At half past ten they all went home, most of the company being of high school age and not allowed late hours. The half-past was a special dispensation on account of its being Friday night and no lessons tomorrow. The minister walked down the street with Greeves and his daughter and stepped in a moment to learn if the prodigal had returned or if his further services as detective would be required.
They found Anne Truesdale sitting in the dark drawing room watching the street. She would not have owned to anybody, least of all her master, that she was praying for “that huzzy,” but she was. Somehow Anne’s sense of justice wouldn’t allow her to let even a girl like that be wandering along in the world in the darkening night without even a prayer to guide her. She deserved all she might get, but, oh, think of the disgrace of it all in the town. Anne didn’t know that she really cared more for the disgrace in the town than she did for the young girl’s soul in the dark.
But there! See how all our motives are mixed! Anne was praying for her! That was something gained. Anne had begun to feel her responsibility, and leaven of that kind always works. It may take time on a cold day, but it always works at last.
When the three discovered that the missing one was still absent they stood and looked at one another in dismay, with that helpless air that always says: “What is there that I can do next?”
Then sharply into the silence of their anxiety there rippled out the insistent ring of the telephone.
Greeves hurried into the library to answer it, and the others stood breathless, listening to his voice: “Hello!”
It was a man’s voice that answered: “I want to speak to Miss Athalie Greeves.”
“Who is this?” asked Athalie Greeves’s father sternly.
“Well, who are you?” The voice was insolent.
“I am Athalie’s father, and I insist upon knowing to whom I am speaking.”
“I’m one of her mother’s friends. You wouldn’t know me. Call Athalie. She’ll tell you who I am. I want to speak to her!” “It will be necessary for you to explain to me first.” “Why? Isn’t she there?” “What is your business with her, sir?” “Is she there or not?” said the ugly voice. “She is not,” said the father coldly.
“Oh, well, I’ll call up again!” said the voice, and immediately the line was cut off.
Patterson Greeves turned toward the two who stood in the doorway and looked with a helpless dazed expression for a moment then hung up the receiver with a troubled air.
“That is very strange!” he said. “Somehow I get the impression that that man knew Athalie was away—or was trying to find out—”
“It is strange,” said Bannard. He made no pretense of not having heard. The voice on the telephone had been loud enough to be heard out in the hall. “I wish Barry were here. I’ll go out and look for him. If she isn’t heard from by the time I get back we’ll begin to do something. Don’t get frightened. It’s probably only some schoolgirl prank. Barry will very likely be able to find out where she has gone. He’s a regular ferret. I never saw a boy like him.”
Meantime, Barry, out in the night, was having troubles of his own.
Chapter 20
When Barry Lincoln left Sam in the side street with the roadster and darted across the trolley track and around the back of the stranger’s car, the big man with the heavy moustache was visible in the brightly lit drugstore talking with the clerk at the back of the store. He was handing out some money and lighting a big black cigar at the taper on the desk.
Barry drew himself up for one glimpse and saw that the girl was now seated in the front, left hand, away from the curb.
He swept the street either way with a quick glance, saw no one coming in his immediate vicinity, gave another glance to the man in the drugstore, and made a dash for the door of the driver’s seat.
Barry had grown up as it were in the garage, that is, he had spent every available minute there since he was a small child, hovering over every car that came within its doorway, watching the men at work, as he grew older, helping with the repairs himself, and finally becoming so expert that they were always ready to give him a job on Saturdays and half holidays and often even sent for him to help them discover what made the trouble in some stubborn engine or carburetor. There was no car rolling that Barry didn’t know by name and sight and wasn’t able to describe its characteristics and comparative worth. He was a judge of cars as some men are a judge of their fellowmen. Also, he had a way with cars. When he put his hand to a wheel it obeyed him. He was a perfect, natural driver, knowing how to get the best out of every piece of machinery.
And now as he slid into the driver’s seat with the owner only a few feet away, a strange unwarned girl beside him, a strange unfriendly town around him, a dark unknown way ahead, it was not a strange unknown mechanism to which he put his hand. He had known that car as a man recognizes his friend even when he was up in the tree some hours before and saw it coming down the road.
The girl was evidently startled, but Barry, his face turned half away from her, threw in the clutch and was off in a whirl.
“Why, Bobs! You scared me!” cried Athalie. “I didn’t see you come out; I thought I was watching you light a cigar. It must have been another man who looked just like you. Did you get the chocolates? Hand them over quick! I’m simply dying of starvation.”
Barry began to fumble in his pocket silently with one hand. He brought out a package, half a bar of milk chocolate, and dropped it into her lap. His eye was ahead. He had no time to waste. The owner of the car would be out in a second and raise a rumpus. He whirled around the first corner he came to and fled down a dark side street, passed two blocks, a third that went perceptibly downhill, and darted into an old covered wooden bridge.
It was pitch-dark in there except for their own lights. The noise of the engine echoed and reverberated like an infernal machine.
The girl was leaning forward looking at the package. An instant more and they roared out of the bridge into the quiet starlight.
“Why, Bobs! I think you’re horrid! Was that all you bought for me? And it’s not even a whole bar!” She flung it disgustedly on the floor of the car and looked up angrily. “Do you call that a joke?” she asked with a curling lip, and then suddenly she saw his face and was transfixed with horror. For an instant she held her breath, her eyes growing wilder and wider with fright, then she let out one of the most bloodcurdling screams Barry had ever heard.
Just at that second there lumbered into view the lights of a big gasoline truck that was hurrying to the end of its long day’s journey. One instant they saw it, the next they were in its very embrace. Barry curled out of the road just in time and back into it again, while Athalie screamed some more.
They shot into a black road overarched with tall forest trees. The smell of the new earth leaped up to Barry’s taut senses with a soothing touch. The road as far as his lights reached ahead was empty. His woodman’s sense told him there was no one near. But how far in the night had that scream reached? What straggler might have heard it and sent a warning? There! She was beginning it again! He must stop it somehow. A sudden thought came to him. He groped in the pocket of the door by his side. There ought to be one there, in a car like this! A man of that sort would carry one. Yes, there it was! His fingers grasped the cool metal, found their way with confidence and drew it out.
“Bobs! Bobs!” screamed Athalie. The echoes rang through the woods on either side as they raced along. She was leaving the trail behind them for any straggler to report their whereabouts. This must not go on.
Suddenly the dull gleam of the revolver flashed in front of her face.
“Cut that out!’ said the boy sternly.
Athalie opened her mouth to scream again and instead dropped her jaw just as the scream was about to be uttered. She turned wide, horrified eyes to her captor and sat white and still in her seat, cringing away from the weapon.
“Now,” said Barry, still holding the revolver in one hand, “you might as well under
stand that you aren’t in any danger whatever if you keep your mouth shut, but if you yodel again like that I’ll knock you cold. Do you get me?”
Athalie’s eyes acknowledged that she understood. She cringed still farther away from the revolver, and he lowered it, keeping it still in his hand however. The woods flew by in one long sweet avenue of spring night. Barry settled to his wheel, eyes to the front, with a mind to the back, and a sort of sixth sense keeping tabs on the girl by his side. He could see that the revolver had frightened her terribly. Her face was too much powdered to admit of its turning pale, but there was a sagging droop around her lips and eyelids that showed her whole spirit stricken with fear. She gathered her cloak closer about her and shivered. Her big, dark eyes never left his face except now and then to glance fearfully out as if wondering what were the possibilities of jumping overboard. Barry began to feel sorry for her.
“Nothing but a little kid,” he said to himself. “A foolish little kid!”
Two miles farther on they turned into the highway, and Barry slowed down a bit. There were two cars ahead, he could see their taillights, but nothing coming behind. He turned to the right in the general direction of Silver Sands and then looked at the girl.
“You needn’t be afraid,” he said half contemptuously, half gently. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Athalie, some of the old spirit returning.
“Oh!” said the boy. “All right! I thought you were!” They speeded on again in silence. Presently Athalie spoke. Her voice showed returning temper. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Going to take you home to your father!” said Barry.
The young woman sat up suddenly. This then was no highwayman.
This was some meddler in her business. He knew her father. He had somehow trailed her and recognized her. She was furious.
“But I don’t choose to go home,” she said indignantly.
“That doesn’t cut any ice,” said Barry crisply. “You’re getting there pretty fast all right.”
Athalie turned on him angrily. “Look here,” she said fiercely, “I’m not going to stand this another minute. Do you know what a terrible thing you’re doing? You’ll probably be put in prison for life for it. But if you’ll turn right around now and take me back to my friend I’ll tell him you just made a mistake. You didn’t try to steal the car at all.”
“Thank you,” said Barry, a grim shadow of a smile flickering across his face in the darkness. “I’m not worrying about that just now.”
“But you’ve got to take me back,” said Athalie, almost on the verge of tears. “I’m on my way to be married!”
“Not tonight!” said Barry grimly.
“Well, I guess I’m not going to be stopped by a kid like you!” burst out Athalie. She suddenly rose with all her might and flung herself on the wheel, and Athalie had some weight and grip when she chose to use them.
Barry, utterly unprepared for this onslaught, ground on the brakes and put forth all his strength, trying to keep the wavering car from climbing a tree while he was bringing it to a standstill, but he managed to keep his head.
It was a sharp, brief struggle, for Athalie’s muscles were untrained, and in a moment more Barry was holding her firmly with both hands, and she had ceased to struggle. He had not again brought the revolver into play. He hated dramatic effects when physical force would do as well.
But he could not stay there all night and hold her down. He cast about for some way of making her hold still. There was a handkerchief in his pocket. He managed to get hold of it, and crossing her hands, bound them together. Her cloak had fallen off revealing the flimsy dress and the long fringed ends of a satin sash tied around her waist. He pulled at it and found that it came loose. With this he bound her across the shoulders and down to the waist.
“You’re cold!” he remarked as he saw her shiver. “And that flimsy coat is no good. Here, put this sweater on.”
He pulled off his own sweater and pulled it down over her head. She started to scream again, but he put his hand over her mouth and when she was quiet remarked very gently: “I hate awfully to treat a girl this way, but I’ll have to gag you if you try that line again,” and she knew by his tone that he meant it. “I don’t think you’d like gagging.”
Athalie began to cry.
“I’m sorry,” said Barry remorsefully, “but you can’t be trusted.”
He was down on his knees now fastening her ankles together with a bit of old rope he had found in his pocket.
“But I’m on my way to be married,” sobbed out the indignant child. “You’re spoiling my life—” She was weeping uncontrollably now.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly, “I guess I’ll have to use my necktie for a gag.” And he began unconcernedly to take off his necktie. “I can’t have all this noise.”
Athalie stopped short.
“I won’t cry,” she said shortly, “but won’t you just listen to reason? Would you like it if you were going to get married, to be interfered with this way?”
“Say, kid,” he said gently, “you talk sense, and I’ll help you. You know, you aren’t old enough to get married yet. And I say, did you know what kind of a rotter you were going off with?”
Athalie’s eyes fairly blazed.
“He’s nothing of the sort!” she retorted. “I’ve known him for years. He’s perfectly darling! He’s my mother’s friend.”
“Is that all?” said Barry witheringly. “I thought you were going to say your grandmother’s.”
“I think you’re perfectly horrid!” said Athalie, shrugging what was left of her shoulders and drawing as far away from him as she could. “You think you’re smart!”
“Look here, kid! There’s no use you’re quarrelling with the only friend you’ve got just now. I’m telling you facts. Can’t you listen to reason? That man’s a rotter. I know his kind. If he’s your mother’s friend, so much the worse. He knew he wasn’t doing the square thing taking a kid like you off that way at night. What kind of a rep would you have had, will you tell me, when you got back, I’d like to know?”
“I wasn’t coming back,” sobbed Athalie softly. “I told you—I—was ggg–g–oing to be m–m–married!”
“Yes, in a pig’s eye you were! If that man ever married you, kid, I’d eat my hat. He hadn’t any more idea of marrying you than I have, and that’s flat! This isn’t a very nice way to talk to a girl, I know, but when you won’t listen to sense, why, you’ve gotta be shown.”
“He was going to buy me—a—s–s–string of real pearls!” wept Athalie, suddenly remembering, “and we were going to have a turkey dinner! I’m—ju–s–t—st–ar–r–r–ved!”
Barry shrugged down behind his wheel disgustedly.
“You look as if you had meat enough on you to stand it awhile!” he said contemptuously. “I thought you were a girl, not a baby!”
Athalie held in the sob on a high note and surveyed him angrily. “You are the most—disagreeable boy!” she shouted.
“I didn’t state my opinion of you yet. But you certainly aren’t my idea of agreeable.”
“I didn’t ask you your opinion.”
“Say, look here,” said Barry, “let’s cut this out. This isn’t getting us anywhere. What I want is for you to see some sense before I get you home. Your father’s kind of a friend of mine, and I’d hate like the deuce to have all this get out about you in the town. You see, whatever you think of this rotter you were going off with, the little old town would know fast enough what he was, if any of ‘em knew you were off in the night with him. You can’t kid the town!”
“I haven’t the slightest desire to bother with your little old town,” said Athalie loftily. “It may go to the devil for all I care!”
Barry was silent with disgust for a moment.
“Well, if it does,” he said slowly, “it will carry you on a pointed stick ahead of it, and like as not they’ll try out the point of the stick on your father
first. You can’t kid the devil!”
There was a long pause. The night was very still. They had not passed a car for some time. The lights in the sleeping villages in the valley below them were nearly all gone out; moist, dank air rushed up in wreaths and struck them lightly in the face as they passed. The sudden breath of an apricot tree in bloom drenched the darkness. Over in the east, toward which they were hurrying, a silver light was lifting beyond the horizon, and in reflection a little thread of a river leaped out from the darkness where it had been sleeping in winding curves among the dark of plumy willows.
“I hate you!” said Athalie suddenly. “You called me names! You’re a vulgar boy!”
“What names did I call you, kid?” Barry’s voice was gentle.
“You called me fat in a very coarse way!”
“Well, you’re not exactly emaciated, are you?” He gave her a friendly grin in the darkness.
“I hate you!” reiterated Athalie again. “And I want to get out and walk!”
“Anything to please you!” said Barry, quickly bringing the car to a full stop and reaching over to throw open the door by her side.
Athalie was surprised to be taken so literally, but she made an instant move to get out, and then realizing that her ankles were tied she subsided again.
“Oh, excuse me,” said Barry, and stooping unfastened the cord on her ankles and sat back again.
“Are you going to untie my hands?” she asked imperiously.
“Oh, no, I guess not,” said Barry easily. “You don’t walk on your hands, do you?”
She cast him a furious look and bounced out of the car, walking off very rapidly down the road with her shoulders stiff and indignant.
Tomorrow About This Time Page 21