The Dark Star

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER IX

  NONRESISTANCE

  "Long distance calling you, Mr. Stull. One moment, please.... Here'syour party," concluded the operator.

  Stull, huddled sleepily on his bed, picked up the transmitter from thetable beside him with a frightful yawn.

  "Who is it?" he inquired sourly.

  "It's me--Ben!"

  "Say, Eddie, have a heart, will you! I need the sleep----"

  Brandes' voice was almost jovial:

  "Wake up, you poor tout! It's nearly noon----"

  "Well, wasn't I singing hymns with Doc and Cap till breakfast time?And believe _me_, we trimmed the Senator's bunch! They've got theirtransportation back to Albany, and that's about all----"

  "Careful what you say. I'm talking from the Gayfield House. The Parsongot here all right. He's just left. He'll tell you about things.Listen, Ben, the chauffeur you sent me from Saratoga got here lastevening, too. I went out with him and he drives all right. Did youlook him up?"

  "Now, how could I look him up when you gave me only a day to get himfor you?"

  "Did he have references?"

  "Sure, a wad of them. But I couldn't verify them."

  "Who is he?"

  "I forget his name. You ought to know it by now."

  "How did you get him?"

  "Left word at the desk. An hour later he came to my room with a coupleof bums. I told him about the job. I told him you wanted a chauffeurwilling to go abroad. He said he was all that and then some. So I senthim on. Anything you don't fancy about him?"

  "Nothing, I guess. He seems all right. Only I like to know about aman----"

  "How can I find out if you don't give me time?"

  "All right, Ben. I guess he'll do. By the way, I'm starting for townin ten minutes."

  "What's the idea?"

  "Ask the Parson. Have you any other news except that you killed thatAlbany bunch of grafters?"

  "No.... _Yes_! But it ain't good news. I was going to call you soon asI waked up----"

  "What's the trouble?"

  "There ain't any trouble--_yet_. But a certain party has showed uphere--a very smooth young man whose business is hunting trouble. Getme?"

  After a silence Stull repeated:

  "Get me, Eddie?"

  "No."

  "Listen. A certain slippery party----"

  "Who, damn it? Talk out. I'm in a hurry."

  "Very well, then. Maxy Venem is here!"

  The name of his wife's disbarred attorney sent a chill over Brandes.

  "What's he doing in Saratoga?" he demanded.

  "I'm trying to find out. He was to the races yesterday. He seen Doc.Of course Doc hadn't laid eyes on you for a year. Oh, no, indeed!Heard you was somewhere South, down and out. I don't guess Maxy wasfooled none. What we done here in Saratoga is growing too big to hushup----"

  "What _we've_ done? Whad'ye mean, _we_? I told you to work by yourselfquietly, Ben, and keep me out of it."

  "That's what I done. Didn't I circulate the news that you and me hadquit partnership? And even then you wouldn't take my advice. Oh, no.You must show up here at the track with a young lady----"

  "How long has Maxy Venem been in Saratoga?" snapped Brandes.

  "He told Doc he just come, but Cap found out he'd been here a week.All I hope is he didn't see you with the Brookhollow party----"

  "Do you think he _did_?"

  "Listen, Eddie. Max is a smooth guy----"

  "Find out what he knows! Do you hear?"

  "Who? Me? Me try to make Maxy Venem talk? That snake? If he isn't onto you now, that would be enough to put him wise. Act like you hadsense, Eddie. Call that _other matter_ off and slide for town----"

  "I can't, Ben."

  "You got to!"

  "I _can't_, I tell you."

  "You're nutty in the head! Don't you suppose that Max is wise to whatI've been doing here? And don't you suppose he knows damn well thatyou're back of whatever I do? If you ain't crazy you'll call thatparty off for a while."

  Brandes' even voice over the telephone sounded a trifle unnatural,almost hoarse:

  "I can't call it off. _It's done._"

  "What's done?"

  "What I told you I was going to do."

  "_That!_"

  "The Parson married us."

  "Oh!"

  "Wait! Parson Smawley married us, in church, assisted by the localdominie. I didn't count on the dominie. It was her father's idea. Hebutted in."

  "Then is it--is it----?"

  "That's what I'm not sure about. You see, the Parson did it, but thedominie stuck around. Whether he got a half nelson on me I don't knowtill I ask. Anyway, I expected to clinch things--later--so it doesn'treally matter, unless Max Venem means bad. Does he, do you think?"

  "He _always_ does, Eddie."

  "Yes, I know. Well, then, I'll wait for a cable from you. And if I'vegot to take three months off in Paris, why I've got to--that's all."

  "Good God! What about Stein? What about the theaytre?"

  "_You'll_ handle it for the first three months.... Say, I've got togo, now. I think she's waiting----"

  "Who?"

  "My--wife."

  "Oh!"

  "Yes. The chauffeur took her back to the house in the car to putsomething in her suitcase that she forgot. I'm waiting for her here atthe Gayfield House. We're on our way to town. Going to motor in. Ourtrunks have gone by rail."

  After a silence, Stull's voice sounded again, tense, constrained:

  "You better go aboard tonight."

  "That's right, too."

  "What's your ship?"

  "_Lusitania._"

  "What'll I tell Stein?"

  "Tell him I'll be back in a month. You look out for my end. I'll beback in time."

  "Will you cable me?"

  "Sure. And if you get any later information about Max today, call meat the Knickerbocker. We'll dine there and then go aboard."

  "I get you.... Say, Eddie, I'm that worried! If this break of yoursdon't kill our luck----"

  "Don't you believe it! I'm going to fight for what I got till someonehands me the count. She's the first thing I ever wanted. I've got herand I guess I can keep her.... And listen: there's nothing like her inall God's world!"

  "When did you do--it?" demanded Stull, coldly.

  "This morning at eleven. I just stepped over here to the garage. I'mtalking to you from the bar. She's back by this time and waiting, Iguess. So take care of yourself till I see you."

  "Same to you, Eddie. And be leery of Max. He's _bad_. When they disbara man like that he's twice as dangerous as he was. His ex-partner, AbeGrittlefeld, is a certain party's attorney of record. Ask yourselfwhat you'd be up against if that pair of wolves get started after you!You know what Max would do to you if he could. And Minna, too!"

  "Don't worry."

  "I _am_ worrying! And you ought to. You know what you done to Max.Don't think he ever forgets. He'll do you if he can, same as Minnawill."

  Brandes' stolid face lost a little of its sanguine colour, where hestood in the telephone box behind the bar of the Gayfield House.

  Yes, he knew well enough what he had once done to the disbarred lawyerout in Athabasca when he was handling the Unknown and Venem, thedisbarred, was busy looking out for the Athabasca Blacksmith,furnishing the corrupt brains for the firm of Venem and Grittlefeld,and paying steady court to the prettiest girl in Athabasca, IlseDumont.

  And Brandes' Unknown had almost killed Max Venem's blacksmith; Brandeshad taken all Venem's money, and then his girl; more than that, he had"made" this girl, in the theatrical sense of the word; and he hadgambled on her beauty and her voice and had won out with both.

  Then, while still banking her salary to reimburse himself for histrouble with her, he had tired of her sufficiently to prove unfaithfulto his marriage vows at every opportunity. And opportunities weremany. Venem had never forgiven him; Ilse Dumont could not understandtreachery; and Venem's detectives furnished her with food for thoughtthat presently infuri
ated her.

  And now she was employing Max Venem, once senior partner in the firmof Venem and Grittlefeld, to guide her with his legal advice. Shewanted Brandes' ruin, if that could be accomplished; she wanted herfreedom anyway.

  Until he had met Rue Carew he had taken measures to fight thestatutory charges, hoping to involve Venem and escape alimony. Then hemet Ruhannah, and became willing to pay for his freedom. And he wasstill swamped in the vile bog of charges and countercharges, not yetfree from it, not yet on solid ground, when the eternal gambler in himsuggested to him that he take the chance of marrying this young girlbefore he was legally free to do so.

  Why on earth did he want to take such a chance? He had only a fewmonths to wait. He had never before really cared for any woman. Heloved her--as he understood love--as much as he was capable of loving.If in all the world there was anything sacred to him, it was hissentiment regarding Rue Carew. Yet, he was tempted to take the chance.Even she could not escape his ruling passion; at the last analysis,even she represented to him a gambler's chance. But in Brandes therewas another streak. He wanted to take the chance that he could marryher before he had a right to, and get away with it. But his nervefailed. And, at the last moment, he had hedged, engaging ParsonSmawley to play the lead instead of an ordained clergyman.

  All these things he now thought of as he stood undecided, worried, inthe telephone booth behind the bar at the Gayfield House. Twice Stullhad spoken, and had been bidden to wait and to hold the wire.

  Finally, shaking off the premonition of coming trouble, Brandes calledagain:

  "Ben?"

  "Yes, I'm listening."

  "I'll stay in Paris if there's trouble."

  "And throw Stein down?"

  "What else is there to do?"

  "Well, you can wait, can't you? You don't seem to be able to do thatany more, but you better learn."

  "All right. What next?"

  "Make a quick getaway. _Now!_"

  "Yes, I'm going at once. Keep me posted, Ben. Be good!"

  He hung up and went out to the wide, tree-shaded street where Ruhannahsat in the runabout awaiting him, and the new chauffeur stood by thecar.

  He took off his straw hat, pulled a cap and goggles from his pocket.His man placed the straw hat in the boot.

  "Get what you wanted, Rue?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "Been waiting long?"

  "I--don't think so."

  "All right," he said cheerily, climbing in beside her. "I'm sorry Ikept you waiting. Had a business matter to settle. Hungry?"

  Rue, very still and colourless, said no, with a mechanical smile. Thechauffeur climbed to the rumble.

  "I'll jam her through," nodded Brandes as the car moved swiftlywestward. "We'll lunch in Albany on time."

  Half a mile, and they passed Neeland's Mills, where old Dick Neelandstood in his boat out on the pond and cast a glittering lure forpickerel.

  She caught a glimpse of him--his sturdy frame, white hair, and ruddyvisage--and a swift, almost wistful memory of young Jim Neeland passedthrough her mind.

  But it was a very confused mind--only the bewildered mind of a veryyoung girl--and the memory of the boy flashed into its confusion andout again as rapidly as the landscape sped away behind the flyingcar.

  Dully she was aware that she was leaving familiar and beloved things,but could not seem to realise it--childhood, girlhood, father andmother, Brookhollow, the mill, Gayfield, her friends, all werevanishing in the flying dust behind her, dwindling, dissolving into aninfinitely growing distance.

  They took the gradual slope of a mile-long hill as swallows take theair; houses, barns, woods, orchards, grain fields, flew by on eitherside; other cars approaching passed them like cannon balls; thesunlit, undulating world flowed glittering away behind; only thestainless blue ahead confronted them immovably--a vast, magnificentgoal, vague with the mystery of promise.

  "On this trip," said Brandes, "we may only have time to see the Looveand the palaces and all like that. Next year we'll fix it so we canstay in Paris and you can study art."

  Ruhannah's lips formed the words, "Thank you."

  "Can't you learn to call me Eddie?" he urged.

  The girl was silent.

  "You're everything in the world to me, Rue."

  The same little mechanical smile fixed itself on her lips, and shelooked straight ahead of her.

  "Haven't you begun to love me just a little bit, Rue?"

  "I like you. You are very kind to us."

  "Don't your affection seem to grow a little stronger now?" he urged.

  "You are so kind to us," she repeated gratefully; "I like you forit."

  The utterly unawakened youth of her had always alternately fascinatedand troubled him. Gambler that he was, he had once understood thatpatience is a gambler's only stock in trade. But now for the firsttime in his career he found himself without it.

  "You said," he insisted, "that you'd love me when we were married."

  She turned her child's eyes on him in faint surprise:

  "A wife loves her husband always, doesn't she?"

  "Do _you_?"

  "I suppose I shall.... I haven't been married very long--long enoughto feel as though I am really married. When I begin to realise it Ishall understand, of course, that I love you."

  It was the calm and immature reply of a little girl playing house. Heknew it. He looked at her pure, perplexed profile of a child and knewthat what he had said was futile--understood that it was meaninglessto her, that it was only confusing a mind already dazed--a mind ofwhich too much had been expected, too much demanded.

  He leaned over and kissed the cold, almost colourless cheek; herlittle mechanical smile came back. Then they remembered the chauffeurbehind them and Brandes reddened. He was unaccustomed to a man on therumble.

  "Could I talk to mother on the telephone when we get to New York?" sheasked presently, still painfully flushed.

  "Yes, darling, of course."

  "I just want to hear her voice," murmured Rue.

  "Certainly. We can send her a wireless, too, when we're at sea."

  That interested her. She enquired curiously in regard to wirelesstelegraphy and other matters concerning ocean steamers.

  * * * * *

  In Albany her first wave of loneliness came over her in the stuffydining-room of the big, pretentious hotel, when she found herselfseated at a small table alone with this man whom she seemed, somehowor other, to have married.

  As she did not appear inclined to eat, Brandes began to search thecard for something to tempt her. And, glancing up presently, saw tearsglimmering in her eyes.

  For a moment he remained dumb as though stunned by some sudden andterrible accusation--for a moment only. Then, in an unsteady voice:

  "Rue, darling. You must not feel lonely and frightened. I'll doanything in the world for you. Don't you know it?"

  She nodded.

  "I tell you," he said in that even, concentrated voice of his whichscarcely moved his narrow lips, "I'm just crazy about you. You're myown little wife. You're all I care about. If I can't make you happysomebody ought to shoot me."

  She tried to smile; her full lips trembled; a single tear, brimming,fell on the cloth.

  "I--don't mean to be silly.... But--Brookhollow seems--ended--forever...."

  "It's only forty miles," he said with heavy joviality. "Shall we turnaround and go back?"

  She glanced up at him with an odd expression, as though she hoped hemeant it; then her little mechanical smile returned, and she dried hereyes naively.

  "I don't know why I cannot seem to get used to being married," shesaid. "I never thought that getting married would make meso--so--lonely."

  "Let's talk about art," he suggested. "You're crazy about art andyou're going to Paris. Isn't that fine."

  "Oh, yes----"

  "Sure, it's fine. That's where art grows. Artville is Paris' othername. It's all there, Rue--the Loove, the palaces, the La
tin Quarter,the statues, the churches, and all like that."

  "What is the Louvre like?" she asked, tremulously, determined to bebrave.

  As he had seen the Louvre only from the outside, his imaginarydescription was cautious, general, and brief.

  After a silence, Rue asked whether he thought that their suitcaseswere quite safe.

  "Certainly," he smiled. "I checked them."

  "And you're sure they are safe?"

  "Of course, darling. What worries you?"

  And, as she hesitated, he remembered that she had forgotten to putsomething into her suitcase and that the chauffeur had driven her backto the house to get it while he himself went into the Gayfield Houseto telephone Stull.

  "What was it you went back for, Rue?" he asked.

  "One thing I went back for was my money."

  "Money? What money?"

  "Money my grandmother left me. I was to have it when I married--sixthousand dollars."

  "You mean you have it in your suitcase?" he asked, astonished.

  "Yes, half of it."

  "A cheque?"

  "No, in hundreds."

  "Bills?"

  "Yes. I gave father three thousand. I kept three thousand."

  "In bills," he repeated, laughing. "Is your suitcase locked?"

  "Yes. I insisted on having my money in cash. So Mr. Wexall, of theMohawk Bank, sent a messenger with it last evening."

  "But," he asked, still immensely amused, "why do you want to travelabout with three thousand dollars in bills in your suitcase?"

  She flushed a little, tried to smile:

  "I don't know why. I never before had any money. It is--pleasant toknow I have it."

  "But I'll give you all you want, Rue."

  "Thank you.... I have my own, you see."

  "Of course. Put it away in some bank. When you want pin money, askme."

  She shook her head with a troubled smile.

  "I couldn't ask anybody for money," she explained.

  "Then you don't have to. We'll fix your allowance."

  "Thank you, but I have my money, and I don't need it."

  This seemed to amuse him tremendously; and even Rue laughed a little.

  "You are going to take your money to Paris?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "To buy things?"

  "Oh, no. Just to have it with me."

  His rather agreeable laughter sounded again.

  "So _that_ was what you forgot to put in your suitcase," he said. "Nowonder you went back for it."

  "There was something else very important, too."

  "What, darling?"

  "My drawings," she explained innocently.

  "Your drawings! Do you mean you've got them, too?"

  "Yes. I want to take them to Paris and compare them with the picturesI shall see there. It ought to teach me a great deal. Don't you thinkso?"

  "Are you crazy to study?" he asked, touched to the quick by her utterignorance.

  "It's all I dream about. If I could work that way and support myselfand my father and mother----"

  "But, Rue! Wake up! We're married, little girl. You don't have to workto support anybody!"

  "I--forgot," said the girl vaguely, her confused grey eyes resting onhis laughing, greenish ones.

  Still laughing, he summoned the waiter, paid the reckoning; Ruhannahrose as he did; they went slowly out together.

  On the sidewalk beside their car stood the new chauffeur, smoking acigarette which he threw away without haste when he caught sight ofthem. However, he touched the peak of his cap civilly, with hisforefinger.

  Brandes, lighting a cigar, let his slow eyes rest on the new man for amoment. Then he helped Rue into the tonneau, got in after her, andthoughtfully took the wheel, conscious that there was something orother about his new chauffeur that he did not find entirely to hisliking.