CHAPTER IV
AN INSULT IN THE MORNING
I paused at the gate and looked back. In the upper windows lights wereshowing behind the shades, and now and then a swift shadow passed acrossthe pane. Yet the house was altogether quiet, free within and withoutfrom any evidence of the unusual. A waning moon glowed large anddistorted through the shrubbery, and from all about rose the sweetbreath and innumerable tiny voices of the night, comfortable chirps andrustlings, the creak of frogs and the rasp of an occasional katydid;accentuating by their multiety and smallness the sense of overwhelmingpeace. As I went on, a quick movement at my feet made me start; then Ismiled to recognize the clumsy hurry of a toad; and the incident seemedto point the contrast between the human tension of the last half-hourand the huge normality of the outer world. With every step it grew moredifficult for me to believe in the turmoil from which I had come; thestrain and secrecy, the troubled voices and the moving lights becamefictitious; as the scenes of a sensational story, plausible in thereading, turn to pasteboard and tinsel when we have closed the book.Only the quiet gloom was real, the hush and fresh aroma of ordinarynight.
I had anticipated some difficulty in gaining admission to a country innat such an hour, but as I climbed the hill I was surprised to see itstill open and alight; and a glance at my watch deepened my surpriseinto astonishment. It was not yet midnight, and I had felt that it wasat least two or three in the morning. So here was another contrast toadd to the sense of unreality; and I entered the low-ceiled and dingylittle office feeling like Tennyson's Prince returning from a fight withshadows.
My room was cool and pleasant enough, but sleep and excitement hadevaporated my drowsiness and I lay thinking in reminiscent circles,trying in vain to puzzle out some theory that would fit thecircumstances of the night. The more I reviewed details, the more theyseemed to fly apart from any reasonable association, charged as theywere with one mysterious electricity. If some accident or sudden troublehad befallen the house, the nocturnal alarm would be motivated; butwhat motive would that furnish for driving out the guest? Some unwittingprovocation of my own (though I could imagine nothing of the sort) mighthave made my further presence unbearable; but what of the anxiousbustle, the hasty conferences, the errands of the man we had met at thegate? And who was he, by the way, that he should have a latch-key andthe airs of intimacy, without being, from what I had observed, an inmateof the house? The fear of infectious disease was the only thing that Icould imagine that would explain the immediacy of my expulsion. But if Iwas the bearer of a plague, why had Lady been allowed to talk with me inthe hall? Or if one of themselves had been stricken, why had she deniedme for all time, or indeed made any mystery of the matter? Then Iremembered her silences during the day, the ring, hidden in her breast,and her hesitation and doubt over asking me to stay the night. Whateverthe trouble was, it had cast its shadow before: and I could not rid mymind of the conviction that all these matters must be fitted in, thatthey must all ultimately find their places in the explanation. At anyrate, an explanation was due me, and I meant to have it. Either therehad been some foolish mistake or I had been treated outrageously. Itwas not curiosity, I told myself; the sorrows or the skeletons of thisfamily were no business of mine; but I would know by what right they hadejected me.
Over the telephone next morning, Mr. Tabor was ominously agreeable."Certainly," he said. "You have a perfect right to the reason. When youhave it, I think you will agree that you have no more cause forcomplaint than you have for remaining in the neighborhood. I will bedown at once."
Half an hour later he was seated in my room, polished, choleric,aquiline, a man to be a fierce friend or a difficult enemy. He wasted notime in approaches.
"You ask why you were sent from the house last night. Well, here it is:You have arranged to go to Europe, and are actually on your way there.You see my daughter on a train. You force yourself into her company,presuming upon a very slight acquaintance, and follow her home. You comeupon us in such a way that we can hardly avoid receiving you as a guest.Then it develops that you spent two or three hours between here and thestation instead of coming straight over; and you arrive after dark. Now,in any case--"
"That's distorted and unjust," I interrupted, "I haven't forced myselfupon anybody. Besides, we came home as quickly as possible. Thetrolley--"
"Well?" he asked, drawing his white brows together.
I had remembered Miss Tabor's version of the accident. "Go on," I said,"let me hear the whole of this first."
"We needn't discuss terms; the facts are that you throw aside yourarrangements very conspicuously; that you follow a young lady entirelyout of your way; and that you bring her home at an unreasonable hour,after wandering or loitering about the country. In any case this wouldhave been officious and inconsiderate. But in the case of a man withsuch a past as yours, it might compromise her seriously. To have youstaying at the house afterward was out of the question."
This was too much. "What do you mean?" I said. "There's nothing thematter with my past. I've nothing whatever to be ashamed of, and this isthe first time in my life I've been accused of any such thing. Myuniversity position is proof enough of that. It's a mistake or aninfernal slander."
He looked me straight in the eye. "I know more about you, Mr. Crosby,than you were prepared for," he said quietly. "Don't waste time inposturing."
"I beg your pardon," I retorted; "you know nothing about me, but you'vesaid decidedly more than one gentleman can say to another withoutexplaining himself. We're two men together. Be so good as to tell mejust what you charge me with."
I had risen from my chair, struggling hard for enough self-control tomake my words carry conviction. Mr. Tabor sat unmoved while hedeliberately lighted a cigar, watching me over the end of it.
"I have no desire to dig over your life with you," he said, "any morethan I have to continue your acquaintance. I came here to tell you whyour invitation to you was withdrawn. Well, I've done so; you have anevil reputation. That's all."
"Excuse me, but that isn't all. It isn't true, and--"
"There is just one more point," he went on; "when you arrived, of coursenone of us realized who you were or how you had come. Later, when weunderstood the facts, you would not, under ordinary circumstances, haveleft until this morning. But Mrs. Tabor was so much excited over thematter that I saw fit to relieve her immediately, at the cost ofdisturbing your sleep. I owe you an apology for that, and for thatonly."
"Look here, Mr. Tabor," said I, more calmly, "I don't know what you havebeen told about me, but if it's dishonorable it's a damned lie. Now,I'll wait here while you make any inquiries you like. I'll put you incommunication with anybody you choose. And when you've looked me up andare satisfied, I shall expect a very complete apology for this wholematter."
"Thank you," he answered, "I am quite satisfied with my presentinformation. I have no further curiosity. And now perhaps I have takenenough of your time." He rose.
Then I lost my temper. "That's altogether too thin!" I cried. "I'mreceived as your guest, and then I'm locked into my room. I'm sent awayin the middle of the night, and told not to ask why. You explain it onthe absurd ground that I'm a disreputable character, and then you won'teither specify your charges or investigate them. I believe you aremaking up the whole story to cover something in your own house; and ifyou were a younger man I'd have it out of you."
While I was speaking he had turned composedly to pick up his hat andstick. He faced me now without a quiver of the eyes.
"Don't bluster, Mr. Crosby," he said slowly, uncovering the tip of oneyellow tooth in the faintest suspicion of a smile, "it isn't any realuse. Well, I won't offer to shake hands, but I'll wish you a pleasantsummer after you've forgotten this row. Shall I go first?"
If there was anything more to say, I was too angry to think of it."After you," I said through shut jaws. "Good morning."
I followed him down to the veranda where we went through a comedy ofleave-taking for the benefit of the people in the wicker chai
rs. At thecorner of the building, discreet swinging doors gave entrance to thebar; and as Mr. Tabor started down the drive, there came from within astream of savage gutturals and the squeak and clatter of an over-tiltedchair. A stocky fellow in a flannel shirt lurched through the swingingdoors and followed him at a clumsy run, cursing in a tangle of Englishand Italian so rapid and furious that by the ear alone I should havethought half a dozen people were involved. It had the multipliedbrilliancy of a virtuoso's piano playing. Of the dispute whichfollowed, the words were indistinguishable; but there was no questionthat each was threatening the other. The Italian danced and raved andgesticulated, while Mr. Tabor pointed a steady forefinger and retortedin low and frosty monosyllables. And presently the foreigner slouchedback into the bar, which immediately filled with babbling bystanders. Ifollowed to find him standing physically with his foot upon the lowrail, and metaphorically with his back against the wall. He was the sameman that had pursued our trolley-car on the day previous; amedium-sized, stocky, leather-colored rascal in a shiny black suit andblue flannel shirt, with a blue fur upon his face, and blue tattoo-markson his hairy hands.
Public opinion, led by the bartender, was against him to the point ofthrowing him out or sending for the police; and his attempts at adefense were rendered unintelligible by volubility and by the strangestmixture of languages I ever heard in my life. Imagine a slightly drunkand thoroughly excited Neapolitan speaking broken English with an Irishbrogue, and you may have some faint impression of the effect. His muddyblur of intonations was impossible to follow; and I tried him inItalian, becoming thereby a person of authority and interest. Heunderstood me readily enough, but his own spattering patois gave me agood deal of trouble. By what I could make out, he was a sailor,formerly on ships owned by Mr. Tabor; and Mr. Tabor had discharged himand had kidnapped his wife. This sounded puzzling enough; but I couldget nothing else out of him; and my further questions brought forth onlyangry reiterations and indefinite vows to have justice at any price.Finally I persuaded the bartender to give him one more drink oncondition that he went away immediately, and satisfied the crowd withsome patched-up story of a hated employer whose resemblance to Mr. Taborhad caused an unfortunate mistake.
The Professor's Mystery Page 4