“He is. But not so very many years. Do you know Caprice?”
Eileen’s plan of surprising her hearer attained its object. Mrs. Ballou gasped, and looked at the girl with wild eyes. “What are you?” she cried; “a detective? Another detective?”
“No,” said Eileen, soothingly, and fearing she had gone too far. “No, I’m only a tease. I love to tease people, and I said those things for fun. Caprice, as you can read in the papers, is rather a mystery, and as she seems to be mixed up with—”
“With whom?” and the woman’s face was white with fear.
“No matter. It’s dinner time, isn’t it? I promised Mr. Farrish I’d dine at seven. Ah, there you are!”
Farrish appeared in the doorway. He looked annoyed at seeing Eileen’s companion. Mrs. Ballou looked helplessly at him.
“It’s pleasanter outside,” was all he said, as he took Eileen away.
“What were you two hobnobbing about?” he asked, as they seated themselves at dinner.
“That’s telling,” said Eileen, gaily; “but I’m sure it was nothing that could interest you.”
She smiled at him so successfully, that he said, “Nothing interests me but you!”
“Then don’t ask irrelevant questions, sir! Let’s enjoy the fleeting moment,” and Eileen’s finger tips lightly touched his hand as it lay on the table.
Willingly enough, Farrish enjoyed the fleeting moments, and dinner over, he bade Eileen hasten, if she would see the moon rise from the glen in the garden.
“No, not to-night,” she returned, very decidedly. “I’ve given you all the fleeting moments I intend to this time.”
“But you promised,” he said, miserably; “dear, you promised.”
“I never keep a promise,” she returned, laughing at his long face. “You are going too fast, altogether. I want to go home, and I want to go now.”
“And if I refuse to take you?”
“But you won’t,” and she was wheedlesome. “Why, you promised me half your kingdom! Do you refuse my first request?”
“But such a request!”
“Very well, it is a command, then. Guy, take me home, at once!”
The pretty air of proprietorship and authority over him charmed him into submission, and Farrish ordered his car forthwith.
“But you shall give me the kiss you promised,” he told her, as they drove home through the moonlight
“I didn’t promise it,” and Eileen laughed daringly at him, “and if I did, I’ve changed my mind. Anyway, I shall never kiss any man until I am married to him.”
“If your promises mean nothing, your assertions are equally worthless,” and Farrish spoke as lightly as the girl herself.
“Clever of you to discover that!” and keeping up a tone of banter until they reached her door, Eileen ran into the house with the merest “Goodnight.”
* * * *
The next day she sent for Caprice.
Wonderingly, the woman came.
“You want to see me?” she asked, a little pertly, as they met.
“Yes, please,” and Eileen eyed her, calmly.
“What for?”
“On various matters. Do you care to answer a few questions truthfully?”
“Depends on the questions.”
“Naturally; first, then, are you the wife of Guy Farrish?”
Caprice stared. “What’s that to you?” she said, rudely.
“No matter, and don’t answer unless you choose.”
“All right, I don’t choose. What next?”
“Did you go to Flora Wood last summer, to prevent Mr. Farrish’s marriage with a lady there?”
“Good heavens! What do you mean?”
“What I say. Did you?”
“I don’t choose to answer that, either.”
“Very well, then. It only remains for me to tell you I am going to marry Mr. Farrish.”
“You! You can’t!”
“Why not? Are you his wife?”
“Yes, yes, yes! I am! Don’t let him deceive you!”
“I can take care of myself. Did Mr. Farrish shoot Ethel Bingham?”
“No!” and the eyes of Caprice grew big with horror.
“Did you see Stanford Bingham do it?”
“Yes,” and a hard look settled on Caprice’s face. “But I refuse to say any more. I shall prevent it, if you try to marry Guy, as I prevented Ethel Moulton’s attempt.”
“Very well,” and Eileen herself showed her guest out.
On the doorstep Caprice paused. “Are you going to marry him?” she said, a little wistfully.
“How can I, if he is married to you? But I don’t believe he is.”
“Then make it your business to find out!” and with a gleam of hatred in her dark eyes, Caprice went away.
“She is married to him,” said Eileen to Ford, as she told him the story; “I know by her expression she told the truth.”
“Then she will never incriminate him.”
“No. She never will, anyway. She’s desperately in love with him. But why did she come to the church the day of the wedding at all? That’s what I can’t make out.”
“She came, I think, to make sure that it was not Farrish who was to marry Ethel. She is insanely jealous, and if she had just heard of the marriage, by chance, she may have wanted to assure herself that Farrish had not renewed his efforts to marry Miss Moulton.”
“I do believe that was it. Then, why does she now swear that she saw Stanford do the shooting?”
“Farrish makes her do it. Farrish has turned everything toward Bingham’s guilt. He is canny, clever, powerful. He is even deeper than I thought. We must work hard and quickly to outwit him.”
“There is only one way?”
“I fear so.”
“I dread it! loathe it—”
“But, to save Bingham—?”
“Yes, anything to save him.”
“Somers considers his guilt a certainty now; I think that he will be arrested within twenty-four hours.”
“Mr. Ford! Can you do nothing to prevent it?”
“Nothing more than I have done. Bingham himself is so apathetic that he is no help. Farrish is so diabolically clever there is no escaping his slyness. And Caprice has so bewitched the District Attorney that he thinks every one of her words Gospel truth. So what can we do?”
“There is only one way,” repeated Eileen, slowly, and sadly. “Oh, what would Stanford say if he knew!”
“He would never allow the sacrifice. Are you sure yourself you want to make it?”
“To save Stan! Of course, I would make any sacrifice for that.”
“Shall you let your father know.”
“No, indeed! Father wouldn’t hear of it! He’s too fond of me!”
“Hush, here he comes.”
The entrance of Doctor Randall put an end to the discussion. Eileen walked away to the window and leaned her throbbing head on her hands.
The telephone rang, and with a sigh Eileen went to answer it.
“Yes,” she said to Farrish’s call.
“Yes,” she said to his invitation to go motoring again that afternoon. And then, to his next suggestion, she laughed, roguishly, and said only, “Oh, you rascal!” speaking softly at him.
She dressed for the ride with especial care. She put on a gown of black chiffon, whose thinness revealed the soft curves of her shoulders, and fell away from her dainty throat and neck. Her dark hair, parted and coiled low, gave her face the seductiveness of the Mona Lisa, and only a black chiffon scarf protected her head. When Farrish called, at six, she threw a long black silk cape round her, and ran down to join him.
“Tell father I’ve gone out to dinner,” she called to Charlotte, and without waiting for a reply, went swiftly on.
Doctor Randall, always absent-minded, took little note of his daughter’s goings or comings, and Eileen did as she chose.
To Charlotte her adored mistress’ wish was law, and she would as soon have questioned the star
s in their courses as Eileen’s plans.
And so Farrish, waiting, put her in the little car, and they started.
“Flora Wood again?” he asked, gaily, as they flew along the smooth road.
“If you like,” said Eileen, with a quick, soft glance.
“Flora Wood it is, then!” he said, exultingly. “You owe me a trip there to make up for last night. You won’t take a whim to return so early to-night, will you, dearest?”
“It depends on how entertaining you are. And, too, the moon doesn’t rise until after ten. I can’t stay as late as that!”
“With your fiance, I rather guess you can!”
They drove swiftly through the deepening dusk, and both were somewhat silent.
“Talk to me,” said Eileen, at last.
“I’m so happy I can’t talk,” returned Farrish.
“How has it happened, Eileen? Why has this great joy come to me so suddenly? A few weeks ago I scarcely knew you.”
“Why, you’ve known me nearly a year!”
“Not as I know you now. We were acquaintances, but I didn’t realize your sweetness or dream that you cared for me.”
“I haven’t said that I do,” and again the bewildered glance enslaved him afresh.
“You don’t have to say so!” and Farrish gave a low laugh of content “Your presence here proves it!”
“I wonder—” and Eileen spoke vaguely, as if wrapt in happy dreams.
“I’ll find out for sure to-night. Dear, let’s have our dinner out on the terrace. What do you say?”
“As you like, Guy. It would be more to ourselves, wouldn’t it?”
“And would you enjoy it for that reason?” There was a light in his eyes which deepened as Eileen whispered, “Try me, and see!”
“What have you been doing all day?” she asked lightly, as later they were at dinner on the terrace.
The terrace tables were each in a secluded arbour, fragrant of honeysuckles and lighted only by shaded candles.
Farrish started. “Why did you ask that?” he cried, almost angrily, and then, recovering his poise, he added, “Forgive me, darling, I lost my head for a moment. What was I doing? I shall tell you, my own, but not until the moon rises.”
“I want to know now,” and Eileen pouted like a spoiled child.
“Humour me, this once, dear; I’ll always obey you else. Just let me wait to tell you, until we are together,—watching the rising moon—”
“Aren’t you sentimental!” and a rippling laugh showed that Eileen forgave him.
After dinner, Farrish led her to the shady nook among the trees that he had chosen. There was a rustic settee, and across the flower garden an uninterrupted view of the eastern sky.
The moon rose, after a time. In silence Farrish drew Eileen close to him.
“Now I’ll tell you what I did to-day,” he whispered, exultantly; “I got our marriage license.”
“Oh, Guy!” and the veriest school-girl could not have been shyer or more sweetly confused than Eileen Randall. “But we won’t be married for a long time.”
“It does no harm to have it, and I thought, I hoped you might consent to make it soon. You said soon, dearest.”
“Did I?” and Eileen looked dreamily thoughtful, as she interlaced her fingers through his clasping ones.
“You did! Darling, I can’t wait! You have enthralled me! I am mad about you! Crazy! Wild! Don’t make me wait, Eileen, sweetest, don’t!”
“Guy,” and the soft fingers caressed his cheek, “suppose we say—now,—to-night—”
“Eileen! You don’t—you can’t mean it! Oh, if you only did! Do you? Dearest, do you?”
“I—don’t—know—I think I did mean it when I said it, but—it would be too crazy! How could we?”
“It doesn’t matter how we could,—if you only will, I’ll arrange all else! Oh, Eileen!”
Farrish clasped her in a mad embrace, but she put him away, saying, “Wait, let me think.”
“No, don’t think! I’m afraid to have you think—”
“But if I consent to this mad plan, all must be as I say.”
“Of course: what is it you want, sweetheart?”
“Well,” and Eileen smiled at him in the moonlight, “first, I don’t want to be married by Doctor Van Sutton.”
“No,” said Farrish.
“Nor by any minister. Could we get a justice of the Peace, or whatever you call him, as late as this?”
“We will, whether we can or not! And it isn’t late, it’s only a little after eleven.”
“I won’t be married before twelve!” the lovely, petulant lips smiled. “A midnight wedding seems so romantic.”
“Our wedding is romantic, anyway; but we won’t be back to town much before twelve. What else?”
“I want Charlotte with me. She can be a witness, if you like.”
“And your father?”
“No, daddy’s asleep long before this. Oh, Guy, can we do it?”
“Of course we can, you sweetest thing! Come on, let’s start now.”
And in a few moments the little car was speeding back to Boscombe Fells.
CHAPTER XXIV
A Midnight Marriage
IF Mr. Riddell, Justice of the Peace, was surprised by the sudden appearance of two people desirous of being married, he politely concealed his feelings, and asking them to wait until he could array himself more conventionally than in the bath-robe in which he responded to the doorbell, he finally made an appearance in his parlour, properly clothed and accompanied by his wife and a housemaid as witnesses. The hour was shortly after midnight, and Farrish apologized for the disturbance of the Riddells’ rest.
“Not at all,” responded the jovial Justice, “we’re used to it. Mrs. Riddell declares this house is a regular Gretna Green, but as she always pockets the fees, she doesn’t mind.”
Mrs. Riddell glanced at her husband, reprovingly, for this rather broad hint, but both Farrish and Eileen were so engrossed in their own thoughts they scarcely heard it.
Charlotte was weeping. She could not understand her young mistress, but she had always obeyed her without question, and she said nothing now. Still, it was almost more than she could bear to see her marry this man, when, as Charlotte believed, she loved another.
“Pore lamb,” thought the coloured woman, “she’s doin’ of it to save Mr. Bingham, dat she is! My lubly Miss Eily wouldn’t do dis fer no odder puppose, dat she wuddent!”
Meantime, the service took place. Eileen hesitated and stammered as she said the solemn words, but she did say them. Farrish was excited and nervous, but he spoke clearly and firmly. When it was over, Eileen fainted. Farrish caught her in his arms, and Charlotte ran, shrieking, to her side. Mrs. Riddell brought water, and in a moment Eileen was herself again.
“Forgive me,” she said, smiling at Guy. “I was foolish to faint. I never do such a thing! But I—I am—nervous.”
“Yes, dearest, so you are. Never mind, we’re going now, and I’ll take care of you.”
A substantial douceur found its way to Mrs. Riddell’s pocket, and the bride and groom went out to the waiting car.
“You may walk home, Charlotte,” said Eileen, “it isn’t far. And say nothing to father concerning this. I’ll tell him myself, to-morrow.”
“Yes, Miss Eily,” and Charlotte, mystified and tearful, went home.
“And now for our own home,” said Farrish, his voice a little unsteady, as he took the wheel. “To the hotel, dear?”
“No; you—you told me I could have my own way.”
“Of course you can, my darling. Where, then?”
“To Colonial Inn, I think. That’s pretty and quiet. Not so gay as Flora Wood.”
“To the inn it is!” and Farrish turned the car in that direction.
Followed a taxicab, in which were two men, Alan Ford and District Attorney Somers. At a discreet distance they trailed the little car, and as Farrish turned into the drive of the picturesque Colonial Inn, the taxicab w
aited a moment at the gates and then followed.
Striving to calm his throbbing pulses, Farrish registered, and asked for the best rooms.
The obsequious desk clerk bowed, and smiled, and an attendant showed the guests to an attractive suite on the next floor.
“At last!” cried Farrish, as they were left alone. “Eileen, my darling!”
Eileen stood before the mirror before taking off her hat. She turned and smiled at him. “I expect it’s awfully unromantic, but I’m hungry, Guy. Can’t we have a little supper?”
“You can have anything under the blue heavens that you want! I’ll order something sent up. But, first, Eileen, my love, my wife,—one kiss!”
“No, sir,” and Eileen pirouetted gaily about, “not till I’ve eaten. Why, I’m ravenous!”
Farrish looked at her closely, but she only smiled and danced away.
Calling a waiter, he ordered a dainty supper. “Now, my lady,” he said, decidedly, “that salad will take a bit of a while to prepare, so you will not keep me waiting,—will you,—sweetheart?”
Farrish held out his arms, and then Eileen looked serious.
“Wait a moment, Guy; tell me, first, some things that I must know. Who killed Ethel?”
Farrish looked at her with dilated eyes.
“What do you mean?” he said, not so much surprised as puzzled.
“What I say. Who did?”
“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter now. You are my wife, don’t you let yourself forget that!”
“I am not your wife!” and Eileen faced him bravely. “That woman Caprice is your wife!”
“Eileen, is this a ruse? Did you marry me thinking it was not a marriage because of her?”
“Well, tell me the truth. What is she to you?”
“Nothing,” and Farrish looked solemn. “Nothing, Eileen, because she is dead.”
“What! Caprice! Dead? What do you mean?”
“Yes, it is true. I heard it to-night, after we reached here. While you went in the house to get Charlotte, I went on an errand or two, and I heard the news. Don’t think about her, dearest.”
“But, Guy, she was your wife, wasn’t she?”
“Don’t talk about her, Eileen, I forbid it! You shall talk only of me! Tell me you love me!” Eileen looked uncertain. She smiled at him a little, but repulsed any attempt of his to touch her.
The Alan Ford Mystery MEGAPACK® Page 20