Diane of the Green Van

by Leona Dalrymple

  CHAPTER XXI

  AT THE GRAY OF DAWN

  It was very quiet in the wood by the river. A late moon swung itsgolden censer above the water by invisible chains, marking checkeredaisles of light in the silent wood, burnishing elfin rosaries of dew,touching with cool, white fingers of benediction the leaf-cowled headsof stately trees. Like lines of solemn monks they stood listeningraptly to the deep, full chant of the moving river. The sylvan mass ofthe night was a thing of infinite peace and mystery, of silence andsolemnity.

  Into the hush of the moonlit night came presently a jarring note, theinfernal racket of a motorcycle. Philip, a lone sentry by the camp ofhis lady, stirred and frowned. The clatter ceased. Once again the lapof the restless river and the rustle of trees were the only sounds inthe silent wood. Philip glanced at the muffled figure of the minstrelasleep on the ground by the dead embers of the camp fire, and leaningcarelessly upon his elbow, fell again into the train of thoughtdisturbed by the clatter.

  "Herodotus!" said Philip. "Hum!" And roused to instant alertness bythe crackle of a twig in the forest, he glanced sharply roadwards wherethe trees thinned.

  There was something moving stealthily along in the shadows. Withnarrowed eyes the sentry noiselessly flattened himself upon the groundand fell to watching.

  A stealthy crackle--and silence. A moving shadow--a halt!

  A patch of moonlight lay ahead. For an interval which to Philip seemedunending, there was no sound or movement, then a figure glided swiftlythrough the patch of moonlight and approached the camp. It was a manin the garb of a motorcyclist.

  Noiselessly Philip shifted his position. The cyclist crept to theshelter of a tree and halted.

  The moon now hung above the wood. Its light, showering softly throughthe trees as the night wind swayed the branches, fell presently uponthe camp and the face of the cyclist.

  It was Themar.

  Now as Philip watched, Themar crouched suddenly and fell to staring atthe muffled figure by the camp fire. For an interval he crouchedmotionless; then with infinite caution he moved to the right. A branchswept his cap back from his forehead and Philip saw now that his facewas white and staring.

  And in that instant as he glanced at the horrified face of theHoudanian, Philip knew. The stained skin, the smooth-shaven chin andlip of the minstrel--if Themar had found them puzzling, the revealmenthad come to him, as it had come to Philip, in a flash of bewilderment.

  With a bound, the startled American was on his feet, stealing rapidlytoward the man by the tree. To the spying, the mystery, the infernaltrickery and masquerading which dogged his lady's trail, Themar heldthe key, wherefore--

  Cursing, Philip forged ahead. The carpet of dry twigs beneath him hadbetrayed his approach and Themar was running wildly through the forest.

  On and on they went, stumbling and flying through the moonlit wood tothe towpath. But Philip was much the better runner and soon caught thefleeing cyclist by the collar with a grip of steel.

  "Poynter!" panted Themar, staring.

  "At your service!" Mr. Poynter assured him and politely begged instantand accurate knowledge of a number of things, of a knife and a bullet,of Themar's spying, of a cuff, of the man by the fire who readHerodotus, of a motorcyclist seeking for days to overtake a nomad.

  "I--I dare not tell," faltered Themar, moistening his lips. "I--I ambound by an oath--"

  "To spy and steal and murder!"

  Themar stared sullenly at the river, gray now with the coming dawn.His dark face was drawn and haggard.

  And again Mr. Poynter shot a volley of questions and awaited theanswers with dangerous quiet.

  Shaking, Themar refused again to answer. With even more quietness andcourtesy Philip obligingly gave him a final opportunity and findingThemar white and inexorable, smiled.

  "Very well, then," said Mr. Poynter warmly, "I'll take it out of yourhide." Which he proceeded to do with that consummate thoroughnesswhich characterized his every action, husbanding the strength of hislong, lean arms until a knife appeared in Themar's hand. Then indeadly silence Mr. Poynter reduced his treacherous assailant to abattered hulk upon the towpath.

  A mule bell tinkled in the quiet.

  Upstream on the path between canal and river two mules appeared with aman slouching heavily behind them. The towline led to a grimy scowwhich loomed out of the misty stillness like a heavier drift of thedawn itself.

  "Hello!" Philip hailed the mule driver.

  "What's wantin'?" asked the man and halted.

  Philip indicated Themar with his foot.

  "Here is a gentleman," he explained, "whom I discovered lurking aboutmy camp a while ago. He showed me his knife and I've mussed him up abit."

  The mule-driver bent over Themar and sharply scanned the dark, foreignface.

  "One o' them damned black-and-tans, eh?" he growled. "They're tooready with their knives. What ye goin' to do with him?"

  "I'm wondering," shrugged Philip, smoothing his rumpled hair back fromhis forehead with the palm of his hand, "if you'll permit me to pay hispassage to a hospital, the farther away, the better."

  The mule-driver glanced searchingly at Mr. Poynter's face. Apparentlysatisfied, he cupped his mouth with his hands and called "Ho, Jem!"

  "Jem" jerked sharply at the tiller and presently the scow scraped theshore. The mule-driver consigned the care of his mules to Philip andscrambled down the grassy bank to the edge of the water.

  "Where ye want him took?" demanded Jem, scratching a bristling shock ofhair which glimmered through the dawn like a thicket of spikes.

  "Well," said Mr. Poynter indifferently, "where are you going?"

  Jem named a town many miles away. The mule-driver looked hard again atPhilip.

  "Gawd, young feller," he admired, "you're a cool un all right!"

  "Take him there," said Philip with the utmost composure. "Deliver himsomewhere a reasonable distance off for repairs and I'll pay you fiftydollars."

  "See here," broke in Jem, somewhat staggered by the careless manner inwhich Mr. Poynter handled fortunes, "hain't no foul play about thishere, eh? Asher says he's mussed up considerable."

  "Asher's right," admitted Mr. Poynter modestly. "I did the best Icould, of course. Come up and look him over. He's decoratedmournfully with fist marks, but nothing worse. There's his knife."

  After a somewhat cautious inspection, Themar was hoisted aboard thescow and harnessed discreetly with ropes. Jem shared his companion'sdistrust of black-and-tans. With a tinkle of mule-bells the cortegefaded away into the gray of dawn.

  Later, Mr. Poynter discovered an abandoned motorcycle by the roadside,which with some little malice he had crated at the nearest town anddispatched to Baron Tregar.

  Thereafter, after a warning talk with Johnny, Philip slept by day andwatched by night.