hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take a trolley car instead of her +father’s carriage, but he had thought himself hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but +now he knew better. Now he knew what it was to feel personally outraged at a +woman’s discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” he cried, “what a night you have had. How wicked, how abominable, +how criminal—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<img src="images/image3.png" width="383" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Good god,” he cried “what a night you have had” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“It has been a dreadful night,” said the girl, “but it is nobody’s fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is somebody’s fault,” answered Geoffrey. “It must be. Do you mean +to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all night with my feet +on the fender, and you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, “I could wish +we might have changed places.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to Heaven we might,” returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never before had +he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often seen that it was +advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly to want to was a new +experience. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said the girl, “but I’m afraid there is nothing to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing to be done!” He dropped on his knees before the black monster of a +stove, “Do you suppose I’m here to do nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm.” +</p> + +<p> +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. +</p> + +<p> +“That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I left my +fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every blast, ‘that +poor, poor girl.’ I set out to bring you to safety. I begin to think I was born +for no other reason.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled rather wearily, “Your coming at all is so strange that I could +almost believe you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I did not +particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and cold because I +did not know what I was going to find....” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“A girl, yes. But what’s a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I seen in my +life? Is that a thought to turn a man’s head? What I did not know was that I +was going to find <i>you</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor,” she said +mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve said it, you see,” he answered, “and you won’t forget it, even if +you do change the subject.” He turned his attention to the fire. Where is the +man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire building is not serious? +</p> + +<p> +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and tried +to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed fingers touched +his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her hand in both of his. +</p> + +<p> +“Your hands are as cold as ice,” he said, holding them tightly, and thanking +Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew them. “You are too conscientious,” she said. “That is not part of +the duty of a rescue party.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, it is,” said Geoffrey violently. “It is the merest humanity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humanity?” +</p> + +<p> +“To me, of course, if you will pin me down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane.” +</p> + +<p> +“They ought to be grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Gratefuller</i> then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to be +born and grow up and live just to come here for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, curse the fire,” said Geoffrey rising from his knees. “Who minds about +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mind very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you mustn’t. You must not mind about anything, because it sets up too +strong a reaction in me. There’s no telling what I might not do under the +stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will burn in my house, +and that is where we are going.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t do that,” she said, looking very grave. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t do anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must wait for my brother. He’s out somewhere in this storm, and if he comes +back and finds me gone—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, your brother,” said Geoffrey, “I forgot all about him. He’s at my house +already. He sent me for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: “then my +plight was not revealed to you in a vision?” +</p> + +<p> +“The vision is with me now.” +</p> + +<p> +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when she +thought it advisable. +</p> + +<p> +“And so you took poor Billy in?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey coughed. “Well, in a sense,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +She rose. “We’ll go at once,” she said. “Is it far?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very, but it is going to be hard work.” +</p> + +<p> +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the realisation of +her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt depressed, then as he saw her +struggling to undo the knot that held the comforter about her, he forgot +everything but the pleasure of doing her a service. And in the midst of this +joy, the coverlet slid to the ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in +his sister’s sables. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a nice warm coat you have on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a tenderness +trying to any masculine onlooker. “It saved my life.” +</p> + +<p> +It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to a +similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it possible that +she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? Could any sane woman +really believe that sable coats fell naturally to the lot of night watchmen? +Her manner was candour itself, but how should it not be? What more inevitable +than that she should make an effort to deceive a casual stranger? She had the +most evident motives for behaving exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had +reasoned about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in +distress exactly as he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it was +true. Might not the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked himself, +and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. He chose to +believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her through +such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked out in stolen +finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment +of disillusion. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me. Is it impossible +for me to carry a bag?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but not for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be only this.” She held up a small Russia leather affair legibly +marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials. +</p> + +<p> +“I will take it,” said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. +</p> + +<p> +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, because—” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked at her +to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put into words. +</p> + +<p> +She did not appear to understand. “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you must be stronger than Billy.” She cast a reflective glance at his +shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately flattered. +</p> + +<p> +“He is really safe at your house?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so, I did my best,” he returned grimly. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him gravely. “You have been very kind to a stranger,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with her. It +did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he thought a more +advantageous time could be found for telling her the truth, in case of course +she did not know it already. He felt that he himself would be better able to +deal a cold blow when she was warm and sheltered. No man, he said to himself, +could be disagreeable to a girl who had no one to depend on but himself. So he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, another of Billy’s friends. I never knew such a person for discovering +friends at the most opportune times. He never wants anything but what a friend +turns up. Did you find him wandering about, or did he come and demand +admittance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he knew me +well enough to walk in.” +</p> + +<p> +“He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have not met since we were at school.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew you well +enough to walk in on you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Men are so queer!” she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice of +admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under such false +colours as her brother’s benefactor. +</p> + +<p> +“We ought to be starting,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She looked round the room. “I hate to leave all these nice things,” she said. +“Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave him that he +says is really priceless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it,” said Geoffrey shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I could not +take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to contribute something +to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I leave it, it may be stolen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it may be stolen.” He looked down into her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Then—” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask you as a favour to leave it behind.” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, sweet and +quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it all was. +</p> + +<p> +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose to +remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and that it was +his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to overcome united them. +They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing interest. They had nothing to +think of but accomplishing their task,—of that and of each other. As far +as they could see were snow and black trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered +that any one but themselves existed. +</p> + +<p> +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage warmed his +heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert her independence. +She turned to him at every point. He guided her past the scenes of his own +disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had already made. +</p> + +<p> +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she did answer +him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor encouragement, but +plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her skirts, however, wet and heavy, +hampered her desperately, and the exertion of walking through the thick snow +began to tell. Geoffrey made her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, +but at length she stopped of herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Have we done half yet?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Just about,” he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. But he +saw at once that he had failed,—that she had had a hope that they were +nearer their destination—that she began to doubt her own powers. +Presently she moved forward again in silence. +</p> + +<p> +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took comfort +in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she had, she would +use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her beforehand. She would +not fail through lack of determination. Whether or not she were the confederate +of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, and a beautiful one, he thought, looking +down upon her in the glare of the snow. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. This +was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what men were made +for. +</p> + +<p> +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at their backs +the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained an instant, too +weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet again. +</p> + +<p> +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and when +they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the little step had he +not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to the library and laid her +on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of McVay, had gone out. It took +Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands to build a blaze. When he turned +toward her again she was sleeping like a child. +</p> + +<p> +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay was +either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug and was soon +asleep also. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>IV</h2> + +<p> +It was after two o’clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have slept +three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still sleeping peacefully. +He almost wished that she would never awake to all the dreadful surprises that +the house held for her. Her eye-lashes curved long and dark on her cheek. +Geoffrey turned away quickly. +</p> + +<p> +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have been +known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the library and ran +up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great was his dread that he +would have been really relieved to see the closet door standing open as an +immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. It was, however, locked as he +had left it. But as he hastened to undo it, a voice from within reassured him: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus04"></a> +<img src="images/image4.png" width="263" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">He let McVay out of the closet +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Well, where have you been all this time?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may be thankful I’m back at all. It did not look like it, at one time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Cecilia?” +</p> + +<p> +“Down stairs asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay gave a little giggle. “Ah,” he said, “I bet you have had the devil of a +time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be the one to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t child’s play.” +</p> + +<p> +“Child’s play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough among men, +but women!” he waved his hand; “so sensitive, so cloistered!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister behaved nobly,” said Geoffrey severely. +</p> + +<p> +“Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a hard trip for any woman.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked up. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t speaking of the trip. I meant about +me. What did she say?” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say anything. She went to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the penitentiary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: “Why should I +tell her what she must know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you she knows nothing about my—profession.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your <i>profession</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t a notion of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, with my sister’s coat on her back, and the Innes’ bag in her hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” McVay drew a step nearer. “You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing.” He chuckled, and +Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently disappointed the +other. +</p> + +<p> +“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” he asked with a faint appeal in his voice. +“She thought it was likely, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally. +</p> + +<p> +“Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good +dissembler.” +</p> + +<p> +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his impulse, +would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. Instead, he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for the +pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of my sight.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to ignore this +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” he said, as they went down stairs, “I suppose that most men shut up +in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, but, to me it was +a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is one of my theories that +every one ought to have resources within. Now I dare say you were quite anxious +about me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought of you at all,” said Geoffrey. “After I got in I went to sleep +for three hours.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with dignity: +“Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don’t think that was very considerate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk so loud,” said Geoffrey, “you’ll wake your sister.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at short +notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned eatables in the house +to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these he now depended, and was not a +little annoyed to find the kitchen store room where they were kept securely +locked. +</p> + +<p> +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools and on +being given them set to work on the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “the heavy handed way in which some men use +tools? Look at my touch,—so light, yet so accurate. I take no credit to +myself. I was born so. It’s a very fortunate thing to be naturally dexterous.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little less so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death years +ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to God you had,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but otherwise +preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work heating soup and +smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the dining-room—this was +McVay’s suggestion; he said food was unappetising unless it were nicely +served—Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is,” he added firmly, “I’ll +give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain the situation +fully.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door behind him, +and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could command both doors. +</p> + +<p> +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told himself +no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely nervous. He +felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He thought of her as he +had seen her asleep, of the curve of her eye-lashes on her cheek, of her +raising those lashes, awaking to be met with McVay’s revelations. Even if she +were guilty, Geoffrey found it in his heart to pity her waking to learn that +her brother was a prisoner. How unfortunate, too, would be her own +position,—the guest, if only for a few hours, of a man who was concerned +only to lodge her brother in jail. +</p> + +<p> +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they came out +together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it unperturbed. Didn’t +she care, or had she always known? +</p> + +<p> +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: +</p> + +<p> +“Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat—shock +on an empty stomach, so bad—so hard to bear.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey shook his arm free. “You infernal coward,” he whispered back. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I like that,” retorted McVay, “you didn’t tell her yourself when you had +the chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t my affair. I did not tell her because—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know,” McVay interrupted with a chuckle. “I’ve been knowing why for the +last ten minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +They followed her into the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey asked +nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,—a position evidently +decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look at her, and now +and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could force her to meet his +eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more apparent than that, for both of +them, a momentous event had occurred. +</p> + +<p> +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the general +conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so entirely mechanical +that he was scarcely aware of them himself. +</p> + +<p> +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>this</i> is our Christmas dinner,” observed McVay regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” returned the girl, “this is luncheon. I’ll cook your dinner. You’ll +see.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for disillusioning her +had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet it would not be at his +dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal court rose before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss McVay,” he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning which the +other man was directing toward him; “we shall not be here at dinner. Your +brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down the mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now?” +</p> + +<p> +“At once.” +</p> + +<p> +She coloured slowly and deeply,—the only evidence of anger. “I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go,” she said, rising. “I +should thank you for having borne with us so long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this,” said McVay. +“It will be dark in an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned on her brother quickly: “Please say no more about the matter, +Billy,” she said. “We will start at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t start if it means certainly freezing to death,” he remonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to compel +the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>would</i>,” she answered and shut the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. “One +moment,” he said, “you are quite right. It is too late to start to-night. We +must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a night here without +your sister’s being told—” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!” +</p> + +<p> +“I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we are +starting, but in that case I must—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you are going to ask,—my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to ask for anything at all,” said Geoffrey. “I’m going to tell +you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We won’t have any +nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick man with a gun. There +may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it wasn’t in the East I got my +training. You will always keep in front of me where I can see you plainly, and +you will never, under any circumstances come nearer than six feet to me. If you +should ever come nearer than that or take a sudden step in my direction, I’d +shoot you just as sure as I stand here.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. “Oh, come, Holland,” he said, “isn’t that +the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me before my own sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, and +having you escape is one of them.” +</p> + +<p> +The other thought it over. “The trouble is,” he explained, “that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I am. I’m +not at all sure that I shall remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold blood in the +presence of my own sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better behave as if you believed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like this arrangement,” McVay broke out peevishly. “Suppose, for the +sake of argument, that I did forget,—that I put my hand on your +shoulder—a very natural gesture.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should shoot instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But fancy the shock to Cecilia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. And +another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling about the +subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not only a +thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving her.” +</p> + +<p> +Again McVay’s gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. “Very true,” he said, “I had +not thought of that. But then,” he added more brightly, “who can tell if it +will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so strangely. It may +turn out that that is <i>your</i> part.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may,” said Geoffrey, “but only because I have had to shoot after all.” With +which he opened the door and they returned to the library. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>V</h2> + +<p> +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her absence, +turned at once to his book. +</p> + +<p> +“If you won’t think me impolite, Holland, I’ll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,—especially as +your books are so unusual.” +</p> + +<p> +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey could not +read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his eyes were fixed on +the carpet. The knowledge of the girl’s presence in his house distracted him +like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave himself up to steeping himself in +his emotion, which, in some situations, is the nearest thing possible to +thinking. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey’s success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for he was +good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of fact, however, +his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this very reason he was not +afraid to give it full sway. The deeply susceptible man learns to be cautious, +to distrust his feelings, but Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his +fundamental indifference to have any reason to distrust himself. He had never +been in love. Like Ferdinand he, “for different virtues had liked many women,” +although in his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had +attracted him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or another +pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature responded. He had often +thought that if he could make up a composite woman of all of them he might be +in great danger of falling in love. But now he was aware that his whole nature +responded to the attraction of the girl upstairs, as a dog answers +instinctively to the call of its master. He could say to himself that she was +this or that,—brave and beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were +but an insignificant part of the total effect. His reason could find causes +enough to approve her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made +straight the paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and which in +case of a divergence between the two, his reason could never overcome. +</p> + +<p> +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied fell +coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to himself in so many +words that he was in love,—far less had anything so definite as marriage +crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so practical. He only knew that +McVay’s mere existence was a contamination and a tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the stairs. +He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his eye on McVay’s +studious figure in the library. +</p> + +<p> +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus05"></a> +<img src="images/image5.png" width="289" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">She Was Dressed In His Sister’s Sables—ready For +Departure +</p> +</div> + +<p> +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, with a cold +blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could make her take further +notice of him as a living being. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?” he said, with +directness. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not been thinking about the matter at all,” she answered, turning her +head a little aside from his direct gaze. “But I do think so of course. After +all why should you not wish it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You think me likely to want anything that would part us—that is the way +my manner strikes you?” He was surprised to find his voice not absolutely +steady. +</p> + +<p> +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. “You seem to forget +that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. Possibly you have +changed your mind, but I have made mine up.” She made a motion as if to pass +in, and go on toward the library. +</p> + +<p> +“I have changed so completely since I saw you,” said Geoffrey, “that I scarcely +recognise life in this—this ecstasy. That is the only change. Am I likely +to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for you to come?” +</p> + +<p> +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had been +fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to work once again. +She said very coolly: +</p> + +<p> +“You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,—or have you +forgotten saying that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going because—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of her mouth +had softened by not a little. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there would +be greater danger in starting out so late. And,—and equally desperate for +me, whatever we do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Desperate?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—to hate me, as +your look said.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not hate you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very eager to be rid of my company.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Until we can go safely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not longer?” +</p> + +<p> +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she said, “We +are under sufficiently large obligations to you already.” +</p> + +<p> +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing them with +satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. +</p> + +<p> +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be observed at +all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to be observed by one +who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. Never, said Geoffrey to +himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay’s clear little eyes, never should +any influence lead him to let a thief slip through his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another word +alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous sort of +revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man’s company. Geoffrey +had not appreciated the full meaning of his instructions to McVay to keep +always in sight. Not a word or a look could be exchanged without McVay’s seeing +and rejoicing. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the brother of +so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear,” he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, “feel better? +Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me about +it—saying how well you behaved,” (Geoffrey favoured him with a scowl +behind her back), “a perfect heroine,—so he says.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Holland is very kind,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically. “Kind! I should rather think he was. Why, +I could give you instances of his kindness—” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... so +modest, so unassuming. +</p> + +<p> +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing enough +to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination of facility +and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any question of playing +upon Cecilia’s unconsciousness of the situation, he writhed. Yet, a little +discernment would have shown him how natural, how encouraging from his own +point of view her unconsciousness was. To fall in love thoroughly is +sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us needs to be told that it is an +absorbing process, that life looks different, and that all past experiences +must be reviewed in the light of this unexpected illumination. And if this is +true of the more usual forms of the great passion, what is to be said of a girl +who, in a single day, sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young +creature, who comes to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a prince, +who comes not only to save and protect, but as host and dispenser of all +comfort and beauty. +</p> + +<p> +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one fact, one +personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd conclusions from the +little happenings going on before her, she was but dimly aware of the existence +of her brother, of the world, of anything but Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: +</p> + +<p> +“And this is where you sat all night?” And if the thought was interesting to +her, it was not on account of her brother’s share in it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. “Here we sat discussing +plans for your safety.” He took a step toward the pair at the fire, and then +remembering, stopped. “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to +get nearer the fire. I’m cold.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus06"></a> +<img src="images/image6.png" width="600" height="468" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to +get nearer the fire” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“You can go to the fire,” said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you can,” said the girl, “Mr. Holland is not in your way, Billy.” +</p> + +<p> +But Billy continued to eye his host. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said warily. “Not +unless you move back. Do move, there’s a good fellow.” And Geoffrey laughed and +moved, somewhat to the girl’s mystification. She forgot to wonder, however, in +pursuing the more wonderful train of thought which had already been occupying +her. Suppose that their plans for her relief had been decided differently, +suppose her brother had come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with +what different eyes she might now be looking on life—this ecstasy as +Holland had defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so +blessed, she asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I said to him,” replied McVay eagerly. “If I said once, I said a +dozen times: ‘Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my <i>right</i> to +go,’ but ...” McVay shrugged his shoulders, “when he once gets an idea into his +head, it takes a gimlet to get it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Billy,” the girl said indignantly, “I don’t think you ought to +talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. Holland only +insisted on going because he thought he was better able to bear the physical +strain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Physical strain!” exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy hair, +from pure annoyance; “I don’t know what you mean,... Holland is, of course, a +larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far as mere brute force +goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing physical strain, you betray the +most absurd ignorance. It is well known scientifically that medium-sized men +like myself, when their muscles are at all developed (and you know my muscles), +are better fitted for endurance than any of these over-grown giants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said she calmly, “if you knew you were better fitted I can’t see why +you did not go.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not quite fair to your brother,” said Geoffrey interrupting, for McVay +looked as if he would explode in another moment under the sense of injustice. +“He did propose going himself, but I would not let him; I—I made it a +personal matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very personal,” replied McVay with feeling. “I’ll just explain how it was. +Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up my mind that +I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after some trouble, came +to this room, turned on the light—a spooky thing; an empty house, picked +up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the world, everything, when a voice +at my elbow said: ‘Fond of reading?’ I was never more surprised in my life. I +felt distinctly caught,—an interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw +that Holland did not at once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he +would not hear of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was +his wish to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty accurate +account of the night’s proceeding, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay’s +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the twinkling joy +of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be doing mankind a favour +by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn of another day. Unconscious of +this possibility, McVay continued to his sister: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long and +dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. A handsome +coat, is it not, Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said Geoffrey chillingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that coat,” McVay went on unchilled, “was a real bargain. I may say I paid +nothing for it,—little more than the trouble of taking it home. Although +from another point of view, its price was pretty high....” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Billy, I don’t think Mr. Holland is interested in our bargains.” +</p> + +<p> +“In <i>some</i>, he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed,” said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, “I think I +know of just about a dozen people who will want a circumstantial account of all +of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,—circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation—(are you familiar with that +word?)—the only suggestion it has for me is a <i>jury</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. +</p> + +<p> +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was almost time +to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They all rose as if glad +of a break. As they passed out of the door, Geoffrey laid his hand on McVay’s +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled. “Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in freezing +weather? Don’t I amuse you? Be candid.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked regretful. “As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you had more +sense of humour,” he said gently. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>VI</h2> + +<p> +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for organisation +rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the wall, and tilting back at +his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at work. Geoffrey, engaged in lighting +the range-fire, looked up at her as she moved about filling the kettle and +washing out pots and pans, and thought that he and she presented the aspect of +a young couple of the labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a +roof over their heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. +</p> + +<p> +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, apples +and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, which, with a +burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well for plum-pudding. +</p> + +<p> +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even his +irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more friendly than +before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. +</p> + +<p> +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in each hand, +when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, handkerchief in hand, +exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus07"></a> +<img src="images/image7.png" width="600" height="430" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“My dear fellow—pray allow me” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Look out,” roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay sprang back +ten feet. “I was afraid of burning you with the soup,” Geoffrey explained +politely. +</p> + +<p> +“I own you made me jump,” said McVay. +</p> + +<p> +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an unfortunate +impression on her. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently sat down +to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed themselves as +inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines and toasted biscuits, +canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, bacon and a potato salad, a +bottle of champagne, and finally the wedding cake. +</p> + +<p> +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk would be +to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this nature, however, +was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart of champagne had not +produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was clear, his speech perfect, and +he was more than usually aware of his own powers, confident of appreciation. +</p> + +<p> +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the tips of +his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Holland,” he said, “I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for it has +already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to make it. Let +me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this delightful occasion. You +have referred to the fare as meagre, to our position as constrained, but +believe me, I am not exaggerating when I say that I so little agree with you +that I am confident that, during many of the remaining years of my life I shall +look back to this Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, +perhaps, the warm glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in +situations like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland,” he paused +impressively, “has stood the test.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: +</p> + +<p> +“I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little pecuniary +value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer mentioned. I feel +that it will be recommended to you more than mere worth could recommend it by +the fact that it is peculiarly my own,—my own as few human possessions +can be said to be. I offer it,” he said, drawing from his pocket a square flat +little package, “with best wishes for a happy New Year.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus08"></a> +<img src="images/image8.png" width="302" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“I Have Here A Slight Token, In Honor Of The Day” +</p> + +</div> + +<p> +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey’s mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so perfectly in +keeping with McVay’s consuming desire to triumph in minor matters, that he was +able to smile pleasantly and receive it appropriately. He exchanged a glance of +real appreciation with the donor, and received a grave bow in return. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia smiled, too, “I don’t know exactly why you should think Mr. Holland +wants your picture, Billy,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be of the greatest service to him,” said McVay. +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned to Geoffrey. “I can’t make a speech like Billy’s,” she said, +“but I have a small present for you which I hope you won’t despise because it +is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some time, and I hope <i>you</i> +will now, in remembrance of the time when you sheltered the houseless.” She +held out on her pink palm a flat gold pencil with a single topaz set in the +top. +</p> + +<p> +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay’s eye in +which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey’s half-formed question +was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms of delight at the idea that +Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of stolen goods that he could not well +conceal it. And instinctively Geoffrey drew back his hand. The next moment he +realised that he must at once accept the gift with decent gratitude, whatever +he might choose to do with it afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed +his hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, rose from +the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the feast as best they +could. +</p> + +<p> +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the part of a +waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over his arm and began +to clear the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment,” said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; “I have +something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my sentiments in regard +to your sister.... I think her a wonder,—that’s all it is necessary for +you to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under the +impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won’t. You stand just +where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. Then I settle my +affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay’s face fell. “Really, Holland,” he said, “I don’t see how, if you are +fond of a woman you can want ...” +</p> + +<p> +“... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are worse brothers than I,” replied McVay, “how many men would have +sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her comfortably.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not many, I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is extraordinarily fond of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can scarcely say that <i>now</i>,” returned McVay encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t discuss it with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean to send +me to state’s prison?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean exactly that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, she’d never forgive you.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and presently +McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, asked: “Are you +serious, Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suppose I am?” Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his head went +on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent and abstracted and +for the first time seemed to realise his position. When they had put away the +last plate, Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pipe! Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be more +apt to take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little gift. As a +matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had given her the pencil. +A pretty little thing, singularly like one which you may have seen Mrs.—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me where you took it from. I don’t want to know. Come and get your +pipe and mind you are grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pipe,” observed McVay thoughtfully. “I think I’ll take that large meerschaum +on the mantelpiece.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey laughed. “I think you won’t,” he answered. “The best pipe I own! No, +indeed, you’ll take a horrid little one that won’t draw. It will be just the +thing for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay, “no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall make it +appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at the last moment. +And I can do it, Holland.” His little eyes gleamed at the thought. “I shall +say, ‘My dear fellow, I’m glad you changed your mind about the meerschaum; it +was as you say, too handsome for a man in my position.’ That will make her mad +if anything will. You know she is not quite satisfied with the way you treat +me, as it is.” +</p> + +<p> +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the gift was +to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his favourite pipe. The +affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate over accepting so handsome an +offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon him with a good grace. +</p> + +<p> +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less and less +willing to make it in McVay’s presence, and more and more unable to think of +any way of getting rid of him except murder or the cedar-closet. His anxiety +was rendered more acute by the fact that once or twice he could not help +suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her anger, would have been glad of a few +words alone with him, also. +</p> + +<p> +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat upstairs +for her. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I will,” cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at the +door before Holland’s warning shout “<i>McVay</i>” stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me take it up for your sister,” he said warningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not at all. Let <i>me</i>,” replied McVay courteously. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t hear of it,” returned Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it with a +snap. +</p> + +<p> +“You would, would you?” he said angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Holland,” said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into an +irrational confusion, “this is exactly a case in point. I am by nature a +gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder?” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, and I +doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been at my head. +She asked me. That was enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve warned you once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Holland, I think,—you’ll excuse my telling you,—that you have a +very unfortunate manner at times.” +</p> + +<p> +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, with his +eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you play?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his last +speech. “Yes,” he answered, “I can. Well, I’m not a professional, you +understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much technique and a +good deal more sentiment than most.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care <i>how</i> you play,” said Holland. “There is a piano. Sit down +and play, and <i>don’t stop</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Holland, no,” said the other with unusual firmness; “that I will not do. +No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in public without +practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play finger +exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a noise so that +I’ll know you are there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said McVay yielding, “you must remember to make allowances. Not the +best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say it will come +back to me quicker than to most people. You must make allowances for my lack of +practice.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is only one thing I won’t make allowances for, and that is your moving +from that music stool.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen the +joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover which of +the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped lightly upon the +notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that an air of Schubert’s was +growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was astonished to find that he really was, +as he said, something of an artist. He waited until he was fairly started and +then returned to the library. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that Billy?” said the girl. “It must be a great pleasure to him to have a +piano again. He is so fond of music.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was not as eager to play as I to have him,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then he said, +stretching out his hand: +</p> + +<p> +“I want my Christmas present.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have none to give you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve changed my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time she looked at him. “Mr. Holland,” she said, “you must think +me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don’t see that you dislike my +brother. You refused the pencil—you did refuse it plainly +enough—because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to you +again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong way, but I +should think any one of any discernment could see that his faults are only +faults of manner.” +</p> + +<p> +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned with +something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, covered his +face with his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you by any +chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his own comfort? +You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that it is only for my +sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does not want to make my +position here more unendurable by quarrelling with you. It makes me furious to +see what you force him to put up with, the way you speak to him, and look at +him, as if he were your slave, or a disobedient dog. His self-control is +wonderful. I admire him more than I can say.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is my self-control nothing?” he asked, without moving his hands from his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yours? I don’t see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at your +mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose to be. +Self-control? I don’t see any evidence of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might have set +her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and probably in the +instant forgot all that she had been saying and feeling, for when he added: “I +love you,” her hands moved toward his, and she made no resistance when he took +her in his arms. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>VII</h2> + +<p> +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a series of +discords in order to recall himself to Holland’s mind. His existence, if he had +only realised the fact, was so completely forgotten that he might have made his +escape with a good half hour to spare before either of the others appreciated +that the music had ceased. Not knowing this, however, he did not dare stop his +playing for an instant, until sheer physical fatigue interfered. It was at this +point that the discords began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. +</p> + +<p> +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey had given +a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as a safe prison, +but in the face of McVay’s repeated assertions that the air had barely sufficed +to support him during his former occupancy, it looked like murder to insist. +Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, locked him in a dressing-room off his own +room. The window—the room was on the third floor—gave on empty +space, and against the only door he placed his own bed, so that escape seemed +tolerably difficult. +</p> + +<p> +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, although +toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his name called +by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the hall. She was wrapped in +her sable coat, but shivering from cold or fear. +</p> + +<p> +“There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and steps on +the piazza, below my room. What can it be?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to the +obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay’s escape. On the +opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the roof of this a +neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed out. +</p> + +<p> +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before the +approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly across the snow. +There was no question of its identity. His revolver, which he had snatched from +under his pillow and brought with him, he at once levelled on the vanishing +form; his finger was on the trigger, when he felt a hand on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. “Don’t fire,” she +said. “Don’t you see it is Billy?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause—the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that touch on +his arm he could not shoot. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: “McVay!” +</p> + +<p> +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on steel and +began to retrace his steps. +</p> + +<p> +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. Under the +piazza he stopped and waved his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best.” +</p> + +<p> +“There <i>was</i> a burglar then!” said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. +</p> + +<p> +“By Heaven, he shall not trouble you,” returned Holland with more earnestness +than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down to meet McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet,” he remarked, ushering +him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so ignominious a position +that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a disadvantage, but looked in vain. +The aspect worn was a particularly self-satisfied one. +</p> + +<p> +“I was aware I took a risk,” he answered; “I took it gladly for my sister’s +sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“For your sister’s sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to you as +to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too honourable, you would +say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted to know that you need not +prosecute me.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting.” +</p> + +<p> +“But at what a cost! I refer to my sister’s regard. No, no, the thing, if you +had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It was a risk, of +course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister’s sake. I would take longer ones +for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, “No, no, Holland. To take +a risk is one thing,—to kill myself quite another. I have always had a +strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly action. And it would be +no help to you. She would not believe that I had committed suicide. She knows +my views on the subject, and could imagine no motive. No, that would not do at +all. I’m surprised at the suggestion. It is against my principles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your principles!” Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little altered +in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find that he could not +shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his faith in himself. He began to +doubt if he would be capable of sending the man to state’s prison when Cecilia +besought his pity. His own limitations faced him. He was not the relentless +judge he had supposed himself. Yet on the other hand, the remembrance of +Vaughan and the other men he was representing held him to his idea of justice. +“Sit down,” he said suddenly turning to McVay, “and write me out a list of +everything you have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and how it may +be obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better try to do it for +on the completeness of your list depends your only chance of avoiding the law. +If I can return all properly, perhaps—I have a mine in Mexico, a hell on +earth, where you can go if you prefer it to penal servitude. There won’t be +much difference, except for the publicity of a trial. I’ve a man there who, +when I give him his orders, would infinitely rather shoot you than take any +risk of your getting away. Which will you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down and write your list, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“An interesting occupation, mining,” observed McVay as he opened the portfolio. +After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft noise of the pencil +and an occasional comment from the writer: +</p> + +<p> +“A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur—appealed to my artistic side.” +</p> + +<p> +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside and the +door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, Holland,” said McVay, “if that is the police, keep your wits about you +or we are lost.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm showed, he +had cast in his interests with McVay’s. He stepped forward in silence and +opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland,” he said. “There has been great anxiety +felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan and Marheim +cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not get back to the +gardener’s cottage the night before last.” +</p> + +<p> +“The snow detained me,” said Geoffrey slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, come in, friend,” said McVay briskly. “You must be cold.” +</p> + +<p> +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after studying +McVay for an instant, asked: +</p> + +<p> +“I did not catch this gentleman’s name. Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: “That is +the man you are after.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you crazy, Holland?” shouted McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?” Envy and +admiration struggled on the detective’s countenance. “I must congratulate you, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. “You needn’t,” he said; “I am +no subject for congratulation. I can’t even prosecute him, confound him, for +several reasons. We were at school together, and I can take no steps in the +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can,” said the detective; “indeed it is my duty to.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Geoffrey, “nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. Yes, I +know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we’ll compound it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could not agree to anything of the kind,” said the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see exactly what you can do about it.” Geoffrey was deliberate and +very polite. “For reasons which I can’t explain, but which you would +appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from jail. If you +intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape at once. Don’t draw +your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only person with a weapon in my hand. +He has made a list of all the things he has stolen, and I shall see that they +are returned to their owners at any cost. Will you undertake to get him safely +to a mine I own in Mexico? Once there he can’t get away. It is forty-five miles +from a railway. If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make up +for the reward you didn’t get,—five thousand down, and five thousand at +the end of a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to say,” said the man. “It sounds like a bribe.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” said Geoffrey coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“I never received such a proposition,” returned the man. +</p> + +<p> +“That scheme won’t do, Holland,” put in McVay. “Can’t you see it lays you open +to blackmail?” +</p> + +<p> +“From you?” said Geoffrey. “I had thought of that, but you can’t blackmail me +at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close enough to blackmail me, +I’ll put you in prison without a moment’s hesitation. I shall be in a position +by that time to take care of the feelings of the other people concerned.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand me,” answered McVay; “I meant blackmail from this man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Geoffrey civilly, “I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. And +besides, he won’t get his second five thousand for a year, and as I was saying +to you, after a year I don’t so much mind having the whole thing known. My +reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m no blackmailer,” said this detective. “If I accept, I’ll be on the +square.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice,” observed Geoffrey, “and that +is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He is a slippery +customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my money at all, if you give +him the smallest loophole.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he said +gravely: +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don’t see my +way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to slip overboard +from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless maybe the sharks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” agreed Geoffrey amiably. “Fortunately you can get a steamer in New +York.” +</p> + +<p> +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good reason for +declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey’s, and they were presently deep +in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile studying the map with +unfeigned interest in the situation of his future residence. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, for she +had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, and the men must +have been talking for two hours when she appeared at the library door. +</p> + +<p> +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey saw +with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as the burglar +whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any betrayal of this +opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, although as he did so, he +realised that he had nothing to answer when she asked, as of course she did +ask: “Who is that?” +</p> + +<p> +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the brave took +hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would perhaps in another +instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not the least disconcerted, +taken the lead. +</p> + +<p> +“This, Cecilia,” he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the detective’s +shoulder, “is my old friend Picklebody,—Henderson Picklebody. You have +heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. Eh, Henderson, in the old +Machita days?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his surprise +at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard McVay. He began +to guess something of the motives that led Holland to shield this offender +against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise to yield to the whims of young +millionaires. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she heard +the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked in a tone as +cheerful as she could make it: +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can and will,” rejoined McVay beamingly. “Hen comes as he has always come to +his friends, as a rescuer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I seem to require a great deal of rescuing,” said the girl, looking up at the +monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but you don’t understand, my dear,” went on McVay ruthlessly cutting into +the look which the lovers were exchanging; “You don’t yet understand how +fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it is true, come to find +me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting me here. It seems that he and +Holland are both interested in a mine in Mexico, and what do you think?” McVay +paused and rubbed his hands; “Really, we have the kindest friends; they have +been arranging between them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of +that?” +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the shelter +of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been thoroughly candid +that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance away, but she only +observed: +</p> + +<p> +“How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico.” +</p> + +<p> +“There, there, do you hear that? ‘We.’ Gentlemen,” cried McVay, throwing up his +hands, “I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. Consider it all off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I wasn’t to go?” asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” replied McVay, “I must own that I was base enough to consider a plan +that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place for ladies. But we will +think no more about it. I see by your manner that your feelings...” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Billy,” said the girl gently, “you must not give it up. You know that I +can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And nothing is +so important as that you should have work that is satisfactory to you. Of +course you must accept.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear anything so noble?” asked McVay. “Yes, I suppose I ought to +accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn’t I, Hen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did,” replied the +detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American humour. +</p> + +<p> +“There is another point, Cecilia,” McVay went on, “if I do accept, I shall have +to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear. That’s very sudden,” said Cecilia. +</p> + +<p> +“At a word from you, dear, I’ll give it up,” remarked McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. Perhaps it +is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me just that +amount.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve no time to lose,” remarked McVay briskly, “if we are going to try for +that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the gardener’s, Holland, +if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we must hurry off.” +</p> + +<p> +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his sister, +flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who was of a +solider build, found it hard to keep up with. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate man. +Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray the real state +of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his money, McVay took +special delight in making him look like a fool, calling upon him to remember +happenings which existed only in McVay’s own fertile brain. +</p> + +<p> +“What, Hen,” he would cry suddenly, “was the name of that pretty black haired +girl you were so sweet on,—you know, the daughter of the canal-boat man.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he did not +know what McVay was talking about. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there,” McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the shoulder, “I’m +not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can always trust to my +discretion. But I would like just to remember her name. It was so +peculiar,—a name I never heard before.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, found +himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony suggested +“Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There is +nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I was trying +to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“How sad that is,” said McVay philosophically. “You don’t even remember her +name, and at one time—well, well.” +</p> + +<p> +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective’s countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney’s bullet has entirely gone. I was +afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it would +interest her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody,” said the girl politely and McVay, when he had +sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a story +himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of treatment, it soon +appeared that McVay’s ease and facility had made an impression on him, and that +he looked at his prisoner with a sort of wondering admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little bag?” he +began when they were about to depart. “Holland, my dear fellow, don’t think me +interfering if I ask whether you have looked to all the doors and windows? +Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into shut-up houses, and it would be +such a pity if anything happened to any of your pretty things. Ah, what an +expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn’t it? You may talk about your tropical scenery, +Hen, but we shan’t see anything finer than this the world over. What a contrast +the south will be though, eh, old man?” and, drawing the detective’s arm +through his, leaning heavily upon him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking +volubly. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that had seen +such momentous changes in their lives. +</p> + +<p> +“When we come back, it will be spring,” said Geoffrey softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the girl in rather a shaky voice, “you like me well enough to ask me +to stay again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well enough,” said Geoffrey, “to ask you to stay forever.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99d3d2a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14835 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14835) diff --git a/old/14835-0.txt b/old/14835-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45b0b10 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14835-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3033 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Burglar and the Blizzard, by Alice Duer Miller + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you +will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before +using this eBook. + +Title: The Burglar and the Blizzard + +Author: Alice Duer Miller + +Illustrator: Charlotte Harding + +Release Date: January 29, 2005 [eBook #14835] +[Most recently updated: October 30, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +Produced by: Eric Betts and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD *** + + + + +[Illustration: The Burglar] + + + + +The Burglar and the Blizzard + +_A CHRISTMAS STORY_ + +BY ALICE DUER MILLER + + +AUTHOR OF “THE BLUE ARCH,” ETC. + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY +CHARLOTTE HARDING + +Hearst’s International Library Co., Inc. + + +1914 + + + + +[Illustration] + + +Contents + + Chapter I + Chapter II + Chapter III + Chapter IV + Chapter V + Chapter VI + Chapter VII + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + + + The Burglar + “It was a young lady who disposed of the silver” + “Good God,” he cried, “what a night you have had” + He let McVay out of the closet + She was dressed in his sister’s sables—ready for departure + “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire” + “My dear fellow—pray allow me” + “I have here a slight token, in honor of the day” + + + + +The Burglar and the Blizzard + + + + +I + + +Geoffrey Holland stood up and for the second time surveyed the +restaurant in search of other members of his party, two fingers in the +pocket of his waistcoat, as if they had just relinquished his watch. He +was tall enough to be conspicuous and well bred enough to be +indifferent to the fact, good looking, in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven +way, and branded in the popular imagination as a young and active +millionaire. + +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other +men and women with him: + +“Do you know who that is?—that is young Holland.” + +“What, that boy! He doesn’t look as if he were out of school.” + +“No,” said one of the women, elaborating the comment, “he does not look +old enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines.” + +“Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right,” said the first man. “He +is older than he looks. He must be twenty-six.” + +“What do you suppose he does with all that money?” + +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an +evening paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who +promptly ran to get him one. + +“Well, one thing he does,” answered the man who had first given +information, “he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I +bet that costs him a pretty penny.” + +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, +and was about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of +interest caught his eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised +it to his eyes that his admirers at the next table noticed it, and +speculated on the subject of the paragraph. + +It was headed: “Millionaires’ Summer Homes Looted,” and said further: + +“Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring +robberies which have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the +past month occurred last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of +New York was entered and valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The +robbery was not discovered until this morning when a shutter was +observed unfastened on the second story. On entering the watchman found +the house had been carefully gone over, and although only a few objects +seem to be missing, these are of the greatest value. The thief +apparently had plenty of time, and probably occupied the whole night in +his search. This is the more remarkable because the watchman asserts +that he spent at least an hour on the piazza during the night. How the +thief effected an entrance by the second story is not clear. During the +past five weeks the houses of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham +Marheim have been entered in a manner almost precisely similar. There +was a report yesterday that some of the Marheim silver had been +discovered with a dealer in Boston, but that he could not identify the +person from whom he bought them further than that she was a young lady +to whom they might very well have belonged. The fact that it was a +young lady who disposed of them to him suggests that the goods must +have changed hands several times. The Marheim family is abroad, and the +servants....” + +Here a waiter touched his elbow. + +“Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir,” he said. + +“Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to +dinner,” returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous +looking couple approaching. + +“I’m afraid we are late,” said the lady, “but can you blame us? Have +you heard? We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon +to find out what has gone.” + +“You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading +about your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?” + +“Oh, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and +beginning to draw off her gloves. “We had a Van Dyke etching, and some +enamels that have gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his +wine.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. “I tell you he is going to have a +happy time with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted.” + +“Upon my word,” said Geoffrey, “they are a nice lot of countrymen up +there. Four robberies and not so much as a clue.” + +“_You_ need not be afraid,” said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. “In +spite of all your treasures, I don’t believe any thief would take the +trouble to climb to the top of your mountain.” + +Holland’s selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no +true Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and +as a property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of +Hillsborough real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. + +Mrs. Vaughan’s irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he +laughed very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the +thief was as poor a pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should +not like to lose any of his things; and he added that in his opinion +Vaughan ought to be starting for Hillsborough at once. + +“Pooh,” said that gentleman, “I can’t go with the market in this +condition,—would lose more than the whole house is worth.” + +“You would go duck-shooting in a minute,” said Holland, “and this would +be a good deal better sport.” + +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. “The thing to do,” he said, “is to +offer a reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class +detective.” + +“All right,” said Geoffrey readily, “I’ll join you. Those other fellows +ought to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,—that will be five +thousand. Is that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What +shall I say? Five thousand dollars reward will be paid for information +leading to the conviction—and so on. I’ll go and telephone now,” and +with a promptness which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. + +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all +discussing the burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older +than her brother, had some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, +that is to say she had imagination and a good memory for detail. + +“For my part,” she was saying, “I have the greatest respect and +admiration for him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking +at the Wilsons’,—after all his trouble. I have often sat in that +drawing-room myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in +it as a present, whether I could find something that would not actually +disgrace me. I never could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons +make a great to-do about the house having been entered, and tell you +how he must have been frightened away,—frightened away by the +hideousness of their things! Those woolly paintings on wood, and the +black satin parasol that turns out to be an umbrella stand.” + +“My dear Florence,” said her brother mildly, “how can a black satin +parasol be an umbrella-stand?” + +“Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the +Wilsons’ house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, +only painted to resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks +of trees, and the match boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is +really what it looks like, except the beds; they look uncomfortable, +and some one who had stayed there told me that they were.” + +“Dear Florence,” said Mrs. Vaughan, “is it not like her kindness of +heart—it runs in the family—to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a +connoisseur I could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my +last hope that my very best escaped his attention.” + +“No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven’t you +an admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he +has entered four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him.” + +“There must be _traces_ of him,” said Geoffrey. “The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There +must have been footprints.” + +“Of course,” said Mr. Vaughan, “that is what makes me think that the +watchmen are in it. It’s probably a combination of two or three of +them.” + +“Well, that lets Geoffrey out,” said the irrepressible Florence. “No +one would take his watchman into any combination,—he is a thousand and +two and feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the +possibility, for it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your +pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a +slouch hat. That is the way I imagine him. Do you really suppose that a +watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness’ best linen sheets, +embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it scratches +your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,—all just out from +Paris. I saw them when she first had them.” + +“What,” said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, “do +you make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver +in Boston?” + + +[Illustration: “It was a young lady who disposed of the silver”] + + +But it was Mrs. May who answered: “She is of course the lady of his +love—a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a +book about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one +more grand coup, rob the bank or something and then the world will be +startled by the news of their elopement. They will go and live +somewhere luxuriously in the south Pacific, and travellers will bring +home strange stories of their happiness and charm. Perhaps, though, he +would turn pirate. That would suit his style.” + +“I hope,” said Holland, “that he won’t take a fancy to rob the +Hillsborough Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a +little money there. You begin to make me nervous.” + +“No bank robbery would make _me_ nervous,” replied his sister, “that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank +to know the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, +who would take the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey’s palace is within +an easy walk. Besides, I haven’t anything worth the attention of a +respectable burglar like this one.” + +“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, “I’m sorry I spent so much time choosing +your Christmas present a year ago.” + +“Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but +it is put away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my +sable coat, and I am going to send for that as soon as I have time to +have it cut over.” + +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Vaughan, “the man is no longer in the +neighbourhood. He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the +whole country was so aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an +attractive place to thieves. It is such an easy place to get away +from,—three railroads within reach. A man would be pretty sure to be +able to catch a passing freight train on one of them at almost any +time, to say nothing of the increased difficulty of tracing him.” + +“I don’t suppose he will ever be caught,” said Florence. “When he has +got all he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were +caught—” + +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her +plate. It had come to her brother’s apartment, and been sent down. + +“Who is telegraphing me,” she said, as she tore it open. “I hope Jack +has not been breaking himself.” + +Opening it, she read: + +“Your house was entered about five o’clock this afternoon. Tea-set and +sable coat missing.” + + + + +II + + +The next evening at seven o’clock, Holland stepped out of the train on +the Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had +been bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in +small close flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a +wild wind was blowing. + +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the +old man to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to +be seen. The station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was +a busy scene with well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now +utterly deserted except for one native who had charge of the mails. + +“Hullo, Harris,” Geoffrey sung out. “Is McFarlane here for me?” + +“Ain’t seen him. Guess it’s too stormy for the old man,” Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. + +“Then you’ve got to drive me out.” + +“What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for +me, too.” + +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was +worth, induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail +cart, and having stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at +the stable to change the cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on +their five-mile drive. + +“Guess you come up to see about Mr. May’s house being robbed?” Harris +hazarded before they had gone far. + +“You’re a nice lot, aren’t you?” returned Geoffrey. “Five robberies and +not a motion to catch the thief!” + +“Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day,” said Harris, +divided between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of +his native town. + +“Yes, but not by any of you.” + +“Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more +houses was robbed.” + +“They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen.” + +“Well, to tell the truth,” said Harris, “it seems like he only went for +you city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to +lose a few things than they could to lose their sleep. That’s about the +size of it.” + +Geoffrey could not but laugh. “That’s a fine spirited way to look at +it, I must say.” + +“Well,” returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable +in order to collect and arrange his ideas. “’Tain’t lack of sand +exactly, either, for most of the fellows about here thinks it is a +woman.” + +“A woman?” cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. + +“Yes, _sir_,” said Harris, “a young woman. Look at the things took. +What burglar would want sheets and a lady’s coat? Besides just before +the first one happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way +and a young woman, pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood +and asks for a lift. Well, Will takes her some two miles, and when they +got to that piece of woods at the back of your place she says of a +sudden that she guesses she wants exercise, and will walk the rest of +the way, and out she gets, and no one has seen her since. Seems kinder +strange, no house but yours within six miles, and you away.” + +“It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home,” returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. + +“Well,” Harris went on imperturbably, “you can’t tell the rights of +them stories. Will Brown, he’s a liar, just like all the Browns; still +this time he seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we +were going to have a blizzard, don’t it?” + +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared +bobbing on the threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all +occasions with courtesy. It appeared that Holland’s telegram had been +duly telephoned from the office, but that her husband was down with +rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, and the “boy” allowed to go +home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no one to send. +Geoffrey suggested that she might have telephoned to the local +livery-stable, and she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity +that she could do nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her +away to get him something to eat. + +It was about ten o’clock, when he determined to take a turn about his +house. The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of +the Hillsborough bank. + +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up +hill against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already +fallen. He had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a +fair prospect of being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him +so much longer to reach the house than he had supposed, that he +abandoned all idea of entering it. It stood before him grimly like a +mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with snow. He walked round +it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the fastenings. Once +past the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was +conscious of that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the +same time the atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up +houses, even one’s own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and +felt in his pocket for his revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, +in the interior of the house, he heard a clock strike. + +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously +in Geoffrey’s ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. +It was that of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put +in order. He had never been able to make it go, but once touching it +inadvertently he had aroused in it a breath of life so that it had +struck one,—this same sweet piercing note. Who, he wondered, was +touching it now? + +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now +he hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, +and he moved quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung +silently on its hinges. It was not so much that he believed that there +was any one in the house—perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar +comes as a surprise—but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion +to fail to investigate. + +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was +put an end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the +library door, fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down +and took off his boots, and then cautiously approached the open door +and looked in, knowing that darkness and preparation were in his +favour. + +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to +the ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the +bookcases with his elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a +volume in his hands with the careful ease of a book fancier. The man’s +back was turned so that a sandy head and a strongly built figure were +all Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been for a glimpse of a mask on +his face, he might have been a student at work. + +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation +to make his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other’s elbow, +revolver in hand, he said gently: + +“Fond of reading?” + +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward +his own revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing +blow. Geoffrey secured the weapon, and seeing the man’s retreat, may be +excused for supposing the struggle over. + +He underestimated his adversary’s resources, for the burglar, +retreating with a look of surrender, came within reach of the electric +light, turned it off, and fled in the total darkness that followed. +Geoffrey sprang to the switch, but the few seconds that his fingers +were fumbling for it told against him. When he turned it on the room +was empty. The door by which the thief had gone opened on the main hall +and not on the passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to secure +the outer door. Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its +illumination told nothing. It was Geoffrey’s own sharp ears that told +him of light footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland +recognised at once that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight +of stairs from the hall reached the upper story at a point very near +where the back stairs came up, while they descended to widely different +places in the lower story, so that the burglar, looking down, could +choose his flight of stairs as soon as he saw his pursuer committed to +the other, and thus reach the lower hall with several seconds to spare. +Fortunately, however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a door at the +foot of the back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off the +light again, threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the +sound would give the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked +the door at the foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran +up the front stairs and down the back. The result was somewhat as he +expected. The burglar had reached the door at the foot of the stairs, +and finding it locked was half way up again when he and Geoffrey met. +The impetus of Geoffrey’s descent carried the man backward. They both +landed against the locked door with a force that burst it open. +Geoffrey, on top and armed, had little difficulty in securing his +bruised foe, and marching him back to the library where he now took the +precaution of locking all the doors. + +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural +love of the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with +his capture. He thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the +two undermen, and the helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he +remembered the telephone, which, fortunately, stood in a closet off the +library. + +He turned to the burglar. “Stand with your face to the wall and your +hands up,” he said; “and if I see you move I’d just as lief shoot you +as look at you,” with which warning he approached the telephone and, +still keeping an eye on the other, rang up central. There was no +answer. He rang again,—six, seven times he repeated the process +unavailingly. He tried the private wire to the McFarlane cottage with +no better result. + +At this point the burglar spoke. + +“Oh, what the devil!” he said mildly; “I can’t stand here with my hands +over my head all night.” + +“You’ll stand there,” replied Geoffrey with some temper, “until I’m +ready for you to move.” + +“And when will that be?” + +“When this fool of a Central answers.” + +“Oh, not as long as that, I hope,” said the burglar, “because, to tell +the truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house.” + +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless +smile of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar’s face. At length +Geoffrey said: + +“In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay +here until morning.” He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, +alarmed at his absence, would send some one to look for him,—some one +who could be used as a messenger to fetch the constable. + +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at +once into an armchair—an armchair toward which Holland himself was +making his way, knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night +session. Feeling the absurdity of making any point of the matter, +however, he contented himself with the sofa. + +“Take off your mask,” he said as he sat down. + +“So I will, thank you,” said the burglar as if he had been asked to +remove his hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that +met Geoffrey’s interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by +exposure so that his very light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark +a surrounding. Above, his sandy hair, which had receded somewhat from +his forehead, curled up from his temples like a baby’s. His upper lip +was long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face an expression of +humour. His hands were ugly, but small. + +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging +the cut on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland’s +presence, Geoffrey meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of +bandaging over, the man reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, +selecting a volume of Sterne, settled back comfortably in his chair. +Holland stared at him an instant in wonder, and then attempted to +follow his example. But his attention to his book was much less +concentrated than that of his captive, whose expression soon showed him +to be completely absorbed. + +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show +signs of restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked +distinctly disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence +again. + +“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. + +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving—his revolver was +drooping in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal +acquaintance unsuccessfully, and repeated: + +“Remember you?” + +“Yes, we were at school together for a time.” + +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: + +“You used to be able to wag your ears.” + +“Can still.” + +“Why, you are Skinny McVay.” + +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw +nothing comic in these untender reminiscences. + +“I remember the masters all hated you,” said Geoffrey, “but you were +straight enough then, weren’t you?” + +Again the man nodded. “I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago.” + +After a moment Geoffrey said: + +“Did not I hear you were in the navy?” + +“No,” said McVay. “I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I +should like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. +They threw me out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. +It was worse than State’s prison.” + +“Are you in a position to judge?” asked Geoffrey coolly. + +“No,” said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. + +“Well, you will be soon,” said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to +point out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his +school days. But McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. + +“Yes,” he said ruminatively; “I’ve done a lot of things in my time.” + +“Well, I don’t want to hear about them,” said Geoffrey, who had no +intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar +looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said: + +“Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?” + +“No,” said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to +start a cheering blaze with his left hand. + +For a few minutes Geoffrey’s determined attention to his book +discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram +Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed: + +“Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it +sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so +unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant +nothing to him—too original—sees life from another standpoint, +entirely. That’s me! I—” + +“Sit down,” roared Geoffrey. + +“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said McVay, “only I talk better on my +feet.” + +“Well, you wouldn’t talk as well with a bullet in you.” + +McVay sank back again in his chair. “Yes,” he said, “that’s me. Why, +Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number +of things that I can do—that I am really proficient in. Anything with +the hands,” he waved his fingers supplely in the air, “is no trouble to +me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a +lifetime to acquire.” + +“I’m told there’s work for all where you are going.” + +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing +himself to remain at a loss, he said: + +“Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian +Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part—” + +“I had reference to the penitentiary,” said Geoffrey. + +“Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in +the penitentiary. You don’t admit that, I suppose, with your +conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other +great creative artist,—sculptor or financier. I see you don’t quite get +that. You are hemmed in by conventional standards, and your +possessions, and all the things to which you attach such great +importance.” + +“I don’t attach so much importance that I steal them from other +people,” said Geoffrey. + +“Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything +stealing from some one or other? Of course. But I see you don’t catch +the idea. Well, I dare say I would not either in your place—rather +think I would not. My sister is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in +her own way, but philistine. She is so good as to be my companion, +apparently on equal terms, in many ways my superior, but it would be +impossible for me even to mention these ideas to her,—ideas which are +of the greatest interest to me.” + +“I wonder,” said Geoffrey, “how much of all this rubbish you believe?” + +McVay smiled with great sweetness. “I wonder myself, Holland. Still it +is undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,—a hard +life too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a +coincidence as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year.” + +“It was scarcely a coincidence. I came—” + +“Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister’s things, but +still, if you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it +_was_ a coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt +action. Nine men out of ten in your place—still, I’m not depressed. You +cannot say, Holland, that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years +of hard labour before him, can you? I dare say you have never been +thrown with a person who showed less anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, +there is something preying on my mind. Something entirely aside from +anything you could imagine.” + +“You don’t tell me!” said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most +amused or infuriated by his companion’s conversation. + +“I am about to tell you,” said McVay graciously, “I am very seriously +worried about my sister. In fact I don’t see that there is any getting +away from it; you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get +her.” + +“Let you do _what_?” + +“Get my sister. She’s living in a little hut in your woods, and I am +actually afraid she will be snowed up.” + +“It seems highly probable.” + +“Well, then, I must go and get her.” + +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: “You must be crazy.” + +“Maybe I am,” answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an +amusing side. “Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, +Holland, alone, all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is +not a position in which you would leave your sister, is it?” + +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself +with a laugh. + +“There you see,” said McVay. “It’s out of the question. The place is +draughty, too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at +all? You would be surprised to see how nicely I’ve fixed it up for +her.” + +“No doubt I should,” replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and +Marheim valuables. + +“It is surprisingly livable, but it _is_ draughty,” McVay went on. “The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But +one cannot foresee everything. The winters have been open until +Christmas so often lately. However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly +willing to rectify it. If you have no objection, I’ll go and bring her +back here.” + +“If you have any respect for your skin you won’t move from that chair.” + +“Oh, the devil, Holland, don’t be so—” he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,—“so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It’s cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty.” + +“Very unpleasant, I should think.” + +“More than that, more than that,—suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not +safe. It’s a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like +this would scare any girl alone in a place like that, there is some +danger to her life. Don’t you see that?” + +“Yes, I see,” returned Geoffrey, “but you ought to have thought of that +before you came burgling in a blizzard.” + +“Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever +of being caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it +did seem about the safest job yet.” + +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even +arguing the matter, and presently McVay continued: + +“Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went +wrong with her, and you knew you could have helped it!” + +“Helped it!” said Geoffrey. “What do you mean? Let you loose on the +county for the sake of a story no sane man would believe?” + +“Well,” returned McVay judicially, “perhaps you could not do that, +but,” he added brightly, “you could go yourself.” + +“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I _could_—” + +“Then I think you ought to be getting along.” + +“Upon my word, McVay,” said Holland, “you are something of a humorist, +aren’t you?” + +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. + +“Oh, hardly that,” he said. “Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,—a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just +thinking that it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison +for years to have some one come in with a new point of view.” + +“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life. It’s an ill wind, you +know.” + +“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you +certainly can trust me. Do be starting.” + +“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey. “Do you +really suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices +in order to give you a chance to escape?” + +“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of +anger crossed his brow; “‘_accomplices’_! I have no accomplices. +Anything I do I think I am able to do alone. Still,” he added putting +aside his annoyance, “if you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as +lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back.” + +“Your _what_?” + +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a +good deal tried. “Oh, anything you like,” he said. “I suppose you could +lock me up in a closet.” + +“I don’t think we need trouble to arrange the details,” said Geoffrey +drily. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in +jail to-morrow, I’ll get a trap and go and look up this hut.” + +“It may be too late then.” + +“It may,” said Geoffrey, and continued to read. + +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the +burglar kept casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such +brutality, and in truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by +any chance the story were true,—if there was a woman at his doors +freezing to death, how could he sit enjoying the fire? But, on the +other hand, could any one have a more evident motive for deception than +his informant? What better opportunity for escape could be arranged? It +was so evident, so impudent as to be almost convincing. What more +likely for instance, than that the hut was a regular rendezvous for +criminals and tramps, that by going he would be walking into the +veriest trap? Yet again there was the report confirmed by Harris’s +story that a woman was in some way connected with these robberies. The +wind whistled round the house with a suggestion of difficulty, of +combat with the elements, of actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave +Geoffrey a new view of delay. Had it not something the air of +cowardice, or at least of laziness? He found his eyes had read the same +page three times, while his brain was busy devising means by which +McVay could be secured in his absence—if he went. + +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. + +“I’ll go,” he said, “but before I go, I’ll tie you up so safely that, +if I don’t come back, you’ll starve to death before you’ll be able to +get out or make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me +to go?” + +“Oh, yes, I want you to go,” said McVay, “only for goodness sake be +careful. If you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep +don’t yield to it; they say it’s fatal. The great thing is to keep on +walking—” + +“Oh, shut up,” said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was +going to meet death at the hands of his fluent companion’s accomplices +he found this friendly advice unbearable. + +“This hut, I take it,” he said, “is an old woodcutter’s shanty in the +north woods?” + +“Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here.” + +“I know the place,” said Geoffrey, “now come along, and we’ll see how I +can fix you up until I come back.” + +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that +opened in and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, +having removed a complete burglar’s outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey +disposed McVay, being met with a readiness on McVay’s part that seemed +to prove either that he was sincere in his belief in Holland’s safe +return, or else was perfectly confident of being able to open the door +as soon as Geoffrey’s back was turned. + +“But he’ll find himself mistaken,” Geoffrey murmured as, having locked +the door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, +and, gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey +again opened the door. + +“By the way,” said the burglar, and for the first time a certain +constraint, amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his +manner, “my sister has no idea about—it would be a great shock to +her—in fact, you understand, she has not discovered exactly how our +money comes to us.” + +“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Geoffrey. + +“I grant it does not sound likely,” returned McVay, “and indeed would +not be possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty +good yarn,—worked out well everyway. I told her—” + +“I don’t want to hear your infernal lies.” + +“But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her,” McVay +chuckled, “that I was employed as night watchman at Drake’s paper mill. +That of course kept me out all night, and—” + +“She must think night watchmen get good wages.” + +“That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just +wanted an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better +job. You see I just lost a nice job in a bank—” + +“I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?” + +“Well, we won’t discuss it,” said McVay with an agreeable smile. “Of +course she could understand that such an inferior position as a +watchman’s had to be kept a profound secret, hence our remote mode of +life, and the fact that I don’t allow a butcher or baker to come near +us. I tell her that if it were known that I had held such a poor +position, it would interfere with my getting a better. So, if you +should happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am detained +here—” + +“_If_ I should explain to her,” said Geoffrey. “What do you suppose I +am going to do?” + +“Well, I suppose you will find it necessary,” said McVay. “Indeed, as a +matter of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. +Still, you might bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she +were your own sister—” + +“Oh, go to the devil,” said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. + + + + +III + + +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his +present expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that +if he did run into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass +to have come. Indeed, there seemed a fair chance that he might think +this even if nothing worse happened than that the hut proved empty, for +he would have had a long walk for nothing better than to provide McVay +with an opportunity to escape. He did not see exactly how McVay could +get out, but he was aware that few people would think it wise to leave +a burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some hours of +leisure at his disposal. + +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; +the wind was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not +gone a hundred yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more +difficult than he had imagined. To make headway against the wind was a +constant struggle, and he seemed to slip back in the snow at every +step. Still the natural obstinacy of his nature was aroused, and as his +attention was more and more engaged with the endeavor to make his way, +he had less time to think of the probable futility of his proceeding. + +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only +because he had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had +penetrated every crevice of his clothing. + +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey +on the stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave +an impression of desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, +sit idle under that recurrent bang? + +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention +of giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so +did not knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved +mightily. The hinges broke from the rotten wood at once, and he +stumbled in. + +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing +interior, for the window was not the only opening. There was a great +gap in the roof where, earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, +and now its bricks littered the floor, already well covered with snow. +Some attempt must have been made, as McVay had boasted, of “fixing it +up”; there were books in the shelves on the walls, and a black iron +stove on which the snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey took in the +situation, something in a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap of +rugs, stirred and moved, and finally rose, betraying itself to be a +woman. Geoffrey had been prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing +at all, or even a girl, as McVay had said. He told himself he would be +surprised at nothing, yet found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the +sight of a beautiful face. + +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, +for all sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all +a silk coverlet originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had +slipped sideways, and fell like a Hussar’s jacket from one shoulder. +Her hair stood like a dark halo about her little face, making it seem +smaller and younger, almost too small for the magnificent eyes that lit +it. Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine attractions, said to +himself that he had never seen such blue eyes. + +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity +became in him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the +masculine instinct toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the +other women he had admired—well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young +creatures—had always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other +men, had seen their hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take +a trolley car instead of her father’s carriage, but he had thought +himself hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but now he knew better. Now he +knew what it was to feel personally outraged at a woman’s discomfort. + +“Good God!” he cried, “what a night you have had. How wicked, how +abominable, how criminal—” + + +[Illustration: “Good god,” he cried “what a night you have had”] + + +“It has been a dreadful night,” said the girl, “but it is nobody’s +fault.” + +“Of course it is somebody’s fault,” answered Geoffrey. “It must be. Do +you mean to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all +night with my feet on the fender, and you—” + +“Certainly,” said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, “I +could wish we might have changed places.” + +“I wish to Heaven we might,” returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never +before had he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often +seen that it was advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly +to want to was a new experience. + +“Thank you,” said the girl, “but I’m afraid there is nothing to be +done.” + +“Nothing to be done!” He dropped on his knees before the black monster +of a stove, “Do you suppose I’m here to do nothing?” + +“You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm.” + +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. + +“That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I +left my fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every +blast, ‘that poor, poor girl.’ I set out to bring you to safety. I +begin to think I was born for no other reason.” + +She smiled rather wearily, “Your coming at all is so strange that I +could almost believe you.” + +“You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I +did not particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and +cold because I did not know what I was going to find....” + +“But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a +girl?” + +“A girl, yes. But what’s a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I +seen in my life? Is that a thought to turn a man’s head? What I did not +know was that I was going to find _you_.” + +“The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor,” she +said mildly. + +“Well, I’ve said it, you see,” he answered, “and you won’t forget it, +even if you do change the subject.” He turned his attention to the +fire. Where is the man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire +building is not serious? + +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and +tried to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed +fingers touched his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her +hand in both of his. + +“Your hands are as cold as ice,” he said, holding them tightly, and +thanking Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. + +She withdrew them. “You are too conscientious,” she said. “That is not +part of the duty of a rescue party.” + +“It is, it is,” said Geoffrey violently. “It is the merest humanity.” + +“Humanity?” + +“To me, of course, if you will pin me down.” + +“Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane.” + +“They ought to be grateful.” + +“They are.” + +“_Gratefuller_ then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to +be born and grow up and live just to come here for you?” + +“Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire.” + +“Oh, curse the fire,” said Geoffrey rising from his knees. “Who minds +about it?” + +“I mind very much.” + +“Well, you mustn’t. You must not mind about anything, because it sets +up too strong a reaction in me. There’s no telling what I might not do +under the stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will +burn in my house, and that is where we are going.” + +“I can’t do that,” she said, looking very grave. + +“You can’t do anything else.” + +“I must wait for my brother. He’s out somewhere in this storm, and if +he comes back and finds me gone—” + +“Oh, your brother,” said Geoffrey, “I forgot all about him. He’s at my +house already. He sent me for you.” + +“Oh,” said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: “then +my plight was not revealed to you in a vision?” + +“The vision is with me now.” + +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when +she thought it advisable. + +“And so you took poor Billy in?” she said. + +Geoffrey coughed. “Well, in a sense,” he answered. + +She rose. “We’ll go at once,” she said. “Is it far?” + +“Not very, but it is going to be hard work.” + +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the +realisation of her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt +depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the +comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her +a service. And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the +ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister’s sables. + +There was a pause. + +“What are you looking at?” she asked. + +“That is a nice warm coat you have on.” + +“Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a +tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker. “It saved my life.” + +It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to +a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it +possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? +Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to +the lot of night watchmen? Her manner was candour itself, but how +should it not be? What more inevitable than that she should make an +effort to deceive a casual stranger? She had the most evident motives +for behaving exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had reasoned +about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in +distress exactly as he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it +was true. Might not the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked +himself, and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. +He chose to believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who +could drag her through such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a +high-minded woman tricked out in stolen finery, and remembered with a +pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment of disillusion. + +“I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me. Is it +impossible for me to carry a bag?” + +“Yes, but not for me.” + +“It would be only this.” She held up a small Russia leather affair +legibly marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials. + +“I will take it,” said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. + +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: + +“But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?” + +“Oh, because—” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. + +“He’s hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me.” + +“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked +at her to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put +into words. + +She did not appear to understand. “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked. + +“He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn.” + +“I think you must be stronger than Billy.” She cast a reflective glance +at his shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately +flattered. + +“He is really safe at your house?” + +“I hope so, I did my best,” he returned grimly. + +She looked at him gravely. “You have been very kind to a stranger,” she +said. + +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with +her. It did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he +thought a more advantageous time could be found for telling her the +truth, in case of course she did not know it already. He felt that he +himself would be better able to deal a cold blow when she was warm and +sheltered. No man, he said to himself, could be disagreeable to a girl +who had no one to depend on but himself. So he said: + +“He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together.” + +“Oh, another of Billy’s friends. I never knew such a person for +discovering friends at the most opportune times. He never wants +anything but what a friend turns up. Did you find him wandering about, +or did he come and demand admittance?” + +“Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he +knew me well enough to walk in.” + +“He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood.” + +“We have not met since we were at school.” + +“He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew +you well enough to walk in on you!” + +“Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go.” + +“Men are so queer!” she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice +of admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under +such false colours as her brother’s benefactor. + +“We ought to be starting,” he said. + +She looked round the room. “I hate to leave all these nice things,” she +said. “Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave +him that he says is really priceless.” + +“Leave it,” said Geoffrey shortly. + +“One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I +could not take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to +contribute something to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I +leave it, it may be stolen.” + +“Yes, it may be stolen.” He looked down into her face. + +“Then—” + +“I ask you as a favour to leave it behind.” + +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, +sweet and quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it +all was. + +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose +to remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and +that it was his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to +overcome united them. They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing +interest. They had nothing to think of but accomplishing their task,—of +that and of each other. As far as they could see were snow and black +trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered that any one but themselves +existed. + +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage +warmed his heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert +her independence. She turned to him at every point. He guided her past +the scenes of his own disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had +already made. + +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she +did answer him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor +encouragement, but plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her +skirts, however, wet and heavy, hampered her desperately, and the +exertion of walking through the thick snow began to tell. Geoffrey made +her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, but at length she +stopped of herself. + +“Have we done half yet?” she asked. + +“Just about,” he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. +But he saw at once that he had failed,—that she had had a hope that +they were nearer their destination—that she began to doubt her own +powers. Presently she moved forward again in silence. + +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took +comfort in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she +had, she would use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her +beforehand. She would not fail through lack of determination. Whether +or not she were the confederate of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, +and a beautiful one, he thought, looking down upon her in the glare of +the snow. + +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. +This was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what +men were made for. + +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at +their backs the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained +an instant, too weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet +again. + +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and +when they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the +little step had he not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to +the library and laid her on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of +McVay, had gone out. It took Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands +to build a blaze. When he turned toward her again she was sleeping like +a child. + +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay +was either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug +and was soon asleep also. + + + + +IV + + +It was after two o’clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have +slept three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still +sleeping peacefully. He almost wished that she would never awake to all +the dreadful surprises that the house held for her. Her eye-lashes +curved long and dark on her cheek. Geoffrey turned away quickly. + +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have +been known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the +library and ran up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great +was his dread that he would have been really relieved to see the closet +door standing open as an immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. +It was, however, locked as he had left it. But as he hastened to undo +it, a voice from within reassured him: + + +[Illustration: He let McVay out of the closet] + + +“Well, where have you been all this time?” + +“You may be thankful I’m back at all. It did not look like it, at one +time.” + +“Where is Cecilia?” + +“Down stairs asleep.” + +McVay gave a little giggle. “Ah,” he said, “I bet you have had the +devil of a time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be +the one to go.” + +“It wasn’t child’s play.” + +“Child’s play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough +among men, but women!” he waved his hand; “so sensitive, so +cloistered!” + +“Your sister behaved nobly,” said Geoffrey severely. + +“Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock.” + +“It was a hard trip for any woman.” + +McVay looked up. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t speaking of the trip. I meant +about me. What did she say?” + +“She did not say anything. She went to sleep.” + +“She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the +penitentiary?” + +“Oh,” said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: “Why +should I tell her what she must know.” + +“I tell you she knows nothing about my—profession.” + +“Your _profession_!” + +“Hasn’t a notion of it.” + +“What, with my sister’s coat on her back, and the Innes’ bag in her +hand?” + +“No!” McVay drew a step nearer. “You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing.” He chuckled, +and Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently +disappointed the other. + +“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” he asked with a faint appeal in his +voice. “She thought it was likely, anyhow.” + +“She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally. + +“Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good +dissembler.” + +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his +impulse, would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. +Instead, he said: + +“Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.” + +“Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.” + +“You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for +the pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of +my sight.” + +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to +ignore this speech. + +“You know,” he said, as they went down stairs, “I suppose that most men +shut up in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, +but, to me it was a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is +one of my theories that every one ought to have resources within. Now I +dare say you were quite anxious about me.” + +“I never thought of you at all,” said Geoffrey. “After I got in I went +to sleep for three hours.” + +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with +dignity: “Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don’t think that was very +considerate.” + +“Don’t talk so loud,” said Geoffrey, “you’ll wake your sister.” + +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at +short notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned +eatables in the house to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these +he now depended, and was not a little annoyed to find the kitchen store +room where they were kept securely locked. + +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools +and on being given them set to work on the door. + +“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “the heavy handed way in which some +men use tools? Look at my touch,—so light, yet so accurate. I take no +credit to myself. I was born so. It’s a very fortunate thing to be +naturally dexterous.” + +“It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little +less so.” + +“Oh, I don’t know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death +years ago.” + +“I wish to God you had,” said Geoffrey. + +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but +otherwise preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work +heating soup and smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the +dining-room—this was McVay’s suggestion; he said food was unappetising +unless it were nicely served—Geoffrey said: + +“Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is,” he added firmly, +“I’ll give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain +the situation fully.” + +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door +behind him, and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could +command both doors. + +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told +himself no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely +nervous. He felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He +thought of her as he had seen her asleep, of the curve of her +eye-lashes on her cheek, of her raising those lashes, awaking to be met +with McVay’s revelations. Even if she were guilty, Geoffrey found it in +his heart to pity her waking to learn that her brother was a prisoner. +How unfortunate, too, would be her own position,—the guest, if only for +a few hours, of a man who was concerned only to lodge her brother in +jail. + +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they +came out together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it +unperturbed. Didn’t she care, or had she always known? + +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: + +“Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat—shock +on an empty stomach, so bad—so hard to bear.” + +Geoffrey shook his arm free. “You infernal coward,” he whispered back. + +“Well, I like that,” retorted McVay, “you didn’t tell her yourself when +you had the chance.” + +“It wasn’t my affair. I did not tell her because—” + +“Oh, I know,” McVay interrupted with a chuckle. “I’ve been knowing why +for the last ten minutes.” + +They followed her into the dining-room. + +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey +asked nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,—a position +evidently decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look +at her, and now and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could +force her to meet his eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more +apparent than that, for both of them, a momentous event had occurred. + +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the +general conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so +entirely mechanical that he was scarcely aware of them himself. + +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. + +“And _this_ is our Christmas dinner,” observed McVay regretfully. + +“Oh, no,” returned the girl, “this is luncheon. I’ll cook your dinner. +You’ll see.” + +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for +disillusioning her had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet +it would not be at his dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal +court rose before him. + +“Miss McVay,” he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning +which the other man was directing toward him; “we shall not be here at +dinner. Your brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down +the mountain.” + +“Now?” + +“At once.” + +She coloured slowly and deeply,—the only evidence of anger. “I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go,” she said, +rising. “I should thank you for having borne with us so long.” + +“Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this,” said +McVay. “It will be dark in an hour.” + +She turned on her brother quickly: “Please say no more about the +matter, Billy,” she said. “We will start at once.” + +“You won’t start if it means certainly freezing to death,” he +remonstrated. + +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to +compel the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. + +“I _would_,” she answered and shut the door behind her. + +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. +“One moment,” he said, “you are quite right. It is too late to start +to-night. We must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a +night here without your sister’s being told—” + +“My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!” + +“I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we +are starting, but in that case I must—” + +“I know what you are going to ask,—my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly.” + +“I’m not going to ask for anything at all,” said Geoffrey. “I’m going +to tell you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We +won’t have any nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick +man with a gun. There may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it +wasn’t in the East I got my training. You will always keep in front of +me where I can see you plainly, and you will never, under any +circumstances come nearer than six feet to me. If you should ever come +nearer than that or take a sudden step in my direction, I’d shoot you +just as sure as I stand here.” + +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. “Oh, come, Holland,” he said, +“isn’t that the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me +before my own sister?” + +“I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, +and having you escape is one of them.” + +The other thought it over. “The trouble is,” he explained, “that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I +am. I’m not at all sure that I shall remember.” + +“I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get.” + +“I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold +blood in the presence of my own sister.” + +“You had better behave as if you believed it.” + +“I don’t like this arrangement,” McVay broke out peevishly. “Suppose, +for the sake of argument, that I did forget,—that I put my hand on your +shoulder—a very natural gesture.” + +“I should shoot instantly.” + +“But fancy the shock to Cecilia.” + +“Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. +And another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling +about the subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me.” + +“Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing.” + +“It won’t amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not +only a thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving +her.” + +Again McVay’s gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. “Very true,” he said, +“I had not thought of that. But then,” he added more brightly, “who can +tell if it will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so +strangely. It may turn out that that is _your_ part.” + +“It may,” said Geoffrey, “but only because I have had to shoot after +all.” With which he opened the door and they returned to the library. + + + + +V + + +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her +absence, turned at once to his book. + +“If you won’t think me impolite, Holland, I’ll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,—especially +as your books are so unusual.” + +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey +could not read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his +eyes were fixed on the carpet. The knowledge of the girl’s presence in +his house distracted him like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave +himself up to steeping himself in his emotion, which, in some +situations, is the nearest thing possible to thinking. + +Geoffrey’s success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for +he was good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of +fact, however, his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this +very reason he was not afraid to give it full sway. The deeply +susceptible man learns to be cautious, to distrust his feelings, but +Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his fundamental indifference +to have any reason to distrust himself. He had never been in love. Like +Ferdinand he, “for different virtues had liked many women,” although in +his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had attracted +him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or +another pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature +responded. He had often thought that if he could make up a composite +woman of all of them he might be in great danger of falling in love. +But now he was aware that his whole nature responded to the attraction +of the girl upstairs, as a dog answers instinctively to the call of its +master. He could say to himself that she was this or that,—brave and +beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were but an insignificant +part of the total effect. His reason could find causes enough to +approve her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made +straight the paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and +which in case of a divergence between the two, his reason could never +overcome. + +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied +fell coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to +himself in so many words that he was in love,—far less had anything so +definite as marriage crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so +practical. He only knew that McVay’s mere existence was a contamination +and a tragedy. + +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the +stairs. He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his +eye on McVay’s studious figure in the library. + +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. + + +[Illustration: She Was Dressed In His Sister’s Sables—ready For +Departure] + + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, +with a cold blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could +make her take further notice of him as a living being. + +“Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?” he said, +with directness. + +“I have not been thinking about the matter at all,” she answered, +turning her head a little aside from his direct gaze. “But I do think +so of course. After all why should you not wish it?” + +“You think me likely to want anything that would part us—that is the +way my manner strikes you?” He was surprised to find his voice not +absolutely steady. + +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. “You seem to +forget that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. +Possibly you have changed your mind, but I have made mine up.” She made +a motion as if to pass in, and go on toward the library. + +“I have changed so completely since I saw you,” said Geoffrey, “that I +scarcely recognise life in this—this ecstasy. That is the only change. +Am I likely to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for +you to come?” + +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had +been fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to +work once again. She said very coolly: + +“You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,—or have +you forgotten saying that?” + +“Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going +because—” + +“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of +her mouth had softened by not a little. + +“There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there +would be greater danger in starting out so late. And,—and equally +desperate for me, whatever we do.” + +“Desperate?” + +“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—to hate me, +as your look said.” + +“I do not hate you.” + +“You are very eager to be rid of my company.” + +“I did not understand.” + +“You are going to stay?” + +“Until we can go safely.” + +“Not longer?” + +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she +said, “We are under sufficiently large obligations to you already.” + +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing +them with satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. + +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be +observed at all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to +be observed by one who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. +Never, said Geoffrey to himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay’s +clear little eyes, never should any influence lead him to let a thief +slip through his fingers. + +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another +word alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous +sort of revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man’s +company. Geoffrey had not appreciated the full meaning of his +instructions to McVay to keep always in sight. Not a word or a look +could be exchanged without McVay’s seeing and rejoicing. + +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the +brother of so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. + +“Well, my dear,” he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, “feel +better? Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me +about it—saying how well you behaved,” (Geoffrey favoured him with a +scowl behind her back), “a perfect heroine,—so he says.” + +“Mr. Holland is very kind,” said the girl. + +“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically. “Kind! I should rather think he +was. Why, I could give you instances of his kindness—” + +“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey. + +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... +so modest, so unassuming. + +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing +enough to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination +of facility and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any +question of playing upon Cecilia’s unconsciousness of the situation, he +writhed. Yet, a little discernment would have shown him how natural, +how encouraging from his own point of view her unconsciousness was. To +fall in love thoroughly is sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us +needs to be told that it is an absorbing process, that life looks +different, and that all past experiences must be reviewed in the light +of this unexpected illumination. And if this is true of the more usual +forms of the great passion, what is to be said of a girl who, in a +single day, sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young +creature, who comes to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a +prince, who comes not only to save and protect, but as host and +dispenser of all comfort and beauty. + +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one +fact, one personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd +conclusions from the little happenings going on before her, she was but +dimly aware of the existence of her brother, of the world, of anything +but Geoffrey. + +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: + +“And this is where you sat all night?” And if the thought was +interesting to her, it was not on account of her brother’s share in it. + +“Yes,” returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. “Here we sat +discussing plans for your safety.” He took a step toward the pair at +the fire, and then remembering, stopped. “Please move a little back, +Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire. I’m cold.” + + +[Illustration: “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want +to get nearer the fire”] + + +“You can go to the fire,” said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. + +“Of course you can,” said the girl, “Mr. Holland is not in your way, +Billy.” + +But Billy continued to eye his host. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said +warily. “Not unless you move back. Do move, there’s a good fellow.” And +Geoffrey laughed and moved, somewhat to the girl’s mystification. She +forgot to wonder, however, in pursuing the more wonderful train of +thought which had already been occupying her. Suppose that their plans +for her relief had been decided differently, suppose her brother had +come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with what different +eyes she might now be looking on life—this ecstasy as Holland had +defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so blessed, +she asked: + +“Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?” + +“Just what I said to him,” replied McVay eagerly. “If I said once, I +said a dozen times: ‘Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my +_right_ to go,’ but ...” McVay shrugged his shoulders, “when he once +gets an idea into his head, it takes a gimlet to get it out.” + +“Upon my word, Billy,” the girl said indignantly, “I don’t think you +ought to talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. +Holland only insisted on going because he thought he was better able to +bear the physical strain.” + +“Physical strain!” exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy +hair, from pure annoyance; “I don’t know what you mean,... Holland is, +of course, a larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far +as mere brute force goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing +physical strain, you betray the most absurd ignorance. It is well known +scientifically that medium-sized men like myself, when their muscles +are at all developed (and you know my muscles), are better fitted for +endurance than any of these over-grown giants.” + +“Then,” said she calmly, “if you knew you were better fitted I can’t +see why you did not go.” + +“You are not quite fair to your brother,” said Geoffrey interrupting, +for McVay looked as if he would explode in another moment under the +sense of injustice. “He did propose going himself, but I would not let +him; I—I made it a personal matter.” + +“Very personal,” replied McVay with feeling. “I’ll just explain how it +was. Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up +my mind that I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after +some trouble, came to this room, turned on the light—a spooky thing; an +empty house, picked up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the +world, everything, when a voice at my elbow said: ‘Fond of reading?’ I +was never more surprised in my life. I felt distinctly caught,—an +interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw that Holland did not at +once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he would not hear +of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was his +wish to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty +accurate account of the night’s proceeding, isn’t it?” + +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay’s +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the +twinkling joy of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be +doing mankind a favour by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn +of another day. Unconscious of this possibility, McVay continued to his +sister: + +“Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long +and dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. +A handsome coat, is it not, Holland?” + +“Very,” said Geoffrey chillingly. + +“Now that coat,” McVay went on unchilled, “was a real bargain. I may +say I paid nothing for it,—little more than the trouble of taking it +home. Although from another point of view, its price was pretty +high....” + +“Really, Billy, I don’t think Mr. Holland is interested in our +bargains.” + +“In _some_, he is.” + +“Yes, indeed,” said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, “I +think I know of just about a dozen people who will want a +circumstantial account of all of them.” + +“Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,—circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation—(are you familiar with that +word?)—the only suggestion it has for me is a _jury_?” + +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. + +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was +almost time to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They +all rose as if glad of a break. As they passed out of the door, +Geoffrey laid his hand on McVay’s arm. + +“Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?” he said. + +McVay smiled. “Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in +freezing weather? Don’t I amuse you? Be candid.” + +“No.” + +McVay looked regretful. “As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you +had more sense of humour,” he said gently. + + + + +VI + + +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for +organisation rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the +wall, and tilting back at his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at +work. Geoffrey, engaged in lighting the range-fire, looked up at her as +she moved about filling the kettle and washing out pots and pans, and +thought that he and she presented the aspect of a young couple of the +labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a roof over their +heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. + +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, +apples and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, +which, with a burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well +for plum-pudding. + +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even +his irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more +friendly than before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. + +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in +each hand, when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, +handkerchief in hand, exclaiming: + +“My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me—” + + +[Illustration: “My dear fellow—pray allow me”] + + +“Look out,” roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay +sprang back ten feet. “I was afraid of burning you with the soup,” +Geoffrey explained politely. + +“I own you made me jump,” said McVay. + +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an +unfortunate impression on her. + +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently +sat down to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed +themselves as inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines +and toasted biscuits, canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, +bacon and a potato salad, a bottle of champagne, and finally the +wedding cake. + +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk +would be to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this +nature, however, was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart +of champagne had not produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was +clear, his speech perfect, and he was more than usually aware of his +own powers, confident of appreciation. + +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the +tips of his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. + +“My dear Holland,” he said, “I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for +it has already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to +make it. Let me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this +delightful occasion. You have referred to the fare as meagre, to our +position as constrained, but believe me, I am not exaggerating when I +say that I so little agree with you that I am confident that, during +many of the remaining years of my life I shall look back to this +Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, perhaps, the +warm glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in +situations like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland,” he +paused impressively, “has stood the test.” + +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: + +“I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little +pecuniary value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer +mentioned. I feel that it will be recommended to you more than mere +worth could recommend it by the fact that it is peculiarly my own,—my +own as few human possessions can be said to be. I offer it,” he said, +drawing from his pocket a square flat little package, “with best wishes +for a happy New Year.” + + +[Illustration: “I Have Here A Slight Token, In Honor Of The Day”] + + +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey’s mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so +perfectly in keeping with McVay’s consuming desire to triumph in minor +matters, that he was able to smile pleasantly and receive it +appropriately. He exchanged a glance of real appreciation with the +donor, and received a grave bow in return. + +Cecilia smiled, too, “I don’t know exactly why you should think Mr. +Holland wants your picture, Billy,” she said. + +“It may be of the greatest service to him,” said McVay. + +The girl turned to Geoffrey. “I can’t make a speech like Billy’s,” she +said, “but I have a small present for you which I hope you won’t +despise because it is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some +time, and I hope _you_ will now, in remembrance of the time when you +sheltered the houseless.” She held out on her pink palm a flat gold +pencil with a single topaz set in the top. + +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay’s +eye in which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey’s +half-formed question was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms +of delight at the idea that Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of +stolen goods that he could not well conceal it. And instinctively +Geoffrey drew back his hand. The next moment he realised that he must +at once accept the gift with decent gratitude, whatever he might choose +to do with it afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed his +hesitation. + +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, +rose from the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the +feast as best they could. + +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the +part of a waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over +his arm and began to clear the table. + +“Wait a moment,” said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; “I +have something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my +sentiments in regard to your sister.... I think her a wonder,—that’s +all it is necessary for you to know.” + +“Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is.” + +“I won’t discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under +the impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won’t. You +stand just where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. +Then I settle my affairs.” + +McVay’s face fell. “Really, Holland,” he said, “I don’t see how, if you +are fond of a woman you can want ...” + +“... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over.” + +“There are worse brothers than I,” replied McVay, “how many men would +have sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her +comfortably.” + +“Not many, I hope.” + +“She is extraordinarily fond of me.” + +“Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of.” + +“We can scarcely say that _now_,” returned McVay encouragingly. + +“I won’t discuss it with you.” + +“You can’t mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean +to send me to state’s prison?” + +“I mean exactly that.” + +“Why, she’d never forgive you.” + +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and +presently McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, +asked: “Are you serious, Holland?” + +“What do you suppose I am?” Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his +head went on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent +and abstracted and for the first time seemed to realise his position. +When they had put away the last plate, Geoffrey said: + +“Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you.” + +“A pipe! Why?” + +“Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be +more apt to take it.” + +“I’m afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little +gift. As a matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had +given her the pencil. A pretty little thing, singularly like one which +you may have seen Mrs.—” + +“Don’t tell me where you took it from. I don’t want to know. Come and +get your pipe and mind you are grateful.” + +“A pipe,” observed McVay thoughtfully. “I think I’ll take that large +meerschaum on the mantelpiece.” + +Geoffrey laughed. “I think you won’t,” he answered. “The best pipe I +own! No, indeed, you’ll take a horrid little one that won’t draw. It +will be just the thing for you.” + +“No,” said McVay, “no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall +make it appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at +the last moment. And I can do it, Holland.” His little eyes gleamed at +the thought. “I shall say, ‘My dear fellow, I’m glad you changed your +mind about the meerschaum; it was as you say, too handsome for a man in +my position.’ That will make her mad if anything will. You know she is +not quite satisfied with the way you treat me, as it is.” + +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the +gift was to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his +favourite pipe. The affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate +over accepting so handsome an offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon +him with a good grace. + +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less +and less willing to make it in McVay’s presence, and more and more +unable to think of any way of getting rid of him except murder or the +cedar-closet. His anxiety was rendered more acute by the fact that once +or twice he could not help suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her +anger, would have been glad of a few words alone with him, also. + +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat +upstairs for her. + +“Certainly I will,” cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at +the door before Holland’s warning shout “_McVay_” stopped him. + +“Let me take it up for your sister,” he said warningly. + +“Oh, not at all. Let _me_,” replied McVay courteously. + +“Couldn’t hear of it,” returned Geoffrey. + +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it +with a snap. + +“You would, would you?” he said angrily. + +“Now, Holland,” said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into +an irrational confusion, “this is exactly a case in point. I am by +nature a gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions.” + +“I wonder?” said Geoffrey. + +“It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, +and I doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been +at my head. She asked me. That was enough.” + +“I’ve warned you once.” + +“Holland, I think,—you’ll excuse my telling you,—that you have a very +unfortunate manner at times.” + +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, +with his eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. + +“Can you play?” he said. + +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his +last speech. “Yes,” he answered, “I can. Well, I’m not a professional, +you understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much +technique and a good deal more sentiment than most.” + +“I don’t care _how_ you play,” said Holland. “There is a piano. Sit +down and play, and _don’t stop_.” + +“No, Holland, no,” said the other with unusual firmness; “that I will +not do. No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in +public without practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a +year.” + +“You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play +finger exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a +noise so that I’ll know you are there.” + +“Well,” said McVay yielding, “you must remember to make allowances. Not +the best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say +it will come back to me quicker than to most people. You must make +allowances for my lack of practice.” + +“There is only one thing I won’t make allowances for, and that is your +moving from that music stool.” + +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen +the joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover +which of the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped +lightly upon the notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that +an air of Schubert’s was growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was +astonished to find that he really was, as he said, something of an +artist. He waited until he was fairly started and then returned to the +library. + +“Is that Billy?” said the girl. “It must be a great pleasure to him to +have a piano again. He is so fond of music.” + +“He was not as eager to play as I to have him,” said Geoffrey. + +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then +he said, stretching out his hand: + +“I want my Christmas present.” + +“I have none to give you.” + +“You had.” + +“I’ve changed my mind.” + +“Why?” + +For the first time she looked at him. “Mr. Holland,” she said, “you +must think me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don’t see that +you dislike my brother. You refused the pencil—you did refuse it +plainly enough—because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to +you again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong +way, but I should think any one of any discernment could see that his +faults are only faults of manner.” + +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned +with something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, +covered his face with his hands. + +“Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you +by any chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his +own comfort? You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that +it is only for my sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does +not want to make my position here more unendurable by quarrelling with +you. It makes me furious to see what you force him to put up with, the +way you speak to him, and look at him, as if he were your slave, or a +disobedient dog. His self-control is wonderful. I admire him more than +I can say.” + +“And is my self-control nothing?” he asked, without moving his hands +from his face. + +“Yours? I don’t see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at +your mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose +to be. Self-control? I don’t see any evidence of it.” + +“No?” he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might +have set her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and +probably in the instant forgot all that she had been saying and +feeling, for when he added: “I love you,” her hands moved toward his, +and she made no resistance when he took her in his arms. + + + + +VII + + +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a +series of discords in order to recall himself to Holland’s mind. His +existence, if he had only realised the fact, was so completely +forgotten that he might have made his escape with a good half hour to +spare before either of the others appreciated that the music had +ceased. Not knowing this, however, he did not dare stop his playing for +an instant, until sheer physical fatigue interfered. It was at this +point that the discords began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. + +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey +had given a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as +a safe prison, but in the face of McVay’s repeated assertions that the +air had barely sufficed to support him during his former occupancy, it +looked like murder to insist. Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, +locked him in a dressing-room off his own room. The window—the room was +on the third floor—gave on empty space, and against the only door he +placed his own bed, so that escape seemed tolerably difficult. + +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, +although toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell +asleep. + +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his +name called by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the +hall. She was wrapped in her sable coat, but shivering from cold or +fear. + +“There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and +steps on the piazza, below my room. What can it be?” + +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to +the obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay’s +escape. On the opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the +roof of this a neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed +out. + +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before +the approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly +across the snow. There was no question of its identity. His revolver, +which he had snatched from under his pillow and brought with him, he at +once levelled on the vanishing form; his finger was on the trigger, +when he felt a hand on his arm. + +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. “Don’t +fire,” she said. “Don’t you see it is Billy?” + +There was a pause—the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that +touch on his arm he could not shoot. + +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: “McVay!” + +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on +steel and began to retrace his steps. + +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. +Under the piazza he stopped and waved his hand. + +“I’m afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best.” + +“There _was_ a burglar then!” said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. + +“By Heaven, he shall not trouble you,” returned Holland with more +earnestness than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down +to meet McVay. + +“You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet,” he remarked, +ushering him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so +ignominious a position that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a +disadvantage, but looked in vain. The aspect worn was a particularly +self-satisfied one. + +“I was aware I took a risk,” he answered; “I took it gladly for my +sister’s sake.” + +“For your sister’s sake?” + +“Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to +you as to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too +honourable, you would say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted +to know that you need not prosecute me.” + +“If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting.” + +“But at what a cost! I refer to my sister’s regard. No, no, the thing, +if you had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It +was a risk, of course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister’s sake. I +would take longer ones for her.” + +“Do you mean that?” + +“Of course.” + +“Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself.” + +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, “No, no, Holland. +To take a risk is one thing,—to kill myself quite another. I have +always had a strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly +action. And it would be no help to you. She would not believe that I +had committed suicide. She knows my views on the subject, and could +imagine no motive. No, that would not do at all. I’m surprised at the +suggestion. It is against my principles.” + +“Your principles!” Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little +altered in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find +that he could not shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his +faith in himself. He began to doubt if he would be capable of sending +the man to state’s prison when Cecilia besought his pity. His own +limitations faced him. He was not the relentless judge he had supposed +himself. Yet on the other hand, the remembrance of Vaughan and the +other men he was representing held him to his idea of justice. “Sit +down,” he said suddenly turning to McVay, “and write me out a list of +everything you have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and +how it may be obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better +try to do it for on the completeness of your list depends your only +chance of avoiding the law. If I can return all properly, perhaps—I +have a mine in Mexico, a hell on earth, where you can go if you prefer +it to penal servitude. There won’t be much difference, except for the +publicity of a trial. I’ve a man there who, when I give him his orders, +would infinitely rather shoot you than take any risk of your getting +away. Which will you have?” + +“Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?” + +“Sit down and write your list, then.” + +“An interesting occupation, mining,” observed McVay as he opened the +portfolio. After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft +noise of the pencil and an occasional comment from the writer: + +“A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur—appealed to my artistic side.” + +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside +and the door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. + +“My God, Holland,” said McVay, “if that is the police, keep your wits +about you or we are lost.” + +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm +showed, he had cast in his interests with McVay’s. He stepped forward +in silence and opened the door. + +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. + +“I’m glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland,” he said. “There has been great +anxiety felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan +and Marheim cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not +get back to the gardener’s cottage the night before last.” + +“The snow detained me,” said Geoffrey slowly. + +“Come in, come in, friend,” said McVay briskly. “You must be cold.” + +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after +studying McVay for an instant, asked: + +“I did not catch this gentleman’s name. Who is he?” + +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: +“That is the man you are after.” + +“Are you crazy, Holland?” shouted McVay. + +“What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?” Envy +and admiration struggled on the detective’s countenance. “I must +congratulate you, sir.” + +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. “You needn’t,” he said; +“I am no subject for congratulation. I can’t even prosecute him, +confound him, for several reasons. We were at school together, and I +can take no steps in the matter.” + +“But I can,” said the detective; “indeed it is my duty to.” + +“No,” said Geoffrey, “nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. +Yes, I know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we’ll +compound it.” + +“I could not agree to anything of the kind,” said the detective. + +“I don’t see exactly what you can do about it.” Geoffrey was deliberate +and very polite. “For reasons which I can’t explain, but which you +would appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from +jail. If you intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape +at once. Don’t draw your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only +person with a weapon in my hand. He has made a list of all the things +he has stolen, and I shall see that they are returned to their owners +at any cost. Will you undertake to get him safely to a mine I own in +Mexico? Once there he can’t get away. It is forty-five miles from a +railway. If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make +up for the reward you didn’t get,—five thousand down, and five thousand +at the end of a year.” + +“I don’t know what to say,” said the man. “It sounds like a bribe.” + +“It is,” said Geoffrey coolly. + +“I never received such a proposition,” returned the man. + +“That scheme won’t do, Holland,” put in McVay. “Can’t you see it lays +you open to blackmail?” + +“From you?” said Geoffrey. “I had thought of that, but you can’t +blackmail me at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close +enough to blackmail me, I’ll put you in prison without a moment’s +hesitation. I shall be in a position by that time to take care of the +feelings of the other people concerned.” + +“You don’t understand me,” answered McVay; “I meant blackmail from this +man.” + +“Oh,” said Geoffrey civilly, “I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. +And besides, he won’t get his second five thousand for a year, and as I +was saying to you, after a year I don’t so much mind having the whole +thing known. My reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his +will.” + +“I’m no blackmailer,” said this detective. “If I accept, I’ll be on the +square.” + +“If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice,” observed Geoffrey, +“and that is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He +is a slippery customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my +money at all, if you give him the smallest loophole.” + +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he +said gravely: + +“Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don’t +see my way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to +slip overboard from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless +maybe the sharks.” + +“Very true,” agreed Geoffrey amiably. “Fortunately you can get a +steamer in New York.” + +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good +reason for declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey’s, and they +were presently deep in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile +studying the map with unfeigned interest in the situation of his future +residence. + +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, +for she had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, +and the men must have been talking for two hours when she appeared at +the library door. + +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey +saw with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as +the burglar whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any +betrayal of this opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, +although as he did so, he realised that he had nothing to answer when +she asked, as of course she did ask: “Who is that?” + +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the +brave took hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would +perhaps in another instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not +the least disconcerted, taken the lead. + +“This, Cecilia,” he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the +detective’s shoulder, “is my old friend Picklebody,—Henderson +Picklebody. You have heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. +Eh, Henderson, in the old Machita days?” + +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his +surprise at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard +McVay. He began to guess something of the motives that led Holland to +shield this offender against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise +to yield to the whims of young millionaires. + +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she +heard the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked +in a tone as cheerful as she could make it: + +“I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now.” + +“Can and will,” rejoined McVay beamingly. “Hen comes as he has always +come to his friends, as a rescuer.” + +“I seem to require a great deal of rescuing,” said the girl, looking up +at the monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. + +“Ah, but you don’t understand, my dear,” went on McVay ruthlessly +cutting into the look which the lovers were exchanging; “You don’t yet +understand how fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it +is true, come to find me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting +me here. It seems that he and Holland are both interested in a mine in +Mexico, and what do you think?” McVay paused and rubbed his hands; +“Really, we have the kindest friends; they have been arranging between +them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of that?” + +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the +shelter of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been +thoroughly candid that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance +away, but she only observed: + +“How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico.” + +“There, there, do you hear that? ‘We.’ Gentlemen,” cried McVay, +throwing up his hands, “I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. +Consider it all off.” + +“Oh, I wasn’t to go?” asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. + +“My dear,” replied McVay, “I must own that I was base enough to +consider a plan that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place +for ladies. But we will think no more about it. I see by your manner +that your feelings...” + +“Dear Billy,” said the girl gently, “you must not give it up. You know +that I can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And +nothing is so important as that you should have work that is +satisfactory to you. Of course you must accept.” + +“Did you ever hear anything so noble?” asked McVay. “Yes, I suppose I +ought to accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn’t I, Hen?” + +“Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did,” replied +the detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American +humour. + +“There is another point, Cecilia,” McVay went on, “if I do accept, I +shall have to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?” + +“Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow.” + +“Oh, dear. That’s very sudden,” said Cecilia. + +“At a word from you, dear, I’ll give it up,” remarked McVay. + +“No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. +Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves +me just that amount.” + +“We’ve no time to lose,” remarked McVay briskly, “if we are going to +try for that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the +gardener’s, Holland, if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we +must hurry off.” + +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his +sister, flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who +was of a solider build, found it hard to keep up with. + +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate +man. Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray +the real state of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his +money, McVay took special delight in making him look like a fool, +calling upon him to remember happenings which existed only in McVay’s +own fertile brain. + +“What, Hen,” he would cry suddenly, “was the name of that pretty black +haired girl you were so sweet on,—you know, the daughter of the +canal-boat man.” + +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he +did not know what McVay was talking about. + +“There, there,” McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the +shoulder, “I’m not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can +always trust to my discretion. But I would like just to remember her +name. It was so peculiar,—a name I never heard before.” + +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, +found himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony +suggested “Mary.” + +“Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There +is nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I +was trying to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don’t you?” + +“No, I don’t,” said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. + +“How sad that is,” said McVay philosophically. “You don’t even remember +her name, and at one time—well, well.” + +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective’s +countenance. + +“Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney’s bullet has entirely gone. I +was afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it +would interest her.” + +“Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody,” said the girl politely and McVay, when he +had sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a +story himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of +treatment, it soon appeared that McVay’s ease and facility had made an +impression on him, and that he looked at his prisoner with a sort of +wondering admiration. + +“Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little +bag?” he began when they were about to depart. “Holland, my dear +fellow, don’t think me interfering if I ask whether you have looked to +all the doors and windows? Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into +shut-up houses, and it would be such a pity if anything happened to any +of your pretty things. Ah, what an expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn’t +it? You may talk about your tropical scenery, Hen, but we shan’t see +anything finer than this the world over. What a contrast the south will +be though, eh, old man?” and, drawing the detective’s arm through his, +leaning heavily upon him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking +volubly. + +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that +had seen such momentous changes in their lives. + +“When we come back, it will be spring,” said Geoffrey softly. + +“Oh,” said the girl in rather a shaky voice, “you like me well enough +to ask me to stay again?” + +“Well enough,” said Geoffrey, “to ask you to stay forever.” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD *** + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the +United States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Burglar and the Blizzard</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Alice Duer Miller</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: Charlotte Harding</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: January 29, 2005 [eBook #14835]<br /> +[Most recently updated: October 30, 2022]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Eric Betts and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus01"></a> +<img src="images/image1.png" width="600" height="316" alt="[Illustration]" /> +<p class="caption">The Burglar</p> +</div> + +<hr /> + +<h1>The Burglar and the Blizzard</h1> + +<h4><i>A CHRISTMAS STORY</i></h4> + +<h2 class="no-break">BY ALICE DUER MILLER</h2> + +<p class="center"> +AUTHOR OF “THE BLUE ARCH,” ETC.</p> + +<h3>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY<br/> +CHARLOTTE HARDING</h3> + +<h5>Hearst’s International Library Co., Inc.</h5> + +<p class="center"> +1914 +</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<img src="images/image-title.png" width="394" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +</div> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">Chapter I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">Chapter II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">Chapter III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">Chapter IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">Chapter V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">Chapter VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">Chapter VII</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus01">The Burglar</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus02">“It was a young lady who disposed of the silver”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus03">“Good God,” he cried, “what a night you have had”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus04">He let McVay out of the closet</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus05">She was dressed in his sister’s sables—ready for departure</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus06">“Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to get nearer the fire”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus07">“My dear fellow—pray allow me”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#illus08">“I have here a slight token, in honor of the day”</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>The Burglar and the Blizzard</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>I</h2> + +<p> +Geoffrey Holland stood up and for the second time surveyed the restaurant in +search of other members of his party, two fingers in the pocket of his +waistcoat, as if they had just relinquished his watch. He was tall enough to be +conspicuous and well bred enough to be indifferent to the fact, good looking, +in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven way, and branded in the popular imagination as +a young and active millionaire. +</p> + +<p> +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other men and +women with him: +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know who that is?—that is young Holland.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, that boy! He doesn’t look as if he were out of school.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said one of the women, elaborating the comment, “he does not look old +enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right,” said the first man. “He is older +than he looks. He must be twenty-six.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suppose he does with all that money?” +</p> + +<p> +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an evening +paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who promptly ran to get +him one. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, one thing he does,” answered the man who had first given information, +“he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I bet that costs him a +pretty penny.” +</p> + +<p> +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, and was +about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of interest caught his +eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised it to his eyes that his +admirers at the next table noticed it, and speculated on the subject of the +paragraph. +</p> + +<p> +It was headed: “Millionaires’ Summer Homes Looted,” and said further: +</p> + +<p> +“Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring robberies which +have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the past month occurred +last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of New York was entered and +valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The robbery was not discovered until +this morning when a shutter was observed unfastened on the second story. On +entering the watchman found the house had been carefully gone over, and +although only a few objects seem to be missing, these are of the greatest +value. The thief apparently had plenty of time, and probably occupied the whole +night in his search. This is the more remarkable because the watchman asserts +that he spent at least an hour on the piazza during the night. How the thief +effected an entrance by the second story is not clear. During the past five +weeks the houses of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham Marheim have been +entered in a manner almost precisely similar. There was a report yesterday that +some of the Marheim silver had been discovered with a dealer in Boston, but +that he could not identify the person from whom he bought them further than +that she was a young lady to whom they might very well have belonged. The fact +that it was a young lady who disposed of them to him suggests that the goods +must have changed hands several times. The Marheim family is abroad, and the +servants....” +</p> + +<p> +Here a waiter touched his elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to dinner,” +returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous looking couple +approaching. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid we are late,” said the lady, “but can you blame us? Have you heard? +We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon to find out what +has gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading about +your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and beginning to +draw off her gloves. “We had a Van Dyke etching, and some enamels that have +gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his wine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. “I tell you he is going to have a happy time +with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word,” said Geoffrey, “they are a nice lot of countrymen up there. +Four robberies and not so much as a clue.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> need not be afraid,” said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. “In spite +of all your treasures, I don’t believe any thief would take the trouble to +climb to the top of your mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +Holland’s selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no true +Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and as a +property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of Hillsborough +real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Vaughan’s irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he laughed +very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the thief was as poor a +pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should not like to lose any of his +things; and he added that in his opinion Vaughan ought to be starting for +Hillsborough at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Pooh,” said that gentleman, “I can’t go with the market in this +condition,—would lose more than the whole house is worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“You would go duck-shooting in a minute,” said Holland, “and this would be a +good deal better sport.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. “The thing to do,” he said, “is to offer a +reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class detective.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Geoffrey readily, “I’ll join you. Those other fellows ought +to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,—that will be five thousand. Is +that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What shall I say? Five +thousand dollars reward will be paid for information leading to the +conviction—and so on. I’ll go and telephone now,” and with a promptness +which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. +</p> + +<p> +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all discussing the +burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older than her brother, had +some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, that is to say she had +imagination and a good memory for detail. +</p> + +<p> +“For my part,” she was saying, “I have the greatest respect and admiration for +him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking at the +Wilsons’,—after all his trouble. I have often sat in that drawing-room +myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in it as a present, +whether I could find something that would not actually disgrace me. I never +could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons make a great to-do about the +house having been entered, and tell you how he must have been frightened +away,—frightened away by the hideousness of their things! Those woolly +paintings on wood, and the black satin parasol that turns out to be an umbrella +stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Florence,” said her brother mildly, “how can a black satin parasol be +an umbrella-stand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the Wilsons’ +house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, only painted to +resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks of trees, and the match +boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is really what it looks like, except +the beds; they look uncomfortable, and some one who had stayed there told me +that they were.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Florence,” said Mrs. Vaughan, “is it not like her kindness of +heart—it runs in the family—to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a connoisseur I +could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my last hope that my very +best escaped his attention.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven’t you an +admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he has entered +four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“There must be <i>traces</i> of him,” said Geoffrey. “The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There must have +been footprints.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Mr. Vaughan, “that is what makes me think that the watchmen +are in it. It’s probably a combination of two or three of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that lets Geoffrey out,” said the irrepressible Florence. “No one would +take his watchman into any combination,—he is a thousand and two and +feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the possibility, for +it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is +lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a slouch hat. That is the way I imagine +him. Do you really suppose that a watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness’ +best linen sheets, embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it +scratches your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,—all just +out from Paris. I saw them when she first had them.” +</p> + +<p> +“What,” said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, “do you +make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver in Boston?” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus02"></a> +<img src="images/image2.png" width="377" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“It was a young lady who disposed of the silver” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +But it was Mrs. May who answered: “She is of course the lady of his +love—a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a book +about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one more grand coup, +rob the bank or something and then the world will be startled by the news of +their elopement. They will go and live somewhere luxuriously in the south +Pacific, and travellers will bring home strange stories of their happiness and +charm. Perhaps, though, he would turn pirate. That would suit his style.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope,” said Holland, “that he won’t take a fancy to rob the Hillsborough +Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a little money there. You +begin to make me nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +“No bank robbery would make <i>me</i> nervous,” replied his sister, “that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank to know +the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, who would take +the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey’s palace is within an easy walk. Besides, +I haven’t anything worth the attention of a respectable burglar like this one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Geoffrey, “I’m sorry I spent so much time choosing your +Christmas present a year ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but it is put +away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my sable coat, and I am +going to send for that as soon as I have time to have it cut over.” +</p> + +<p> +“In my opinion,” said Mr. Vaughan, “the man is no longer in the neighbourhood. +He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the whole country was so +aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an attractive place to thieves. +It is such an easy place to get away from,—three railroads within reach. +A man would be pretty sure to be able to catch a passing freight train on one +of them at almost any time, to say nothing of the increased difficulty of +tracing him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose he will ever be caught,” said Florence. “When he has got all +he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were caught—” +</p> + +<p> +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her plate. It had +come to her brother’s apartment, and been sent down. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is telegraphing me,” she said, as she tore it open. “I hope Jack has not +been breaking himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Opening it, she read: +</p> + +<p> +“Your house was entered about five o’clock this afternoon. Tea-set and sable +coat missing.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>II</h2> + +<p> +The next evening at seven o’clock, Holland stepped out of the train on the +Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had been +bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in small close +flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a wild wind was blowing. +</p> + +<p> +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the old man +to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to be seen. The +station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was a busy scene with +well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now utterly deserted except for +one native who had charge of the mails. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Harris,” Geoffrey sung out. “Is McFarlane here for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t seen him. Guess it’s too stormy for the old man,” Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve got to drive me out.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for me, +too.” +</p> + +<p> +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was worth, +induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail cart, and having +stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at the stable to change the +cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on their five-mile drive. +</p> + +<p> +“Guess you come up to see about Mr. May’s house being robbed?” Harris hazarded +before they had gone far. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a nice lot, aren’t you?” returned Geoffrey. “Five robberies and not a +motion to catch the thief!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day,” said Harris, divided +between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of his native town. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but not by any of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more houses was +robbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to tell the truth,” said Harris, “it seems like he only went for you +city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to lose a few +things than they could to lose their sleep. That’s about the size of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey could not but laugh. “That’s a fine spirited way to look at it, I must +say.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable in order +to collect and arrange his ideas. “’Tain’t lack of sand exactly, either, for +most of the fellows about here thinks it is a woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“A woman?” cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, <i>sir</i>,” said Harris, “a young woman. Look at the things took. What +burglar would want sheets and a lady’s coat? Besides just before the first one +happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way and a young woman, +pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood and asks for a lift. Well, +Will takes her some two miles, and when they got to that piece of woods at the +back of your place she says of a sudden that she guesses she wants exercise, +and will walk the rest of the way, and out she gets, and no one has seen her +since. Seems kinder strange, no house but yours within six miles, and you +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home,” returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” Harris went on imperturbably, “you can’t tell the rights of them +stories. Will Brown, he’s a liar, just like all the Browns; still this time he +seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we were going to have a +blizzard, don’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared bobbing on the +threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all occasions with courtesy. +It appeared that Holland’s telegram had been duly telephoned from the office, +but that her husband was down with rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, +and the “boy” allowed to go home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no +one to send. Geoffrey suggested that she might have telephoned to the local +livery-stable, and she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity that she +could do nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her away to get him +something to eat. +</p> + +<p> +It was about ten o’clock, when he determined to take a turn about his house. +The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of the +Hillsborough bank. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up hill +against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already fallen. He +had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a fair prospect of +being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him so much longer to reach +the house than he had supposed, that he abandoned all idea of entering it. It +stood before him grimly like a mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with +snow. He walked round it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the +fastenings. Once past the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was +conscious of that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the same +time the atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up houses, even one’s +own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and felt in his pocket for his +revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, in the interior of the house, he +heard a clock strike. +</p> + +<p> +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously in +Geoffrey’s ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. It was that +of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put in order. He had +never been able to make it go, but once touching it inadvertently he had +aroused in it a breath of life so that it had struck one,—this same sweet +piercing note. Who, he wondered, was touching it now? +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now he +hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, and he moved +quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung silently on its hinges. It +was not so much that he believed that there was any one in the +house—perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar comes as a +surprise—but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion to fail to +investigate. +</p> + +<p> +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was put an +end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the library door, +fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down and took off his boots, +and then cautiously approached the open door and looked in, knowing that +darkness and preparation were in his favour. +</p> + +<p> +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to the +ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the bookcases with his +elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a volume in his hands with the +careful ease of a book fancier. The man’s back was turned so that a sandy head +and a strongly built figure were all Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been +for a glimpse of a mask on his face, he might have been a student at work. +</p> + +<p> +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation to make +his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other’s elbow, revolver in hand, +he said gently: +</p> + +<p> +“Fond of reading?” +</p> + +<p> +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward his own +revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing blow. Geoffrey +secured the weapon, and seeing the man’s retreat, may be excused for supposing +the struggle over. +</p> + +<p> +He underestimated his adversary’s resources, for the burglar, retreating with a +look of surrender, came within reach of the electric light, turned it off, and +fled in the total darkness that followed. Geoffrey sprang to the switch, but +the few seconds that his fingers were fumbling for it told against him. When he +turned it on the room was empty. The door by which the thief had gone opened on +the main hall and not on the passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to +secure the outer door. Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its +illumination told nothing. It was Geoffrey’s own sharp ears that told him of +light footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland recognised at once +that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight of stairs from the hall +reached the upper story at a point very near where the back stairs came up, +while they descended to widely different places in the lower story, so that the +burglar, looking down, could choose his flight of stairs as soon as he saw his +pursuer committed to the other, and thus reach the lower hall with several +seconds to spare. Fortunately, however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a +door at the foot of the back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off +the light again, threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the sound +would give the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked the door at +the foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran up the front stairs +and down the back. The result was somewhat as he expected. The burglar had +reached the door at the foot of the stairs, and finding it locked was half way +up again when he and Geoffrey met. The impetus of Geoffrey’s descent carried +the man backward. They both landed against the locked door with a force that +burst it open. Geoffrey, on top and armed, had little difficulty in securing +his bruised foe, and marching him back to the library where he now took the +precaution of locking all the doors. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural love of +the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with his capture. He +thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the two undermen, and the +helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he remembered the telephone, which, +fortunately, stood in a closet off the library. +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the burglar. “Stand with your face to the wall and your hands up,” +he said; “and if I see you move I’d just as lief shoot you as look at you,” +with which warning he approached the telephone and, still keeping an eye on the +other, rang up central. There was no answer. He rang again,—six, seven +times he repeated the process unavailingly. He tried the private wire to the +McFarlane cottage with no better result. +</p> + +<p> +At this point the burglar spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what the devil!” he said mildly; “I can’t stand here with my hands over my +head all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll stand there,” replied Geoffrey with some temper, “until I’m ready for +you to move.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when will that be?” +</p> + +<p> +“When this fool of a Central answers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not as long as that, I hope,” said the burglar, “because, to tell the +truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless smile +of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar’s face. At length Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay here until +morning.” He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, alarmed at his +absence, would send some one to look for him,—some one who could be used +as a messenger to fetch the constable. +</p> + +<p> +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at once into +an armchair—an armchair toward which Holland himself was making his way, +knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night session. Feeling the +absurdity of making any point of the matter, however, he contented himself with +the sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“Take off your mask,” he said as he sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“So I will, thank you,” said the burglar as if he had been asked to remove his +hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that met Geoffrey’s +interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by exposure so that his very +light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark a surrounding. Above, his sandy +hair, which had receded somewhat from his forehead, curled up from his temples +like a baby’s. His upper lip was long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face +an expression of humour. His hands were ugly, but small. +</p> + +<p> +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging the cut +on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland’s presence, Geoffrey +meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of bandaging over, the man +reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, selecting a volume of Sterne, +settled back comfortably in his chair. Holland stared at him an instant in +wonder, and then attempted to follow his example. But his attention to his book +was much less concentrated than that of his captive, whose expression soon +showed him to be completely absorbed. +</p> + +<p> +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show signs of +restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked distinctly +disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence again. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving—his revolver was drooping +in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal acquaintance +unsuccessfully, and repeated: +</p> + +<p> +“Remember you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, we were at school together for a time.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: +</p> + +<p> +“You used to be able to wag your ears.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can still.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you are Skinny McVay.” +</p> + +<p> +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw nothing +comic in these untender reminiscences. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember the masters all hated you,” said Geoffrey, “but you were straight +enough then, weren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Again the man nodded. “I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago.” +</p> + +<p> +After a moment Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Did not I hear you were in the navy?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay. “I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I should +like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. They threw me +out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. It was worse than +State’s prison.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in a position to judge?” asked Geoffrey coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you will be soon,” said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to point +out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his school days. But +McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said ruminatively; “I’ve done a lot of things in my time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t want to hear about them,” said Geoffrey, who had no intention of +being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar looked more surprised +than angered at this shortness, and only said: +</p> + +<p> +“Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to start a +cheering blaze with his left hand. +</p> + +<p> +For a few minutes Geoffrey’s determined attention to his book discouraged his +companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram Shandy with the back of +his hand, he exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it sometimes +strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so unfortunately different +from other people. Ordinary standards meant nothing to him—too +original—sees life from another standpoint, entirely. That’s me! +I—” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” roared Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said McVay, “only I talk better on my feet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you wouldn’t talk as well with a bullet in you.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay sank back again in his chair. “Yes,” he said, “that’s me. Why, Holland, I +have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number of things that I +can do—that I am really proficient in. Anything with the hands,” he waved +his fingers supplely in the air, “is no trouble to me at all. I have at once a +natural skill that most people take a lifetime to acquire.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m told there’s work for all where you are going.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing himself to +remain at a loss, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian Heaven, +where we are going to work with our hands? For my part—” +</p> + +<p> +“I had reference to the penitentiary,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in the +penitentiary. You don’t admit that, I suppose, with your conventional ideas; +but to me they are just as admirable as any other great creative +artist,—sculptor or financier. I see you don’t quite get that. You are +hemmed in by conventional standards, and your possessions, and all the things +to which you attach such great importance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t attach so much importance that I steal them from other people,” said +Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything stealing from +some one or other? Of course. But I see you don’t catch the idea. Well, I dare +say I would not either in your place—rather think I would not. My sister +is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in her own way, but philistine. She is +so good as to be my companion, apparently on equal terms, in many ways my +superior, but it would be impossible for me even to mention these ideas to +her,—ideas which are of the greatest interest to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” said Geoffrey, “how much of all this rubbish you believe?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled with great sweetness. “I wonder myself, Holland. Still it is +undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,—a hard life +too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a coincidence +as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was scarcely a coincidence. I came—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister’s things, but still, if +you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it <i>was</i> a +coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt action. Nine men out +of ten in your place—still, I’m not depressed. You cannot say, Holland, +that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years of hard labour before him, +can you? I dare say you have never been thrown with a person who showed less +anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, there is something preying on my mind. +Something entirely aside from anything you could imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t tell me!” said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most amused +or infuriated by his companion’s conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I am about to tell you,” said McVay graciously, “I am very seriously worried +about my sister. In fact I don’t see that there is any getting away from it; +you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let you do <i>what</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get my sister. She’s living in a little hut in your woods, and I am actually +afraid she will be snowed up.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems highly probable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, I must go and get her.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: “You must be crazy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I am,” answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an amusing +side. “Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, Holland, alone, +all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is not a position in which +you would leave your sister, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself with a +laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“There you see,” said McVay. “It’s out of the question. The place is draughty, +too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at all? You would be +surprised to see how nicely I’ve fixed it up for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt I should,” replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and Marheim +valuables. +</p> + +<p> +“It is surprisingly livable, but it <i>is</i> draughty,” McVay went on. “The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But one cannot +foresee everything. The winters have been open until Christmas so often lately. +However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly willing to rectify it. If you have +no objection, I’ll go and bring her back here.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you have any respect for your skin you won’t move from that chair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, the devil, Holland, don’t be so—” he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,—“so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It’s cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very unpleasant, I should think.” +</p> + +<p> +“More than that, more than that,—suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not safe. +It’s a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like this would scare +any girl alone in a place like that, there is some danger to her life. Don’t +you see that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I see,” returned Geoffrey, “but you ought to have thought of that before +you came burgling in a blizzard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever of being +caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it did seem about the +safest job yet.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even arguing the +matter, and presently McVay continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went wrong +with her, and you knew you could have helped it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Helped it!” said Geoffrey. “What do you mean? Let you loose on the county for +the sake of a story no sane man would believe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” returned McVay judicially, “perhaps you could not do that, but,” he +added brightly, “you could go yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “I <i>could</i>—” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think you ought to be getting along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, McVay,” said Holland, “you are something of a humorist, aren’t +you?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hardly that,” he said. “Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,—a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just thinking that +it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison for years to have some +one come in with a new point of view.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you will be an addition to prison life. It’s an ill wind, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you certainly +can trust me. Do be starting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what do you take me for?” said the exasperated Geoffrey. “Do you really +suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices in order to give +you a chance to escape?” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Accomplices!’” exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of anger +crossed his brow; “‘<i>accomplices’</i>! I have no accomplices. Anything I do I +think I am able to do alone. Still,” he added putting aside his annoyance, “if +you feel nervous about leaving me I’d just as lief give you my word of honour +to stay here until you come back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your <i>what</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a good deal +tried. “Oh, anything you like,” he said. “I suppose you could lock me up in a +closet.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think we need trouble to arrange the details,” said Geoffrey drily. +“But I’ll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in jail to-morrow, +I’ll get a trap and go and look up this hut.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be too late then.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may,” said Geoffrey, and continued to read. +</p> + +<p> +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the burglar kept +casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such brutality, and in +truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by any chance the story were +true,—if there was a woman at his doors freezing to death, how could he +sit enjoying the fire? But, on the other hand, could any one have a more +evident motive for deception than his informant? What better opportunity for +escape could be arranged? It was so evident, so impudent as to be almost +convincing. What more likely for instance, than that the hut was a regular +rendezvous for criminals and tramps, that by going he would be walking into the +veriest trap? Yet again there was the report confirmed by Harris’s story that a +woman was in some way connected with these robberies. The wind whistled round +the house with a suggestion of difficulty, of combat with the elements, of +actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave Geoffrey a new view of delay. Had it +not something the air of cowardice, or at least of laziness? He found his eyes +had read the same page three times, while his brain was busy devising means by +which McVay could be secured in his absence—if he went. +</p> + +<p> +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go,” he said, “but before I go, I’ll tie you up so safely that, if I +don’t come back, you’ll starve to death before you’ll be able to get out or +make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I want you to go,” said McVay, “only for goodness sake be careful. If +you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep don’t yield to it; +they say it’s fatal. The great thing is to keep on walking—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shut up,” said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was going to +meet death at the hands of his fluent companion’s accomplices he found this +friendly advice unbearable. +</p> + +<p> +“This hut, I take it,” he said, “is an old woodcutter’s shanty in the north +woods?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know the place,” said Geoffrey, “now come along, and we’ll see how I can fix +you up until I come back.” +</p> + +<p> +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that opened in +and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, having removed a +complete burglar’s outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey disposed McVay, being met +with a readiness on McVay’s part that seemed to prove either that he was +sincere in his belief in Holland’s safe return, or else was perfectly confident +of being able to open the door as soon as Geoffrey’s back was turned. +</p> + +<p> +“But he’ll find himself mistaken,” Geoffrey murmured as, having locked the +door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, and, +gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey again opened +the door. +</p> + +<p> +“By the way,” said the burglar, and for the first time a certain constraint, +amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his manner, “my sister +has no idea about—it would be a great shock to her—in fact, you +understand, she has not discovered exactly how our money comes to us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect me to believe that?” asked Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“I grant it does not sound likely,” returned McVay, “and indeed would not be +possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty good +yarn,—worked out well everyway. I told her—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to hear your infernal lies.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her,” McVay chuckled, “that +I was employed as night watchman at Drake’s paper mill. That of course kept me +out all night, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“She must think night watchmen get good wages.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just wanted +an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better job. You see I +just lost a nice job in a bank—” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we won’t discuss it,” said McVay with an agreeable smile. “Of course she +could understand that such an inferior position as a watchman’s had to be kept +a profound secret, hence our remote mode of life, and the fact that I don’t +allow a butcher or baker to come near us. I tell her that if it were known that +I had held such a poor position, it would interfere with my getting a better. +So, if you should happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am +detained here—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>If</i> I should explain to her,” said Geoffrey. “What do you suppose I am +going to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose you will find it necessary,” said McVay. “Indeed, as a matter +of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. Still, you might +bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she were your own +sister—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, go to the devil,” said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>III</h2> + +<p> +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his present +expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that if he did run +into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass to have come. Indeed, +there seemed a fair chance that he might think this even if nothing worse +happened than that the hut proved empty, for he would have had a long walk for +nothing better than to provide McVay with an opportunity to escape. He did not +see exactly how McVay could get out, but he was aware that few people would +think it wise to leave a burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some +hours of leisure at his disposal. +</p> + +<p> +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; the wind +was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not gone a hundred +yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more difficult than he had +imagined. To make headway against the wind was a constant struggle, and he +seemed to slip back in the snow at every step. Still the natural obstinacy of +his nature was aroused, and as his attention was more and more engaged with the +endeavor to make his way, he had less time to think of the probable futility of +his proceeding. +</p> + +<p> +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only because he +had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had penetrated every +crevice of his clothing. +</p> + +<p> +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey on the +stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave an impression of +desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, sit idle under that +recurrent bang? +</p> + +<p> +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention of +giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so did not +knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved mightily. The hinges +broke from the rotten wood at once, and he stumbled in. +</p> + +<p> +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing interior, for +the window was not the only opening. There was a great gap in the roof where, +earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, and now its bricks littered the +floor, already well covered with snow. Some attempt must have been made, as +McVay had boasted, of “fixing it up”; there were books in the shelves on the +walls, and a black iron stove on which the snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey +took in the situation, something in a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap +of rugs, stirred and moved, and finally rose, betraying itself to be a woman. +Geoffrey had been prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing at all, or even +a girl, as McVay had said. He told himself he would be surprised at nothing, +yet found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the sight of a beautiful face. +</p> + +<p> +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, for all +sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all a silk coverlet +originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had slipped sideways, and fell +like a Hussar’s jacket from one shoulder. Her hair stood like a dark halo about +her little face, making it seem smaller and younger, almost too small for the +magnificent eyes that lit it. Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine +attractions, said to himself that he had never seen such blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity became in +him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the masculine instinct +toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the other women he had +admired—well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young creatures—had +always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other men, had seen their +hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take a trolley car instead of her +father’s carriage, but he had thought himself hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but +now he knew better. Now he knew what it was to feel personally outraged at a +woman’s discomfort. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” he cried, “what a night you have had. How wicked, how abominable, +how criminal—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus03"></a> +<img src="images/image3.png" width="383" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Good god,” he cried “what a night you have had” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“It has been a dreadful night,” said the girl, “but it is nobody’s fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it is somebody’s fault,” answered Geoffrey. “It must be. Do you mean +to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all night with my feet +on the fender, and you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, “I could wish +we might have changed places.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to Heaven we might,” returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never before had +he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often seen that it was +advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly to want to was a new +experience. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said the girl, “but I’m afraid there is nothing to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing to be done!” He dropped on his knees before the black monster of a +stove, “Do you suppose I’m here to do nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm.” +</p> + +<p> +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. +</p> + +<p> +“That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I left my +fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every blast, ‘that +poor, poor girl.’ I set out to bring you to safety. I begin to think I was born +for no other reason.” +</p> + +<p> +She smiled rather wearily, “Your coming at all is so strange that I could +almost believe you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I did not +particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and cold because I +did not know what I was going to find....” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“A girl, yes. But what’s a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I seen in my +life? Is that a thought to turn a man’s head? What I did not know was that I +was going to find <i>you</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor,” she said +mildly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve said it, you see,” he answered, “and you won’t forget it, even if +you do change the subject.” He turned his attention to the fire. Where is the +man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire building is not serious? +</p> + +<p> +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and tried +to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed fingers touched +his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her hand in both of his. +</p> + +<p> +“Your hands are as cold as ice,” he said, holding them tightly, and thanking +Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. +</p> + +<p> +She withdrew them. “You are too conscientious,” she said. “That is not part of +the duty of a rescue party.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is, it is,” said Geoffrey violently. “It is the merest humanity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humanity?” +</p> + +<p> +“To me, of course, if you will pin me down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane.” +</p> + +<p> +“They ought to be grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Gratefuller</i> then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to be +born and grow up and live just to come here for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, curse the fire,” said Geoffrey rising from his knees. “Who minds about +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mind very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you mustn’t. You must not mind about anything, because it sets up too +strong a reaction in me. There’s no telling what I might not do under the +stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will burn in my house, +and that is where we are going.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t do that,” she said, looking very grave. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t do anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must wait for my brother. He’s out somewhere in this storm, and if he comes +back and finds me gone—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, your brother,” said Geoffrey, “I forgot all about him. He’s at my house +already. He sent me for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: “then my +plight was not revealed to you in a vision?” +</p> + +<p> +“The vision is with me now.” +</p> + +<p> +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when she +thought it advisable. +</p> + +<p> +“And so you took poor Billy in?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey coughed. “Well, in a sense,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +She rose. “We’ll go at once,” she said. “Is it far?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very, but it is going to be hard work.” +</p> + +<p> +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the realisation of +her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt depressed, then as he saw her +struggling to undo the knot that held the comforter about her, he forgot +everything but the pleasure of doing her a service. And in the midst of this +joy, the coverlet slid to the ground and revealed her clad from head to foot in +his sister’s sables. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a nice warm coat you have on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it?” She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a tenderness +trying to any masculine onlooker. “It saved my life.” +</p> + +<p> +It was on the tip of Geoffrey’s tongue to ask if he was not entitled to a +similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it possible that +she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? Could any sane woman +really believe that sable coats fell naturally to the lot of night watchmen? +Her manner was candour itself, but how should it not be? What more inevitable +than that she should make an effort to deceive a casual stranger? She had the +most evident motives for behaving exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had +reasoned about McVay, and yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in +distress exactly as he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it was +true. Might not the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked himself, +and answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. He chose to +believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her through +such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked out in stolen +finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was hurrying on the moment +of disillusion. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” she said, “if I could take some things with me. Is it impossible +for me to carry a bag?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but not for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would be only this.” She held up a small Russia leather affair legibly +marked with Mrs. Inness’ initials. +</p> + +<p> +“I will take it,” said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. +</p> + +<p> +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: +</p> + +<p> +“But if Billy is all right, why didn’t he come for me himself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, because—” Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would scorn to deceive you,” said Geoffrey with passion, and looked at her +to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put into words. +</p> + +<p> +She did not appear to understand. “Then why didn’t he come?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you must be stronger than Billy.” She cast a reflective glance at his +shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately flattered. +</p> + +<p> +“He is really safe at your house?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so, I did my best,” he returned grimly. +</p> + +<p> +She looked at him gravely. “You have been very kind to a stranger,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with her. It +did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he thought a more +advantageous time could be found for telling her the truth, in case of course +she did not know it already. He felt that he himself would be better able to +deal a cold blow when she was warm and sheltered. No man, he said to himself, +could be disagreeable to a girl who had no one to depend on but himself. So he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, another of Billy’s friends. I never knew such a person for discovering +friends at the most opportune times. He never wants anything but what a friend +turns up. Did you find him wandering about, or did he come and demand +admittance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he knew me +well enough to walk in.” +</p> + +<p> +“He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have not met since we were at school.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew you well +enough to walk in on you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Men are so queer!” she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice of +admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under such false +colours as her brother’s benefactor. +</p> + +<p> +“We ought to be starting,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +She looked round the room. “I hate to leave all these nice things,” she said. +“Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave him that he +says is really priceless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it,” said Geoffrey shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I could not +take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to contribute something +to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I leave it, it may be stolen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it may be stolen.” He looked down into her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Then—” +</p> + +<p> +“I ask you as a favour to leave it behind.” +</p> + +<p> +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, sweet and +quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it all was. +</p> + +<p> +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose to +remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and that it was +his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to overcome united them. +They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing interest. They had nothing to +think of but accomplishing their task,—of that and of each other. As far +as they could see were snow and black trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered +that any one but themselves existed. +</p> + +<p> +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage warmed his +heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert her independence. +She turned to him at every point. He guided her past the scenes of his own +disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had already made. +</p> + +<p> +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she did answer +him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor encouragement, but +plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her skirts, however, wet and heavy, +hampered her desperately, and the exertion of walking through the thick snow +began to tell. Geoffrey made her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, +but at length she stopped of herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Have we done half yet?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Just about,” he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. But he +saw at once that he had failed,—that she had had a hope that they were +nearer their destination—that she began to doubt her own powers. +Presently she moved forward again in silence. +</p> + +<p> +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took comfort +in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she had, she would +use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her beforehand. She would +not fail through lack of determination. Whether or not she were the confederate +of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, and a beautiful one, he thought, looking +down upon her in the glare of the snow. +</p> + +<p> +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. This +was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what men were made +for. +</p> + +<p> +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at their backs +the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained an instant, too +weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet again. +</p> + +<p> +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and when +they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the little step had he +not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to the library and laid her +on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of McVay, had gone out. It took +Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands to build a blaze. When he turned +toward her again she was sleeping like a child. +</p> + +<p> +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay was +either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug and was soon +asleep also. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>IV</h2> + +<p> +It was after two o’clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have slept +three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still sleeping peacefully. +He almost wished that she would never awake to all the dreadful surprises that +the house held for her. Her eye-lashes curved long and dark on her cheek. +Geoffrey turned away quickly. +</p> + +<p> +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have been +known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the library and ran +up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great was his dread that he +would have been really relieved to see the closet door standing open as an +immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. It was, however, locked as he +had left it. But as he hastened to undo it, a voice from within reassured him: +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus04"></a> +<img src="images/image4.png" width="263" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">He let McVay out of the closet +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Well, where have you been all this time?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may be thankful I’m back at all. It did not look like it, at one time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Cecilia?” +</p> + +<p> +“Down stairs asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay gave a little giggle. “Ah,” he said, “I bet you have had the devil of a +time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be the one to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t child’s play.” +</p> + +<p> +“Child’s play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough among men, +but women!” he waved his hand; “so sensitive, so cloistered!” +</p> + +<p> +“Your sister behaved nobly,” said Geoffrey severely. +</p> + +<p> +“Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a hard trip for any woman.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked up. “Oh,” he said, “I wasn’t speaking of the trip. I meant about +me. What did she say?” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say anything. She went to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the penitentiary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: “Why should I +tell her what she must know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you she knows nothing about my—profession.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your <i>profession</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t a notion of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, with my sister’s coat on her back, and the Innes’ bag in her hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” McVay drew a step nearer. “You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing.” He chuckled, and +Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently disappointed the +other. +</p> + +<p> +“That was a good idea, wasn’t it?” he asked with a faint appeal in his voice. +“She thought it was likely, anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“She must be very gullable,” said Geoffrey brutally. +</p> + +<p> +“Or else,” said McVay with a conscious smile, “I must be a pretty good +dissembler.” +</p> + +<p> +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his impulse, +would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. Instead, he +said: +</p> + +<p> +“Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said the burglar, “it would be a good idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not thank me,” said Geoffrey. “I don’t take you with me for the +pleasure of your company, but because I don’t dare let you out of my sight.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to ignore this +speech. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” he said, as they went down stairs, “I suppose that most men shut up +in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, but, to me it was +a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is one of my theories that +every one ought to have resources within. Now I dare say you were quite anxious +about me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought of you at all,” said Geoffrey. “After I got in I went to sleep +for three hours.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with dignity: +“Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don’t think that was very considerate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk so loud,” said Geoffrey, “you’ll wake your sister.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at short +notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned eatables in the house +to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these he now depended, and was not a +little annoyed to find the kitchen store room where they were kept securely +locked. +</p> + +<p> +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools and on +being given them set to work on the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever noticed,” he said, “the heavy handed way in which some men use +tools? Look at my touch,—so light, yet so accurate. I take no credit to +myself. I was born so. It’s a very fortunate thing to be naturally dexterous.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little less so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death years +ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to God you had,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but otherwise +preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work heating soup and +smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the dining-room—this was +McVay’s suggestion; he said food was unappetising unless it were nicely +served—Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is,” he added firmly, “I’ll +give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain the situation +fully.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door behind him, +and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could command both doors. +</p> + +<p> +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told himself +no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely nervous. He +felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He thought of her as he +had seen her asleep, of the curve of her eye-lashes on her cheek, of her +raising those lashes, awaking to be met with McVay’s revelations. Even if she +were guilty, Geoffrey found it in his heart to pity her waking to learn that +her brother was a prisoner. How unfortunate, too, would be her own +position,—the guest, if only for a few hours, of a man who was concerned +only to lodge her brother in jail. +</p> + +<p> +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they came out +together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it unperturbed. Didn’t +she care, or had she always known? +</p> + +<p> +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: +</p> + +<p> +“Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat—shock +on an empty stomach, so bad—so hard to bear.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey shook his arm free. “You infernal coward,” he whispered back. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I like that,” retorted McVay, “you didn’t tell her yourself when you had +the chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t my affair. I did not tell her because—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know,” McVay interrupted with a chuckle. “I’ve been knowing why for the +last ten minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +They followed her into the dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey asked +nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,—a position evidently +decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look at her, and now +and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could force her to meet his +eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more apparent than that, for both of +them, a momentous event had occurred. +</p> + +<p> +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the general +conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so entirely mechanical +that he was scarcely aware of them himself. +</p> + +<p> +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. +</p> + +<p> +“And <i>this</i> is our Christmas dinner,” observed McVay regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” returned the girl, “this is luncheon. I’ll cook your dinner. You’ll +see.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for disillusioning her +had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet it would not be at his +dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal court rose before him. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss McVay,” he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning which the +other man was directing toward him; “we shall not be here at dinner. Your +brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down the mountain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now?” +</p> + +<p> +“At once.” +</p> + +<p> +She coloured slowly and deeply,—the only evidence of anger. “I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go,” she said, rising. “I +should thank you for having borne with us so long.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this,” said McVay. +“It will be dark in an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +She turned on her brother quickly: “Please say no more about the matter, +Billy,” she said. “We will start at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t start if it means certainly freezing to death,” he remonstrated. +</p> + +<p> +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to compel +the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>would</i>,” she answered and shut the door behind her. +</p> + +<p> +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. “One +moment,” he said, “you are quite right. It is too late to start to-night. We +must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a night here without +your sister’s being told—” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!” +</p> + +<p> +“I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we are +starting, but in that case I must—” +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you are going to ask,—my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to ask for anything at all,” said Geoffrey. “I’m going to tell +you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We won’t have any +nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick man with a gun. There +may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it wasn’t in the East I got my +training. You will always keep in front of me where I can see you plainly, and +you will never, under any circumstances come nearer than six feet to me. If you +should ever come nearer than that or take a sudden step in my direction, I’d +shoot you just as sure as I stand here.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. “Oh, come, Holland,” he said, “isn’t that +the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me before my own sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, and +having you escape is one of them.” +</p> + +<p> +The other thought it over. “The trouble is,” he explained, “that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I am. I’m +not at all sure that I shall remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold blood in the +presence of my own sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better behave as if you believed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like this arrangement,” McVay broke out peevishly. “Suppose, for the +sake of argument, that I did forget,—that I put my hand on your +shoulder—a very natural gesture.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should shoot instantly.” +</p> + +<p> +“But fancy the shock to Cecilia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. And +another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling about the +subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not only a +thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving her.” +</p> + +<p> +Again McVay’s gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. “Very true,” he said, “I had +not thought of that. But then,” he added more brightly, “who can tell if it +will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so strangely. It may +turn out that that is <i>your</i> part.” +</p> + +<p> +“It may,” said Geoffrey, “but only because I have had to shoot after all.” With +which he opened the door and they returned to the library. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>V</h2> + +<p> +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her absence, +turned at once to his book. +</p> + +<p> +“If you won’t think me impolite, Holland, I’ll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,—especially as +your books are so unusual.” +</p> + +<p> +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey could not +read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his eyes were fixed on +the carpet. The knowledge of the girl’s presence in his house distracted him +like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave himself up to steeping himself in +his emotion, which, in some situations, is the nearest thing possible to +thinking. +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey’s success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for he was +good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of fact, however, +his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this very reason he was not +afraid to give it full sway. The deeply susceptible man learns to be cautious, +to distrust his feelings, but Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his +fundamental indifference to have any reason to distrust himself. He had never +been in love. Like Ferdinand he, “for different virtues had liked many women,” +although in his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had +attracted him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or another +pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature responded. He had often +thought that if he could make up a composite woman of all of them he might be +in great danger of falling in love. But now he was aware that his whole nature +responded to the attraction of the girl upstairs, as a dog answers +instinctively to the call of its master. He could say to himself that she was +this or that,—brave and beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were +but an insignificant part of the total effect. His reason could find causes +enough to approve her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made +straight the paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and which in +case of a divergence between the two, his reason could never overcome. +</p> + +<p> +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied fell +coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to himself in so many +words that he was in love,—far less had anything so definite as marriage +crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so practical. He only knew that +McVay’s mere existence was a contamination and a tragedy. +</p> + +<p> +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the stairs. +He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his eye on McVay’s +studious figure in the library. +</p> + +<p> +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus05"></a> +<img src="images/image5.png" width="289" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">She Was Dressed In His Sister’s Sables—ready For +Departure +</p> +</div> + +<p> +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, with a cold +blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could make her take further +notice of him as a living being. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?” he said, with +directness. +</p> + +<p> +“I have not been thinking about the matter at all,” she answered, turning her +head a little aside from his direct gaze. “But I do think so of course. After +all why should you not wish it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You think me likely to want anything that would part us—that is the way +my manner strikes you?” He was surprised to find his voice not absolutely +steady. +</p> + +<p> +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. “You seem to forget +that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. Possibly you have +changed your mind, but I have made mine up.” She made a motion as if to pass +in, and go on toward the library. +</p> + +<p> +“I have changed so completely since I saw you,” said Geoffrey, “that I scarcely +recognise life in this—this ecstasy. That is the only change. Am I likely +to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for you to come?” +</p> + +<p> +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had been +fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to work once again. +She said very coolly: +</p> + +<p> +“You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,—or have you +forgotten saying that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going because—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, why?” Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of her mouth +had softened by not a little. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there would +be greater danger in starting out so late. And,—and equally desperate for +me, whatever we do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Desperate?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,—to hate me, as +your look said.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not hate you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very eager to be rid of my company.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Until we can go safely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not longer?” +</p> + +<p> +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she said, “We +are under sufficiently large obligations to you already.” +</p> + +<p> +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing them with +satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. +</p> + +<p> +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be observed at +all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to be observed by one +who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. Never, said Geoffrey to +himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay’s clear little eyes, never should +any influence lead him to let a thief slip through his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another word +alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous sort of +revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man’s company. Geoffrey +had not appreciated the full meaning of his instructions to McVay to keep +always in sight. Not a word or a look could be exchanged without McVay’s seeing +and rejoicing. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the brother of +so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my dear,” he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, “feel better? +Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me about +it—saying how well you behaved,” (Geoffrey favoured him with a scowl +behind her back), “a perfect heroine,—so he says.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Holland is very kind,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Kind!” cried McVay enthusiastically. “Kind! I should rather think he was. Why, +I could give you instances of his kindness—” +</p> + +<p> +“You need not trouble,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... so +modest, so unassuming. +</p> + +<p> +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing enough +to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination of facility +and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any question of playing +upon Cecilia’s unconsciousness of the situation, he writhed. Yet, a little +discernment would have shown him how natural, how encouraging from his own +point of view her unconsciousness was. To fall in love thoroughly is +sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us needs to be told that it is an +absorbing process, that life looks different, and that all past experiences +must be reviewed in the light of this unexpected illumination. And if this is +true of the more usual forms of the great passion, what is to be said of a girl +who, in a single day, sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young +creature, who comes to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a prince, +who comes not only to save and protect, but as host and dispenser of all +comfort and beauty. +</p> + +<p> +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one fact, one +personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd conclusions from the +little happenings going on before her, she was but dimly aware of the existence +of her brother, of the world, of anything but Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: +</p> + +<p> +“And this is where you sat all night?” And if the thought was interesting to +her, it was not on account of her brother’s share in it. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. “Here we sat discussing +plans for your safety.” He took a step toward the pair at the fire, and then +remembering, stopped. “Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to +get nearer the fire. I’m cold.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus06"></a> +<img src="images/image6.png" width="600" height="468" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“Please move a little back, Holland,” he said, “I want to +get nearer the fire” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“You can go to the fire,” said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you can,” said the girl, “Mr. Holland is not in your way, Billy.” +</p> + +<p> +But Billy continued to eye his host. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said warily. “Not +unless you move back. Do move, there’s a good fellow.” And Geoffrey laughed and +moved, somewhat to the girl’s mystification. She forgot to wonder, however, in +pursuing the more wonderful train of thought which had already been occupying +her. Suppose that their plans for her relief had been decided differently, +suppose her brother had come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with +what different eyes she might now be looking on life—this ecstasy as +Holland had defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so +blessed, she asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I said to him,” replied McVay eagerly. “If I said once, I said a +dozen times: ‘Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my <i>right</i> to +go,’ but ...” McVay shrugged his shoulders, “when he once gets an idea into his +head, it takes a gimlet to get it out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Upon my word, Billy,” the girl said indignantly, “I don’t think you ought to +talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. Holland only +insisted on going because he thought he was better able to bear the physical +strain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Physical strain!” exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy hair, +from pure annoyance; “I don’t know what you mean,... Holland is, of course, a +larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far as mere brute force +goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing physical strain, you betray the +most absurd ignorance. It is well known scientifically that medium-sized men +like myself, when their muscles are at all developed (and you know my muscles), +are better fitted for endurance than any of these over-grown giants.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said she calmly, “if you knew you were better fitted I can’t see why +you did not go.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not quite fair to your brother,” said Geoffrey interrupting, for McVay +looked as if he would explode in another moment under the sense of injustice. +“He did propose going himself, but I would not let him; I—I made it a +personal matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very personal,” replied McVay with feeling. “I’ll just explain how it was. +Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up my mind that +I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after some trouble, came +to this room, turned on the light—a spooky thing; an empty house, picked +up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the world, everything, when a voice +at my elbow said: ‘Fond of reading?’ I was never more surprised in my life. I +felt distinctly caught,—an interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw +that Holland did not at once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he +would not hear of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was +his wish to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty accurate +account of the night’s proceeding, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay’s +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the twinkling joy +of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be doing mankind a favour +by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn of another day. Unconscious of +this possibility, McVay continued to his sister: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long and +dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. A handsome +coat, is it not, Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” said Geoffrey chillingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that coat,” McVay went on unchilled, “was a real bargain. I may say I paid +nothing for it,—little more than the trouble of taking it home. Although +from another point of view, its price was pretty high....” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Billy, I don’t think Mr. Holland is interested in our bargains.” +</p> + +<p> +“In <i>some</i>, he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed,” said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, “I think I +know of just about a dozen people who will want a circumstantial account of all +of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,—circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation—(are you familiar with that +word?)—the only suggestion it has for me is a <i>jury</i>?” +</p> + +<p> +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. +</p> + +<p> +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was almost time +to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They all rose as if glad +of a break. As they passed out of the door, Geoffrey laid his hand on McVay’s +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +McVay smiled. “Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in freezing +weather? Don’t I amuse you? Be candid.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked regretful. “As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you had more +sense of humour,” he said gently. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>VI</h2> + +<p> +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for organisation +rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the wall, and tilting back at +his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at work. Geoffrey, engaged in lighting +the range-fire, looked up at her as she moved about filling the kettle and +washing out pots and pans, and thought that he and she presented the aspect of +a young couple of the labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a +roof over their heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. +</p> + +<p> +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, apples +and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, which, with a +burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well for plum-pudding. +</p> + +<p> +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even his +irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more friendly than +before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. +</p> + +<p> +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in each hand, +when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, handkerchief in hand, +exclaiming: +</p> + +<p> +“My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me—” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus07"></a> +<img src="images/image7.png" width="600" height="430" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“My dear fellow—pray allow me” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Look out,” roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay sprang back +ten feet. “I was afraid of burning you with the soup,” Geoffrey explained +politely. +</p> + +<p> +“I own you made me jump,” said McVay. +</p> + +<p> +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an unfortunate +impression on her. +</p> + +<p> +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently sat down +to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed themselves as +inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines and toasted biscuits, +canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, bacon and a potato salad, a +bottle of champagne, and finally the wedding cake. +</p> + +<p> +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk would be +to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this nature, however, +was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart of champagne had not +produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was clear, his speech perfect, and +he was more than usually aware of his own powers, confident of appreciation. +</p> + +<p> +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the tips of +his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear Holland,” he said, “I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for it has +already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to make it. Let +me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this delightful occasion. You +have referred to the fare as meagre, to our position as constrained, but +believe me, I am not exaggerating when I say that I so little agree with you +that I am confident that, during many of the remaining years of my life I shall +look back to this Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, +perhaps, the warm glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in +situations like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland,” he paused +impressively, “has stood the test.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: +</p> + +<p> +“I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little pecuniary +value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer mentioned. I feel +that it will be recommended to you more than mere worth could recommend it by +the fact that it is peculiarly my own,—my own as few human possessions +can be said to be. I offer it,” he said, drawing from his pocket a square flat +little package, “with best wishes for a happy New Year.” +</p> + +<div class="fig" style="width:100%;"> +<a name="illus08"></a> +<img src="images/image8.png" width="302" height="600" alt="[Illustration: ]" /> +<p class="caption">“I Have Here A Slight Token, In Honor Of The Day” +</p> + +</div> + +<p> +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey’s mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so perfectly in +keeping with McVay’s consuming desire to triumph in minor matters, that he was +able to smile pleasantly and receive it appropriately. He exchanged a glance of +real appreciation with the donor, and received a grave bow in return. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia smiled, too, “I don’t know exactly why you should think Mr. Holland +wants your picture, Billy,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“It may be of the greatest service to him,” said McVay. +</p> + +<p> +The girl turned to Geoffrey. “I can’t make a speech like Billy’s,” she said, +“but I have a small present for you which I hope you won’t despise because it +is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some time, and I hope <i>you</i> +will now, in remembrance of the time when you sheltered the houseless.” She +held out on her pink palm a flat gold pencil with a single topaz set in the +top. +</p> + +<p> +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay’s eye in +which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey’s half-formed question +was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms of delight at the idea that +Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of stolen goods that he could not well +conceal it. And instinctively Geoffrey drew back his hand. The next moment he +realised that he must at once accept the gift with decent gratitude, whatever +he might choose to do with it afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed +his hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, rose from +the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the feast as best they +could. +</p> + +<p> +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the part of a +waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over his arm and began +to clear the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment,” said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; “I have +something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my sentiments in regard +to your sister.... I think her a wonder,—that’s all it is necessary for +you to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under the +impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won’t. You stand just +where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. Then I settle my +affairs.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay’s face fell. “Really, Holland,” he said, “I don’t see how, if you are +fond of a woman you can want ...” +</p> + +<p> +“... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are worse brothers than I,” replied McVay, “how many men would have +sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her comfortably.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not many, I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is extraordinarily fond of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can scarcely say that <i>now</i>,” returned McVay encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t discuss it with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean to send +me to state’s prison?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean exactly that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, she’d never forgive you.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and presently +McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, asked: “Are you +serious, Holland?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you suppose I am?” Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his head went +on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent and abstracted and +for the first time seemed to realise his position. When they had put away the +last plate, Geoffrey said: +</p> + +<p> +“Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pipe! Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be more +apt to take it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little gift. As a +matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had given her the pencil. +A pretty little thing, singularly like one which you may have seen Mrs.—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me where you took it from. I don’t want to know. Come and get your +pipe and mind you are grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +“A pipe,” observed McVay thoughtfully. “I think I’ll take that large meerschaum +on the mantelpiece.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey laughed. “I think you won’t,” he answered. “The best pipe I own! No, +indeed, you’ll take a horrid little one that won’t draw. It will be just the +thing for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said McVay, “no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall make it +appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at the last moment. +And I can do it, Holland.” His little eyes gleamed at the thought. “I shall +say, ‘My dear fellow, I’m glad you changed your mind about the meerschaum; it +was as you say, too handsome for a man in my position.’ That will make her mad +if anything will. You know she is not quite satisfied with the way you treat +me, as it is.” +</p> + +<p> +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the gift was +to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his favourite pipe. The +affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate over accepting so handsome an +offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon him with a good grace. +</p> + +<p> +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less and less +willing to make it in McVay’s presence, and more and more unable to think of +any way of getting rid of him except murder or the cedar-closet. His anxiety +was rendered more acute by the fact that once or twice he could not help +suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her anger, would have been glad of a few +words alone with him, also. +</p> + +<p> +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat upstairs +for her. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly I will,” cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at the +door before Holland’s warning shout “<i>McVay</i>” stopped him. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me take it up for your sister,” he said warningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not at all. Let <i>me</i>,” replied McVay courteously. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t hear of it,” returned Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it with a +snap. +</p> + +<p> +“You would, would you?” he said angrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Holland,” said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into an +irrational confusion, “this is exactly a case in point. I am by nature a +gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder?” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, and I +doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been at my head. +She asked me. That was enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve warned you once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Holland, I think,—you’ll excuse my telling you,—that you have a +very unfortunate manner at times.” +</p> + +<p> +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, with his +eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you play?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his last +speech. “Yes,” he answered, “I can. Well, I’m not a professional, you +understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much technique and a +good deal more sentiment than most.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care <i>how</i> you play,” said Holland. “There is a piano. Sit down +and play, and <i>don’t stop</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Holland, no,” said the other with unusual firmness; “that I will not do. +No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in public without +practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play finger +exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a noise so that +I’ll know you are there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said McVay yielding, “you must remember to make allowances. Not the +best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say it will come +back to me quicker than to most people. You must make allowances for my lack of +practice.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is only one thing I won’t make allowances for, and that is your moving +from that music stool.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen the +joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover which of +the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped lightly upon the +notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that an air of Schubert’s was +growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was astonished to find that he really was, +as he said, something of an artist. He waited until he was fairly started and +then returned to the library. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that Billy?” said the girl. “It must be a great pleasure to him to have a +piano again. He is so fond of music.” +</p> + +<p> +“He was not as eager to play as I to have him,” said Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then he said, +stretching out his hand: +</p> + +<p> +“I want my Christmas present.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have none to give you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve changed my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time she looked at him. “Mr. Holland,” she said, “you must think +me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don’t see that you dislike my +brother. You refused the pencil—you did refuse it plainly +enough—because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to you +again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong way, but I +should think any one of any discernment could see that his faults are only +faults of manner.” +</p> + +<p> +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned with +something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, covered his +face with his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you by any +chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his own comfort? +You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that it is only for my +sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does not want to make my +position here more unendurable by quarrelling with you. It makes me furious to +see what you force him to put up with, the way you speak to him, and look at +him, as if he were your slave, or a disobedient dog. His self-control is +wonderful. I admire him more than I can say.” +</p> + +<p> +“And is my self-control nothing?” he asked, without moving his hands from his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Yours? I don’t see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at your +mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose to be. +Self-control? I don’t see any evidence of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might have set +her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and probably in the +instant forgot all that she had been saying and feeling, for when he added: “I +love you,” her hands moved toward his, and she made no resistance when he took +her in his arms. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>VII</h2> + +<p> +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a series of +discords in order to recall himself to Holland’s mind. His existence, if he had +only realised the fact, was so completely forgotten that he might have made his +escape with a good half hour to spare before either of the others appreciated +that the music had ceased. Not knowing this, however, he did not dare stop his +playing for an instant, until sheer physical fatigue interfered. It was at this +point that the discords began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. +</p> + +<p> +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey had given +a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as a safe prison, +but in the face of McVay’s repeated assertions that the air had barely sufficed +to support him during his former occupancy, it looked like murder to insist. +Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, locked him in a dressing-room off his own +room. The window—the room was on the third floor—gave on empty +space, and against the only door he placed his own bed, so that escape seemed +tolerably difficult. +</p> + +<p> +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, although +toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his name called +by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the hall. She was wrapped in +her sable coat, but shivering from cold or fear. +</p> + +<p> +“There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and steps on +the piazza, below my room. What can it be?” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to the +obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay’s escape. On the +opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the roof of this a +neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed out. +</p> + +<p> +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before the +approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly across the snow. +There was no question of its identity. His revolver, which he had snatched from +under his pillow and brought with him, he at once levelled on the vanishing +form; his finger was on the trigger, when he felt a hand on his arm. +</p> + +<p> +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. “Don’t fire,” she +said. “Don’t you see it is Billy?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause—the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that touch on +his arm he could not shoot. +</p> + +<p> +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: “McVay!” +</p> + +<p> +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on steel and +began to retrace his steps. +</p> + +<p> +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. Under the +piazza he stopped and waved his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best.” +</p> + +<p> +“There <i>was</i> a burglar then!” said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. +</p> + +<p> +“By Heaven, he shall not trouble you,” returned Holland with more earnestness +than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down to meet McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet,” he remarked, ushering +him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so ignominious a position +that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a disadvantage, but looked in vain. +The aspect worn was a particularly self-satisfied one. +</p> + +<p> +“I was aware I took a risk,” he answered; “I took it gladly for my sister’s +sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“For your sister’s sake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to you as +to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too honourable, you would +say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted to know that you need not +prosecute me.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting.” +</p> + +<p> +“But at what a cost! I refer to my sister’s regard. No, no, the thing, if you +had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It was a risk, of +course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister’s sake. I would take longer ones +for her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, “No, no, Holland. To take +a risk is one thing,—to kill myself quite another. I have always had a +strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly action. And it would be +no help to you. She would not believe that I had committed suicide. She knows +my views on the subject, and could imagine no motive. No, that would not do at +all. I’m surprised at the suggestion. It is against my principles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your principles!” Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little altered +in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find that he could not +shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his faith in himself. He began to +doubt if he would be capable of sending the man to state’s prison when Cecilia +besought his pity. His own limitations faced him. He was not the relentless +judge he had supposed himself. Yet on the other hand, the remembrance of +Vaughan and the other men he was representing held him to his idea of justice. +“Sit down,” he said suddenly turning to McVay, “and write me out a list of +everything you have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and how it may +be obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better try to do it for +on the completeness of your list depends your only chance of avoiding the law. +If I can return all properly, perhaps—I have a mine in Mexico, a hell on +earth, where you can go if you prefer it to penal servitude. There won’t be +much difference, except for the publicity of a trial. I’ve a man there who, +when I give him his orders, would infinitely rather shoot you than take any +risk of your getting away. Which will you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down and write your list, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“An interesting occupation, mining,” observed McVay as he opened the portfolio. +After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft noise of the pencil +and an occasional comment from the writer: +</p> + +<p> +“A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur—appealed to my artistic side.” +</p> + +<p> +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside and the +door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“My God, Holland,” said McVay, “if that is the police, keep your wits about you +or we are lost.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm showed, he +had cast in his interests with McVay’s. He stepped forward in silence and +opened the door. +</p> + +<p> +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland,” he said. “There has been great anxiety +felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan and Marheim +cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not get back to the +gardener’s cottage the night before last.” +</p> + +<p> +“The snow detained me,” said Geoffrey slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, come in, friend,” said McVay briskly. “You must be cold.” +</p> + +<p> +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after studying +McVay for an instant, asked: +</p> + +<p> +“I did not catch this gentleman’s name. Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: “That is +the man you are after.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you crazy, Holland?” shouted McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?” Envy and +admiration struggled on the detective’s countenance. “I must congratulate you, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. “You needn’t,” he said; “I am +no subject for congratulation. I can’t even prosecute him, confound him, for +several reasons. We were at school together, and I can take no steps in the +matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can,” said the detective; “indeed it is my duty to.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Geoffrey, “nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. Yes, I +know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we’ll compound it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could not agree to anything of the kind,” said the detective. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see exactly what you can do about it.” Geoffrey was deliberate and +very polite. “For reasons which I can’t explain, but which you would +appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from jail. If you +intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape at once. Don’t draw +your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only person with a weapon in my hand. +He has made a list of all the things he has stolen, and I shall see that they +are returned to their owners at any cost. Will you undertake to get him safely +to a mine I own in Mexico? Once there he can’t get away. It is forty-five miles +from a railway. If you accomplish this, I will give you ten thousand to make up +for the reward you didn’t get,—five thousand down, and five thousand at +the end of a year.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to say,” said the man. “It sounds like a bribe.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” said Geoffrey coolly. +</p> + +<p> +“I never received such a proposition,” returned the man. +</p> + +<p> +“That scheme won’t do, Holland,” put in McVay. “Can’t you see it lays you open +to blackmail?” +</p> + +<p> +“From you?” said Geoffrey. “I had thought of that, but you can’t blackmail me +at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close enough to blackmail me, +I’ll put you in prison without a moment’s hesitation. I shall be in a position +by that time to take care of the feelings of the other people concerned.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand me,” answered McVay; “I meant blackmail from this man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Geoffrey civilly, “I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. And +besides, he won’t get his second five thousand for a year, and as I was saying +to you, after a year I don’t so much mind having the whole thing known. My +reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m no blackmailer,” said this detective. “If I accept, I’ll be on the +square.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice,” observed Geoffrey, “and that +is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He is a slippery +customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my money at all, if you give +him the smallest loophole.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he said +gravely: +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don’t see my +way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to slip overboard +from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless maybe the sharks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very true,” agreed Geoffrey amiably. “Fortunately you can get a steamer in New +York.” +</p> + +<p> +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good reason for +declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey’s, and they were presently deep +in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile studying the map with +unfeigned interest in the situation of his future residence. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, for she +had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, and the men must +have been talking for two hours when she appeared at the library door. +</p> + +<p> +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey saw +with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as the burglar +whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any betrayal of this +opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, although as he did so, he +realised that he had nothing to answer when she asked, as of course she did +ask: “Who is that?” +</p> + +<p> +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the brave took +hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would perhaps in another +instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not the least disconcerted, +taken the lead. +</p> + +<p> +“This, Cecilia,” he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the detective’s +shoulder, “is my old friend Picklebody,—Henderson Picklebody. You have +heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. Eh, Henderson, in the old +Machita days?” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his surprise +at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard McVay. He began +to guess something of the motives that led Holland to shield this offender +against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise to yield to the whims of young +millionaires. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she heard +the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked in a tone as +cheerful as she could make it: +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can and will,” rejoined McVay beamingly. “Hen comes as he has always come to +his friends, as a rescuer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I seem to require a great deal of rescuing,” said the girl, looking up at the +monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but you don’t understand, my dear,” went on McVay ruthlessly cutting into +the look which the lovers were exchanging; “You don’t yet understand how +fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it is true, come to find +me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting me here. It seems that he and +Holland are both interested in a mine in Mexico, and what do you think?” McVay +paused and rubbed his hands; “Really, we have the kindest friends; they have +been arranging between them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of +that?” +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the shelter +of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been thoroughly candid +that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance away, but she only +observed: +</p> + +<p> +“How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico.” +</p> + +<p> +“There, there, do you hear that? ‘We.’ Gentlemen,” cried McVay, throwing up his +hands, “I cannot leave my sister alone,—deserted. Consider it all off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I wasn’t to go?” asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” replied McVay, “I must own that I was base enough to consider a plan +that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place for ladies. But we will +think no more about it. I see by your manner that your feelings...” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear Billy,” said the girl gently, “you must not give it up. You know that I +can always go to the Lees, until—until I get a position. And nothing is +so important as that you should have work that is satisfactory to you. Of +course you must accept.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear anything so noble?” asked McVay. “Yes, I suppose I ought to +accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn’t I, Hen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did,” replied the +detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American humour. +</p> + +<p> +“There is another point, Cecilia,” McVay went on, “if I do accept, I shall have +to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Train to New York this afternoon,—steamer sails to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear. That’s very sudden,” said Cecilia. +</p> + +<p> +“At a word from you, dear, I’ll give it up,” remarked McVay. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. Perhaps it +is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me just that +amount.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve no time to lose,” remarked McVay briskly, “if we are going to try for +that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the gardener’s, Holland, +if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we must hurry off.” +</p> + +<p> +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his sister, +flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who was of a +solider build, found it hard to keep up with. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate man. +Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray the real state +of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his money, McVay took +special delight in making him look like a fool, calling upon him to remember +happenings which existed only in McVay’s own fertile brain. +</p> + +<p> +“What, Hen,” he would cry suddenly, “was the name of that pretty black haired +girl you were so sweet on,—you know, the daughter of the canal-boat man.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he did not +know what McVay was talking about. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there,” McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the shoulder, “I’m +not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can always trust to my +discretion. But I would like just to remember her name. It was so +peculiar,—a name I never heard before.” +</p> + +<p> +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, found +himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony suggested +“Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There is +nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I was trying +to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. +</p> + +<p> +“How sad that is,” said McVay philosophically. “You don’t even remember her +name, and at one time—well, well.” +</p> + +<p> +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective’s countenance. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney’s bullet has entirely gone. I was +afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it would +interest her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody,” said the girl politely and McVay, when he had +sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a story +himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of treatment, it soon +appeared that McVay’s ease and facility had made an impression on him, and that +he looked at his prisoner with a sort of wondering admiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little bag?” he +began when they were about to depart. “Holland, my dear fellow, don’t think me +interfering if I ask whether you have looked to all the doors and windows? +Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into shut-up houses, and it would be +such a pity if anything happened to any of your pretty things. Ah, what an +expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn’t it? You may talk about your tropical scenery, +Hen, but we shan’t see anything finer than this the world over. What a contrast +the south will be though, eh, old man?” and, drawing the detective’s arm +through his, leaning heavily upon him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking +volubly. +</p> + +<p> +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that had seen +such momentous changes in their lives. +</p> + +<p> +“When we come back, it will be spring,” said Geoffrey softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said the girl in rather a shaky voice, “you like me well enough to ask me +to stay again?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well enough,” said Geoffrey, “to ask you to stay forever.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Burglar and the Blizzard + +Author: Alice Duer Miller + +Release Date: January 29, 2005 [eBook #14835] +[Last updated: October 19, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD*** + + +E-text prepared by Eric Betts and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed +Proofreading Team (www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 14835-h.htm or 14835-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/8/3/14835/14835-h/14835-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/8/3/14835/14835-h.zip) + + + + + +THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD + +A Christmas Story + +by + +ALICE DUER MILLER + +Author of "The Blue Arch," etc. + +With Illustrations by Charlotte Harding + +Hearst's International Library Co., Inc. + +1914 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: THE BURGLAR] + + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +The Burglar (Frontispiece) + +"It was a young lady who disposed of the silver" + +"Good God," he cried, "what a night you have had" + +He let McVay out of the closet + +She was dressed in his sister's sables--ready for departure + +"Please move a little back, Holland," he said, "I want to get +nearer the fire" + +"My dear fellow--pray allow me" + +"I have here a slight token, in honor of the day" + + + + + +I + + +Geoffrey Holland stood up and for the second time surveyed the +restaurant in search of other members of his party, two fingers in the +pocket of his waistcoat, as if they had just relinquished his watch. He +was tall enough to be conspicuous and well bred enough to be indifferent +to the fact, good looking, in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven way, and +branded in the popular imagination as a young and active millionaire. + +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other +men and women with him: + +"Do you know who that is?--that is young Holland." + +"What, that boy! He doesn't look as if he were out of school." + +"No," said one of the women, elaborating the comment, "he does not look +old enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines." + +"Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right," said the first man. "He +is older than he looks. He must be twenty-six." + +"What do you suppose he does with all that money?" + +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an +evening paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who +promptly ran to get him one. + +"Well, one thing he does," answered the man who had first given +information, "he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I bet +that costs him a pretty penny." + +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, +and was about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of +interest caught his eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised +it to his eyes that his admirers at the next table noticed it, and +speculated on the subject of the paragraph. + +It was headed: "Millionaires' Summer Homes Looted," and said further: + +"Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring robberies +which have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the past month +occurred last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of New York was +entered and valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The robbery was not +discovered until this morning when a shutter was observed unfastened on +the second story. On entering the watchman found the house had been +carefully gone over, and although only a few objects seem to be missing, +these are of the greatest value. The thief apparently had plenty of +time, and probably occupied the whole night in his search. This is the +more remarkable because the watchman asserts that he spent at least an +hour on the piazza during the night. How the thief effected an entrance +by the second story is not clear. During the past five weeks the houses +of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham Marheim have been entered in a +manner almost precisely similar. There was a report yesterday that some +of the Marheim silver had been discovered with a dealer in Boston, but +that he could not identify the person from whom he bought them further +than that she was a young lady to whom they might very well have +belonged. The fact that it was a young lady who disposed of them to him +suggests that the goods must have changed hands several times. The +Marheim family is abroad, and the servants...." + +Here a waiter touched his elbow. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir," he said. + +"Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to +dinner," returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous +looking couple approaching. + +"I'm afraid we are late," said the lady, "but can you blame us? Have you +heard? We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon to +find out what has gone." + +"You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading +about your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?" + +"Oh, I suppose so," said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and +beginning to draw off her gloves. "We had a Van Dyke etching, and some +enamels that have gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his +wine." + +"Yes," said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. "I tell you he is going to have a +happy time with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted." + +"Upon my word," said Geoffrey, "they are a nice lot of countrymen up +there. Four robberies and not so much as a clue." + +"_You_ need not be afraid," said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. "In +spite of all your treasures, I don't believe any thief would take the +trouble to climb to the top of your mountain." + +Holland's selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no +true Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and +as a property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of +Hillsborough real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. + +Mrs. Vaughan's irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he +laughed very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the thief +was as poor a pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should not like +to lose any of his things; and he added that in his opinion Vaughan +ought to be starting for Hillsborough at once. + +"Pooh," said that gentleman, "I can't go with the market in this +condition,--would lose more than the whole house is worth." + +"You would go duck-shooting in a minute," said Holland, "and this would +be a good deal better sport." + +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. "The thing to do," he said, "is to +offer a reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class +detective." + +"All right," said Geoffrey readily, "I'll join you. Those other fellows +ought to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,--that will be five +thousand. Is that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What +shall I say? Five thousand dollars reward will be paid for information +leading to the conviction--and so on. I'll go and telephone now," and +with a promptness which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. + +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all +discussing the burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older +than her brother, had some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, +that is to say she had imagination and a good memory for detail. + +"For my part," she was saying, "I have the greatest respect and +admiration for him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking +at the Wilsons',--after all his trouble. I have often sat in that +drawing-room myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in it +as a present, whether I could find something that would not actually +disgrace me. I never could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons +make a great to-do about the house having been entered, and tell you how +he must have been frightened away,--frightened away by the hideousness +of their things! Those woolly paintings on wood, and the black satin +parasol that turns out to be an umbrella stand." + +"My dear Florence," said her brother mildly, "how can a black satin +parasol be an umbrella-stand?" + +"Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the +Wilsons' house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, +only painted to resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks of +trees, and the match boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is +really what it looks like, except the beds; they look uncomfortable, and +some one who had stayed there told me that they were." + +"Dear Florence," said Mrs. Vaughan, "is it not like her kindness of +heart--it runs in the family--to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a +connoisseur I could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my +last hope that my very best escaped his attention." + +"No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven't you +an admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he has +entered four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him." + +"There must be _traces_ of him," said Geoffrey. "The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There must +have been footprints." + +"Of course," said Mr. Vaughan, "that is what makes me think that the +watchmen are in it. It's probably a combination of two or three of +them." + +"Well, that lets Geoffrey out," said the irrepressible Florence. "No one +would take his watchman into any combination,--he is a thousand and two +and feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the +possibility, for it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your +pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a +slouch hat. That is the way I imagine him. Do you really suppose that a +watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness' best linen sheets, +embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it scratches +your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,--all just out from +Paris. I saw them when she first had them." + +"What," said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, "do +you make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver +in Boston?" + +[Illustration: "IT WAS A YOUNG LADY WHO DISPOSED OF THE SILVER"] + +But it was Mrs. May who answered: "She is of course the lady of his +love--a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a +book about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one more +grand coup, rob the bank or something and then the world will be +startled by the news of their elopement. They will go and live somewhere +luxuriously in the south Pacific, and travellers will bring home strange +stories of their happiness and charm. Perhaps, though, he would turn +pirate. That would suit his style." + +"I hope," said Holland, "that he won't take a fancy to rob the +Hillsborough Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a +little money there. You begin to make me nervous." + +"No bank robbery would make _me_ nervous," replied his sister, "that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank +to know the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, +who would take the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey's palace is within +an easy walk. Besides, I haven't anything worth the attention of a +respectable burglar like this one." + +"Thank you," said Geoffrey, "I'm sorry I spent so much time choosing +your Christmas present a year ago." + +"Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but it +is put away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my sable +coat, and I am going to send for that as soon as I have time to have it +cut over." + +"In my opinion," said Mr. Vaughan, "the man is no longer in the +neighbourhood. He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the +whole country was so aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an +attractive place to thieves. It is such an easy place to get away +from,--three railroads within reach. A man would be pretty sure to be +able to catch a passing freight train on one of them at almost any time, +to say nothing of the increased difficulty of tracing him." + +"I don't suppose he will ever be caught," said Florence. "When he has +got all he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were +caught--" + +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her plate. +It had come to her brother's apartment, and been sent down. + +"Who is telegraphing me," she said, as she tore it open. "I hope Jack +has not been breaking himself." + +Opening it, she read: + +"Your house was entered about five o'clock this afternoon. Tea-set and +sable coat missing." + + + + +II + + +The next evening at seven o'clock, Holland stepped out of the train on +the Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had +been bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in +small close flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a +wild wind was blowing. + +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the +old man to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to be +seen. The station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was a +busy scene with well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now utterly +deserted except for one native who had charge of the mails. + +"Hullo, Harris," Geoffrey sung out. "Is McFarlane here for me?" + +"Ain't seen him. Guess it's too stormy for the old man," Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. + +"Then you've got to drive me out." + +"What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for +me, too." + +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was +worth, induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail cart, +and having stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at the +stable to change the cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on their +five-mile drive. + +"Guess you come up to see about Mr. May's house being robbed?" Harris +hazarded before they had gone far. + +"You're a nice lot, aren't you?" returned Geoffrey. "Five robberies and +not a motion to catch the thief!" + +"Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day," said Harris, +divided between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of +his native town. + +"Yes, but not by any of you." + +"Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more +houses was robbed." + +"They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen." + +"Well, to tell the truth," said Harris, "it seems like he only went for +you city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to +lose a few things than they could to lose their sleep. That's about the +size of it." + +Geoffrey could not but laugh. "That's a fine spirited way to look at it, +I must say." + +"Well," returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable +in order to collect and arrange his ideas. "'Tain't lack of sand +exactly, either, for most of the fellows about here thinks it is a +woman." + +"A woman?" cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. + +"Yes, _sir_," said Harris, "a young woman. Look at the things took. What +burglar would want sheets and a lady's coat? Besides just before the +first one happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way and a +young woman, pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood and +asks for a lift. Well, Will takes her some two miles, and when they got +to that piece of woods at the back of your place she says of a sudden +that she guesses she wants exercise, and will walk the rest of the way, +and out she gets, and no one has seen her since. Seems kinder strange, +no house but yours within six miles, and you away." + +"It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home," returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. + +"Well," Harris went on imperturbably, "you can't tell the rights of them +stories. Will Brown, he's a liar, just like all the Browns; still this +time he seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we were +going to have a blizzard, don't it?" + +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared bobbing +on the threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all occasions +with courtesy. It appeared that Holland's telegram had been duly +telephoned from the office, but that her husband was down with +rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, and the "boy" allowed to go +home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no one to send. Geoffrey +suggested that she might have telephoned to the local livery-stable, and +she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity that she could do +nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her away to get him +something to eat. + +It was about ten o'clock, when he determined to take a turn about his +house. The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of +the Hillsborough bank. + +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up hill +against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already +fallen. He had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a +fair prospect of being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him +so much longer to reach the house than he had supposed, that he +abandoned all idea of entering it. It stood before him grimly like a +mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with snow. He walked round +it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the fastenings. Once past +the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was conscious of +that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the same time the +atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up houses, even one's +own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and felt in his pocket +for his revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, in the interior of +the house, he heard a clock strike. + +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously +in Geoffrey's ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. +It was that of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put +in order. He had never been able to make it go, but once touching it +inadvertently he had aroused in it a breath of life so that it had +struck one,--this same sweet piercing note. Who, he wondered, was +touching it now? + +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now +he hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, and +he moved quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung silently +on its hinges. It was not so much that he believed that there was any +one in the house--perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar comes as a +surprise--but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion to fail to +investigate. + +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was +put an end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the +library door, fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down and +took off his boots, and then cautiously approached the open door and +looked in, knowing that darkness and preparation were in his favour. + +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to +the ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the +bookcases with his elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a volume +in his hands with the careful ease of a book fancier. The man's back was +turned so that a sandy head and a strongly built figure were all +Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been for a glimpse of a mask on his +face, he might have been a student at work. + +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation to +make his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other's elbow, +revolver in hand, he said gently: + +"Fond of reading?" + +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward +his own revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing +blow. Geoffrey secured the weapon, and seeing the man's retreat, may be +excused for supposing the struggle over. + +He underestimated his adversary's resources, for the burglar, retreating +with a look of surrender, came within reach of the electric light, +turned it off, and fled in the total darkness that followed. Geoffrey +sprang to the switch, but the few seconds that his fingers were fumbling +for it told against him. When he turned it on the room was empty. The +door by which the thief had gone opened on the main hall and not on the +passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to secure the outer door. +Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its illumination told +nothing. It was Geoffrey's own sharp ears that told him of light +footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland recognised at once +that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight of stairs from the +hall reached the upper story at a point very near where the back stairs +came up, while they descended to widely different places in the lower +story, so that the burglar, looking down, could choose his flight of +stairs as soon as he saw his pursuer committed to the other, and thus +reach the lower hall with several seconds to spare. Fortunately, +however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a door at the foot of the +back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off the light again, +threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the sound would give +the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked the door at the +foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran up the front +stairs and down the back. The result was somewhat as he expected. The +burglar had reached the door at the foot of the stairs, and finding it +locked was half way up again when he and Geoffrey met. The impetus of +Geoffrey's descent carried the man backward. They both landed against +the locked door with a force that burst it open. Geoffrey, on top and +armed, had little difficulty in securing his bruised foe, and marching +him back to the library where he now took the precaution of locking all +the doors. + +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural +love of the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with +his capture. He thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the +two undermen, and the helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he remembered +the telephone, which, fortunately, stood in a closet off the library. + +He turned to the burglar. "Stand with your face to the wall and your +hands up," he said; "and if I see you move I'd just as lief shoot you as +look at you," with which warning he approached the telephone and, still +keeping an eye on the other, rang up central. There was no answer. He +rang again,--six, seven times he repeated the process unavailingly. He +tried the private wire to the McFarlane cottage with no better result. + +At this point the burglar spoke. + +"Oh, what the devil!" he said mildly; "I can't stand here with my hands +over my head all night." + +"You'll stand there," replied Geoffrey with some temper, "until I'm +ready for you to move." + +"And when will that be?" + +"When this fool of a Central answers." + +"Oh, not as long as that, I hope," said the burglar, "because, to tell +the truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house." + +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless +smile of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar's face. At length +Geoffrey said: + +"In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay +here until morning." He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, +alarmed at his absence, would send some one to look for him,--some one +who could be used as a messenger to fetch the constable. + +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at +once into an armchair--an armchair toward which Holland himself was +making his way, knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night +session. Feeling the absurdity of making any point of the matter, +however, he contented himself with the sofa. + +"Take off your mask," he said as he sat down. + +"So I will, thank you," said the burglar as if he had been asked to +remove his hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that +met Geoffrey's interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by +exposure so that his very light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark a +surrounding. Above, his sandy hair, which had receded somewhat from his +forehead, curled up from his temples like a baby's. His upper lip was +long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face an expression of humour. +His hands were ugly, but small. + +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging +the cut on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland's +presence, Geoffrey meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of +bandaging over, the man reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, +selecting a volume of Sterne, settled back comfortably in his chair. +Holland stared at him an instant in wonder, and then attempted to follow +his example. But his attention to his book was much less concentrated +than that of his captive, whose expression soon showed him to be +completely absorbed. + +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show +signs of restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked +distinctly disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence +again. + +"You don't remember me, do you?" he said. + +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving--his revolver was +drooping in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal +acquaintance unsuccessfully, and repeated: + +"Remember you?" + +"Yes, we were at school together for a time." + +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: + +"You used to be able to wag your ears." + +"Can still." + +"Why, you are Skinny McVay." + +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw +nothing comic in these untender reminiscences. + +"I remember the masters all hated you," said Geoffrey, "but you were +straight enough then, weren't you?" + +Again the man nodded. "I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago." + +After a moment Geoffrey said: + +"Did not I hear you were in the navy?" + +"No," said McVay. "I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I +should like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. +They threw me out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. +It was worse than State's prison." + +"Are you in a position to judge?" asked Geoffrey coolly. + +"No," said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. + +"Well, you will be soon," said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to +point out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his school +days. But McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. + +"Yes," he said ruminatively; "I've done a lot of things in my time." + +"Well, I don't want to hear about them," said Geoffrey, who had no +intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar +looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said: + +"Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?" + +"No," said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to +start a cheering blaze with his left hand. + +For a few minutes Geoffrey's determined attention to his book +discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram +Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed: + +"Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it +sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so +unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant +nothing to him--too original--sees life from another standpoint, +entirely. That's me! I--" + +"Sit down," roared Geoffrey. + +"Oh, it's nothing, nothing," said McVay, "only I talk better on my +feet." + +"Well, you wouldn't talk as well with a bullet in you." + +McVay sank back again in his chair. "Yes," he said, "that's me. Why, +Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number +of things that I can do--that I am really proficient in. Anything with +the hands," he waved his fingers supplely in the air, "is no trouble to +me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a +lifetime to acquire." + +"I'm told there's work for all where you are going." + +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing himself +to remain at a loss, he said: + +"Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian +Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part--" + +"I had reference to the penitentiary," said Geoffrey. + +"Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in +the penitentiary. You don't admit that, I suppose, with your +conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other +great creative artist,--sculptor or financier. I see you don't quite get +that. You are hemmed in by conventional standards, and your possessions, +and all the things to which you attach such great importance." + +"I don't attach so much importance that I steal them from other people," +said Geoffrey. + +"Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything +stealing from some one or other? Of course. But I see you don't catch +the idea. Well, I dare say I would not either in your place--rather +think I would not. My sister is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in +her own way, but philistine. She is so good as to be my companion, +apparently on equal terms, in many ways my superior, but it would be +impossible for me even to mention these ideas to her,--ideas which are +of the greatest interest to me." + +"I wonder," said Geoffrey, "how much of all this rubbish you believe?" + +McVay smiled with great sweetness. "I wonder myself, Holland. Still it +is undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,--a hard +life too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a +coincidence as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year." + +"It was scarcely a coincidence. I came--" + +"Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister's things, but +still, if you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it +_was_ a coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt action. +Nine men out of ten in your place--still, I'm not depressed. You cannot +say, Holland, that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years of hard +labour before him, can you? I dare say you have never been thrown with a +person who showed less anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, there is +something preying on my mind. Something entirely aside from anything you +could imagine." + +"You don't tell me!" said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most +amused or infuriated by his companion's conversation. + +"I am about to tell you," said McVay graciously, "I am very seriously +worried about my sister. In fact I don't see that there is any getting +away from it; you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get +her." + +"Let you do _what_?" + +"Get my sister. She's living in a little hut in your woods, and I am +actually afraid she will be snowed up." + +"It seems highly probable." + +"Well, then, I must go and get her." + +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: "You must be crazy." + +"Maybe I am," answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an +amusing side. "Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, +Holland, alone, all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is +not a position in which you would leave your sister, is it?" + +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself +with a laugh. + +"There you see," said McVay. "It's out of the question. The place is +draughty, too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at +all? You would be surprised to see how nicely I've fixed it up for her." + +"No doubt I should," replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and +Marheim valuables. + +"It is surprisingly livable, but it _is_ draughty," McVay went on. "The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But one +cannot foresee everything. The winters have been open until Christmas so +often lately. However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly willing to +rectify it. If you have no objection, I'll go and bring her back here." + +"If you have any respect for your skin you won't move from that chair." + +"Oh, the devil, Holland, don't be so--" he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,--"so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It's cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty." + +"Very unpleasant, I should think." + +"More than that, more than that,--suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not +safe. It's a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like +this would scare any girl alone in a place like that, there is some +danger to her life. Don't you see that?" + +"Yes, I see," returned Geoffrey, "but you ought to have thought of that +before you came burgling in a blizzard." + +"Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever of +being caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it did +seem about the safest job yet." + +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even +arguing the matter, and presently McVay continued: + +"Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went +wrong with her, and you knew you could have helped it!" + +"Helped it!" said Geoffrey. "What do you mean? Let you loose on the +county for the sake of a story no sane man would believe?" + +"Well," returned McVay judicially, "perhaps you could not do that, but," +he added brightly, "you could go yourself." + +"Yes," said Geoffrey, "I _could_--" + +"Then I think you ought to be getting along." + +"Upon my word, McVay," said Holland, "you are something of a humorist, +aren't you?" + +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. + +"Oh, hardly that," he said. "Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,--a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just thinking +that it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison for years +to have some one come in with a new point of view." + +"I'm sure you will be an addition to prison life. It's an ill wind, you +know." + +"It's an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you +certainly can trust me. Do be starting." + +"Why, what do you take me for?" said the exasperated Geoffrey. "Do you +really suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices in +order to give you a chance to escape?" + +"'Accomplices!'" exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of +anger crossed his brow; "'_accomplices'_! I have no accomplices. +Anything I do I think I am able to do alone. Still," he added putting +aside his annoyance, "if you feel nervous about leaving me I'd just as +lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back." + +"Your _what_?" + +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a good +deal tried. "Oh, anything you like," he said. "I suppose you could lock +me up in a closet." + +"I don't think we need trouble to arrange the details," said Geoffrey +drily. "But I'll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in jail +to-morrow, I'll get a trap and go and look up this hut." + +"It may be too late then." + +"It may," said Geoffrey, and continued to read. + +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the burglar +kept casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such +brutality, and in truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by +any chance the story were true,--if there was a woman at his doors +freezing to death, how could he sit enjoying the fire? But, on the other +hand, could any one have a more evident motive for deception than his +informant? What better opportunity for escape could be arranged? It was +so evident, so impudent as to be almost convincing. What more likely for +instance, than that the hut was a regular rendezvous for criminals and +tramps, that by going he would be walking into the veriest trap? Yet +again there was the report confirmed by Harris's story that a woman was +in some way connected with these robberies. The wind whistled round the +house with a suggestion of difficulty, of combat with the elements, of +actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave Geoffrey a new view of delay. +Had it not something the air of cowardice, or at least of laziness? He +found his eyes had read the same page three times, while his brain was +busy devising means by which McVay could be secured in his absence--if +he went. + +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. + +"I'll go," he said, "but before I go, I'll tie you up so safely that, if +I don't come back, you'll starve to death before you'll be able to get +out or make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me to +go?" + +"Oh, yes, I want you to go," said McVay, "only for goodness sake be +careful. If you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep +don't yield to it; they say it's fatal. The great thing is to keep on +walking--" + +"Oh, shut up," said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was +going to meet death at the hands of his fluent companion's accomplices +he found this friendly advice unbearable. + +"This hut, I take it," he said, "is an old woodcutter's shanty in the +north woods?" + +"Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here." + +"I know the place," said Geoffrey, "now come along, and we'll see how I +can fix you up until I come back." + +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that +opened in and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, +having removed a complete burglar's outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey +disposed McVay, being met with a readiness on McVay's part that seemed +to prove either that he was sincere in his belief in Holland's safe +return, or else was perfectly confident of being able to open the door +as soon as Geoffrey's back was turned. + +"But he'll find himself mistaken," Geoffrey murmured as, having locked +the door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, +and, gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey +again opened the door. + +"By the way," said the burglar, and for the first time a certain +constraint, amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his +manner, "my sister has no idea about--it would be a great shock to +her--in fact, you understand, she has not discovered exactly how our +money comes to us." + +"Do you expect me to believe that?" asked Geoffrey. + +"I grant it does not sound likely," returned McVay, "and indeed would +not be possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty +good yarn,--worked out well everyway. I told her--" + +"I don't want to hear your infernal lies." + +"But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her," McVay +chuckled, "that I was employed as night watchman at Drake's paper mill. +That of course kept me out all night, and--" + +"She must think night watchmen get good wages." + +"That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just +wanted an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better job. +You see I just lost a nice job in a bank--" + +"I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?" + +"Well, we won't discuss it," said McVay with an agreeable smile. "Of +course she could understand that such an inferior position as a +watchman's had to be kept a profound secret, hence our remote mode of +life, and the fact that I don't allow a butcher or baker to come near +us. I tell her that if it were known that I had held such a poor +position, it would interfere with my getting a better. So, if you should +happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am detained here--" + +"_If_ I should explain to her," said Geoffrey. "What do you suppose I am +going to do?" + +"Well, I suppose you will find it necessary," said McVay. "Indeed, as a +matter of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. +Still, you might bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she +were your own sister--" + +"Oh, go to the devil," said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. + + + + +III + + +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his +present expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that if +he did run into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass to +have come. Indeed, there seemed a fair chance that he might think this +even if nothing worse happened than that the hut proved empty, for he +would have had a long walk for nothing better than to provide McVay with +an opportunity to escape. He did not see exactly how McVay could get +out, but he was aware that few people would think it wise to leave a +burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some hours of leisure +at his disposal. + +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; +the wind was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not +gone a hundred yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more +difficult than he had imagined. To make headway against the wind was a +constant struggle, and he seemed to slip back in the snow at every step. +Still the natural obstinacy of his nature was aroused, and as his +attention was more and more engaged with the endeavor to make his way, +he had less time to think of the probable futility of his proceeding. + +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only +because he had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had +penetrated every crevice of his clothing. + +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey on +the stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave an +impression of desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, sit +idle under that recurrent bang? + +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention +of giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so did +not knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved mightily. +The hinges broke from the rotten wood at once, and he stumbled in. + +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing interior, +for the window was not the only opening. There was a great gap in the +roof where, earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, and now its +bricks littered the floor, already well covered with snow. Some attempt +must have been made, as McVay had boasted, of "fixing it up"; there were +books in the shelves on the walls, and a black iron stove on which the +snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey took in the situation, something in +a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap of rugs, stirred and moved, +and finally rose, betraying itself to be a woman. Geoffrey had been +prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing at all, or even a girl, as +McVay had said. He told himself he would be surprised at nothing, yet +found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the sight of a beautiful face. + +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, +for all sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all a +silk coverlet originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had slipped +sideways, and fell like a Hussar's jacket from one shoulder. Her hair +stood like a dark halo about her little face, making it seem smaller and +younger, almost too small for the magnificent eyes that lit it. +Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine attractions, said to himself +that he had never seen such blue eyes. + +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity +became in him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the +masculine instinct toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the +other women he had admired--well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young +creatures--had always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other +men, had seen their hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take a +trolley car instead of her father's carriage, but he had thought himself +hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but now he knew better. Now he knew what it +was to feel personally outraged at a woman's discomfort. + +"Good God!" he cried, "what a night you have had. How wicked, how +abominable, how criminal--" + +[Illustration: "GOOD GOD," HE CRIED "WHAT A NIGHT YOU HAVE HAD"] + +"It has been a dreadful night," said the girl, "but it is nobody's +fault." + +"Of course it is somebody's fault," answered Geoffrey. "It must be. Do +you mean to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all +night with my feet on the fender, and you--" + +"Certainly," said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, "I +could wish we might have changed places." + +"I wish to Heaven we might," returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never +before had he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often +seen that it was advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly +to want to was a new experience. + +"Thank you," said the girl, "but I'm afraid there is nothing to be +done." + +"Nothing to be done!" He dropped on his knees before the black monster +of a stove, "Do you suppose I'm here to do nothing?" + +"You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm." + +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. + +"That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I +left my fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every +blast, 'that poor, poor girl.' I set out to bring you to safety. I begin +to think I was born for no other reason." + +She smiled rather wearily, "Your coming at all is so strange that I +could almost believe you." + +"You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I +did not particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and +cold because I did not know what I was going to find...." + +"But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a +girl?" + +"A girl, yes. But what's a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I +seen in my life? Is that a thought to turn a man's head? What I did not +know was that I was going to find _you_." + +"The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor," she +said mildly. + +"Well, I've said it, you see," he answered, "and you won't forget it, +even if you do change the subject." He turned his attention to the fire. +Where is the man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire +building is not serious? + +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and +tried to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed +fingers touched his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her +hand in both of his. + +"Your hands are as cold as ice," he said, holding them tightly, and +thanking Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. + +She withdrew them. "You are too conscientious," she said. "That is not +part of the duty of a rescue party." + +"It is, it is," said Geoffrey violently. "It is the merest humanity." + +"Humanity?" + +"To me, of course, if you will pin me down." + +"Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane." + +"They ought to be grateful." + +"They are." + +"_Gratefuller_ then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to +be born and grow up and live just to come here for you?" + +"Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire." + +"Oh, curse the fire," said Geoffrey rising from his knees. "Who minds +about it?" + +"I mind very much." + +"Well, you mustn't. You must not mind about anything, because it sets up +too strong a reaction in me. There's no telling what I might not do +under the stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will +burn in my house, and that is where we are going." + +"I can't do that," she said, looking very grave. + +"You can't do anything else." + +"I must wait for my brother. He's out somewhere in this storm, and if he +comes back and finds me gone--" + +"Oh, your brother," said Geoffrey, "I forgot all about him. He's at my +house already. He sent me for you." + +"Oh," said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: "then +my plight was not revealed to you in a vision?" + +"The vision is with me now." + +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when +she thought it advisable. + +"And so you took poor Billy in?" she said. + +Geoffrey coughed. "Well, in a sense," he answered. + +She rose. "We'll go at once," she said. "Is it far?" + +"Not very, but it is going to be hard work." + +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the +realisation of her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt +depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the +comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her +a service. And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the ground +and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister's sables. + +There was a pause. + +"What are you looking at?" she asked. + +"That is a nice warm coat you have on." + +"Isn't it?" She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a +tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker. "It saved my life." + +It was on the tip of Geoffrey's tongue to ask if he was not entitled to +a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it +possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? +Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to +the lot of night watchmen? Her manner was candour itself, but how should +it not be? What more inevitable than that she should make an effort to +deceive a casual stranger? She had the most evident motives for behaving +exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had reasoned about McVay, and +yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in distress exactly as +he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it was true. Might not +the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked himself, and +answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. He chose to +believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her +through such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked +out in stolen finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was +hurrying on the moment of disillusion. + +"I wonder," she said, "if I could take some things with me. Is it +impossible for me to carry a bag?" + +"Yes, but not for me." + +"It would be only this." She held up a small Russia leather affair +legibly marked with Mrs. Inness' initials. + +"I will take it," said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. + +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: + +"But if Billy is all right, why didn't he come for me himself?" + +"Oh, because--" Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. + +"He's hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me." + +"I would scorn to deceive you," said Geoffrey with passion, and looked +at her to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put +into words. + +She did not appear to understand. "Then why didn't he come?" she asked. + +"He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn." + +"I think you must be stronger than Billy." She cast a reflective glance +at his shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately +flattered. + +"He is really safe at your house?" + +"I hope so, I did my best," he returned grimly. + +She looked at him gravely. "You have been very kind to a stranger," she +said. + +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with +her. It did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he +thought a more advantageous time could be found for telling her the +truth, in case of course she did not know it already. He felt that he +himself would be better able to deal a cold blow when she was warm and +sheltered. No man, he said to himself, could be disagreeable to a girl +who had no one to depend on but himself. So he said: + +"He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together." + +"Oh, another of Billy's friends. I never knew such a person for +discovering friends at the most opportune times. He never wants anything +but what a friend turns up. Did you find him wandering about, or did he +come and demand admittance?" + +"Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he +knew me well enough to walk in." + +"He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood." + +"We have not met since we were at school." + +"He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew you +well enough to walk in on you!" + +"Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go." + +"Men are so queer!" she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice +of admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under +such false colours as her brother's benefactor. + +"We ought to be starting," he said. + +She looked round the room. "I hate to leave all these nice things," she +said. "Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave +him that he says is really priceless." + +"Leave it," said Geoffrey shortly. + +"One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I +could not take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to +contribute something to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I leave +it, it may be stolen." + +"Yes, it may be stolen." He looked down into her face. + +"Then--" + +"I ask you as a favour to leave it behind." + +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, sweet +and quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it all was. + +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose +to remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and +that it was his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to +overcome united them. They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing +interest. They had nothing to think of but accomplishing their task,--of +that and of each other. As far as they could see were snow and black +trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered that any one but themselves +existed. + +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage +warmed his heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert +her independence. She turned to him at every point. He guided her past +the scenes of his own disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had +already made. + +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she did +answer him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor +encouragement, but plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her +skirts, however, wet and heavy, hampered her desperately, and the +exertion of walking through the thick snow began to tell. Geoffrey made +her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, but at length she +stopped of herself. + +"Have we done half yet?" she asked. + +"Just about," he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. +But he saw at once that he had failed,--that she had had a hope that +they were nearer their destination--that she began to doubt her own +powers. Presently she moved forward again in silence. + +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took +comfort in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she +had, she would use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her +beforehand. She would not fail through lack of determination. Whether or +not she were the confederate of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, and +a beautiful one, he thought, looking down upon her in the glare of the +snow. + +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. +This was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what +men were made for. + +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at their +backs the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained an +instant, too weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet +again. + +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and +when they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the little +step had he not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to the +library and laid her on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of +McVay, had gone out. It took Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands +to build a blaze. When he turned toward her again she was sleeping like +a child. + +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay +was either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug +and was soon asleep also. + + + + +IV + + +It was after two o'clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have +slept three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still sleeping +peacefully. He almost wished that she would never awake to all the +dreadful surprises that the house held for her. Her eye-lashes curved +long and dark on her cheek. Geoffrey turned away quickly. + +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have +been known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the +library and ran up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great was +his dread that he would have been really relieved to see the closet door +standing open as an immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. It +was, however, locked as he had left it. But as he hastened to undo it, a +voice from within reassured him: + +[Illustration: HE LET MCVAY OUT OF THE CLOSET] + +"Well, where have you been all this time?" + +"You may be thankful I'm back at all. It did not look like it, at one +time." + +"Where is Cecilia?" + +"Down stairs asleep." + +McVay gave a little giggle. "Ah," he said, "I bet you have had the devil +of a time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be the one +to go." + +"It wasn't child's play." + +"Child's play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough +among men, but women!" he waved his hand; "so sensitive, so cloistered!" + +"Your sister behaved nobly," said Geoffrey severely. + +"Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock." + +"It was a hard trip for any woman." + +McVay looked up. "Oh," he said, "I wasn't speaking of the trip. I meant +about me. What did she say?" + +"She did not say anything. She went to sleep." + +"She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the +penitentiary?" + +"Oh," said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: "Why +should I tell her what she must know." + +"I tell you she knows nothing about my--profession." + +"Your _profession_!" + +"Hasn't a notion of it." + +"What, with my sister's coat on her back, and the Innes' bag in her +hand?" + +"No!" McVay drew a step nearer. "You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing." He chuckled, +and Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently +disappointed the other. + +"That was a good idea, wasn't it?" he asked with a faint appeal in his +voice. "She thought it was likely, anyhow." + +"She must be very gullable," said Geoffrey brutally. + +"Or else," said McVay with a conscious smile, "I must be a pretty good +dissembler." + +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his +impulse, would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. +Instead, he said: + +"Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat." + +"Thank you," said the burglar, "it would be a good idea." + +"You need not thank me," said Geoffrey. "I don't take you with me for +the pleasure of your company, but because I don't dare let you out of my +sight." + +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to +ignore this speech. + +"You know," he said, as they went down stairs, "I suppose that most men +shut up in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, +but, to me it was a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is +one of my theories that every one ought to have resources within. Now I +dare say you were quite anxious about me." + +"I never thought of you at all," said Geoffrey. "After I got in I went +to sleep for three hours." + +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with +dignity: "Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don't think that was very +considerate." + +"Don't talk so loud," said Geoffrey, "you'll wake your sister." + +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at +short notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned eatables +in the house to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these he now +depended, and was not a little annoyed to find the kitchen store room +where they were kept securely locked. + +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools +and on being given them set to work on the door. + +"Have you ever noticed," he said, "the heavy handed way in which some +men use tools? Look at my touch,--so light, yet so accurate. I take no +credit to myself. I was born so. It's a very fortunate thing to be +naturally dexterous." + +"It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little less +so." + +"Oh, I don't know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death +years ago." + +"I wish to God you had," said Geoffrey. + +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but +otherwise preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work +heating soup and smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the +dining-room--this was McVay's suggestion; he said food was unappetising +unless it were nicely served--Geoffrey said: + +"Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is," he added firmly, +"I'll give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain the +situation fully." + +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door behind +him, and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could command +both doors. + +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told +himself no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely +nervous. He felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He +thought of her as he had seen her asleep, of the curve of her eye-lashes +on her cheek, of her raising those lashes, awaking to be met with +McVay's revelations. Even if she were guilty, Geoffrey found it in his +heart to pity her waking to learn that her brother was a prisoner. How +unfortunate, too, would be her own position,--the guest, if only for a +few hours, of a man who was concerned only to lodge her brother in jail. + +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they +came out together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it +unperturbed. Didn't she care, or had she always known? + +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: + +"Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat--shock +on an empty stomach, so bad--so hard to bear." + +Geoffrey shook his arm free. "You infernal coward," he whispered back. + +"Well, I like that," retorted McVay, "you didn't tell her yourself when +you had the chance." + +"It wasn't my affair. I did not tell her because--" + +"Oh, I know," McVay interrupted with a chuckle. "I've been knowing why +for the last ten minutes." + +They followed her into the dining-room. + +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey asked +nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,--a position evidently +decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look at her, +and now and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could force her +to meet his eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more apparent +than that, for both of them, a momentous event had occurred. + +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the +general conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so +entirely mechanical that he was scarcely aware of them himself. + +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. + +"And _this_ is our Christmas dinner," observed McVay regretfully. + +"Oh, no," returned the girl, "this is luncheon. I'll cook your dinner. +You'll see." + +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for +disillusioning her had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet it +would not be at his dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal court +rose before him. + +"Miss McVay," he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning +which the other man was directing toward him; "we shall not be here at +dinner. Your brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down +the mountain." + +"Now?" + +"At once." + +She coloured slowly and deeply,--the only evidence of anger. "I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go," she said, +rising. "I should thank you for having borne with us so long." + +"Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this," said +McVay. "It will be dark in an hour." + +She turned on her brother quickly: "Please say no more about the matter, +Billy," she said. "We will start at once." + +"You won't start if it means certainly freezing to death," he +remonstrated. + +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to +compel the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. + +"I _would_," she answered and shut the door behind her. + +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. +"One moment," he said, "you are quite right. It is too late to start +to-night. We must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a +night here without your sister's being told--" + +"My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!" + +"I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we +are starting, but in that case I must--" + +"I know what you are going to ask,--my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly." + +"I'm not going to ask for anything at all," said Geoffrey. "I'm going to +tell you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We won't +have any nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick man with +a gun. There may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it wasn't in +the East I got my training. You will always keep in front of me where I +can see you plainly, and you will never, under any circumstances come +nearer than six feet to me. If you should ever come nearer than that or +take a sudden step in my direction, I'd shoot you just as sure as I +stand here." + +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. "Oh, come, Holland," he said, +"isn't that the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me +before my own sister?" + +"I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, +and having you escape is one of them." + +The other thought it over. "The trouble is," he explained, "that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I +am. I'm not at all sure that I shall remember." + +"I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get." + +"I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold blood +in the presence of my own sister." + +"You had better behave as if you believed it." + +"I don't like this arrangement," McVay broke out peevishly. "Suppose, +for the sake of argument, that I did forget,--that I put my hand on your +shoulder--a very natural gesture." + +"I should shoot instantly." + +"But fancy the shock to Cecilia." + +"Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. +And another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling +about the subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me." + +"Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing." + +"It won't amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not +only a thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving +her." + +Again McVay's gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. "Very true," he said, "I +had not thought of that. But then," he added more brightly, "who can +tell if it will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so +strangely. It may turn out that that is _your_ part." + +"It may," said Geoffrey, "but only because I have had to shoot after +all." With which he opened the door and they returned to the library. + + + + +V + + +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her +absence, turned at once to his book. + +"If you won't think me impolite, Holland, I'll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,--especially +as your books are so unusual." + +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey +could not read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his +eyes were fixed on the carpet. The knowledge of the girl's presence in +his house distracted him like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave +himself up to steeping himself in his emotion, which, in some +situations, is the nearest thing possible to thinking. + +Geoffrey's success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for +he was good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of +fact, however, his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this +very reason he was not afraid to give it full sway. The deeply +susceptible man learns to be cautious, to distrust his feelings, but +Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his fundamental indifference to +have any reason to distrust himself. He had never been in love. Like +Ferdinand he, "for different virtues had liked many women," although in +his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had attracted +him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or +another pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature +responded. He had often thought that if he could make up a composite +woman of all of them he might be in great danger of falling in love. But +now he was aware that his whole nature responded to the attraction of +the girl upstairs, as a dog answers instinctively to the call of its +master. He could say to himself that she was this or that,--brave and +beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were but an insignificant +part of the total effect. His reason could find causes enough to approve +her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made straight the +paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and which in case +of a divergence between the two, his reason could never overcome. + +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied +fell coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to +himself in so many words that he was in love,--far less had anything so +definite as marriage crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so +practical. He only knew that McVay's mere existence was a contamination +and a tragedy. + +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the +stairs. He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his +eye on McVay's studious figure in the library. + +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. + +[Illustration: SHE WAS DRESSED IN HIS SISTER'S SABLES--READY FOR +DEPARTURE] + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, with +a cold blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could make her +take further notice of him as a living being. + +"Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?" he said, +with directness. + +"I have not been thinking about the matter at all," she answered, +turning her head a little aside from his direct gaze. "But I do think so +of course. After all why should you not wish it?" + +"You think me likely to want anything that would part us--that is the +way my manner strikes you?" He was surprised to find his voice not +absolutely steady. + +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. "You seem to +forget that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. +Possibly you have changed your mind, but I have made mine up." She made +a motion as if to pass in, and go on toward the library. + +"I have changed so completely since I saw you," said Geoffrey, "that I +scarcely recognise life in this--this ecstasy. That is the only change. +Am I likely to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for you +to come?" + +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had +been fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to work +once again. She said very coolly: + +"You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,--or have +you forgotten saying that?" + +"Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going +because--" + +"Well, why?" Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of +her mouth had softened by not a little. + +"There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there +would be greater danger in starting out so late. And,--and equally +desperate for me, whatever we do." + +"Desperate?" + +"If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,--to hate me, +as your look said." + +"I do not hate you." + +"You are very eager to be rid of my company." + +"I did not understand." + +"You are going to stay?" + +"Until we can go safely." + +"Not longer?" + +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she said, +"We are under sufficiently large obligations to you already." + +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing +them with satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. + +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be +observed at all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to be +observed by one who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. Never, +said Geoffrey to himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay's clear +little eyes, never should any influence lead him to let a thief slip +through his fingers. + +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another +word alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous +sort of revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man's +company. Geoffrey had not appreciated the full meaning of his +instructions to McVay to keep always in sight. Not a word or a look +could be exchanged without McVay's seeing and rejoicing. + +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the +brother of so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. + +"Well, my dear," he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, "feel +better? Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me +about it--saying how well you behaved," (Geoffrey favoured him with a +scowl behind her back), "a perfect heroine,--so he says." + +"Mr. Holland is very kind," said the girl. + +"Kind!" cried McVay enthusiastically. "Kind! I should rather think he +was. Why, I could give you instances of his kindness--" + +"You need not trouble," said Geoffrey. + +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... so +modest, so unassuming. + +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing +enough to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination +of facility and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any +question of playing upon Cecilia's unconsciousness of the situation, he +writhed. Yet, a little discernment would have shown him how natural, how +encouraging from his own point of view her unconsciousness was. To fall +in love thoroughly is sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us needs to +be told that it is an absorbing process, that life looks different, and +that all past experiences must be reviewed in the light of this +unexpected illumination. And if this is true of the more usual forms of +the great passion, what is to be said of a girl who, in a single day, +sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young creature, who comes +to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a prince, who comes not +only to save and protect, but as host and dispenser of all comfort and +beauty. + +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one fact, +one personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd conclusions +from the little happenings going on before her, she was but dimly aware +of the existence of her brother, of the world, of anything but Geoffrey. + +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: + +"And this is where you sat all night?" And if the thought was +interesting to her, it was not on account of her brother's share in it. + +"Yes," returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. "Here we sat +discussing plans for your safety." He took a step toward the pair at the +fire, and then remembering, stopped. "Please move a little back, +Holland," he said, "I want to get nearer the fire. I'm cold." + +[Illustration: "PLEASE MOVE A LITTLE BACK, HOLLAND," HE SAID, "I WANT TO +GET NEARER THE FIRE"] + +"You can go to the fire," said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. + +"Of course you can," said the girl, "Mr. Holland is not in your way, +Billy." + +But Billy continued to eye his host. "Oh, no, you don't," he said +warily. "Not unless you move back. Do move, there's a good fellow." And +Geoffrey laughed and moved, somewhat to the girl's mystification. She +forgot to wonder, however, in pursuing the more wonderful train of +thought which had already been occupying her. Suppose that their plans +for her relief had been decided differently, suppose her brother had +come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with what different +eyes she might now be looking on life--this ecstasy as Holland had +defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so blessed, +she asked: + +"Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?" + +"Just what I said to him," replied McVay eagerly. "If I said once, I +said a dozen times: 'Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my +_right_ to go,' but ..." McVay shrugged his shoulders, "when he once +gets an idea into his head, it takes a gimlet to get it out." + +"Upon my word, Billy," the girl said indignantly, "I don't think you +ought to talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. +Holland only insisted on going because he thought he was better able to +bear the physical strain." + +"Physical strain!" exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy +hair, from pure annoyance; "I don't know what you mean,... Holland is, +of course, a larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far as +mere brute force goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing physical +strain, you betray the most absurd ignorance. It is well known +scientifically that medium-sized men like myself, when their muscles are +at all developed (and you know my muscles), are better fitted for +endurance than any of these over-grown giants." + +"Then," said she calmly, "if you knew you were better fitted I can't see +why you did not go." + +"You are not quite fair to your brother," said Geoffrey interrupting, +for McVay looked as if he would explode in another moment under the +sense of injustice. "He did propose going himself, but I would not let +him; I--I made it a personal matter." + +"Very personal," replied McVay with feeling. "I'll just explain how it +was. Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up +my mind that I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after +some trouble, came to this room, turned on the light--a spooky thing; an +empty house, picked up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the +world, everything, when a voice at my elbow said: 'Fond of reading?' I +was never more surprised in my life. I felt distinctly caught,--an +interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw that Holland did not at +once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he would not hear +of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was his wish +to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty accurate +account of the night's proceeding, isn't it?" + +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay's +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the +twinkling joy of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be +doing mankind a favour by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn of +another day. Unconscious of this possibility, McVay continued to his +sister: + +"Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long +and dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. +A handsome coat, is it not, Holland?" + +"Very," said Geoffrey chillingly. + +"Now that coat," McVay went on unchilled, "was a real bargain. I may say +I paid nothing for it,--little more than the trouble of taking it home. +Although from another point of view, its price was pretty high...." + +"Really, Billy, I don't think Mr. Holland is interested in our +bargains." + +"In _some_, he is." + +"Yes, indeed," said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, "I +think I know of just about a dozen people who will want a circumstantial +account of all of them." + +"Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,--circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation--(are you familiar with that +word?)--the only suggestion it has for me is a _jury_?" + +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. + +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was +almost time to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They +all rose as if glad of a break. As they passed out of the door, Geoffrey +laid his hand on McVay's arm. + +"Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?" he said. + +McVay smiled. "Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in +freezing weather? Don't I amuse you? Be candid." + +"No." + +McVay looked regretful. "As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you had +more sense of humour," he said gently. + + + + +VI + + +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for +organisation rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the wall, +and tilting back at his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at work. +Geoffrey, engaged in lighting the range-fire, looked up at her as she +moved about filling the kettle and washing out pots and pans, and +thought that he and she presented the aspect of a young couple of the +labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a roof over their +heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. + +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, +apples and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, +which, with a burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well +for plum-pudding. + +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even +his irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more +friendly than before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. + +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in each +hand, when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, handkerchief in +hand, exclaiming: + +"My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me--" + +[Illustration: "MY DEAR FELLOW--PRAY ALLOW ME"] + +"Look out," roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay +sprang back ten feet. "I was afraid of burning you with the soup," +Geoffrey explained politely. + +"I own you made me jump," said McVay. + +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an +unfortunate impression on her. + +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently sat +down to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed themselves +as inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines and toasted +biscuits, canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, bacon and a +potato salad, a bottle of champagne, and finally the wedding cake. + +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk +would be to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this +nature, however, was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart +of champagne had not produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was +clear, his speech perfect, and he was more than usually aware of his own +powers, confident of appreciation. + +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the +tips of his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. + +"My dear Holland," he said, "I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for +it has already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to +make it. Let me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this +delightful occasion. You have referred to the fare as meagre, to our +position as constrained, but believe me, I am not exaggerating when I +say that I so little agree with you that I am confident that, during +many of the remaining years of my life I shall look back to this +Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, perhaps, the warm +glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in situations +like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland," he paused +impressively, "has stood the test." + +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: + +"I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little +pecuniary value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer +mentioned. I feel that it will be recommended to you more than mere +worth could recommend it by the fact that it is peculiarly my own,--my +own as few human possessions can be said to be. I offer it," he said, +drawing from his pocket a square flat little package, "with best wishes +for a happy New Year." + +[Illustration: "I HAVE HERE A SLIGHT TOKEN, IN HONOR OF THE DAY"] + +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey's mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so +perfectly in keeping with McVay's consuming desire to triumph in minor +matters, that he was able to smile pleasantly and receive it +appropriately. He exchanged a glance of real appreciation with the +donor, and received a grave bow in return. + +Cecilia smiled, too, "I don't know exactly why you should think Mr. +Holland wants your picture, Billy," she said. + +"It may be of the greatest service to him," said McVay. + +The girl turned to Geoffrey. "I can't make a speech like Billy's," she +said, "but I have a small present for you which I hope you won't despise +because it is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some time, and I +hope _you_ will now, in remembrance of the time when you sheltered the +houseless." She held out on her pink palm a flat gold pencil with a +single topaz set in the top. + +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay's eye +in which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey's half-formed +question was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms of delight at +the idea that Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of stolen goods +that he could not well conceal it. And instinctively Geoffrey drew back +his hand. The next moment he realised that he must at once accept the +gift with decent gratitude, whatever he might choose to do with it +afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed his hesitation. + +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, rose +from the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the feast as +best they could. + +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the +part of a waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over +his arm and began to clear the table. + +"Wait a moment," said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; "I +have something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my +sentiments in regard to your sister.... I think her a wonder,--that's +all it is necessary for you to know." + +"Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is." + +"I won't discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under +the impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won't. You +stand just where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. +Then I settle my affairs." + +McVay's face fell. "Really, Holland," he said, "I don't see how, if you +are fond of a woman you can want ..." + +"... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over." + +"There are worse brothers than I," replied McVay, "how many men would +have sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her +comfortably." + +"Not many, I hope." + +"She is extraordinarily fond of me." + +"Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of." + +"We can scarcely say that _now_," returned McVay encouragingly. + +"I won't discuss it with you." + +"You can't mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean +to send me to state's prison?" + +"I mean exactly that." + +"Why, she'd never forgive you." + +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and +presently McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, +asked: "Are you serious, Holland?" + +"What do you suppose I am?" Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his head +went on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent and +abstracted and for the first time seemed to realise his position. When +they had put away the last plate, Geoffrey said: + +"Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you." + +"A pipe! Why?" + +"Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be +more apt to take it." + +"I'm afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little +gift. As a matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had +given her the pencil. A pretty little thing, singularly like one which +you may have seen Mrs.--" + +"Don't tell me where you took it from. I don't want to know. Come and +get your pipe and mind you are grateful." + +"A pipe," observed McVay thoughtfully. "I think I'll take that large +meerschaum on the mantelpiece." + +Geoffrey laughed. "I think you won't," he answered. "The best pipe I +own! No, indeed, you'll take a horrid little one that won't draw. It +will be just the thing for you." + +"No," said McVay, "no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall +make it appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at the +last moment. And I can do it, Holland." His little eyes gleamed at the +thought. "I shall say, 'My dear fellow, I'm glad you changed your mind +about the meerschaum; it was as you say, too handsome for a man in my +position.' That will make her mad if anything will. You know she is not +quite satisfied with the way you treat me, as it is." + +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the +gift was to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his +favourite pipe. The affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate +over accepting so handsome an offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon him +with a good grace. + +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less +and less willing to make it in McVay's presence, and more and more +unable to think of any way of getting rid of him except murder or the +cedar-closet. His anxiety was rendered more acute by the fact that once +or twice he could not help suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her +anger, would have been glad of a few words alone with him, also. + +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat +upstairs for her. + +"Certainly I will," cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at +the door before Holland's warning shout "_McVay_" stopped him. + +"Let me take it up for your sister," he said warningly. + +"Oh, not at all. Let _me_," replied McVay courteously. + +"Couldn't hear of it," returned Geoffrey. + +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it +with a snap. + +"You would, would you?" he said angrily. + +"Now, Holland," said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into +an irrational confusion, "this is exactly a case in point. I am by +nature a gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions." + +"I wonder?" said Geoffrey. + +"It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, +and I doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been +at my head. She asked me. That was enough." + +"I've warned you once." + +"Holland, I think,--you'll excuse my telling you,--that you have a very +unfortunate manner at times." + +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, +with his eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. + +"Can you play?" he said. + +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his +last speech. "Yes," he answered, "I can. Well, I'm not a professional, +you understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much +technique and a good deal more sentiment than most." + +"I don't care _how_ you play," said Holland. "There is a piano. Sit down +and play, and _don't stop_." + +"No, Holland, no," said the other with unusual firmness; "that I will +not do. No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in public +without practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a year." + +"You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play +finger exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a +noise so that I'll know you are there." + +"Well," said McVay yielding, "you must remember to make allowances. Not +the best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say it +will come back to me quicker than to most people. You must make +allowances for my lack of practice." + +"There is only one thing I won't make allowances for, and that is your +moving from that music stool." + +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen the +joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover +which of the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped +lightly upon the notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that +an air of Schubert's was growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was +astonished to find that he really was, as he said, something of an +artist. He waited until he was fairly started and then returned to the +library. + +"Is that Billy?" said the girl. "It must be a great pleasure to him to +have a piano again. He is so fond of music." + +"He was not as eager to play as I to have him," said Geoffrey. + +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then +he said, stretching out his hand: + +"I want my Christmas present." + +"I have none to give you." + +"You had." + +"I've changed my mind." + +"Why?" + +For the first time she looked at him. "Mr. Holland," she said, "you must +think me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don't see that you +dislike my brother. You refused the pencil--you did refuse it plainly +enough--because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to you +again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong way, but +I should think any one of any discernment could see that his faults are +only faults of manner." + +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned +with something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, +covered his face with his hands. + +"Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you by +any chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his own +comfort? You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that it +is only for my sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does not +want to make my position here more unendurable by quarrelling with you. +It makes me furious to see what you force him to put up with, the way +you speak to him, and look at him, as if he were your slave, or a +disobedient dog. His self-control is wonderful. I admire him more than I +can say." + +"And is my self-control nothing?" he asked, without moving his hands +from his face. + +"Yours? I don't see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at +your mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose to +be. Self-control? I don't see any evidence of it." + +"No?" he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might +have set her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and +probably in the instant forgot all that she had been saying and feeling, +for when he added: "I love you," her hands moved toward his, and she +made no resistance when he took her in his arms. + + + + +VII + + +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a series +of discords in order to recall himself to Holland's mind. His existence, +if he had only realised the fact, was so completely forgotten that he +might have made his escape with a good half hour to spare before either +of the others appreciated that the music had ceased. Not knowing this, +however, he did not dare stop his playing for an instant, until sheer +physical fatigue interfered. It was at this point that the discords +began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. + +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey had +given a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as a +safe prison, but in the face of McVay's repeated assertions that the air +had barely sufficed to support him during his former occupancy, it +looked like murder to insist. Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, +locked him in a dressing-room off his own room. The window--the room was +on the third floor--gave on empty space, and against the only door he +placed his own bed, so that escape seemed tolerably difficult. + +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, +although toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell +asleep. + +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his name +called by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the hall. She +was wrapped in her sable coat, but shivering from cold or fear. + +"There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and +steps on the piazza, below my room. What can it be?" + +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to +the obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay's +escape. On the opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the +roof of this a neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed +out. + +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before +the approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly +across the snow. There was no question of its identity. His revolver, +which he had snatched from under his pillow and brought with him, he at +once levelled on the vanishing form; his finger was on the trigger, when +he felt a hand on his arm. + +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. "Don't +fire," she said. "Don't you see it is Billy?" + +There was a pause--the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that +touch on his arm he could not shoot. + +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: "McVay!" + +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on +steel and began to retrace his steps. + +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. +Under the piazza he stopped and waved his hand. + +"I'm afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best." + +"There _was_ a burglar then!" said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. + +"By Heaven, he shall not trouble you," returned Holland with more +earnestness than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down +to meet McVay. + +"You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet," he remarked, +ushering him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so +ignominious a position that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a +disadvantage, but looked in vain. The aspect worn was a particularly +self-satisfied one. + +"I was aware I took a risk," he answered; "I took it gladly for my +sister's sake." + +"For your sister's sake?" + +"Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to +you as to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too +honourable, you would say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted +to know that you need not prosecute me." + +"If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting." + +"But at what a cost! I refer to my sister's regard. No, no, the thing, +if you had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It +was a risk, of course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister's sake. I +would take longer ones for her." + +"Do you mean that?" + +"Of course." + +"Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself." + +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, "No, no, Holland. +To take a risk is one thing,--to kill myself quite another. I have +always had a strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly +action. And it would be no help to you. She would not believe that I had +committed suicide. She knows my views on the subject, and could imagine +no motive. No, that would not do at all. I'm surprised at the +suggestion. It is against my principles." + +"Your principles!" Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little +altered in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find that +he could not shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his faith in +himself. He began to doubt if he would be capable of sending the man to +state's prison when Cecilia besought his pity. His own limitations faced +him. He was not the relentless judge he had supposed himself. Yet on the +other hand, the remembrance of Vaughan and the other men he was +representing held him to his idea of justice. "Sit down," he said +suddenly turning to McVay, "and write me out a list of everything you +have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and how it may be +obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better try to do it +for on the completeness of your list depends your only chance of +avoiding the law. If I can return all properly, perhaps--I have a mine +in Mexico, a hell on earth, where you can go if you prefer it to penal +servitude. There won't be much difference, except for the publicity of a +trial. I've a man there who, when I give him his orders, would +infinitely rather shoot you than take any risk of your getting away. +Which will you have?" + +"Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?" + +"Sit down and write your list, then." + +"An interesting occupation, mining," observed McVay as he opened the +portfolio. After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft +noise of the pencil and an occasional comment from the writer: + +"A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur--appealed to my artistic side." + +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside +and the door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. + +"My God, Holland," said McVay, "if that is the police, keep your wits +about you or we are lost." + +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm +showed, he had cast in his interests with McVay's. He stepped forward in +silence and opened the door. + +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. + +"I'm glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland," he said. "There has been great +anxiety felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan +and Marheim cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not get +back to the gardener's cottage the night before last." + +"The snow detained me," said Geoffrey slowly. + +"Come in, come in, friend," said McVay briskly. "You must be cold." + +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after +studying McVay for an instant, asked: + +"I did not catch this gentleman's name. Who is he?" + +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: +"That is the man you are after." + +"Are you crazy, Holland?" shouted McVay. + +"What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?" Envy and +admiration struggled on the detective's countenance. "I must +congratulate you, sir." + +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. "You needn't," he said; +"I am no subject for congratulation. I can't even prosecute him, +confound him, for several reasons. We were at school together, and I can +take no steps in the matter." + +"But I can," said the detective; "indeed it is my duty to." + +"No," said Geoffrey, "nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. +Yes, I know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we'll +compound it." + +"I could not agree to anything of the kind," said the detective. + +"I don't see exactly what you can do about it." Geoffrey was deliberate +and very polite. "For reasons which I can't explain, but which you would +appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from jail. If +you intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape at once. +Don't draw your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only person with a +weapon in my hand. He has made a list of all the things he has stolen, +and I shall see that they are returned to their owners at any cost. Will +you undertake to get him safely to a mine I own in Mexico? Once there he +can't get away. It is forty-five miles from a railway. If you accomplish +this, I will give you ten thousand to make up for the reward you didn't +get,--five thousand down, and five thousand at the end of a year." + +"I don't know what to say," said the man. "It sounds like a bribe." + +"It is," said Geoffrey coolly. + +"I never received such a proposition," returned the man. + +"That scheme won't do, Holland," put in McVay. "Can't you see it lays +you open to blackmail?" + +"From you?" said Geoffrey. "I had thought of that, but you can't +blackmail me at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close enough +to blackmail me, I'll put you in prison without a moment's hesitation. I +shall be in a position by that time to take care of the feelings of the +other people concerned." + +"You don't understand me," answered McVay; "I meant blackmail from this +man." + +"Oh," said Geoffrey civilly, "I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. +And besides, he won't get his second five thousand for a year, and as I +was saying to you, after a year I don't so much mind having the whole +thing known. My reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his +will." + +"I'm no blackmailer," said this detective. "If I accept, I'll be on the +square." + +"If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice," observed Geoffrey, "and +that is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He is a +slippery customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my money at +all, if you give him the smallest loophole." + +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he said +gravely: + +"Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don't +see my way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to +slip overboard from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless +maybe the sharks." + +"Very true," agreed Geoffrey amiably. "Fortunately you can get a steamer +in New York." + +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good reason +for declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey's, and they were +presently deep in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile +studying the map with unfeigned interest in the situation of his future +residence. + +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, +for she had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, +and the men must have been talking for two hours when she appeared at +the library door. + +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey +saw with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as +the burglar whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any +betrayal of this opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, +although as he did so, he realised that he had nothing to answer when +she asked, as of course she did ask: "Who is that?" + +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the +brave took hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would +perhaps in another instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not +the least disconcerted, taken the lead. + +"This, Cecilia," he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the detective's +shoulder, "is my old friend Picklebody,--Henderson Picklebody. You have +heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. Eh, Henderson, in the +old Machita days?" + +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his +surprise at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard +McVay. He began to guess something of the motives that led Holland to +shield this offender against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise to +yield to the whims of young millionaires. + +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she +heard the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked in +a tone as cheerful as she could make it: + +"I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now." + +"Can and will," rejoined McVay beamingly. "Hen comes as he has always +come to his friends, as a rescuer." + +"I seem to require a great deal of rescuing," said the girl, looking up +at the monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. + +"Ah, but you don't understand, my dear," went on McVay ruthlessly +cutting into the look which the lovers were exchanging; "You don't yet +understand how fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it is +true, come to find me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting me +here. It seems that he and Holland are both interested in a mine in +Mexico, and what do you think?" McVay paused and rubbed his hands; +"Really, we have the kindest friends; they have been arranging between +them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of that?" + +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the +shelter of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been +thoroughly candid that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance +away, but she only observed: + +"How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico." + +"There, there, do you hear that? 'We.' Gentlemen," cried McVay, throwing +up his hands, "I cannot leave my sister alone,--deserted. Consider it +all off." + +"Oh, I wasn't to go?" asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. + +"My dear," replied McVay, "I must own that I was base enough to consider +a plan that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place for +ladies. But we will think no more about it. I see by your manner that +your feelings..." + +"Dear Billy," said the girl gently, "you must not give it up. You know +that I can always go to the Lees, until--until I get a position. And +nothing is so important as that you should have work that is +satisfactory to you. Of course you must accept." + +"Did you ever hear anything so noble?" asked McVay. "Yes, I suppose I +ought to accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn't I, Hen?" + +"Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did," replied the +detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American humour. + +"There is another point, Cecilia," McVay went on, "if I do accept, I +shall have to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?" + +"Train to New York this afternoon,--steamer sails to-morrow." + +"Oh, dear. That's very sudden," said Cecilia. + +"At a word from you, dear, I'll give it up," remarked McVay. + +"No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. +Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me +just that amount." + +"We've no time to lose," remarked McVay briskly, "if we are going to try +for that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the +gardener's, Holland, if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we +must hurry off." + +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his +sister, flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who +was of a solider build, found it hard to keep up with. + +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate +man. Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray the +real state of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his +money, McVay took special delight in making him look like a fool, +calling upon him to remember happenings which existed only in McVay's +own fertile brain. + +"What, Hen," he would cry suddenly, "was the name of that pretty black +haired girl you were so sweet on,--you know, the daughter of the +canal-boat man." + +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he +did not know what McVay was talking about. + +"There, there," McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the +shoulder, "I'm not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can +always trust to my discretion. But I would like just to remember her +name. It was so peculiar,--a name I never heard before." + +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, +found himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony +suggested "Mary." + +"Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There is +nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I was +trying to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don't you?" + +"No, I don't," said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. + +"How sad that is," said McVay philosophically. "You don't even remember +her name, and at one time--well, well." + +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective's +countenance. + +"Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney's bullet has entirely gone. I +was afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it +would interest her." + +"Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody," said the girl politely and McVay, when he had +sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a +story himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of +treatment, it soon appeared that McVay's ease and facility had made an +impression on him, and that he looked at his prisoner with a sort of +wondering admiration. + +"Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little bag?" +he began when they were about to depart. "Holland, my dear fellow, don't +think me interfering if I ask whether you have looked to all the doors +and windows? Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into shut-up houses, +and it would be such a pity if anything happened to any of your pretty +things. Ah, what an expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn't it? You may talk +about your tropical scenery, Hen, but we shan't see anything finer than +this the world over. What a contrast the south will be though, eh, old +man?" and, drawing the detective's arm through his, leaning heavily upon +him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking volubly. + +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that had +seen such momentous changes in their lives. + +"When we come back, it will be spring," said Geoffrey softly. + +"Oh," said the girl in rather a shaky voice, "you like me well enough to +ask me to stay again?" + +"Well enough," said Geoffrey, "to ask you to stay forever." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD*** + + +******* This file should be named 14835.txt or 14835.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/8/3/14835 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + diff --git a/old/14835.zip~ b/old/14835.zip~ Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9fe8428 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14835.zip~ diff --git a/old/old/14835.txt b/old/old/14835.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1c0d00f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/14835.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3008 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Burglar and the Blizzard, by Alice Duer +Miller, Illustrated by Charlotte Harding + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: The Burglar and the Blizzard + +Author: Alice Duer Miller + +Release Date: January 29, 2005 [eBook #14835] +[Last updated: October 19, 2022] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD*** + + +E-text prepared by Eric Betts and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed +Proofreading Team (www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 14835-h.htm or 14835-h.zip: + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/8/3/14835/14835-h/14835-h.htm) + or + (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/8/3/14835/14835-h.zip) + + + + + +THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD + +A Christmas Story + +by + +ALICE DUER MILLER + +Author of "The Blue Arch," etc. + +With Illustrations by Charlotte Harding + +Hearst's International Library Co., Inc. + +1914 + + + + + + + +[Illustration: THE BURGLAR] + + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + +The Burglar (Frontispiece) + +"It was a young lady who disposed of the silver" + +"Good God," he cried, "what a night you have had" + +He let McVay out of the closet + +She was dressed in his sister's sables--ready for departure + +"Please move a little back, Holland," he said, "I want to get +nearer the fire" + +"My dear fellow--pray allow me" + +"I have here a slight token, in honor of the day" + + + + + +I + + +Geoffrey Holland stood up and for the second time surveyed the +restaurant in search of other members of his party, two fingers in the +pocket of his waistcoat, as if they had just relinquished his watch. He +was tall enough to be conspicuous and well bred enough to be indifferent +to the fact, good looking, in a bronzed, blond clean-shaven way, and +branded in the popular imagination as a young and active millionaire. + +At a neighbouring table a man lent forward and whispered to the other +men and women with him: + +"Do you know who that is?--that is young Holland." + +"What, that boy! He doesn't look as if he were out of school." + +"No," said one of the women, elaborating the comment, "he does not look +old enough to order a dinner, let alone managing mines." + +"Oh, I guess he can order a dinner all right," said the first man. "He +is older than he looks. He must be twenty-six." + +"What do you suppose he does with all that money?" + +The first thing he did with it, at the moment, was to purchase an +evening paper, for just then he snapped his fingers at a boy, who +promptly ran to get him one. + +"Well, one thing he does," answered the man who had first given +information, "he has an apartment in this building, up stairs, and I bet +that costs him a pretty penny." + +In the meantime Holland had opened his paper, scanned the head lines, +and was about to turn to the stock quotations when a paragraph of +interest caught his eye. So marked was the gesture with which he raised +it to his eyes that his admirers at the next table noticed it, and +speculated on the subject of the paragraph. + +It was headed: "Millionaires' Summer Homes Looted," and said further: + +"Hillsborough, December 21st. The fourth in a series of daring robberies +which have been taking place in this neighbourhood during the past month +occurred last night when the residence of C. B. Vaughan of New York was +entered and valuable wines and bric-a-brac removed. The robbery was not +discovered until this morning when a shutter was observed unfastened on +the second story. On entering the watchman found the house had been +carefully gone over, and although only a few objects seem to be missing, +these are of the greatest value. The thief apparently had plenty of +time, and probably occupied the whole night in his search. This is the +more remarkable because the watchman asserts that he spent at least an +hour on the piazza during the night. How the thief effected an entrance +by the second story is not clear. During the past five weeks the houses +of L. G. Innes, T. Wilson and Abraham Marheim have been entered in a +manner almost precisely similar. There was a report yesterday that some +of the Marheim silver had been discovered with a dealer in Boston, but +that he could not identify the person from whom he bought them further +than that she was a young lady to whom they might very well have +belonged. The fact that it was a young lady who disposed of them to him +suggests that the goods must have changed hands several times. The +Marheim family is abroad, and the servants...." + +Here a waiter touched his elbow. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Vaughan have come, sir," he said. + +"Send up to my apartment and tell Mrs. May we are sitting down to +dinner," returned Holland promptly, and advanced to meet the prosperous +looking couple approaching. + +"I'm afraid we are late," said the lady, "but can you blame us? Have you +heard? We have been telegraphing to Hillsborough all the afternoon to +find out what has gone." + +"You are not late. My sister has not come down yet. I was just reading +about your robbery. Have you lost anything of value?" + +"Oh, I suppose so," said Mrs. Vaughan cheerfully, sitting down and +beginning to draw off her gloves. "We had a Van Dyke etching, and some +enamels that have gone certainly, and Charlie feels awfully about his +wine." + +"Yes," said Mr. Vaughan gloomily. "I tell you he is going to have a +happy time with that champagne. It is the best I ever tasted." + +"Upon my word," said Geoffrey, "they are a nice lot of countrymen up +there. Four robberies and not so much as a clue." + +"_You_ need not be afraid," said Mrs. Vaughan rather spitefully. "In +spite of all your treasures, I don't believe any thief would take the +trouble to climb to the top of your mountain." + +Holland's selection of a distant hilltop for his large place pleased no +true Hillsboroughite. As an eligible bachelor he was inaccessible, and +as a property-holder he was too far away to increase the value of +Hillsborough real-estate by his wonderful lawns and gardens. + +Mrs. Vaughan's irritation did not appear to disturb Geoffrey, for he +laughed very amiably, and replied that he could only hope that the thief +was as poor a pedestrian as she seemed to imagine as he should not like +to lose any of his things; and he added that in his opinion Vaughan +ought to be starting for Hillsborough at once. + +"Pooh," said that gentleman, "I can't go with the market in this +condition,--would lose more than the whole house is worth." + +"You would go duck-shooting in a minute," said Holland, "and this would +be a good deal better sport." + +Mr. Vaughan ignored this remark. "The thing to do," he said, "is to +offer a reward, a big enough reward to attract some first-class +detective." + +"All right," said Geoffrey readily, "I'll join you. Those other fellows +ought to be willing to put up a thousand apiece,--that will be five +thousand. Is that enough? We can have it in the papers to-morrow. What +shall I say? Five thousand dollars reward will be paid for information +leading to the conviction--and so on. I'll go and telephone now," and +with a promptness which surprised Mr. Vaughan, he was gone. + +When he came back his sister was in her place and they were all +discussing the burglary with interest. Mrs. May, who was somewhat older +than her brother, had some of the more agreeable qualities of a gossip, +that is to say she had imagination and a good memory for detail. + +"For my part," she was saying, "I have the greatest respect and +admiration for him. Do you know he could not find anything worth taking +at the Wilsons',--after all his trouble. I have often sat in that +drawing-room myself, and wondered if they should offer me anything in it +as a present, whether I could find something that would not actually +disgrace me. I never could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons +make a great to-do about the house having been entered, and tell you how +he must have been frightened away,--frightened away by the hideousness +of their things! Those woolly paintings on wood, and the black satin +parasol that turns out to be an umbrella stand." + +"My dear Florence," said her brother mildly, "how can a black satin +parasol be an umbrella-stand?" + +"Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the +Wilsons' house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin, +only painted to resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks of +trees, and the match boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is +really what it looks like, except the beds; they look uncomfortable, and +some one who had stayed there told me that they were." + +"Dear Florence," said Mrs. Vaughan, "is it not like her kindness of +heart--it runs in the family--to try and make my burglary into a +compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a +connoisseur I could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my +last hope that my very best escaped his attention." + +"No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven't you +an admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he has +entered four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him." + +"There must be _traces_ of him," said Geoffrey. "The Inness house was +entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There must +have been footprints." + +"Of course," said Mr. Vaughan, "that is what makes me think that the +watchmen are in it. It's probably a combination of two or three of +them." + +"Well, that lets Geoffrey out," said the irrepressible Florence. "No one +would take his watchman into any combination,--he is a thousand and two +and feeble for his age. However, there is no use in discussing the +possibility, for it is not a combination of watchmen, begging your +pardon, Mr. Vaughan. It is lonely genius, a slim, dark figure in a +slouch hat. That is the way I imagine him. Do you really suppose that a +watchman would take six pair of Mrs. Inness' best linen sheets, +embroidered in her initials, the monogram so thick that it scratches +your nose; and a beautiful light blue silk coverlet,--all just out from +Paris. I saw them when she first had them." + +"What," said Geoffrey, addressing the other male intellect present, "do +you make of the young woman who disposed of some of the Marheim silver +in Boston?" + +[Illustration: "IT WAS A YOUNG LADY WHO DISPOSED OF THE SILVER"] + +But it was Mrs. May who answered: "She is of course the lady of his +love--a lady doubtless of high social position in Boston. There was a +book about something like that once. He is just waiting to make one more +grand coup, rob the bank or something and then the world will be +startled by the news of their elopement. They will go and live somewhere +luxuriously in the south Pacific, and travellers will bring home strange +stories of their happiness and charm. Perhaps, though, he would turn +pirate. That would suit his style." + +"I hope," said Holland, "that he won't take a fancy to rob the +Hillsborough Bank, for I consider it public spirited to keep quite a +little money there. You begin to make me nervous." + +"No bank robbery would make _me_ nervous," replied his sister, "that is +the comfort of being insignificant. I have not enough money in any bank +to know the difference, and as for my humble dwelling in Hillsborough, +who would take the trouble to rifle it when Geoffrey's palace is within +an easy walk. Besides, I haven't anything worth the attention of a +respectable burglar like this one." + +"Thank you," said Geoffrey, "I'm sorry I spent so much time choosing +your Christmas present a year ago." + +"Oh, of course, Geof dear, that wonderful old silver is valuable, but it +is put away where I defy any burglar to find it. There is only my sable +coat, and I am going to send for that as soon as I have time to have it +cut over." + +"In my opinion," said Mr. Vaughan, "the man is no longer in the +neighbourhood. He would scarcely dare try a fifth attempt while the +whole country was so aroused. You see Hillsborough has always been an +attractive place to thieves. It is such an easy place to get away +from,--three railroads within reach. A man would be pretty sure to be +able to catch a passing freight train on one of them at almost any time, +to say nothing of the increased difficulty of tracing him." + +"I don't suppose he will ever be caught," said Florence. "When he has +got all he wants he will simply melt away and be forgotten. If he were +caught--" + +Here she was interrupted by the waiter who laid a telegram at her plate. +It had come to her brother's apartment, and been sent down. + +"Who is telegraphing me," she said, as she tore it open. "I hope Jack +has not been breaking himself." + +Opening it, she read: + +"Your house was entered about five o'clock this afternoon. Tea-set and +sable coat missing." + + + + +II + + +The next evening at seven o'clock, Holland stepped out of the train on +the Hillsborough station. He wore a long fur-coat, for the morning had +been bitterly cold in New York, and though the snow was now falling in +small close flakes, the temperature had not risen appreciably, and a +wild wind was blowing. + +He looked about for the figure of McFarlane, for he had telegraphed the +old man to meet him at the train with a trap, but there was no one to be +seen. The station, which in summer on the arrival of the express was a +busy scene with well dressed women and well-kept horses, was now utterly +deserted except for one native who had charge of the mails. + +"Hullo, Harris," Geoffrey sung out. "Is McFarlane here for me?" + +"Ain't seen him. Guess it's too stormy for the old man," Harris replied +dropping the mail bag into his wagon. + +"Then you've got to drive me out." + +"What, all the way to your place? No, sir, I guess it is too stormy for +me, too." + +But Geoffrey at last, by the promise of three times what the trip was +worth, induced Harris to change his mind. He stepped into the mail cart, +and having stopped at the post-office to leave the bag, and at the +stable to change the cart for a sleigh, they finally set out on their +five-mile drive. + +"Guess you come up to see about Mr. May's house being robbed?" Harris +hazarded before they had gone far. + +"You're a nice lot, aren't you?" returned Geoffrey. "Five robberies and +not a motion to catch the thief!" + +"Oh, I dunno, I dunno, there is a big reward out to-day," said Harris, +divided between pride in the notoriety and shame at the lawlessness of +his native town. + +"Yes, but not by any of you." + +"Well, the boys did talk some of a vigilance committee, if any more +houses was robbed." + +"They are going to wait for him to make up his half dozen." + +"Well, to tell the truth," said Harris, "it seems like he only went for +you city folks, and I guess the boys thought you could better afford to +lose a few things than they could to lose their sleep. That's about the +size of it." + +Geoffrey could not but laugh. "That's a fine spirited way to look at it, +I must say." + +"Well," returned Harris, who appeared to have need of the monosyllable +in order to collect and arrange his ideas. "'Tain't lack of sand +exactly, either, for most of the fellows about here thinks it is a +woman." + +"A woman?" cried Geoffrey, remembering the lady in Boston. + +"Yes, _sir_," said Harris, "a young woman. Look at the things took. What +burglar would want sheets and a lady's coat? Besides just before the +first one happened, Will Brown, he was driving along up your way and a +young woman, pretty as a picter, Will said, slips out of the wood and +asks for a lift. Well, Will takes her some two miles, and when they got +to that piece of woods at the back of your place she says of a sudden +that she guesses she wants exercise, and will walk the rest of the way, +and out she gets, and no one has seen her since. Seems kinder strange, +no house but yours within six miles, and you away." + +"It would have seemed quite as strange if I had been at home," returned +Geoffrey, amused at his imputation. + +"Well," Harris went on imperturbably, "you can't tell the rights of them +stories. Will Brown, he's a liar, just like all the Browns; still this +time he seemed to think he was telling the truth. Looks like we were +going to have a blizzard, don't it?" + +When they reached the McFarlane cottage, Mrs. McFarlane appeared bobbing +on the threshold. She was an old Scotch woman and covered all occasions +with courtesy. It appeared that Holland's telegram had been duly +telephoned from the office, but that her husband was down with +rheumatism, the second gardener dismissed, and the "boy" allowed to go +home to spend Christmas, so that there had been no one to send. Geoffrey +suggested that she might have telephoned to the local livery-stable, and +she was at once so overcome at her own stupidity that she could do +nothing but bob and murmur, until Geoffrey sent her away to get him +something to eat. + +It was about ten o'clock, when he determined to take a turn about his +house. The next day he intended removing all valuables to the vaults of +the Hillsborough bank. + +It was a long walk from the cottage, and Geoffrey, as he trudged up hill +against the wind, was surprised to find how much snow had already +fallen. He had expected to return to New York the next day, but now a +fair prospect of being stalled on the way presented itself. It took him +so much longer to reach the house than he had supposed, that he +abandoned all idea of entering it. It stood before him grimly like a +mountain of grey stone, its face plastered with snow. He walked round +it, feeling each door and window to be sure of the fastenings. Once past +the corner, the house sheltered him from the wind. He was conscious of +that exhilaration snow storms so often bring, while at the same time the +atmosphere of desolation that surrounds all shut up houses, even one's +own, took hold of him. Unconsciously he stopped and felt in his pocket +for his revolver, and at the same moment, faintly, in the interior of +the house, he heard a clock strike. + +The sound was not perhaps alarming in itself, yet it sounded ominously +in Geoffrey's ears. He recognised, or thought he recognised, the bell. +It was that of an old French clock he had bought, and had never had put +in order. He had never been able to make it go, but once touching it +inadvertently he had aroused in it a breath of life so that it had +struck one,--this same sweet piercing note. Who, he wondered, was +touching it now? + +Geoffrey was one of those who act best and naturally without delay. Now +he hesitated not at all. He had the keys of the house in his pocket, and +he moved quickly toward a side door which he remembered swung silently +on its hinges. It was not so much that he believed that there was any +one in the house--perhaps to the most apprehensive a burglar comes as a +surprise--but he felt he had too good grounds for suspicion to fail to +investigate. + +He unlocked the door without a sound. As he stepped within, doubt was +put an end to by the patch of white light that, streaming out of the +library door, fell across the passageway before him. He stooped down and +took off his boots, and then cautiously approached the open door and +looked in, knowing that darkness and preparation were in his favour. + +His caution was unnecessary, for his entrance had not been heard. The +Hillsborough theory of the femininity of the burglar instantly fell to +the ground. A man of medium size was standing before one of the +bookcases with his elbow resting near the clock; he was holding a volume +in his hands with the careful ease of a book fancier. The man's back was +turned so that a sandy head and a strongly built figure were all +Geoffrey could make out. Had it not been for a glimpse of a mask on his +face, he might have been a student at work. + +So intent did he appear that Geoffrey could not resist the temptation to +make his entrance dramatic. Creeping almost to the other's elbow, +revolver in hand, he said gently: + +"Fond of reading?" + +The man, naturally startled, made a surprisingly quick movement toward +his own revolver, and had it knocked out of his hand with a benumbing +blow. Geoffrey secured the weapon, and seeing the man's retreat, may be +excused for supposing the struggle over. + +He underestimated his adversary's resources, for the burglar, retreating +with a look of surrender, came within reach of the electric light, +turned it off, and fled in the total darkness that followed. Geoffrey +sprang to the switch, but the few seconds that his fingers were fumbling +for it told against him. When he turned it on the room was empty. The +door by which the thief had gone opened on the main hall and not on the +passageway, so that Geoffrey still had time to secure the outer door. +Next he lit the chandelier in the hall, but its illumination told +nothing. It was Geoffrey's own sharp ears that told him of light +footsteps beyond the turn of the stairs. Here Holland recognised at once +that the burglar had a great advantage. The flight of stairs from the +hall reached the upper story at a point very near where the back stairs +came up, while they descended to widely different places in the lower +story, so that the burglar, looking down, could choose his flight of +stairs as soon as he saw his pursuer committed to the other, and thus +reach the lower hall with several seconds to spare. Fortunately, +however, Geoffrey remembered that there was a door at the foot of the +back stairs. With incredible quickness he turned off the light again, +threw his boots upstairs in the ingenious hope that the sound would give +the effect of his own ascent, dashed round and locked the door at the +foot of the stairs and then at the top of his speed ran up the front +stairs and down the back. The result was somewhat as he expected. The +burglar had reached the door at the foot of the stairs, and finding it +locked was half way up again when he and Geoffrey met. The impetus of +Geoffrey's descent carried the man backward. They both landed against +the locked door with a force that burst it open. Geoffrey, on top and +armed, had little difficulty in securing his bruised foe, and marching +him back to the library where he now took the precaution of locking all +the doors. + +Geoffrey, who had felt himself tingling with excitement and the natural +love of the chase, now had time to wonder what he was going to do with +his capture. He thought of the darkness, the storm, the absence of the +two undermen, and the helplessness of the McFarlanes. Then he remembered +the telephone, which, fortunately, stood in a closet off the library. + +He turned to the burglar. "Stand with your face to the wall and your +hands up," he said; "and if I see you move I'd just as lief shoot you as +look at you," with which warning he approached the telephone and, still +keeping an eye on the other, rang up central. There was no answer. He +rang again,--six, seven times he repeated the process unavailingly. He +tried the private wire to the McFarlane cottage with no better result. + +At this point the burglar spoke. + +"Oh, what the devil!" he said mildly; "I can't stand here with my hands +over my head all night." + +"You'll stand there," replied Geoffrey with some temper, "until I'm +ready for you to move." + +"And when will that be?" + +"When this fool of a Central answers." + +"Oh, not as long as that, I hope," said the burglar, "because, to tell +the truth, I always cut the telephone wires before I enter a house." + +There was a pause in which it was well Geoffrey did not see the artless +smile of satisfaction which wreathed the burglar's face. At length +Geoffrey said: + +"In that case you might as well sit down, for we seem likely to stay +here until morning." He calculated that by that time, Mrs. McFarlane, +alarmed at his absence, would send some one to look for him,--some one +who could be used as a messenger to fetch the constable. + +To this suggestion the burglar appeared to acquiesce, for he sank at +once into an armchair--an armchair toward which Holland himself was +making his way, knowing it to be the most comfortable for an all-night +session. Feeling the absurdity of making any point of the matter, +however, he contented himself with the sofa. + +"Take off your mask," he said as he sat down. + +"So I will, thank you," said the burglar as if he had been asked to +remove his hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that +met Geoffrey's interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by +exposure so that his very light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark a +surrounding. Above, his sandy hair, which had receded somewhat from his +forehead, curled up from his temples like a baby's. His upper lip was +long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face an expression of humour. +His hands were ugly, but small. + +They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging +the cut on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland's +presence, Geoffrey meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of +bandaging over, the man reached out his hand toward the bookcase and, +selecting a volume of Sterne, settled back comfortably in his chair. +Holland stared at him an instant in wonder, and then attempted to follow +his example. But his attention to his book was much less concentrated +than that of his captive, whose expression soon showed him to be +completely absorbed. + +They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show +signs of restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked +distinctly disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence +again. + +"You don't remember me, do you?" he said. + +Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving--his revolver was +drooping in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal +acquaintance unsuccessfully, and repeated: + +"Remember you?" + +"Yes, we were at school together for a time." + +Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: + +"You used to be able to wag your ears." + +"Can still." + +"Why, you are Skinny McVay." + +The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw +nothing comic in these untender reminiscences. + +"I remember the masters all hated you," said Geoffrey, "but you were +straight enough then, weren't you?" + +Again the man nodded. "I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago." + +After a moment Geoffrey said: + +"Did not I hear you were in the navy?" + +"No," said McVay. "I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I +should like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. +They threw me out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. +It was worse than State's prison." + +"Are you in a position to judge?" asked Geoffrey coolly. + +"No," said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. + +"Well, you will be soon," said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to +point out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his school +days. But McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. + +"Yes," he said ruminatively; "I've done a lot of things in my time." + +"Well, I don't want to hear about them," said Geoffrey, who had no +intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar +looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said: + +"Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?" + +"No," said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to +start a cheering blaze with his left hand. + +For a few minutes Geoffrey's determined attention to his book +discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram +Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed: + +"Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it +sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so +unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant +nothing to him--too original--sees life from another standpoint, +entirely. That's me! I--" + +"Sit down," roared Geoffrey. + +"Oh, it's nothing, nothing," said McVay, "only I talk better on my +feet." + +"Well, you wouldn't talk as well with a bullet in you." + +McVay sank back again in his chair. "Yes," he said, "that's me. Why, +Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number +of things that I can do--that I am really proficient in. Anything with +the hands," he waved his fingers supplely in the air, "is no trouble to +me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a +lifetime to acquire." + +"I'm told there's work for all where you are going." + +McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing himself +to remain at a loss, he said: + +"Work! Do you really mean to say that you believe in a utilitarian +Heaven, where we are going to work with our hands? For my part--" + +"I had reference to the penitentiary," said Geoffrey. + +"Oh, yes, of course, the penitentiary. There are some wonderful men in +the penitentiary. You don't admit that, I suppose, with your +conventional ideas; but to me they are just as admirable as any other +great creative artist,--sculptor or financier. I see you don't quite get +that. You are hemmed in by conventional standards, and your possessions, +and all the things to which you attach such great importance." + +"I don't attach so much importance that I steal them from other people," +said Geoffrey. + +"Philistine, Holland, philistine! Is not any one who has anything +stealing from some one or other? Of course. But I see you don't catch +the idea. Well, I dare say I would not either in your place--rather +think I would not. My sister is just the same way. Sweet girl, witty in +her own way, but philistine. She is so good as to be my companion, +apparently on equal terms, in many ways my superior, but it would be +impossible for me even to mention these ideas to her,--ideas which are +of the greatest interest to me." + +"I wonder," said Geoffrey, "how much of all this rubbish you believe?" + +McVay smiled with great sweetness. "I wonder myself, Holland. Still it +is undeniably amusing, and the main thing is that I enjoy life,--a hard +life too in many ways. Fate has dealt me some sad blows. Look at such a +coincidence as your turning up to-night, of all nights in the year." + +"It was scarcely a coincidence. I came--" + +"Oh, I know, I know. You came to see after your sister's things, but +still, if you look at it a little more carefully, you will see that it +_was_ a coincidence that you should be by nature a man of prompt action. +Nine men out of ten in your place--still, I'm not depressed. You cannot +say, Holland, that I behave or talk like a man who has ten years of hard +labour before him, can you? I dare say you have never been thrown with a +person who showed less anxiety. Yet as a matter of fact, there is +something preying on my mind. Something entirely aside from anything you +could imagine." + +"You don't tell me!" said Geoffrey, who did not know whether to be most +amused or infuriated by his companion's conversation. + +"I am about to tell you," said McVay graciously, "I am very seriously +worried about my sister. In fact I don't see that there is any getting +away from it; you will have to let me go out for an hour or so and get +her." + +"Let you do _what_?" + +"Get my sister. She's living in a little hut in your woods, and I am +actually afraid she will be snowed up." + +"It seems highly probable." + +"Well, then, I must go and get her." + +Geoffrey stared at him a moment, and then said: "You must be crazy." + +"Maybe I am," answered McVay, as if the suggestion were not without an +amusing side. "Maybe I am, but that is not the point. Think of a girl, +Holland, alone, all night, in such a storm. Now, I put it to you: it is +not a position in which you would leave your sister, is it?" + +Geoffrey began a sentence and finding it inadequate, contented himself +with a laugh. + +"There you see," said McVay. "It's out of the question. The place is +draughty, too, though there is a stove. Do you remember the house at +all? You would be surprised to see how nicely I've fixed it up for her." + +"No doubt I should," replied Holland, thinking of the Vaughan and +Marheim valuables. + +"It is surprisingly livable, but it _is_ draughty," McVay went on. "The +truth is I ought to have gone south, as I meant to do last week. But one +cannot foresee everything. The winters have been open until Christmas so +often lately. However, I made a mistake and I am perfectly willing to +rectify it. If you have no objection, I'll go and bring her back here." + +"If you have any respect for your skin you won't move from that chair." + +"Oh, the devil, Holland, don't be so--" he hesitated for the right word, +not wishing to be unjust,--"so obtuse. Listen to that wind! It's cold +here. Think what it must be in that shanty." + +"Very unpleasant, I should think." + +"More than that, more than that,--suffering, I have no doubt. Why, she +might freeze to death if anything went wrong with the fire. It is not +safe. It's a distinct risk to leave her. Let alone that a storm like +this would scare any girl alone in a place like that, there is some +danger to her life. Don't you see that?" + +"Yes, I see," returned Geoffrey, "but you ought to have thought of that +before you came burgling in a blizzard." + +"Thought of it! Of course I thought of it. But I had no idea whatever of +being caught, with old McFarlane laid up and the two boys away, it did +seem about the safest job yet." + +There was a pause, for Geoffrey evidently had no intention of even +arguing the matter, and presently McVay continued: + +"Now you know you would feel badly to-morrow morning if anything went +wrong with her, and you knew you could have helped it!" + +"Helped it!" said Geoffrey. "What do you mean? Let you loose on the +county for the sake of a story no sane man would believe?" + +"Well," returned McVay judicially, "perhaps you could not do that, but," +he added brightly, "you could go yourself." + +"Yes," said Geoffrey, "I _could_--" + +"Then I think you ought to be getting along." + +"Upon my word, McVay," said Holland, "you are something of a humorist, +aren't you?" + +McVay again looked puzzled, but rose to the occasion. + +"Oh, hardly that," he said. "Every now and then I have a way of putting +things,--a way of my own. I find often I am able to amuse people, but if +you are cheerful yourself, you make other people so. I was just thinking +that it must be a great thing for men who have been in prison for years +to have some one come in with a new point of view." + +"I'm sure you will be an addition to prison life. It's an ill wind, you +know." + +"It's an ill wind for my sister, literally enough. Come, Holland, you +certainly can trust me. Do be starting." + +"Why, what do you take me for?" said the exasperated Geoffrey. "Do you +really suppose that I am going, looking for a den of your accomplices in +order to give you a chance to escape?" + +"'Accomplices!'" exclaimed McVay; and for the first time a shade of +anger crossed his brow; "'_accomplices'_! I have no accomplices. +Anything I do I think I am able to do alone. Still," he added putting +aside his annoyance, "if you feel nervous about leaving me I'd just as +lief give you my word of honour to stay here until you come back." + +"Your _what_?" + +McVay made a slight gesture of his shoulders, as if he were being a good +deal tried. "Oh, anything you like," he said. "I suppose you could lock +me up in a closet." + +"I don't think we need trouble to arrange the details," said Geoffrey +drily. "But I'll tell you what I will do. After I get you safely in jail +to-morrow, I'll get a trap and go and look up this hut." + +"It may be too late then." + +"It may," said Geoffrey, and continued to read. + +Yet he had no further satisfaction in his book. He knew that the burglar +kept casting meditative glances at him as if in wonder at such +brutality, and in truth, his own mind was not entirely at ease. If by +any chance the story were true,--if there was a woman at his doors +freezing to death, how could he sit enjoying the fire? But, on the other +hand, could any one have a more evident motive for deception than his +informant? What better opportunity for escape could be arranged? It was +so evident, so impudent as to be almost convincing. What more likely for +instance, than that the hut was a regular rendezvous for criminals and +tramps, that by going he would be walking into the veriest trap? Yet +again there was the report confirmed by Harris's story that a woman was +in some way connected with these robberies. The wind whistled round the +house with a suggestion of difficulty, of combat with the elements, of +actual danger, perhaps, that suddenly gave Geoffrey a new view of delay. +Had it not something the air of cowardice, or at least of laziness? He +found his eyes had read the same page three times, while his brain was +busy devising means by which McVay could be secured in his absence--if +he went. + +At length he rose suddenly to his feet. + +"I'll go," he said, "but before I go, I'll tie you up so safely that, if +I don't come back, you'll starve to death before you'll be able to get +out or make any one hear you. On these terms do you still want me to +go?" + +"Oh, yes, I want you to go," said McVay, "only for goodness sake be +careful. If you should feel any temptation to lie down and go to sleep +don't yield to it; they say it's fatal. The great thing is to keep on +walking--" + +"Oh, shut up," said Geoffrey. In view of the possibility that he was +going to meet death at the hands of his fluent companion's accomplices +he found this friendly advice unbearable. + +"This hut, I take it," he said, "is an old woodcutter's shanty in the +north woods?" + +"Yes, something over a mile and a half north of here." + +"I know the place," said Geoffrey, "now come along, and we'll see how I +can fix you up until I come back." + +He had in mind a heavy upstairs cedar-closet. It had been designed by a +thoughtful architect for the storing of summer wearing apparel, and was +strongly built. It had besides the advantage of having a door that +opened in and so was difficult to break open from the inside. Here, +having removed a complete burglar's outfit from his pockets, Geoffrey +disposed McVay, being met with a readiness on McVay's part that seemed +to prove either that he was sincere in his belief in Holland's safe +return, or else was perfectly confident of being able to open the door +as soon as Geoffrey's back was turned. + +"But he'll find himself mistaken," Geoffrey murmured as, having locked +the door, he turned away. At this instant a faint knocking was audible, +and, gathering that McVay had some final instructions to give, Geoffrey +again opened the door. + +"By the way," said the burglar, and for the first time a certain +constraint, amounting almost to embarrassment, was discernible in his +manner, "my sister has no idea about--it would be a great shock to +her--in fact, you understand, she has not discovered exactly how our +money comes to us." + +"Do you expect me to believe that?" asked Geoffrey. + +"I grant it does not sound likely," returned McVay, "and indeed would +not be possible with any other man than myself. But I hit upon a pretty +good yarn,--worked out well everyway. I told her--" + +"I don't want to hear your infernal lies." + +"But it might be convenient for you to know. I told her," McVay +chuckled, "that I was employed as night watchman at Drake's paper mill. +That of course kept me out all night, and--" + +"She must think night watchmen get good wages." + +"That was just it. I told her Drake was an old friend of mine, and just +wanted an excuse to give me an allowance until he found me a better job. +You see I just lost a nice job in a bank--" + +"I suppose it would be indiscreet to inquire why?" + +"Well, we won't discuss it," said McVay with an agreeable smile. "Of +course she could understand that such an inferior position as a +watchman's had to be kept a profound secret, hence our remote mode of +life, and the fact that I don't allow a butcher or baker to come near +us. I tell her that if it were known that I had held such a poor +position, it would interfere with my getting a better. So, if you should +happen to find that you have to explain to her why I am detained here--" + +"_If_ I should explain to her," said Geoffrey. "What do you suppose I am +going to do?" + +"Well, I suppose you will find it necessary," said McVay. "Indeed, as a +matter of fact, I would much rather have you do it than do it myself. +Still, you might bear in mind to tell her as gently as possible. If she +were your own sister--" + +"Oh, go to the devil," said Geoffrey, and slammed the door. + + + + +III + + +Geoffrey was born with a love of adventure, and his dislike to his +present expedition arose not from fear, but from a consciousness that if +he did run into a den of thieves he would think himself such an ass to +have come. Indeed, there seemed a fair chance that he might think this +even if nothing worse happened than that the hut proved empty, for he +would have had a long walk for nothing better than to provide McVay with +an opportunity to escape. He did not see exactly how McVay could get +out, but he was aware that few people would think it wise to leave a +burglar locked in a closet in an empty house with some hours of leisure +at his disposal. + +The first glimmering of dawn was visible as he stepped off the piazza; +the wind was blowing fiercely and the snow still falling. He had not +gone a hundred yards before he knew that the expedition was to be more +difficult than he had imagined. To make headway against the wind was a +constant struggle, and he seemed to slip back in the snow at every step. +Still the natural obstinacy of his nature was aroused, and as his +attention was more and more engaged with the endeavor to make his way, +he had less time to think of the probable futility of his proceeding. + +Long before he sighted the hut, he was wet to the waist, not only +because he had been in half a dozen drifts, but because the snow had +penetrated every crevice of his clothing. + +The hut was a forlorn little spot upon the landscape, a patch of grey on +the stretch of forest and snow. A shutter blowing in the wind gave an +impression of desertion, for how could any one, however wretched, sit +idle under that recurrent bang? + +Drawing his revolver, Geoffrey approached the door. He had no intention +of giving a possible enemy an opportunity to prepare himself, and so did +not knock, but, putting his shoulder against the door, shoved mightily. +The hinges broke from the rotten wood at once, and he stumbled in. + +The pale light of the early winter morning showed a depressing interior, +for the window was not the only opening. There was a great gap in the +roof where, earlier in the night, the chimney had fallen, and now its +bricks littered the floor, already well covered with snow. Some attempt +must have been made, as McVay had boasted, of "fixing it up"; there were +books in the shelves on the walls, and a black iron stove on which the +snow now lay fearlessly. As Geoffrey took in the situation, something in +a huge chair, which he had taken for a heap of rugs, stirred and moved, +and finally rose, betraying itself to be a woman. Geoffrey had been +prepared to find a den of thieves, or nothing at all, or even a girl, as +McVay had said. He told himself he would be surprised at nothing, yet +found himself astounded, overwhelmed at the sight of a beautiful face. + +The girl must have been beautiful so to triumph over her surroundings, +for all sorts of strange garments were huddled about her, and over all a +silk coverlet originally tied like a shawl under her chin, had slipped +sideways, and fell like a Hussar's jacket from one shoulder. Her hair +stood like a dark halo about her little face, making it seem smaller and +younger, almost too small for the magnificent eyes that lit it. +Geoffrey, tolerably well versed in feminine attractions, said to himself +that he had never seen such blue eyes. + +And suddenly while he looked at her and her desperate plight, pity +became in him a sort of fury of protection, the awakening of the +masculine instinct toward beauty in distress. It was a feeling that the +other women he had admired--well-fed, well-clothed, well-cared-for young +creatures--had always signally failed to arouse. He had seen it in other +men, had seen their hearts wrung because an able-bodied girl must take a +trolley car instead of her father's carriage, but he had thought himself +hard, perhaps, unchivalrous; but now he knew better. Now he knew what it +was to feel personally outraged at a woman's discomfort. + +"Good God!" he cried, "what a night you have had. How wicked, how +abominable, how criminal--" + +[Illustration: "GOOD GOD," HE CRIED "WHAT A NIGHT YOU HAVE HAD"] + +"It has been a dreadful night," said the girl, "but it is nobody's +fault." + +"Of course it is somebody's fault," answered Geoffrey. "It must be. Do +you mean to tell me no one is to blame when I have been sitting all +night with my feet on the fender, and you--" + +"Certainly," said she with an extraordinarily wide, sweet smile, "I +could wish we might have changed places." + +"I wish to Heaven we might," returned Geoffrey, and meant it. Never +before had he yearned to bear the sufferings of another. He had often +seen that it was advisable, suitable just that he should, but burningly +to want to was a new experience. + +"Thank you," said the girl, "but I'm afraid there is nothing to be +done." + +"Nothing to be done!" He dropped on his knees before the black monster +of a stove, "Do you suppose I'm here to do nothing?" + +"You are here, I think, for shelter from the storm." + +It had not occurred to him before that she looked upon him as a chance +wanderer. + +"That shows your ignorance of the situation. I am here to rescue you. I +left my fireside for no other reason. As I came along I said at every +blast, 'that poor, poor girl.' I set out to bring you to safety. I begin +to think I was born for no other reason." + +She smiled rather wearily, "Your coming at all is so strange that I +could almost believe you." + +"You may thoroughly believe me, more easily perhaps when I tell you I +did not particularly want to come. I started out at dawn very cross and +cold because I did not know what I was going to find...." + +"But I thought you said you did know that you were going to rescue a +girl?" + +"A girl, yes. But what's a mere girl? How many thousand girls have I +seen in my life? Is that a thought to turn a man's head? What I did not +know was that I was going to find _you_." + +"The fire will never burn with the chimney strewn on the floor," she +said mildly. + +"Well, I've said it, you see," he answered, "and you won't forget it, +even if you do change the subject." He turned his attention to the fire. +Where is the man, worthy of the name to whom the business of fire +building is not serious? + +Presently seeing he needed help she dropped to her knees beside him and +tried to shove a piece of wood into place. In the process her numbed +fingers touched his, and he instantly dropped everything to catch her +hand in both of his. + +"Your hands are as cold as ice," he said, holding them tightly, and +thanking Fate that this bounty had fallen to his lot. + +She withdrew them. "You are too conscientious," she said. "That is not +part of the duty of a rescue party." + +"It is, it is," said Geoffrey violently. "It is the merest humanity." + +"Humanity?" + +"To me, of course, if you will pin me down." + +"Oh, there is no reason for the rescued to be humane." + +"They ought to be grateful." + +"They are." + +"_Gratefuller_ then. Is it nothing that I have taken all the trouble to +be born and grow up and live just to come here for you?" + +"Perhaps I could be gratefuller if there were any prospect of a fire." + +"Oh, curse the fire," said Geoffrey rising from his knees. "Who minds +about it?" + +"I mind very much." + +"Well, you mustn't. You must not mind about anything, because it sets up +too strong a reaction in me. There's no telling what I might not do +under the stress. Come away from this dreadful place. The fires will +burn in my house, and that is where we are going." + +"I can't do that," she said, looking very grave. + +"You can't do anything else." + +"I must wait for my brother. He's out somewhere in this storm, and if he +comes back and finds me gone--" + +"Oh, your brother," said Geoffrey, "I forgot all about him. He's at my +house already. He sent me for you." + +"Oh," said she, sighing with relief, and then added maliciously: "then +my plight was not revealed to you in a vision?" + +"The vision is with me now." + +She had to perfection, the art of allowing her mind to drift away when +she thought it advisable. + +"And so you took poor Billy in?" she said. + +Geoffrey coughed. "Well, in a sense," he answered. + +She rose. "We'll go at once," she said. "Is it far?" + +"Not very, but it is going to be hard work." + +He felt more practical. His delight had slipped from him at the +realisation of her relationship to McVay. For a moment he felt +depressed, then as he saw her struggling to undo the knot that held the +comforter about her, he forgot everything but the pleasure of doing her +a service. And in the midst of this joy, the coverlet slid to the ground +and revealed her clad from head to foot in his sister's sables. + +There was a pause. + +"What are you looking at?" she asked. + +"That is a nice warm coat you have on." + +"Isn't it?" She rubbed her cheek against the high collar with a +tenderness trying to any masculine onlooker. "It saved my life." + +It was on the tip of Geoffrey's tongue to ask if he was not entitled to +a similar claim on her consideration, but he suppressed it. Was it +possible that she did not know that the garments she wore were stolen? +Could any sane woman really believe that sable coats fell naturally to +the lot of night watchmen? Her manner was candour itself, but how should +it not be? What more inevitable than that she should make an effort to +deceive a casual stranger? She had the most evident motives for behaving +exactly as she did. Just so, however, he had reasoned about McVay, and +yet McVay had been sincere. There had been a girl in distress exactly as +he had said. It was contrary to all reason, but it was true. Might not +the girl be true too? Was it not possible, he asked himself, and +answered that it was more than possible, it was the truth. He chose to +believe in her, and turned his anger against McVay, who could drag her +through such a mire. He felt the tragedy of a high-minded woman tricked +out in stolen finery, and remembered with a pang that he himself was +hurrying on the moment of disillusion. + +"I wonder," she said, "if I could take some things with me. Is it +impossible for me to carry a bag?" + +"Yes, but not for me." + +"It would be only this." She held up a small Russia leather affair +legibly marked with Mrs. Inness' initials. + +"I will take it," said Geoffrey. His faith was sorely tried. + +She moved about collecting things and packing, and presently remarked: + +"But if Billy is all right, why didn't he come for me himself?" + +"Oh, because--" Geoffrey hesitated an instant, and her fears interpreted +the pause. + +"He's hurt. You are keeping it from me. You are deceiving me." + +"I would scorn to deceive you," said Geoffrey with passion, and looked +at her to find some answer to the reverse question which he did not put +into words. + +She did not appear to understand. "Then why didn't he come?" she asked. + +"He had been out in the storm already. I thought it was my turn." + +"I think you must be stronger than Billy." She cast a reflective glance +at his shoulders, and he was ashamed to find himself inordinately +flattered. + +"He is really safe at your house?" + +"I hope so, I did my best," he returned grimly. + +She looked at him gravely. "You have been very kind to a stranger," she +said. + +And at this point Geoffrey made the fatal mistake of his dealing with +her. It did not occur to him that he was going to shield McVay, but he +thought a more advantageous time could be found for telling her the +truth, in case of course she did not know it already. He felt that he +himself would be better able to deal a cold blow when she was warm and +sheltered. No man, he said to himself, could be disagreeable to a girl +who had no one to depend on but himself. So he said: + +"He was not exactly a stranger to me. We were at school together." + +"Oh, another of Billy's friends. I never knew such a person for +discovering friends at the most opportune times. He never wants anything +but what a friend turns up. Did you find him wandering about, or did he +come and demand admittance?" + +"Why, neither exactly. I was not in the house at the time. He felt he +knew me well enough to walk in." + +"He never told me he had a friend in the neighbourhood." + +"We have not met since we were at school." + +"He had not seen you since he was at school, and yet he felt he knew you +well enough to walk in on you!" + +"Yes, he just walked in, and then I would not let him go." + +"Men are so queer!" she exclaimed with a little laugh that had a spice +of admiration in it, under which Geoffrey writhed. He was sailing under +such false colours as her brother's benefactor. + +"We ought to be starting," he said. + +She looked round the room. "I hate to leave all these nice things," she +said. "Billy is so fond of them. There is some wine that some one gave +him that he says is really priceless." + +"Leave it," said Geoffrey shortly. + +"One would think you were a teetotaller from that tone. I wonder if I +could not take one bottle as a surprise to Billy. He would like to +contribute something to your hospitality, I am sure. Besides, if I leave +it, it may be stolen." + +"Yes, it may be stolen." He looked down into her face. + +"Then--" + +"I ask you as a favour to leave it behind." + +Nothing could have been more charming than her manner of yielding, sweet +and quick like a caress. It made him feel how pitiful sordid it all was. + +They started immediately, started with a certain gaiety. Geoffrey chose +to remember only that they were together through a hard adventure, and +that it was his part to smooth her way. The bond of difficulties to +overcome united them. They felt the intimacy of a single absorbing +interest. They had nothing to think of but accomplishing their task,--of +that and of each other. As far as they could see were snow and black +trunks of trees. They scarcely remembered that any one but themselves +existed. + +Now justly he could admire something besides her beauty. Her courage +warmed his heart. Yet with all her spirit she made no attempt to assert +her independence. She turned to him at every point. He guided her past +the scenes of his own disasters and saved her from the mistakes he had +already made. + +But only for a little while did they move forward in this delightful +exhilaration. Before they had gone far she grew silent, and when she did +answer him spoke less spontaneously. She asked for neither help nor +encouragement, but plunged along as steadily as she was able. Her +skirts, however, wet and heavy, hampered her desperately, and the +exertion of walking through the thick snow began to tell. Geoffrey made +her stop every now and then for a breathing spell, but at length she +stopped of herself. + +"Have we done half yet?" she asked. + +"Just about," he answered, stretching truth in order to encourage her. +But he saw at once that he had failed,--that she had had a hope that +they were nearer their destination--that she began to doubt her own +powers. Presently she moved forward again in silence. + +He began to be alarmed lest they should never reach his house, yet took +comfort in the thought, as he looked at her, that whatever strength she +had, she would use to the end. No hysterical despair would exhaust her +beforehand. She would not fail through lack of determination. Whether or +not she were the confederate of a thief she was a brave woman, yes, and +a beautiful one, he thought, looking down upon her in the glare of the +snow. + +Presently he held out his hand in silence, and she as silently took it. +This was to Geoffrey the explanation of his whole life. This was what +men were made for. + +Once as they stood resting the wind, which fortunately had been at their +backs the entire trip, hurled her against him, where she remained an +instant, too weak to move. It was he who set her gently on her feet +again. + +The latter part of the journey she made almost wholly by his help, and +when they stood before the piazza, she could not have managed the little +step had he not virtually lifted her up. He took her directly to the +library and laid her on the sofa. The fire, owing to the absence of +McVay, had gone out. It took Geoffrey some time with his benumbed hands +to build a blaze. When he turned toward her again she was sleeping like +a child. + +The sight was too much for his own weariness, and reflecting that McVay +was either gone or still safe, he stretched himself on the hearth-rug +and was soon asleep also. + + + + +IV + + +It was after two o'clock in the afternoon when he awoke. He must have +slept three hours. He looked at the sofa and saw the girl still sleeping +peacefully. He almost wished that she would never awake to all the +dreadful surprises that the house held for her. Her eye-lashes curved +long and dark on her cheek. Geoffrey turned away quickly. + +He had awakened with a sudden disagreeable conviction that people have +been known to smother to death in closets. He stole quietly from the +library and ran up stairs with not a little anxiety. Indeed so great was +his dread that he would have been really relieved to see the closet door +standing open as an immediate proof that it did not hide a corpse. It +was, however, locked as he had left it. But as he hastened to undo it, a +voice from within reassured him: + +[Illustration: HE LET MCVAY OUT OF THE CLOSET] + +"Well, where have you been all this time?" + +"You may be thankful I'm back at all. It did not look like it, at one +time." + +"Where is Cecilia?" + +"Down stairs asleep." + +McVay gave a little giggle. "Ah," he said, "I bet you have had the devil +of a time. I bet you wished once or twice that you had let me be the one +to go." + +"It wasn't child's play." + +"Child's play! I rather think not. These things are all well enough +among men, but women!" he waved his hand; "so sensitive, so cloistered!" + +"Your sister behaved nobly," said Geoffrey severely. + +"Bound to, Holland, bound to. Still it must have been a shock." + +"It was a hard trip for any woman." + +McVay looked up. "Oh," he said, "I wasn't speaking of the trip. I meant +about me. What did she say?" + +"She did not say anything. She went to sleep." + +"She did not say anything when you told her I was booked for the +penitentiary?" + +"Oh," said Geoffrey, and there was a slight pause. Then he added: "Why +should I tell her what she must know." + +"I tell you she knows nothing about my--profession." + +"Your _profession_!" + +"Hasn't a notion of it." + +"What, with my sister's coat on her back, and the Innes' bag in her +hand?" + +"No!" McVay drew a step nearer. "You see I told her that I had found a +second-hand store where I could get things for nothing." He chuckled, +and Geoffrey withdrew with a look of repulsion that evidently +disappointed the other. + +"That was a good idea, wasn't it?" he asked with a faint appeal in his +voice. "She thought it was likely, anyhow." + +"She must be very gullable," said Geoffrey brutally. + +"Or else," said McVay with a conscious smile, "I must be a pretty good +dissembler." + +At this acute instance of fatuity Geoffrey, if he had followed his +impulse, would have flung McVay back in the closet and locked the door. +Instead, he said: + +"Come down stairs. I want to look up something to eat." + +"Thank you," said the burglar, "it would be a good idea." + +"You need not thank me," said Geoffrey. "I don't take you with me for +the pleasure of your company, but because I don't dare let you out of my +sight." + +McVay, as was his habit when anything unpleasant was said, chose to +ignore this speech. + +"You know," he said, as they went down stairs, "I suppose that most men +shut up in a closet for all those hours would take it as a hardship, +but, to me it was a positive rest. I really in a way enjoyed it. It is +one of my theories that every one ought to have resources within. Now I +dare say you were quite anxious about me." + +"I never thought of you at all," said Geoffrey. "After I got in I went +to sleep for three hours." + +McVay looked at him once or twice, in surprise. Then he said with +dignity: "Asleep? Well, really, Holland, I don't think that was very +considerate." + +"Don't talk so loud," said Geoffrey, "you'll wake your sister." + +Geoffrey had always been in the habit of going on shooting trips at +short notice, and so it was his rule to keep a supply of canned eatables +in the house to be ready whenever the whim took him. On these he now +depended, and was not a little annoyed to find the kitchen store room +where they were kept securely locked. + +This difficulty, however, McVay made light of. He asked for his tools +and on being given them set to work on the door. + +"Have you ever noticed," he said, "the heavy handed way in which some +men use tools? Look at my touch,--so light, yet so accurate. I take no +credit to myself. I was born so. It's a very fortunate thing to be +naturally dexterous." + +"It would have been more fortunate for you if you had been a little less +so." + +"Oh, I don't know about that, Holland. I might have starved to death +years ago." + +"I wish to God you had," said Geoffrey. + +McVay shook his head faintly in deprecation of such violence, but +otherwise preferred to pass the remark by, and they soon set to work +heating soup and smoked beef. When all was ready and spread in the +dining-room--this was McVay's suggestion; he said food was unappetising +unless it were nicely served--Geoffrey said: + +"Go and see if your sister is awake, and if she is," he added firmly, +"I'll give you a few minutes alone with her, so that you can explain the +situation fully." + +McVay nodded and slipped into the library. Geoffrey shut the door behind +him, and sat down on a bench in the hall from which he could command +both doors. + +If he entertained the doubts of her innocence which he continually told +himself no sane man could help entertaining, he found himself strangely +nervous. He felt as if he were waiting outside an operating room. He +thought of her as he had seen her asleep, of the curve of her eye-lashes +on her cheek, of her raising those lashes, awaking to be met with +McVay's revelations. Even if she were guilty, Geoffrey found it in his +heart to pity her waking to learn that her brother was a prisoner. How +unfortunate, too, would be her own position,--the guest, if only for a +few hours, of a man who was concerned only to lodge her brother in jail. + +His heart gave a distinct thump when the library door opened and they +came out together. His eyes turned to her face at once, and found it +unperturbed. Didn't she care, or had she always known? + +McVay caught his arm when she had passed them by, and whispered glibly: + +"Thought it was better to wait until she had had something to eat--shock +on an empty stomach, so bad--so hard to bear." + +Geoffrey shook his arm free. "You infernal coward," he whispered back. + +"Well, I like that," retorted McVay, "you didn't tell her yourself when +you had the chance." + +"It wasn't my affair. I did not tell her because--" + +"Oh, I know," McVay interrupted with a chuckle. "I've been knowing why +for the last ten minutes." + +They followed her into the dining-room. + +It was not a sumptuous repast to which they sat down, but Geoffrey asked +nothing better. He was sitting opposite to her,--a position evidently +decreed him by Fate from the beginning of time. He could look at her, +and now and then, in spite of her delicious reluctance, could force her +to meet his eyes. When this happened, nothing was ever more apparent +than that, for both of them, a momentous event had occurred. + +She was almost completely silent, and as for him, his responses to the +general conversation which McVay kept attempting to set up, were so +entirely mechanical that he was scarcely aware of them himself. + +It was she who suddenly remembered that it was Christmas day. + +"And _this_ is our Christmas dinner," observed McVay regretfully. + +"Oh, no," returned the girl, "this is luncheon. I'll cook your dinner. +You'll see." + +There was a pause. Geoffrey looked at McVay. The moment for +disillusioning her had manifestly come. Wherever they might next meet it +would not be at his dinner table. A hateful vision of a criminal court +rose before him. + +"Miss McVay," he said gravely, indifferent to the signals of warning +which the other man was directing toward him; "we shall not be here at +dinner. Your brother will tell you my reasons for wishing to start down +the mountain." + +"Now?" + +"At once." + +She coloured slowly and deeply,--the only evidence of anger. "I do not +need any other reason than your wish that we should go," she said, +rising. "I should thank you for having borne with us so long." + +"Upon my word, Holland, it is madness to start as late as this," said +McVay. "It will be dark in an hour." + +She turned on her brother quickly: "Please say no more about the matter, +Billy," she said. "We will start at once." + +"You won't start if it means certainly freezing to death," he +remonstrated. + +She flashed a glance at Geoffrey, who had also risen and was trying to +compel the truth from McVay by a stern, steady glance. + +"I _would_," she answered and shut the door behind her. + +McVay sprang up and was about to follow her when Geoffrey stopped him. +"One moment," he said, "you are quite right. It is too late to start +to-night. We must stay here until to-morrow. But if we are to spend a +night here without your sister's being told--" + +"My dear Holland, think of her position, if we did tell her!" + +"I grant that the information had better be withheld until just as we +are starting, but in that case I must--" + +"I know what you are going to ask,--my word of honour not to escape. I +give it, I give it willingly." + +"I'm not going to ask for anything at all," said Geoffrey. "I'm going to +tell you one or two things, and I advise you to pay attention. We won't +have any nonsense at all. Remember I am armed, and I am a quick man with +a gun. There may be some quicker, but not in the East, and it wasn't in +the East I got my training. You will always keep in front of me where I +can see you plainly, and you will never, under any circumstances come +nearer than six feet to me. If you should ever come nearer than that or +take a sudden step in my direction, I'd shoot you just as sure as I +stand here." + +McVay looked distinctly crestfallen. "Oh, come, Holland," he said, +"isn't that the least little bit exaggerated? You would not shoot me +before my own sister?" + +"I would not like to, but there are things I should dislike even more, +and having you escape is one of them." + +The other thought it over. "The trouble is," he explained, "that I am +impulsive. You must have noticed it. I get carried away. You know how I +am. I'm not at all sure that I shall remember." + +"I advise you to try, for this is the only warning you will get." + +"I cannot believe, Holland, that you would really shoot me in cold blood +in the presence of my own sister." + +"You had better behave as if you believed it." + +"I don't like this arrangement," McVay broke out peevishly. "Suppose, +for the sake of argument, that I did forget,--that I put my hand on your +shoulder--a very natural gesture." + +"I should shoot instantly." + +"But fancy the shock to Cecilia." + +"Not more of a shock, perhaps, than discovering that you are a thief. +And another thing, it may be very gay and amusing to be forever fooling +about the subject, but I advise you against it. It does not amuse me." + +"Oh, be honest, Holland, it does, it must amuse you. It is essentially +amusing." + +"It won't amuse her, or you either when she finds out that you are not +only a thief but that you have been able to find amusement in deceiving +her." + +Again McVay's gaiety seemed momentarily dashed. "Very true," he said, "I +had not thought of that. But then," he added more brightly, "who can +tell if it will actually fall to my lot to tell her. Things happen so +strangely. It may turn out that that is _your_ part." + +"It may," said Geoffrey, "but only because I have had to shoot after +all." With which he opened the door and they returned to the library. + + + + +V + + +Cecilia was not in the library, and McVay, without comment on her +absence, turned at once to his book. + +"If you won't think me impolite, Holland, I'll go on with my Sterne. +Conversation is always a great temptation to me, but I have so little +opportunity to read that I feel I ought not to neglect it,--especially +as your books are so unusual." + +He settled himself to Tristram Shandy with appreciation, but Geoffrey +could not read. He sat, indeed, with a book open on his knee, but his +eyes were fixed on the carpet. The knowledge of the girl's presence in +his house distracted him like a lantern swung before his eyes. He gave +himself up to steeping himself in his emotion, which, in some +situations, is the nearest thing possible to thinking. + +Geoffrey's success with women had been conspicuous, as was natural for +he was good looking, rich and apparently susceptible. As a matter of +fact, however, his susceptibility was purely superficial, and for this +very reason he was not afraid to give it full sway. The deeply +susceptible man learns to be cautious, to distrust his feelings, but +Geoffrey had always too truly recognised his fundamental indifference to +have any reason to distrust himself. He had never been in love. Like +Ferdinand he, "for different virtues had liked many women," although in +his case it had not always been necessarily virtues that had attracted +him. But there were certain women who had always appealed to him for +some conspicuous quality, or characteristic, who for one reason or +another pleased him, to which one side or another of his nature +responded. He had often thought that if he could make up a composite +woman of all of them he might be in great danger of falling in love. But +now he was aware that his whole nature responded to the attraction of +the girl upstairs, as a dog answers instinctively to the call of its +master. He could say to himself that she was this or that,--brave and +beautiful, but he knew that such qualities were but an insignificant +part of the total effect. His reason could find causes enough to approve +her, but something more important had gone ahead, and made straight the +paths of his reason, something which transcended it, and which in case +of a divergence between the two, his reason could never overcome. + +For, of course, the realisation of McVay and all his presence implied +fell coolly upon his exaltation. By no means had Geoffrey said to +himself in so many words that he was in love,--far less had anything so +definite as marriage crossed his mind. He was too much in love to be so +practical. He only knew that McVay's mere existence was a contamination +and a tragedy. + +He had been sitting thus for some time, when he heard her step on the +stairs. He rose and met her in the hall, whence he could still keep his +eye on McVay's studious figure in the library. + +She was dressed in her sables ready for departure. + +[Illustration: SHE WAS DRESSED IN HIS SISTER'S SABLES--READY FOR +DEPARTURE] + +They looked at each other a moment in silence, he appealingly, she, with +a cold blankness that seemed to say that not even a look could make her +take further notice of him as a living being. + +"Have you really been thinking that I wanted to turn you out?" he said, +with directness. + +"I have not been thinking about the matter at all," she answered, +turning her head a little aside from his direct gaze. "But I do think so +of course. After all why should you not wish it?" + +"You think me likely to want anything that would part us--that is the +way my manner strikes you?" He was surprised to find his voice not +absolutely steady. + +She favoured him with a short stare from under her lids. "You seem to +forget that I have your own word that you insisted on our going. +Possibly you have changed your mind, but I have made mine up." She made +a motion as if to pass in, and go on toward the library. + +"I have changed so completely since I saw you," said Geoffrey, "that I +scarcely recognise life in this--this ecstasy. That is the only change. +Am I likely to turn you out when I have been waiting all my life for you +to come?" + +It had been with her own dream, her own credulity with which she had +been fighting quite as much as with Holland, and the charm began to work +once again. She said very coolly: + +"You are very kind, but as you said, we ought to be starting,--or have +you forgotten saying that?" + +"Be just. You knew I was going too. You knew I urged our going +because--" + +"Well, why?" Her look was still from half-shut lids, but the lines of +her mouth had softened by not a little. + +"There is a danger of being snowed up here. Now I appreciate that there +would be greater danger in starting out so late. And,--and equally +desperate for me, whatever we do." + +"Desperate?" + +"If you only want an opportunity to think so meanly of me,--to hate me, +as your look said." + +"I do not hate you." + +"You are very eager to be rid of my company." + +"I did not understand." + +"You are going to stay?" + +"Until we can go safely." + +"Not longer?" + +As this was a question obviously impossible to answer directly she said, +"We are under sufficiently large obligations to you already." + +And Geoffrey, about to answer, looked up and saw McVay was observing +them with satisfaction, so that words froze on his lips. + +Here was the whole bitterness of the situation concentrated. To be +observed at all in a moment of genuine emotion was bad enough, but to be +observed by one who so plainly hoped to profit, was unbearable. Never, +said Geoffrey to himself, at that glance of triumph from McVay's clear +little eyes, never should any influence lead him to let a thief slip +through his fingers. + +He realised too, for the first time, that he could not hope for another +word alone with Cecilia. McVay must always be present. It was a hideous +sort of revenge that every waking minute must be spent in the man's +company. Geoffrey had not appreciated the full meaning of his +instructions to McVay to keep always in sight. Not a word or a look +could be exchanged without McVay's seeing and rejoicing. + +Yet, in spite of his irritation, he could not but admire the sort of +affectionate swagger with which McVay rose to greet her, as if the +brother of so tender a creature must remember his responsibility. + +"Well, my dear," he said sitting down beside her on the sofa, "feel +better? Really a terrible experience. Holland has just been telling me +about it--saying how well you behaved," (Geoffrey favoured him with a +scowl behind her back), "a perfect heroine,--so he says." + +"Mr. Holland is very kind," said the girl. + +"Kind!" cried McVay enthusiastically. "Kind! I should rather think he +was. Why, I could give you instances of his kindness--" + +"You need not trouble," said Geoffrey. + +McVay smiled at his sister as much as to say: What did I tell you?... so +modest, so unassuming. + +To Geoffrey this sort of thing was unspeakably painful. He was willing +enough to meet McVay in a grim interchange over his strange combination +of facility and crime, of doom and triviality. But when it became any +question of playing upon Cecilia's unconsciousness of the situation, he +writhed. Yet, a little discernment would have shown him how natural, how +encouraging from his own point of view her unconsciousness was. To fall +in love thoroughly is sufficiently disconcerting. Which of us needs to +be told that it is an absorbing process, that life looks different, and +that all past experiences must be reviewed in the light of this +unexpected illumination. And if this is true of the more usual forms of +the great passion, what is to be said of a girl who, in a single day, +sees and loves a rescuer, a handsome powerful young creature, who comes +to her with all the attributes of a soldier and a prince, who comes not +only to save and protect, but as host and dispenser of all comfort and +beauty. + +It was not to be wondered at that she was dazzled and aware of one fact, +one personality, that far from being able to draw shrewd conclusions +from the little happenings going on before her, she was but dimly aware +of the existence of her brother, of the world, of anything but Geoffrey. + +Presently she said, as if trying to call up the picture: + +"And this is where you sat all night?" And if the thought was +interesting to her, it was not on account of her brother's share in it. + +"Yes," returned McVay, springing lightly to his feet. "Here we sat +discussing plans for your safety." He took a step toward the pair at the +fire, and then remembering, stopped. "Please move a little back, +Holland," he said, "I want to get nearer the fire. I'm cold." + +[Illustration: "PLEASE MOVE A LITTLE BACK, HOLLAND," HE SAID, "I WANT TO +GET NEARER THE FIRE"] + +"You can go to the fire," said Geoffrey, with a gesture of permission. + +"Of course you can," said the girl, "Mr. Holland is not in your way, +Billy." + +But Billy continued to eye his host. "Oh, no, you don't," he said +warily. "Not unless you move back. Do move, there's a good fellow." And +Geoffrey laughed and moved, somewhat to the girl's mystification. She +forgot to wonder, however, in pursuing the more wonderful train of +thought which had already been occupying her. Suppose that their plans +for her relief had been decided differently, suppose her brother had +come for her instead of the magnificent stranger, with what different +eyes she might now be looking on life--this ecstasy as Holland had +defined it. Curious to know by what accident she had been so blessed, +she asked: + +"Why was it, Billy, that you did not come after me yourself?" + +"Just what I said to him," replied McVay eagerly. "If I said once, I +said a dozen times: 'Holland, it is my duty and pleasure, it is my +_right_ to go,' but ..." McVay shrugged his shoulders, "when he once +gets an idea into his head, it takes a gimlet to get it out." + +"Upon my word, Billy," the girl said indignantly, "I don't think you +ought to talk like that even in fun. You know perfectly well that Mr. +Holland only insisted on going because he thought he was better able to +bear the physical strain." + +"Physical strain!" exclaimed McVay colouring to the roots of his sandy +hair, from pure annoyance; "I don't know what you mean,... Holland is, +of course, a larger man than I, but not stronger.... Oh, well, as far as +mere brute force goes, perhaps, but in the matter of bearing physical +strain, you betray the most absurd ignorance. It is well known +scientifically that medium-sized men like myself, when their muscles are +at all developed (and you know my muscles), are better fitted for +endurance than any of these over-grown giants." + +"Then," said she calmly, "if you knew you were better fitted I can't see +why you did not go." + +"You are not quite fair to your brother," said Geoffrey interrupting, +for McVay looked as if he would explode in another moment under the +sense of injustice. "He did propose going himself, but I would not let +him; I--I made it a personal matter." + +"Very personal," replied McVay with feeling. "I'll just explain how it +was. Last night, as soon as I realised how bad the storm was, I made up +my mind that I had better attempt to enter the house. I succeeded after +some trouble, came to this room, turned on the light--a spooky thing; an +empty house, picked up a book, had quite forgotten my position, the +world, everything, when a voice at my elbow said: 'Fond of reading?' I +was never more surprised in my life. I felt distinctly caught,--an +interloper. And to make matters worse, I saw that Holland did not at +once recognise me. I made every effort to leave, but he would not hear +of such a thing. He made it perfectly plain in fact that it was his wish +to keep me. I yielded. That, I think, Holland, is a pretty accurate +account of the night's proceeding, isn't it?" + +Geoffrey did not answer. His soul rebelled at the farce, and at McVay's +irrepressible enjoyment of his own abilities. As Holland met the +twinkling joy of those small blue eyes, he wondered if he would not be +doing mankind a favour by putting a bullet into McVay before the dawn of +another day. Unconscious of this possibility, McVay continued to his +sister: + +"Well, it has all been a painful experience for you, my dear ... a long +and dangerous adventure for a woman, but you were at least warmly clad. +A handsome coat, is it not, Holland?" + +"Very," said Geoffrey chillingly. + +"Now that coat," McVay went on unchilled, "was a real bargain. I may say +I paid nothing for it,--little more than the trouble of taking it home. +Although from another point of view, its price was pretty high...." + +"Really, Billy, I don't think Mr. Holland is interested in our +bargains." + +"In _some_, he is." + +"Yes, indeed," said Geoffrey, eyeing McVay with a warning glance, "I +think I know of just about a dozen people who will want a circumstantial +account of all of them." + +"Now there, Holland, there is one of your philistine +words,--circumstantial! It takes all poetry, all imagination out of a +subject. Do you know, the only connotation--(are you familiar with that +word?)--the only suggestion it has for me is a _jury_?" + +He scored distinctly. Geoffrey had nothing to say in reply. + +It was McVay himself, who, disliking a pause, observed that it was +almost time to begin on the preparation of the Christmas dinner. They +all rose as if glad of a break. As they passed out of the door, Geoffrey +laid his hand on McVay's arm. + +"Why do you deliberately try to exasperate me?" he said. + +McVay smiled. "Why do little boys lay their tongues to lamp-posts in +freezing weather? Don't I amuse you? Be candid." + +"No." + +McVay looked regretful. "As I remembered you, Holland, as a boy, you had +more sense of humour," he said gently. + + + + +VI + + +In the kitchen McVay made it evident that his talents were for +organisation rather than for hard labour. He drew a chair near the wall, +and tilting back at his ease, watched Geoffrey and Cecilia at work. +Geoffrey, engaged in lighting the range-fire, looked up at her as she +moved about filling the kettle and washing out pots and pans, and +thought that he and she presented the aspect of a young couple of the +labouring class with no further ambition than to keep a roof over their +heads. He almost had it in his heart to wish that they were. + +She proved herself infinitely more capable than the two men had been, +discovering tins of butter and soup and sardines, a package of hominy, +apples and potatoes in the cellar, and an old box of wedding cake, +which, with a burning brandy sauce, she declared would serve very well +for plum-pudding. + +Manual labour was such a novelty to Geoffrey that he soon forgot even +his irritation against McVay and the triangular intercourse was more +friendly than before, until marred by an unfortunate incident. + +He was standing in the middle of the kitchen with a steaming pot in each +hand, when McVay, without warning, advanced toward him, handkerchief in +hand, exclaiming: + +"My dear fellow, such a smut on your forehead, pray allow me--" + +[Illustration: "MY DEAR FELLOW--PRAY ALLOW ME"] + +"Look out," roared Geoffrey, realising how easily in another second his +revolver might be taken from him. The tone was alarming, and McVay +sprang back ten feet. "I was afraid of burning you with the soup," +Geoffrey explained politely. + +"I own you made me jump," said McVay. + +The girl said nothing, and Geoffrey feared the incident had made an +unfortunate impression on her. + +It appeared to be completely forgotten, however, when they presently sat +down to their Christmas dinner, of which they all expressed themselves +as inordinately proud. There was canned soup, and sardines and toasted +biscuits, canned corned beef, potatoes and fried hominy, bacon and a +potato salad, a bottle of champagne, and finally the wedding cake. + +Now to say that by the time dessert was put on table McVay was drunk +would be to do him a gross injustice. All the more genial side of this +nature, however, was distinctly emphasised. The better part of a quart +of champagne had not produced any signs of intoxication; his eye was +clear, his speech perfect, and he was more than usually aware of his own +powers, confident of appreciation. + +As he finished his share of cake, he rose to his feet, and leaning the +tips of his fingers on the table, addressed Geoffrey. + +"My dear Holland," he said, "I will not wish you a Merry Christmas, for +it has already been as merry as it has lain within my poor capacity to +make it. Let me, however, express my own gratitude to you for this +delightful occasion. You have referred to the fare as meagre, to our +position as constrained, but believe me, I am not exaggerating when I +say that I so little agree with you that I am confident that, during +many of the remaining years of my life I shall look back to this +Christmas as one of unusual luxury and freedom. It is, perhaps, the warm +glow of friendship that gilds all small discomforts, for in situations +like ours characters are tested, and yours, Holland," he paused +impressively, "has stood the test." + +Geoffrey bowed gratefully, and McVay continued: + +"I have here a slight token in honour of the day. It is of little +pecuniary value, but between us, Holland, pecuniary value is no longer +mentioned. I feel that it will be recommended to you more than mere +worth could recommend it by the fact that it is peculiarly my own,--my +own as few human possessions can be said to be. I offer it," he said, +drawing from his pocket a square flat little package, "with best wishes +for a happy New Year." + +[Illustration: "I HAVE HERE A SLIGHT TOKEN, IN HONOR OF THE DAY"] + +The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed +Geoffrey's mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so +perfectly in keeping with McVay's consuming desire to triumph in minor +matters, that he was able to smile pleasantly and receive it +appropriately. He exchanged a glance of real appreciation with the +donor, and received a grave bow in return. + +Cecilia smiled, too, "I don't know exactly why you should think Mr. +Holland wants your picture, Billy," she said. + +"It may be of the greatest service to him," said McVay. + +The girl turned to Geoffrey. "I can't make a speech like Billy's," she +said, "but I have a small present for you which I hope you won't despise +because it is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some time, and I +hope _you_ will now, in remembrance of the time when you sheltered the +houseless." She held out on her pink palm a flat gold pencil with a +single topaz set in the top. + +The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay's eye +in which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey's half-formed +question was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms of delight at +the idea that Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of stolen goods +that he could not well conceal it. And instinctively Geoffrey drew back +his hand. The next moment he realised that he must at once accept the +gift with decent gratitude, whatever he might choose to do with it +afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed his hesitation. + +She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, rose +from the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the feast as +best they could. + +McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the +part of a waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over +his arm and began to clear the table. + +"Wait a moment," said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; "I +have something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my +sentiments in regard to your sister.... I think her a wonder,--that's +all it is necessary for you to know." + +"Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is." + +"I won't discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under +the impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won't. You +stand just where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. +Then I settle my affairs." + +McVay's face fell. "Really, Holland," he said, "I don't see how, if you +are fond of a woman you can want ..." + +"... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over." + +"There are worse brothers than I," replied McVay, "how many men would +have sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her +comfortably." + +"Not many, I hope." + +"She is extraordinarily fond of me." + +"Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of." + +"We can scarcely say that _now_," returned McVay encouragingly. + +"I won't discuss it with you." + +"You can't mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean +to send me to state's prison?" + +"I mean exactly that." + +"Why, she'd never forgive you." + +Geoffrey thought this so probable that he had no answer to give and +presently McVay, who had been grumbling over the matter to himself, +asked: "Are you serious, Holland?" + +"What do you suppose I am?" Geoffrey roared, and McVay, shaking his head +went on with the work of clearing the table. He was very silent and +abstracted and for the first time seemed to realise his position. When +they had put away the last plate, Geoffrey said: + +"Now come to the library. I am going to give you a pipe, confound you." + +"A pipe! Why?" + +"Because I want to give your sister something, and I think she would be +more apt to take it." + +"I'm afraid she is rather offended by the way you treated her little +gift. As a matter of fact I was the person to be offended, for I had +given her the pencil. A pretty little thing, singularly like one which +you may have seen Mrs.--" + +"Don't tell me where you took it from. I don't want to know. Come and +get your pipe and mind you are grateful." + +"A pipe," observed McVay thoughtfully. "I think I'll take that large +meerschaum on the mantelpiece." + +Geoffrey laughed. "I think you won't," he answered. "The best pipe I +own! No, indeed, you'll take a horrid little one that won't draw. It +will be just the thing for you." + +"No," said McVay, "no. You must give me the big one. Otherwise I shall +make it appear that you promised the other to me, and turned mean at the +last moment. And I can do it, Holland." His little eyes gleamed at the +thought. "I shall say, 'My dear fellow, I'm glad you changed your mind +about the meerschaum; it was as you say, too handsome for a man in my +position.' That will make her mad if anything will. You know she is not +quite satisfied with the way you treat me, as it is." + +This was quite true, and Geoffrey, remembering that the object of the +gift was to please the girl, reluctantly agreed to part with his +favourite pipe. The affair went off well. McVay affected to hesitate +over accepting so handsome an offering, and Geoffrey pressed it upon him +with a good grace. + +As far as his present to the girl was concerned, he found himself less +and less willing to make it in McVay's presence, and more and more +unable to think of any way of getting rid of him except murder or the +cedar-closet. His anxiety was rendered more acute by the fact that once +or twice he could not help suspecting that Cecilia, in spite of her +anger, would have been glad of a few words alone with him, also. + +Before very long she suggested that McVay should take her hat and coat +upstairs for her. + +"Certainly I will," cried Billy, springing up with alacrity, and was at +the door before Holland's warning shout "_McVay_" stopped him. + +"Let me take it up for your sister," he said warningly. + +"Oh, not at all. Let _me_," replied McVay courteously. + +"Couldn't hear of it," returned Geoffrey. + +By this time they were both outside of the door, and Geoffrey closed it +with a snap. + +"You would, would you?" he said angrily. + +"Now, Holland," said McVay as one who intends to introduce reason into +an irrational confusion, "this is exactly a case in point. I am by +nature a gallant man. I forgot all about your instructions." + +"I wonder?" said Geoffrey. + +"It was instinctive to do my sister the little favour she asked. Yes, +and I doubt if I should have acted differently if your pistol had been +at my head. She asked me. That was enough." + +"I've warned you once." + +"Holland, I think,--you'll excuse my telling you,--that you have a very +unfortunate manner at times." + +They went upstairs together and were descending when Geoffrey stopped, +with his eyes on the grand piano which stood in the hall below them. + +"Can you play?" he said. + +McVay brightened at once. He had been looking a little glum since his +last speech. "Yes," he answered, "I can. Well, I'm not a professional, +you understand, but for an amateur I am supposed to have as much +technique and a good deal more sentiment than most." + +"I don't care _how_ you play," said Holland. "There is a piano. Sit down +and play, and _don't stop_." + +"No, Holland, no," said the other with unusual firmness; "that I will +not do. No artist would. Ask any one. It is impossible to play in public +without practice. I have not touched the instrument for over a year." + +"You can do all the practising you like here and now. You can play +finger exercises for all I care. All I insist is that you should make a +noise so that I'll know you are there." + +"Well," said McVay yielding, "you must remember to make allowances. Not +the best musician could sit down after a year ... however, I dare say it +will come back to me quicker than to most people. You must make +allowances for my lack of practice." + +"There is only one thing I won't make allowances for, and that is your +moving from that music stool." + +He opened the piano, and McVay sat down waving his fingers to loosen the +joints. He sat with his head on one side, as if waiting to discover +which of the great composers was about to inspire him. Then he dropped +lightly upon the notes, lifting his chin, as if surprised to find that +an air of Schubert's was growing under his fingers. Geoffrey was +astonished to find that he really was, as he said, something of an +artist. He waited until he was fairly started and then returned to the +library. + +"Is that Billy?" said the girl. "It must be a great pleasure to him to +have a piano again. He is so fond of music." + +"He was not as eager to play as I to have him," said Geoffrey. + +He came back quietly, and stood looking down at her for a moment. Then +he said, stretching out his hand: + +"I want my Christmas present." + +"I have none to give you." + +"You had." + +"I've changed my mind." + +"Why?" + +For the first time she looked at him. "Mr. Holland," she said, "you must +think me singularly unobservant. Do you suppose I don't see that you +dislike my brother. You refused the pencil--you did refuse it plainly +enough--because Billy had given it to me. I will not offer it to you +again. I know that Billy sometimes does rub people up the wrong way, but +I should think any one of any discernment could see that his faults are +only faults of manner." + +She said this almost appealingly, and Geoffrey unable to agree, turned +with something like a groan, and resting his elbows on the mantelpiece, +covered his face with his hands. + +"Do you suppose that he does not see how you feel toward him? Are you by +any chance assuming that he bears with your manner on account of his own +comfort? You might at least be generous or acute enough to see that it +is only for my sake that he exercises so much self-control. He does not +want to make my position here more unendurable by quarrelling with you. +It makes me furious to see what you force him to put up with, the way +you speak to him, and look at him, as if he were your slave, or a +disobedient dog. His self-control is wonderful. I admire him more than I +can say." + +"And is my self-control nothing?" he asked, without moving his hands +from his face. + +"Yours? I don't see any exercise of yours. Circumstances have put us at +your mercy, you are rich and fortunate, and as insolent as you choose to +be. Self-control? I don't see any evidence of it." + +"No?" he said, and turning, looked at her with a violence that might +have set her on the right track. Under his eyes she looked down and +probably in the instant forgot all that she had been saying and feeling, +for when he added: "I love you," her hands moved toward his, and she +made no resistance when he took her in his arms. + + + + +VII + + +McVay was left so long at the piano that he finally resorted to a series +of discords in order to recall himself to Holland's mind. His existence, +if he had only realised the fact, was so completely forgotten that he +might have made his escape with a good half hour to spare before either +of the others appreciated that the music had ceased. Not knowing this, +however, he did not dare stop his playing for an instant, until sheer +physical fatigue interfered. It was at this point that the discords +began, and brought Geoffrey into the hall. + +The disposal of McVay for the night was a question to which Geoffrey had +given a great deal of thought. The cedar closet presented itself as a +safe prison, but in the face of McVay's repeated assertions that the air +had barely sufficed to support him during his former occupancy, it +looked like murder to insist. Geoffrey finally, when bed-time came, +locked him in a dressing-room off his own room. The window--the room was +on the third floor--gave on empty space, and against the only door he +placed his own bed, so that escape seemed tolerably difficult. + +And to all other precautions, Geoffrey added his own wakefulness, +although toward morning weariness triumphed over excitement and he fell +asleep. + +He was waked by an insistent knocking at his door, and he heard his name +called by Cecilia. He sprang up and found her standing in the hall. She +was wrapped in her sable coat, but shivering from cold or fear. + +"There is some one getting into the house. I heard a window open and +steps on the piazza, below my room. What can it be?" + +Geoffrey flung himself past her. The instinct of the hunter joined to +the obstinacy of his nature maddened him at the notion of McVay's +escape. On the opposite side of the house there was a piazza and on the +roof of this a neighbouring window opened. He threw it back and climbed +out. + +The snow had stopped, and the moon was shining, paling a little before +the approaching dawn. Geoffrey could see a figure stealing quickly +across the snow. There was no question of its identity. His revolver, +which he had snatched from under his pillow and brought with him, he at +once levelled on the vanishing form; his finger was on the trigger, when +he felt a hand on his arm. + +Leaning out of the window behind him the girl caught his arm. "Don't +fire," she said. "Don't you see it is Billy?" + +There was a pause--the fraction of a second, but momentous, for Geoffrey +realised that all his threats to McVay had been idle, that with that +touch on his arm he could not shoot. + +Nevertheless he raised his voice and shouted thunderously: "McVay!" + +The figure turned, hesitated, saw, perhaps, the gleam of the moon on +steel and began to retrace his steps. + +Steadily with the revolver still upon him he moved back to the house. +Under the piazza he stopped and waved his hand. + +"I'm afraid they got away from us, Holland. I did my best." + +"There _was_ a burglar then!" said the girl in the little whisper of +recent fright. + +"By Heaven, he shall not trouble you," returned Holland with more +earnestness than seemed to be required. Then he left her and went down +to meet McVay. + +"You were just about half a second ahead of a bullet," he remarked, +ushering him into the hall. To be caught and brought back is so +ignominious a position that Geoffrey looked to see even McVay at a +disadvantage, but looked in vain. The aspect worn was a particularly +self-satisfied one. + +"I was aware I took a risk," he answered; "I took it gladly for my +sister's sake." + +"For your sister's sake?" + +"Yes, and yours. Be honest, Holland, what could be so great a relief to +you as to find I had disappeared. You are too narrow-minded, too +honourable, you would say, to connive at it, but you would be delighted +to know that you need not prosecute me." + +"If I shot you, I should be saved the trouble of prosecuting." + +"But at what a cost! I refer to my sister's regard. No, no, the thing, +if you had only been quick enough to see it, was for me to escape. It +was a risk, of course, but a risk I gladly took for my sister's sake. I +would take longer ones for her." + +"Do you mean that?" + +"Of course." + +"Then take this revolver and go out and shoot yourself." + +McVay looked very thoughtful. Then, he said gravely, "No, no, Holland. +To take a risk is one thing,--to kill myself quite another. I have +always had a strong prejudice against suicide. I think it a cowardly +action. And it would be no help to you. She would not believe that I had +committed suicide. She knows my views on the subject, and could imagine +no motive. No, that would not do at all. I'm surprised at the +suggestion. It is against my principles." + +"Your principles!" Geoffrey sneered. Nevertheless, he was not a little +altered in opinion. It had been something of a shock to him to find that +he could not shoot at the critical instant. It had shaken his faith in +himself. He began to doubt if he would be capable of sending the man to +state's prison when Cecilia besought his pity. His own limitations faced +him. He was not the relentless judge he had supposed himself. Yet on the +other hand, the remembrance of Vaughan and the other men he was +representing held him to his idea of justice. "Sit down," he said +suddenly turning to McVay, "and write me out a list of everything you +have stolen in this neighbourhood and where it is and how it may be +obtained. Yes, I know it is difficult, but you had better try to do it +for on the completeness of your list depends your only chance of +avoiding the law. If I can return all properly, perhaps--I have a mine +in Mexico, a hell on earth, where you can go if you prefer it to penal +servitude. There won't be much difference, except for the publicity of a +trial. I've a man there who, when I give him his orders, would +infinitely rather shoot you than take any risk of your getting away. +Which will you have?" + +"Can you ask, Holland? Which will be easier for my sister?" + +"Sit down and write your list, then." + +"An interesting occupation, mining," observed McVay as he opened the +portfolio. After this for a long time nothing was heard but the soft +noise of the pencil and an occasional comment from the writer: + +"A rare piece that. I parted with it absurdly low, but the dealer was a +connoisseur--appealed to my artistic side." + +Things had gone on thus for perhaps an hour when a step sounded outside +and the door bell rang. Both men jumped to their feet. + +"My God, Holland," said McVay, "if that is the police, keep your wits +about you or we are lost." + +It was a revelation to Geoffrey to find how completely, as his alarm +showed, he had cast in his interests with McVay's. He stepped forward in +silence and opened the door. + +Not the police, but a man in plain clothes was standing there. + +"I'm glad to see you safe, Mr. Holland," he said. "There has been great +anxiety felt for your safety. I am a detective working on the Vaughan +and Marheim cases. I got word to come and look you up as you did not get +back to the gardener's cottage the night before last." + +"The snow detained me," said Geoffrey slowly. + +"Come in, come in, friend," said McVay briskly. "You must be cold." + +It speaks well for the professional eye that the detective, after +studying McVay for an instant, asked: + +"I did not catch this gentleman's name. Who is he?" + +There was a barely perceptible pause. Then Geoffrey answered coolly: +"That is the man you are after." + +"Are you crazy, Holland?" shouted McVay. + +"What, the Vaughan burglar? You caught him without assistance?" Envy and +admiration struggled on the detective's countenance. "I must +congratulate you, sir." + +Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a groan. "You needn't," he said; +"I am no subject for congratulation. I can't even prosecute him, +confound him, for several reasons. We were at school together, and I can +take no steps in the matter." + +"But I can," said the detective; "indeed it is my duty to." + +"No," said Geoffrey, "nor can you. This man cannot be sent to prison. +Yes, I know, it is compounding a felony. Well, sit down, and we'll +compound it." + +"I could not agree to anything of the kind," said the detective. + +"I don't see exactly what you can do about it." Geoffrey was deliberate +and very polite. "For reasons which I can't explain, but which you would +appreciate, leave me no choice. I have to save this man from jail. If +you intend to work against me, I shall simply let him escape at once. +Don't draw your revolver, please. I prefer to be the only person with a +weapon in my hand. He has made a list of all the things he has stolen, +and I shall see that they are returned to their owners at any cost. Will +you undertake to get him safely to a mine I own in Mexico? Once there he +can't get away. It is forty-five miles from a railway. If you accomplish +this, I will give you ten thousand to make up for the reward you didn't +get,--five thousand down, and five thousand at the end of a year." + +"I don't know what to say," said the man. "It sounds like a bribe." + +"It is," said Geoffrey coolly. + +"I never received such a proposition," returned the man. + +"That scheme won't do, Holland," put in McVay. "Can't you see it lays +you open to blackmail?" + +"From you?" said Geoffrey. "I had thought of that, but you can't +blackmail me at La Santa Anna, and if you get away and come close enough +to blackmail me, I'll put you in prison without a moment's hesitation. I +shall be in a position by that time to take care of the feelings of the +other people concerned." + +"You don't understand me," answered McVay; "I meant blackmail from this +man." + +"Oh," said Geoffrey civilly, "I am convinced he is not a blackmailer. +And besides, he won't get his second five thousand for a year, and as I +was saying to you, after a year I don't so much mind having the whole +thing known. My reputation will stand it, I think, if yours and his +will." + +"I'm no blackmailer," said this detective. "If I accept, I'll be on the +square." + +"If you do, let me offer you a piece of advice," observed Geoffrey, "and +that is not to take your eye off that man for a single instant. He is a +slippery customer, and you run a fair chance of not seeing my money at +all, if you give him the smallest loophole." + +The detective considered McVay carefully from head to foot. Then he said +gravely: + +"Is there any way of getting to this place of yours by water? I don't +see my way to taking this customer in a Pullman car. If he chooses to +slip overboard from a boat, why no one would be any the worse, unless +maybe the sharks." + +"Very true," agreed Geoffrey amiably. "Fortunately you can get a steamer +in New York." + +It soon became apparent that the detective failed to see any good reason +for declining so advantageous an offer as Geoffrey's, and they were +presently deep in the discussion of their plans, McVay meanwhile +studying the map with unfeigned interest in the situation of his future +residence. + +Cecilia, fortunately, gave them plenty of time for their arrangements, +for she had fallen asleep again, after the alarm of the early morning, +and the men must have been talking for two hours when she appeared at +the library door. + +She cast a look of surprise at the addition to their party and Geoffrey +saw with a sort of paralysis that she was inclined to set him down as +the burglar whose footsteps she had heard in the night. To prevent any +betrayal of this opinion, Geoffrey advanced a few steps to meet her, +although as he did so, he realised that he had nothing to answer when +she asked, as of course she did ask: "Who is that?" + +A sort of desperation, the cowardice that will sometimes attack the +brave took hold of Geoffrey. He looked at her hopelessly and would +perhaps in another instant have told her the truth, had not McVay, not +the least disconcerted, taken the lead. + +"This, Cecilia," he said exuberantly, laying his hand on the detective's +shoulder, "is my old friend Picklebody,--Henderson Picklebody. You have +heard his name often enough, and he, yours, too. Eh, Henderson, in the +old Machita days?" + +The detective, whose name was George P. Cook, was so taken up with his +surprise at the apparition of a beautiful woman that he scarcely heard +McVay. He began to guess something of the motives that led Holland to +shield this offender against the law, nor had he ever found it unwise to +yield to the whims of young millionaires. + +Cecilia, who was too gentle or too politic to betray the fact that she +heard the interesting name of Picklebody for the first time, remarked in +a tone as cheerful as she could make it: + +"I suppose that if Mr. Picklebody could get in we can get out now." + +"Can and will," rejoined McVay beamingly. "Hen comes as he has always +come to his friends, as a rescuer." + +"I seem to require a great deal of rescuing," said the girl, looking up +at the monopolist in the art who had so far said nothing. + +"Ah, but you don't understand, my dear," went on McVay ruthlessly +cutting into the look which the lovers were exchanging; "You don't yet +understand how fortunate we are in our friends. Henderson did not, it is +true, come to find me. It was the greatest coincidence his meeting me +here. It seems that he and Holland are both interested in a mine in +Mexico, and what do you think?" McVay paused and rubbed his hands; +"Really, we have the kindest friends; they have been arranging between +them to offer me a job down there. What do you think of that?" + +Cecilia who had been trying to imagine any future after they left the +shelter of the grey stone house, would have answered if she had been +thoroughly candid that she thought Mexico was a terribly long distance +away, but she only observed: + +"How very kind of them. I am sure we shall like Mexico." + +"There, there, do you hear that? 'We.' Gentlemen," cried McVay, throwing +up his hands, "I cannot leave my sister alone,--deserted. Consider it +all off." + +"Oh, I wasn't to go?" asked Cecilia, looking up with more enthusiasm. + +"My dear," replied McVay, "I must own that I was base enough to consider +a plan that would separate us. The mine, it seems, is no place for +ladies. But we will think no more about it. I see by your manner that +your feelings..." + +"Dear Billy," said the girl gently, "you must not give it up. You know +that I can always go to the Lees, until--until I get a position. And +nothing is so important as that you should have work that is +satisfactory to you. Of course you must accept." + +"Did you ever hear anything so noble?" asked McVay. "Yes, I suppose I +ought to accept. So they both tell me. I must go, mustn't I, Hen?" + +"Well, it looks like it would be better for you if you did," replied the +detective, who had fortunately his legitimate share of American humour. + +"There is another point, Cecilia," McVay went on, "if I do accept, I +shall have to leave at once. When did you say, Hen?" + +"Train to New York this afternoon,--steamer sails to-morrow." + +"Oh, dear. That's very sudden," said Cecilia. + +"At a word from you, dear, I'll give it up," remarked McVay. + +"No, no, of course not. I should never forgive myself. You must go. +Perhaps it is all the better that I did not know beforehand. It saves me +just that amount." + +"We've no time to lose," remarked McVay briskly, "if we are going to try +for that afternoon train. I suppose we can get a sleigh at the +gardener's, Holland, if we can struggle as far as that. Well, well, we +must hurry off." + +It was McVay who urged on the preparations for departure, hurrying his +sister, flitting about the house at such a rate that the detective, who +was of a solider build, found it hard to keep up with. + +Nor was it only physical agility that McVay required of the unfortunate +man. Having overheard Geoffrey telling him that he was not to betray the +real state of things before Miss McVay, under penalty of losing his +money, McVay took special delight in making him look like a fool, +calling upon him to remember happenings which existed only in McVay's +own fertile brain. + +"What, Hen," he would cry suddenly, "was the name of that pretty black +haired girl you were so sweet on,--you know, the daughter of the +canal-boat man." + +The detective, looking very much alarmed, would of course reply that he +did not know what McVay was talking about. + +"There, there," McVay would reply soothingly patting him on the +shoulder, "I'm not going into the story of the pink blanket. You can +always trust to my discretion. But I would like just to remember her +name. It was so peculiar,--a name I never heard before." + +The detective, who had been respectably married since he was twenty, +found himself unable to remember any female names and finally in agony +suggested "Mary." + +"Mary, my dear fellow, no; that was your friend the paper-girl. There is +nothing very unusual about Mary, is there, Holland? No, the name I was +trying to think of was Ethelberta. Now you remember, don't you?" + +"No, I don't," said the detective crossly, casting an appealing look at +Geoffrey. + +"How sad that is," said McVay philosophically. "You don't even remember +her name, and at one time--well, well." + +Or again, he would exclaim brightly, studying the detective's +countenance. + +"Ah, Henderson, I see the mark of Sweeney's bullet has entirely gone. I +was afraid it would leave a scar. Tell my sister that yarn. I think it +would interest her." + +"Yes, do, Mr. Picklebody," said the girl politely and McVay, when he had +sufficiently tortured his victim, would at length launch out into a +story himself. Miserable as the detective was under this sort of +treatment, it soon appeared that McVay's ease and facility had made an +impression on him, and that he looked at his prisoner with a sort of +wondering admiration. + +"Now, Holland, are we all ready? Cecilia, have you got your little bag?" +he began when they were about to depart. "Holland, my dear fellow, don't +think me interfering if I ask whether you have looked to all the doors +and windows? Tramps and thieves are so apt to break into shut-up houses, +and it would be such a pity if anything happened to any of your pretty +things. Ah, what an expanse of snow. Beautiful, isn't it? You may talk +about your tropical scenery, Hen, but we shan't see anything finer than +this the world over. What a contrast the south will be though, eh, old +man?" and, drawing the detective's arm through his, leaning heavily upon +him meanwhile, McVay moved forward, talking volubly. + +Cecilia and Geoffrey hesitated a moment looking up at the house that had +seen such momentous changes in their lives. + +"When we come back, it will be spring," said Geoffrey softly. + +"Oh," said the girl in rather a shaky voice, "you like me well enough to +ask me to stay again?" + +"Well enough," said Geoffrey, "to ask you to stay forever." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BURGLAR AND THE BLIZZARD*** + + +******* This file should be named 14835.txt or 14835.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/4/8/3/14835 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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