The Stolen Singer Part 34

Jimmy had no forebodings, but rioted gorgeously in returning health, in a whole pack of new emotions, and in what he supposed to be his lady's favor. Aleck, more philosophical, took his happiness with a more quiet gusto, not provoking the frown of the G.o.ds. But for Jim the day of reckoning was coming.

One day Aleck joined him, walking up and down the porch. Jim was in one of his boyish, c.o.c.ksure moods.

"I know what you're going to say," he began, before Aleck could spring his news. "You're going to marry the princess."

"Just so," said Aleck. "How'd you know? Clairvoyance?"

"Nope."

"Well, you needn't look so high and mighty about it, old man. Why don't you do the same thing yourself? Then we'll have a double wedding."

"I've thought of that," said Jim.

As the two men talked, Agatha and Melanie, both dressed in white, strolled side by side down the garden path toward the wall. They were deep in conversation, their backs turned toward the veranda.

"I don't see that they look so much alike," announced Jim, who had but recently learned all the causes and effects of the Chatelard business.

Aleck's eyes gleamed.

"Which one, as they stand there now, do you take to be Miss Redmond?"

he asked.

"One on the left," answered Jim promptly.

Aleck gave a signaling whistle which caused both the women quickly to turn. Agatha was on the right.

Aleck grinned broadly. "So that Yahoo of a Frenchman wasn't so stupid after all."

"I'd like to get my hands on him!" muttered Jim.

"Frenchman or not, there's going to be a wedding right here in the old red house on Wednesday," said Aleck.

"Hoopla! I knew that was it!"

"And then Melanie and I are going to cruise back to New York. Awfully sorry--but you're not invited."

"You couldn't get me aboard any gilt-edged yacht that floats!"

At Jimmy's words--wholly untrue, by the way--Aleck's happy mood suddenly dimmed, as he thought of the dangers and anxieties of the past month. He turned and laid an arm, boy-fas.h.i.+on, over Jim's shoulder, pulling his hair as his hand went by.

"You're a fool of a kid!" he said, choking.

When Jim looked into his cousin's face, he knew. "Oh, I say, old man, it wasn't so bad as all that."

Aleck stiffened up. "Who said anything about its being bad? You'd better get some togs to wear at the wedding. I'm going to need these clothes myself."

It turned out, actually enough, that the wedding was to come off on a certain Wednesday in September.

"Would you like New York and a bishop and a big church better than the old red house and the Charlesport minister?" Aleck anxiously asked of Melanie.

"Oh, no," she protested; and Aleck knew she was sincere. So they prepared to terminate their holidays by celebrating the wedding in the pine grove. Melanie spent the intervening days happily with Agatha, or walking with Aleck, or with the delightful group that foregathered in Parson Thayer's library. Jimmy made extravagant and highly colored verses to the bride-to-be, to Sallie Kingsbury, and even to himself.

His feet were often lame, but he solemnly a.s.sured the company that it was entirely due to circ.u.mstances over which he had no control. A wedding was a wedding, said he, and should have its bard; also its dancers and its minstrels.

"We'll have all our friends in Ilion, anyway," said Aleck. They counted up the list. Besides the occupants of the house and those from the Hillside, there would be Doctor Thayer, Susan Stoddard and Angie, Big and Little Simon, and the lawyer.

"And they're all going to dance with the bride," announced Jim. "After me. I'm first choice."

"A dance led, so to speak, by the elusive Monsieur Chatelard?"

The name alone made Jimmy wroth. "It's a dance for which he will pay the fiddler yet!" he prophesied.

"Oh, he's gone this time. Scared out of the country for keeps!" was Aleck's expressed opinion. But that it might or might not be so, was what they all secretly thought.

The day before the wedding was a jewel of a day, such as New England at her best can fling into the lap of early autumn. A wind from the sea, flocks of white cloud scudding across the sapphire sky, and a sun all kindness--such was the day. It was never a "weather breeder" either; but steady, promising good for the morrow.

Many times during the week James and Chamberlain and Agatha had their heads together, planning surprises for the bridal pair. The result was that on Tuesday Jim and Chamberlain borrowed the white motor-car, loaded it down with a large variety of junk, such as food from Sallie's kitchen, flowers and so on, and started for Charlesport. They ran down to the wharf, transferred their loot to the rowboat, and pulled out to the _Sea Gull_, swinging at her mooring in deep water.

A half-hour of work, and the yacht was dressed for festival. There were strings of flags to stretch from bow to masthead and to stern; pennants for topmasts; the Stars and Stripes in beautiful silk for a standard, and a gorgeous banner with an embroidered A and M intertwined, for special occasions. Flowers were placed in the cabins, and food in the lockers. The seamen had been aboard, made the yacht clean and s.h.i.+pshape as a war vessel on parade, and had got permission to leave for their last night ash.o.r.e. Everything was in readiness, even to the laying of the fire in the engine hold.

The bride and groom were to come aboard the next day about noon, and cruise down the coast leisurely, as weather permitted. Hand, in charge of the white motor-car, with Madame Reynier, Chamberlain, Agatha and Jimmy, were to start for New York, touring as long as their inclination lasted. The sophisticated Lizzie was to travel to what was, for her, the center of the universe, by the fastest Pullman.

Jimmy and Chamberlain, on the way home from their visit to the _Sea Gull_, came very near being confidential.

"I want to say, Mr. Hambleton, that I shall never forgive myself for bungling about that Chatelard business."

"As I understand the matter, it wasn't your bungling, but the sheriff's."

"It's all the same," conceded Mr. Chamberlain mournfully. "And in my opinion, the Frenchman's not done with his tricks yet. He's a dangerous character, Mr. Hambleton."

Jim laughed, remembering certain incidents on the _Jeanne D'Arc_.

"Do you know," Chamberlain continued, "I'm convinced the bloomin'

beggar is hiding about here somewhere. I'm glad Aleck is getting away."

"I thought the evidence favored the theory that Chatelard had made straight for New York."

"Not a bit of it. Aleck and I let you all believe that, for the sake of the ladies. But the evidence is all the other way. We would surely have caught him if he had been on any of the New York trains. I believe he's about here and means mischief yet."

"If he's about here, there's no doubt about the mischief."

"I'm going down to-night to bunk on the _Sea Gull_. Aleck let the men off, to go to a sailor's dance over on one of the islands. They'll probably be at it all night, so I'm going back."

"Why not let me go? I'm fine as a fiddle. You've had your full share of nasty detective work."

"Not at all. I'm booked to see this thing through."

"All right!" laughed Jimsy. "But if you change your mind, let me know."

Arriving at the house, the men found it deserted. Windows were open and doors unlatched, but no one, not even Danny, responded to Jim's call. Chamberlain started for the Hillside in the car, and Jim wandered about lonesomely, wondering where everybody was. With Jim, as in most cases, everybody meant one person; and presently Sallie, appearing slowly from the upper regions, gave him his clue. He started nimbly for the pine wood.