The House 'Round the Corner

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XIV

  IN WHICH THE AREA WIDENS

  If any critic, on perusing this chronicle, is moved to peevishcondemnation of Armathwaite's amazing conduct that morning, the manhimself would be the last to protest. He might urge that he was dazzledby the new and entrancing realm whose bright waters and fair meads hecould discern beyond the present rough and dangerous ground. He mightplead the literal truth--that when he went in pursuit of MargueriteOgilvey he had no more intention of declaring his love than of hasteningto Dover and endeavoring forthwith to swim the English Channel. But,making every allowance for a confirmed celibate who had suddenly becomea devout lover, and to whose arms the lady of his choice had committedherself without any pretense of restraint, it must still be admittedthat he was guilty of a most singular omission in failing to make knownto her his very identity!

  He remembered the phenomenal lapse when too late. Even to that practicalside of his character which reproached the emotional side with aridiculous forgetfulness, he could only say, in mitigation of sentence,that the sudden appearance of the car brought about such a novelsituation that all else yielded to the need for prompt and skillfuljudgment in deciding Marguerite's immediate future.

  It was all the more difficult to think logically and act decisively whenMarguerite herself, ever and anon, was lifting adorably shy eyes to hiswhile the two were making the best of the unusual meal he had provided.There, nevertheless, within a few feet, stood the obedient giant whosestout mechanism rendered many things possible that were hithertoimpossible. The chauffeur, who gave his name as Storr, had taken off thebonnet for a critical glance at the six cylinders which had forcednearly two tons of metal and wood up the stony and rutted surface of oneof the worst moorland tracks in Yorkshire. He seemed to be more thansatisfied. The water in the radiator had got rather excited, but thatwas only to be expected. A close eye was given to other essentials, andthe tire covers were examined, but every part of the car had withstoodthe strain of a fearsome hill splendidly.

  Storr had never doubted, but, like a prudent general, he reviewed hisforces after the engagement, and found them not only intact, but readyfor mightier deeds. Then, merely to gratify the sense of touch, as ahorseman strokes a willing and well-groomed steed, he fingered a tap ortwo, shut off the engine, and asked Armathwaite if he might smoke acigarette while awaiting further orders.

  His employer thanked him for the word. It recalled the motive ofMarguerite's flight. Some plan of action must be arrived at, and withoutdelay.

  "Smoke, by all means," he said, summing up the man at a glance as abluff and honest sort of follow who would be thoroughly dependable ifproperly handled. "How long did the run from York to Elmdale take?"

  "A little more than two hours, sir. I started at half-past seven. Yourtelegram said I was to arrive by noon, but our people thought they'dplease a new customer by bein' a bit afore time. They didn't wire,because the car would be to hand almost as quick as a telegram."

  "Can you go from Leyburn to York in two hours?"

  "Easily, sir."

  "Very well. Just pull your machine a few yards ahead, and Miss Ogilveyand I will discuss the day's program."

  Storr obeyed, and Armathwaite outlined to a willing listener theproject he had already formed.

  "First," he said, "here is a telegram from your mother. I opened it. Ithought it was best----"

  "Why, of course, Bob dear; why shouldn't you?"

  Bob dear! It was very pleasant to hear the phrase on Marguerite's lips,yet it rendered doubly distasteful the suggestion he had in mind; sincewhere is the lover who will bring himself willingly to the task oftelling his lady-love that they must part? But it had to be done.Marguerite must go--not quite so far as Cornwall, it is true, but muchtoo far to please him, and he must return to the Grange, where, a sureinstinct warned him, weighty matters would be settled that day.

  A cry of dismay from the girl gave him the cue he wanted.

  "Oh, she has started already!" she almost sobbed. "While I was flying toWarleggan she is traveling North. We shall pass each other on the way!"

  "No," he said, "that must not happen. You are going to be a good littlesweetheart, and do as I tell you. This most excellent and comfortablecar will take you to York. There you will ascertain from an obligingstation-master what time Mrs. Ogilvey can arrive from Tavistock,assuming she left there at or about the hour stated in the message, andyou'll meet her. At a rough guess, Mrs. Ogilvey should be in York aboutsix o'clock. You'll escort her to the station hotel, give her somethingto eat, and calmly discuss the whole affair while the same luxuriousautomobile is bringing you back to Elmdale."

  "But, what of the danger dad may be in?"

  "I am coming to that. I believe, somehow, that your mother will relieveyour mind in that respect. Remember, I have always held, since the mainfeatures of this extraordinary affair became clear, that your father hasacted throughout with his wife's cognizance, if not with her completeapproval. Now, if that is so, she is the one person who can decidewhether you return with her to Elmdale or hasten through the night toWarleggan. Again hazarding a guess, I don't think you could reach yourfather to-night, even though you caught the first available train fromYork. Cornwall is a long way from Yorkshire. By starting this minute,you might be in York by one o'clock. Allowing eleven hours for thejourney, an estimate I am doubtful about, you would arrive at Tavistockat midnight, whereas it is highly probable there is no such train, norone so rapid. By the way, why, do you think, did Mrs. Ogilvey telegraphfrom Tavistock?"

  "She would drive there--some twelve miles. No telegram could bedispatched from Warleggan before the post office opened at eight."

  "She may have had an even more powerful reason. The message is sent to'Garth,' not to 'Ogilvey.' Isn't it quite rational to suppose that shehopes no one in Elmdale knows about the change of name?"

  "Yes," said Meg, trying to look calmly judicial. "That soundsreasonable."

  "Then every consideration points to the wisdom of awaiting your motherat York."

  "But, Bob dear, have you thought of the awful result if Percy carriesout his threat?"

  "Percy will not do anything dramatic to-day, I promise you. I havescared him badly already, and I'm going back now with the full intentthat he shall cause no more mischief until I hear from, or see, Mrs.Ogilvey and yourself, or one of you. Perhaps, to relieve my anxiety, youwill send a message from York announcing your decision?"

  "Yes; I'll do that. You are really convinced that I ought to meetmother?"

  "I'm sure of it."

  "Then you can trust me. I'll do as you say. You needn't have any fearthat between here and York I'll change my mind. Bob, you believe me,don't you, when I tell you that I ran away this morning because I darednot take you into my confidence? I could not bring myself to explain thetrue meaning of Percy's horrid insinuations."

  "Please, forget Percy. I'll deal with him."

  "But you won't be too angry with him? It is hard to endure, I know, thathe should play on his defenseless state, but, if he were quite well anduninjured, he could offer you no resistance."

  He laughed. The notion of Percy Whittaker and himself engaging in adesperate conflict for physical supremacy was intensely amusing.

  "If you mean that I am not to assault him, I promise that with all myheart," he said. "I gripped him rather strenuously an hour ago, I admit,but then I was angry with him. Now I feel that I owe him a deep debt ofgratitude, because he has brought to pass something which I hardly dareddream of. Don't you see, dearest, that if Percy hadn't behaved meanly toyou I shouldn't now be calling you dearest, and wishing that oursharp-eyed chauffeur were anywhere else in the wide world but where heis. Now, no more words, but deeds! Off you go to York! What money haveyou?"

  "Plenty."

  "What do you call plenty?"

  "Dad gave me fifteen pounds when I left home, and I've spent less thanfive."

  "Well, then, sweetheart, it is good-by till this evening."

  "Oh, Bob darling, I shall pray
that it may be so!"

  Storr received his orders without lifting an eyelid, which was highlycreditable to him, having regard to the peculiar conditions under whichhe had met his employer. Of course, he was ignorant of the state ofaffairs at the Grange. He imagined that Mr. Armathwaite was escorting ayoung lady over the moor to Leyburn, which was a funny way to reachYork, when Nuttonby lay on a better road, which was also the more directroute. But there was nothing unusual in the fact that he should betaking Miss Ogilvey to meet her mother, while the car would make lightof the three journeys.

  "You'd better have this, sir, and see if it's right," he said, givingArmathwaite a note. A glance showed that it dealt with terms for thehire of the car.

  "Tell your people it is quite satisfactory," said Armathwaite, and,after a farewell pressure of Meg's hand, and a look from the brown eyeswhich remained with him like a blessing, the car started. He watcheduntil it had vanished over a long undulation of the road, and saw thelast flutter of Meg's handkerchief ere she crossed the sky-line. Then hemounted the bicycle, and rode swiftly back to the tiny hamlet in which,during two short days, he had passed through so many and so much variedexperiences.

  Looking down from the crest of the hill at the sunlit panorama of farmand field, woodland and furze-grown common, with Elmdale's cluster ofhomesteads nestling close beneath the moor, and the spire of BellerbyChurch (near which lay the mortal remains of "Stephen Garth") risingabove a cluster of elms in the middle distance, it seemed to be afantastic and unreal notion that so many of life's evils, so much of itsbeauty and happiness, could have found full scope for their expressionin that tiny and remote place.

  As the hill was too dangerous in parts to ride, he dismounted twice. Hewas about to coast down the last straight slope to the house when athought struck him with such blinding force that he nearly lost controlof the bicycle. Fool that he was, his first care should have been totell Marguerite that his name was not Armathwaite; that he had adoptedan incognito simply to avoid the prying eyes and inquisitive tongues ofthose with whom he might be brought in contact; that, in marrying him,she was stepping forth from the seclusion of a student's retreat intothe full glare of public life. Oh, the deuce take all complications andworries! He had won Marguerite by extraordinary means--he must do hiswooing in more orthodox manner, and in his true colors.

  He was traveling at a rate which kept pace with the tornado in his mind,but the second nature brought into being by an adventurous career bent awatchful eye on the inequalities of the road, so that he was actuallyslowing up somewhat short of the gate leading to the Grange garden whenhe became aware of an unusual concourse of people gathered in theroadway. A motor-car and two dog-carts were halted near the gable ofMrs. Jackson's cottage, and a number of men--among them two in policeuniform--who seemed to have collected into a chatting group, dissolvedinto units when he approached.

  He recognized a groom at a horse's head as Dr. Scaife's man; all theothers were total strangers.

  But not for long.

  Sir Berkeley Hutton, brought to Elmdale by a neighborly curiositystrengthened by the call of the East, appeared to be overwhelmed withsurprise at sight of Armathwaite. But the worthy baronet did not losethe faculty of speech. No conceivable catastrophe, short of instantdeath, could deprive him of that.

  "God bless my soul!" he cried, advancing with outstretched hand."Baluchi Bob! The last man breathing I ever expected to see in Elmdale!Did the monsoon break earlier than usual this year, or what wind ofheaven blew _you_ here?"

  "Hullo, Barker!" cried Armathwaite, hailing him with manifest pleasure."I didn't know you had pitched your tent in these parts!"

  "Yes, but, dash it all, Bob, what's the game? They told me someone nameof Armathwaite, in the Politicals, had taken the Grange."

  "Quite true. But you know I came a cropper in India, and I was a bittired of the _sturm und drang_ of existence, so I hied me to cover undermy mother's maiden name. I suppose I have a sort of right to it, thoughit doesn't seem to have proved altogether successful as a cloak."

  "By gad! I can hardly agree with you there. I felt as though I'd come apurler over wire when I saw Baluchi Bob dropping off that bicycle. GreatScott! You on a bike! How have the mighty fallen! But I'll lend you ahack till you collect a few useful screws, unless you're bitten by thisnew craze for rushing about the country in a gastank. And won't Molliebe glad to see you! It was only the other day she was talkin' about thePup, and sayin' that if it hadn't been for you----"

  "Oh, tell Mollie to forget that old tale, or she'll make me nervous!"

  Each word exchanged between the two was heard distinctly by the others,and, such is the queer way in which the affairs of life sometimes takean unexpected twist, there was a marked and instant change of attitudeon the part of three men, at least, who had come to Elmdale that dayprepared to treat the Grange's new tenant as a potential criminal.Banks, mouthpiece of the _Nuttonby Gazette_, who had bicycled thither inthe hope of securing another batch of readable copy for a specialSaturday edition, suddenly found himself reviewing, with a sinkingheart, one or two rather ticklish paragraphs in the screed alreadypublished anent "The Elmdale mystery." As for the superintendent andinspector of police from Nuttonby, they forthwith recanted certainopinions formed after hearing Banks's story and reading the currentissue of his newspaper.

  For Sir Berkeley Hutton was a county magnate, chairman of the Nuttonbybench, an alderman of the County Council, a Deputy Lieutenant, andgoodness knows what else of a power in civic and social circles, andhere was he hailing this stranger as an intimate friend, being himselfgreeted by the nickname earned by a loud and strident utterance whichnever failed, speaking of Lady Hutton as "Mollie," of his eldest son as"the Pup." County police and country editors must be chary of acceptingthe evidence of James Walkers and Tom Blands against the guarantee ofsuch a man, or they may get their corns trodden on most painfully!

  All at once, Sir Berkeley Hutton seemed to recollect the talk which hadbeen going on outside the locked and barred gate, for Begonia Smith andhis henchmen had refused to pass anyone but the doctor and nurse, whowere with their patient at that moment.

  "I say, Bob," he went on, in a thunderous whisper quite as audible ashis ordinary voice, "I'm devilish glad it's you--I am, 'pon mysoul!--because some of these chaps have been spinnin' the queerest sortof yarn, in which a murder, a suicide, a ghost, and a pretty girl aremixed up in fine style. Just tell 'em all to go to blazes, willyou?--except Dobb. Dobb's a decent fellow, and he acted for the peoplewho used to live here--Hi! Dobb. This is----" Then it dawned on him thathis friend might wish still to preserve his anonymity save in the sacredcircle of the elect, so he broke off into "Come along, Dobb! I want youto meet one of the best fellows who ever wore shoe-leather!"

  Dobb advanced. With him came a gentleman who was as unknown to Nuttonbyas Armathwaite himself. Before the solicitor could speak, his companionsaid quietly:

  "Sir Robert Dalrymple, I believe?"

  "Yes," and Marguerite's "chosen mate" looked him very searchingly andsquarely in the eyes.

  "My name is Morand," said the other. "I am sent here by the India Officeto tell you----" he glanced around in momentary hesitation.

  "Pray, go on," said Dalrymple, as Armathwaite must be describedhenceforth. "There is nothing that the India Office has to communicatewhich I am not willing that all the world should hear."

  "Happily, Sir Robert, this is a communication which all the world oughtto hear. The Maharajah of Barapur is dead. He was assassinated lastMonday while driving through the bazaar. His prime minister, ChalwarSingh, was with him, and was mortally wounded at the same time."

  "Then India is well rid of two pestilent scoundrels," said Dalrympleunconcernedly.

  "That is the view now held by the Government," was the grave answer.

  "A death-bed conversion, of a sort," commented his hearer dryly.

  "A death-bed confession, too," said Morand. "It was a fortunate thingthat both men lived long enough to reveal that they had concocte
d thewhole story of the Maharani's pearls in order to get you shelved. Youradministration was too honest. They played on your well-knowncarelessness in trivial matters of detail, and bribed your nativesecretary, Muncherji, to include in your correspondence the letterswhich seemed to prove your complicity in a serious breach of trust.Muncherji, by rare good chance, was not in Barapur when the Maharajahand Chalwar Singh were riddled with bullets, so he was arrested beforehe knew of the affair. He, too, has confessed. In fact, I can conveyeverything in a sentence. The Government of India has reinstated you inthe High Commissionership, and you are gazetted as absent on leave. I amthe bearer of ample apologies from the India Office, which will betendered to you in person by my chief when he meets you in London.Meanwhile, I am to request you to allow the announcement to be madepublic that you will return to India on a named date, while theappointment of your deputy is left open for your recommendation."

  Dalrymple paled slightly, which was the only evidence he gave of theeffect such a statement was bound to produce on a proud and ambitiousnature, but Sir Berkeley Hutton was irrepressible.

  "By gad!" he roared, "somebody's gold lace has been rolled in the dustof Calcutta before the India Department climbed down like that. I neverheard anything like it--never! 'Pon me soul! Won't Mollie be pleased?"

  Yet the man to whom the path of empire was again thrown open spoke noword. It was good to have his honor cleared of the stain put on it by ascheming Indian prince and his henchmen. It was good to find himselfstanding once more in the high place he had won by self-sacrificing workand unflinching adherence to an ideal of efficient government. But histhoughts were with a sorrow-stricken girl speeding to a sad tryst with amother who might bring tidings that would blight her life for many ayear.

  Morand grew anxious. He shared Dalrymple's knowledge of the tremendousissues bound up with an affair of State of real magnitude, and he didnot want to fail in this, his first confidential mission.

  "If there is anything else I can say, Sir Robert----" he began, and hisvoice disrupted a dream.

  "It's all right, Morand," said the other, letting a hand rest on theshoulder of the younger man in that characteristic way of his. "I'm notsuch a cur as to snarl when I have been proved right, and my traducersare ready to admit their blunder. I didn't yelp when the blow fell. I'mnot going to kick up a bobbery now when I'm given back my spurs. Tellyour chief that I'll come to him soon, within a week, if possible. Ihave business on my hands here that calls imperatively for settlement.I'll deal first with that; then I'll come. Are you returning to town atonce?"

  "By the first available train. More than that, I am to telegraph yourdecision to Whitehall. Between you and me, some people are in a howlingfunk lest a question should be put in the House."

  "That isn't the frontier method. Men who appeal to Parliament whenthings go wrong are of no value to India. But I don't want to preach."

  "Won't you come in?"

  "If you'll pardon me, I'll hurry back to Nuttonby. That telegram iscalled for urgently. What about your deputy?"

  "Collins was transferred to Oudh because he supported me. Send him toBarapur. The natives will understand that better than a dozengazettes."

  "Thanks. That clinches it, Sir Robert. Mr. Dobb, do you mind if we startimmediately?"

  Mr. Dobb did mind. For one thing, he had not spoken a word to Sir RobertDalrymple yet. For another, Nuttonby loomed larger in his mind than somewrangle in far-away Hindustan, and Nuttonby was seething with rumorsanent present and past inhabitants of the Grange.

  "We, like the State of Barapur, have our little troubles," he saidguardedly. "Sir Robert has shown already that he appreciates theirgravity. My car will take you to Nuttonby, Mr. Morand, and come back forme."

  The representative of the India Office was only too pleased to get awayon any terms. He knew that a reassuring message was wanted in Whitehall.There were wheels within wheels. A question _was_ put in the House thatnight, and an Under-Secretary scoffed at the notion that Sir RobertDalrymple, "a trusted servant of his country, whose splendid work on theIndus was most thoroughly appreciated by the Government of India," hadbeen requested to resign. As a matter of public interest, he was pleasedto inform the honorable questioner that Sir Robert Dalrymple, only thatday, had put forward the name of Mr. Mortimer Collins, I.C.S., to actas his deputy in Barapur until he returned from short leave granted on"urgent private affairs."

  The motor was already trumpeting its way through a mob of Elmdaleurchins, who seldom saw a car, and had never before seen two in one day,when Dalrymple found himself regretting he had not inquired how Morandcontrived to get on his track so easily. Some weeks elapsed before helearned that the only friend in London who knew his whereabouts thoughtit a duty to speak when the hue and cry went forth from the IndiaOffice.

  Dalrymple was with his friend, a retired general, in his club when thevexed administrator announced his intention to retire from the arena andtake a well-earned rest.

  "I'll assume my mother's name, Armathwaite," he had said, "and rusticatein some place where Barapur is unknown and India never mentioned. Let'shave a look at the map!"

  He glanced at a motoring road-book lying on the club table.

  "Here we are!" he laughed. "Judging by the condition of the highways,there are backwoods near Nuttonby, in Yorkshire. My postal address willbe Armathwaite, near Nuttonby, for some months. But I'll write."

  So that was how it happened that Sir Robert Dalrymple came to theGrange, and met Marguerite Ogilvey. Some part of the outcome of thatmeeting was foreshadowed while Smith of the Begonias was unlocking thegate, because a procession of three appeared in the porch.

  Dr. Scaife and a nurse were carrying Percy Whittaker between them. Thedoctor's distress was almost comical when he caught sight of Dalrymple.He shouted brokenly, being rather breathless:

  "For goodness' sake--Mr. Armathwaite--come and persuade this youngman--to remain here. He insists--on being taken away--at once!"