Captivating Mary Carstairs Part 36

CHAPTER XIX

IN WHICH MR. HIGGINSON AND THE SAILING-MASTER BOTH MERIT PUNISHMENT, AND BOTH ESCAPE IT

Pa.s.sing the town-wharf laggingly like the maimed thing she was, limping nearer and nearer the spot whence she had set out three-quarters of an hour before, Mr. Carstairs's _Cypriani_ slowed down at an abandoned private landing--the same one by which Peter's trunk had been conveyed ash.o.r.e that morning--and ran out her stairs.

As the two on board stood watching the yacht make fast, conversing, if the truth be known, somewhat disjointedly, they were astonished to see the great form of a man rise from a gra.s.sy bed a little way back from the river-bank and advance towards them.

"Why, look!" said Mary. "There's Mr. Maginnis! I thought he'd gone to town long ago."

Varney did not answer her. His eyes were glued upon Maginnis, and he called in a strange voice:

"You have been waiting for us."

"Haven't budged a step," answered Peter, moving out upon the landing.

And he added what seemed an odd remark to Miss Carstairs: "I knew you were coming back."

He greeted Mary at the foot of the stairs, cordially, and begged the privilege of escorting her to any destination it might be her fancy to name. But she stoutly declined his good offices, as she had Varney's a moment before, declaring that she could not think of troubling so busy and important a man.

"But where did you spirit Mr. Hare off to, if I might ask?" she said.

"On a very important mission I a.s.sure you, madam,--that is, Miss Carstairs," said Peter, diplomatically, having no idea how matters stood. "He begged me to let him go back and say good-bye to you, but I told him I'd make it a personal matter."

"I am awfully glad that you have stopped calling me 'madam,'" said Mary, rather inconsequently. "I _did_ hate it so!"

And she walked off up the woodland path, swinging her recovered parasol, and finding herself with a good deal to think about.

Peter, coming on deck, found his friend waiting for him, taut as a whipcord.

"Well, old horse!" said Maginnis. "Welcome back to jolly little Hunston."

"The machinery broke down on me," said Varney, turning away to light a cigarette.

"Sure," said Peter cheerfully. "You knew it was going to do it when you started. I read it in your eye when we said farewell forever."

"You are quite mistaken," said Varney. "Ask Ferguson."

"Oh! Then you'll do it to-morrow morning, when the machinery is all right again?"

"No," said Varney, "nor at any other time."

The two men looked at each other steadily, unwinkingly. As the look lengthened, each face gave way to a slow reluctant smile.

"I won't pretend," said Peter, "that I am disappointed in you. I never dreamed that I hated this thing till the time came, and hang me if I don't rather like that little girl."

"It was a thing," said Varney, "that simply couldn't be done. We were a pair of a.s.ses not to see that all along." He glanced hurriedly at his watch and started for the companionway. "Jove! I'll have to hustle."

"Hustle! Where the devil to?"

"I'm off to New York by the five o'clock train to tell Uncle Elbert that I've resigned. I'll feel mighty mean doing it, too."

"Well, don't antic.i.p.ate trouble," called Peter dryly. "You can't feel mean by the five o'clock train, however much you may deserve--"

"Why not?"

"There isn't any. She goes through at four-seven. You'll have to compose yourself to wait till eight-ten, unless you want to walk."

Varney halted at the head of the companionway, surprisingly disappointed. From the moment when the _Cypriani_ had put about, he had been insistently conscious that his first duty now was to see Mr.

Carstairs, beg absolution from his promise, and formally surrender his commission. So only, he had felt, could he go on with clean hands.

"Well, don't look so glum over it," said Peter. "You're not any sorrier about your prolonged stay in our midst than I am."

Varney turned an inquiring eye upon him, and he began walking rather restlessly up and down the deck.

"Oh, this same old rot!" he broke out impatiently. "I'll never be easy in my mind till you are back in New York, and _stay_ there--"

"Well, well, Peter! Stick it out for three hours more--"

"Not long after you and Miss Carstairs steamed off," continued Peter, "Hare blew back down here, tired of waiting and a little excited. He had just heard some pa.s.sing whispers about you and me. He says there seems to be a little suppressed excitement in town this afternoon."

"Why, I thought your paper had kicked all that nonsense into a c.o.c.ked hat."

"A lot of people don't believe the paper, though," said Peter. "On the contrary they believe that you are Stanhope and that you bought the _Gazette_ to disown yourself and save your hide. A foolish idea, but it has doubtless been helped out by whispers from higher up. Smith's selling out has made Ryan see red. Smith's still in town, by the way, which argues a good deal of cool nerve on his part. Hare hears that Ryan is in a murdering humor--"

"You seem to forget entirely that Stanhope--the real, the genuine, double-extry-guaranteed--has appeared, to bear his own--"

"But Hunston doesn't know it yet!" exclaimed Peter. "Kindly get that well into your head. All these Hackleys and Orricks still think that you're their meat--Where're you going?"

Varney, pausing at the hatch, deliberated whether he should say anything to Peter about Mr. Higginson's latest and most daring intrusion, and declared for the negative. "There's no reason," he mused, "why I should let him in on this. And besides--"

"To town," he said aloud. "I've got to send a telegram to Uncle Elbert.

He's very much on my conscience--poor old chap!"

"I'll go with you. Got a Reform Committee meeting at five-thirty. And some other business."

But Varney had already disappeared below. Peter picked up his splendid guitar and, sprawling upon the transom, gave himself up to soft humming and, presently, to the work of composition. Soon, after some little painstaking effort, he produced the following, to be rendered to the tune of "Yankee Doodle":

The tale of crime is at an end, For little Laurence Va-arney Declines to swipe his loidy friend Upon the _Cypria-a-ani_!

Peter tried this over to himself with considerable satisfaction. He possessed a remarkably sweet tenor and pleasurably antic.i.p.ated singing his ditty to its hero, and doubtless getting a cus.h.i.+on pitched at his head for his pains. But it happened that Varney was to go to his grave without ever hearing that small chanson.

He came on deck again in five minutes with a face which drove all thoughts of melody from Peter's head. In fact, at sight of it, he came instantly to a sitting position and his guitar slid unheeded to the floor.

"What's happened?"

Varney did not answer immediately. He stood at the rail and stared into the woods with fixed eyes which saw nothing. Peter rose and came towards him.

"Out with it!" he said encouragingly. "I'm full partner here. You want to murder somebody. Well and good! Now who is it?"