A Frontier Mystery Part 29

"We haven't seen him for some days. Do you know, I can't help connecting his non-appearance with your return in some way. He must have known you would soon be here. Father is quite irritable and angry about it. He says the witch doctor promised to let him into all sorts of things. Now he p.r.o.nounces him an arrant humbug."

"That's the best sign of all," I said, "and I hope he'll continue of that opinion. When elderly gentlemen take up fads bearing upon the occult especially, why, it isn't good for them. You don't mind my saying this?"

"Mind? Of course I don't mind. Why should I have bothered you with my silly fears and misgivings--at a time too when you had so much else to think about--if I were to take offence at what you said? And it seems so safe now that you are near us again."

What was this? Again a sort of shadow seemed to come over our talk.

Was it only on account of some imaginary protection my presence might afford that she had been so cordially and unfeignedly glad to welcome me?

"I think you may make your mind quite easy now," I said. "This Ukozi had some end of his own to serve, possibly that of stealing the dog, which he knew he could trade for a good price in Zululand, and probably did. I suppose Falkner gave you a full, true and particular account of how we bested the precious specimen who claimed him."

She laughed.

"Oh, he's been bragging about that, and all your adventures--or rather his--up there, in quite his own style."

"Well, there was nothing for either of us to brag about in the way we recovered Arlo," I said. "If the King's impi hadn't happened along in the nick of time I own frankly we might never have been able to recover him at all. It was a hundred to one, you understand."

Again she laughed, significantly, and I read into the laugh the fact that she did not quite accept Falkner's narratives at precisely Falkner's own valuation.

"How did Falkner behave himself?" she went on.

"Oh, he was all right. He was always spoiling for a fight and on one occasion he got it. I daresay he has told you about that."

"Yes," she said, with the same significant laugh. "He gave us a graphic account of it."

"Well he has plenty of pluck and readiness, and a man might have many a worse companion in an emergency."

"It's nice of you to say that. I don't believe he was a bit nice to you."

"Oh, only a boy's sulks," I said airily. "Nothing to bother oneself about in that."

"But was that all?" she rejoined, lifting her clear eyes to my face.

"Perhaps not," I answered, then something in her glance moved me to add: "May I tell you then, what it was that caused our differences, who it was, rather?" And I put forth my hand.

"Yes," she said, taking it. "Tell me."

"It was yourself."

"Myself?"

"Yes. Do you remember what you said that last evening I was here? I do. I've treasured every word of it since. You said I was to come and see you directly I returned, and that you would look forward to it."

She nodded, smiling softly.

"Yes. And I have. And--what did you answer?"

"I answered that I would look forward to it every day until it came.

And I have."

"And is the result disappointing?"

"You know it is not."

I have stated elsewhere that I seldom err in my reading of the human countenance, and now it seemed that all Paradise was opening before my eyes as I noticed a slight accession of colour to the beautiful face, a deepening of the tender smile which curved the beautiful lips. Then words poured forth in a torrent. What was I saying? For the life of me I could not tell, but one thing was certain. I was saying what I meant.

Then again her hand reached forth to mine, and its pressure, while maddening me, told that whatever I was saying, it at any rate was not unacceptable when--

Arlo, who had been lying at our feet, sprang up and growled, then subsided immediately, wagging his tail and whining as he snuffed in the direction of the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Hallo, Glanton," sung out a gruff voice. "You taking lessons in high art? They're wondering where you've got to, Aida. They're going to have tea."

"Well, tell them not to wait. I'll be in directly when I'm ready."

"Oh no. No hurry about that," answered Falkner with an evil grin, flinging himself on the ground beside us, and proceeding leisurely to fill his pipe. "We'll all stroll back together--eh, Glanton?"

I am ashamed to remember how I hated Falkner Sewin at that moment. Had he heard what I had been saying, or any part of it? But he had thrust his obnoxious presence between it and the answer, and that sort of opportunity does not readily recur, and if it does, why the repet.i.tion is apt to fall flat.

He lay there, maliciously watching me--watching us--and the expression of his face was not benevolent, although he grinned. He noted his cousin's slight confusion, and delighted to add to it by keeping his glance fixed meaningly upon her face. Then he would look from the one to the other of us, and his grin would expand. There was a redeeming side to his disgust at the situation from his point of view. He was annoying us both--annoying us thoroughly--and he knew it.

She, for her part, showed no sign of it as she continued her painting serenely. Further exasperated, Falkner began teasing Arlo, and this had the effect of wearying Aida of the situation. She got up and announced her intention of returning to the house.

And Falkner, walking on the other side of her, solaced himself with making objectionable remarks, in an objectionable tone, knowing well that the same stopped just short of anything one could by any possibility take up.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

"THE ANSWER IS--YES."

Nothing could exceed the warmth and cordiality of the reception I experienced at the hands of the rest of the family. I might have been one of themselves so rejoiced they all seemed at having me in their midst again--all of course save Falkner. But among the feminine side of the house I thought to detect positive relief, as though my return had dispelled some shadowy and haunting apprehension. There was something about the old Major, however, that convinced me he was cheris.h.i.+ng an idea in the back ground, an idea upon which he would invite my opinion at the earliest opportunity. And that opportunity came.

"Let's stroll down and look at the garden, Glanton," he began, presently. "I want to show you what I've been doing while you were away."

And without giving anyone an opportunity of joining us, even if they had wanted to, he led the way forth.

I listened as he expatiated upon the improvements he had been making, even as I had listened many a time before, but it struck me his explanations were a little incoherent, a little flurried, like the speech of a man who is not talking of that which lies uppermost in his mind. He continued thus until we had reached the furthest limit of the cultivated ground, where a high bush fence shut this off from possible depredations on the part of bucks or other nocturnal marauders. It was a secluded spot, and there was no sign of any of the others intending to join us.

"Try one of these cigars, Glanton," he began, tendering his case. Then, after one final look round to make sure we were not only alone, but likely to remain so, he went on: "Let's sit down here and have a quiet smoke. There's something I want to get your opinion about. You know this witch doctor chap, Ukozi?"

"Of course I do. What has he been up to?"

"Up to? Oh, nothing. But the fact is I have taken a liking to the fellow. He interests me. He's been showing me some queer things of late--yes, devilish queer things. And he's promised to show me some more."

"What sort of queer things, Major?" I struck in.

"All sorts. Well, the finding of Aida's lost coin was a queer enough thing in itself. Now wasn't it?"

"Yes. But--it's mere conjuring. You'd probably be surprised to know how the trick was done."

"No doubt. But--do you know?" This somewhat eagerly.