by George Gibbs
CHAPTER X
"HAWK"
Three months ago it would have been difficult for His Highness, GrandDuke Peter Nicholaevitch, to imagine himself in his present situation assponsor for Beth Cameron. He had been no saint. Saintly attributes werenot usually to be found in young men of his class, and Peter's traininghad been in the larger school of the world as represented in theContinental capitals. He had tasted life under the tutelage of a fatherwho believed that women, bad as well as good, were a necessary part of agentleman's education, and Peter had learned many things.... Had it notbeen for his music and his English love of fair play, he would havestood an excellent chance of going to the devil along the precipitousroad that had led the Grand Duke Nicholas Petrovitch there.
But Peter had discovered that he had a mind, the needs of which weremore urgent than those of his love of pleasure. Many women he had known,Parisian, Viennese, Russian--and one, Vera Davydov, a musician, hadenchained him until he had discovered that it was her violin and not hersoul that had sung to him ... Anastasie Galitzin ... a dancer in Moscow... and then--the War.
In that terrible alembic the spiritual ingredients which made Peter'ssoul had been stirred until only the essential remained. But thatessence was the real Peter--a wholesome young man steeped in idealismslightly tinged with humor. It was idealism that had made him attemptthe impossible, humor that had permitted him to survive his failure, forno tragedy except death itself can defy a sense of humor if it'swhimsical enough. There was something about the irony of his position inBlack Rock which interested him even more than the drama that lay hiddenwith McGuire's Nemesis in the pine woods. And he couldn't deny the factthat this rustic, this primitive Beth Cameron was as fine a little ladyas one might meet anywhere in the wide world. She had amused him atfirst with originality, charmed him with simplicity, amazed him laterwith talent and now had disarmed him with trust in his integrity. If atany moment the idea had entered Peter's head that here was a wild-flowerwaiting to be gathered and worn in his hat, she had quickly disabusedhis mind of that chimera. Curious. He found it as difficult to conceiveof making free with Beth as with the person of the Metropolitan ofMoscow, or with that of the President of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Shehad her dignity. It was undeniable. He imagined the surprise in herlarge blue eyes and the torrent of ridicule of which her tongue could becapable. He had felt the sting of its humor at their first meeting. Hehad no wish to test it again.
And now, after a few days of acquaintanceship, he found himself Beth'schampion, the victor over the "Hellion" triplet, and the guardian of hergood repute. He found, strangely enough, the responsibilitystrengthening his good resolves toward Beth and adding another tie tothose of sympathy and admiration. The situation, while not altogether ofhis making, was not without its attractions. He had given Beth herchance to withdraw from the arrangement and she had persisted in theplan to come to the Cabin. Very well. It was his cabin. She should comeand he would teach her to sing. But he knew that Peter Nichols wasthrowing temptation in the way of Peter Nicholaevitch.
* * * * *
McGuire was quiet that night and while they smoked Peter talked atlength on the needs of the estate as he saw them. Peter went down to theCabin and brought up his maps and his plans for the fire towers. McGuirenodded or assented in monosyllables, but Peter was sure that he heardlittle and saw less, for at intervals he glanced at the clock, or at hiswatch, and Peter knew that his obsession had returned. Outside,somewhere in the woods, "Hawk" was approaching to keep his tryst andMcGuire could think of nothing else. This preoccupation was marked by afrowning thatch of brow and a sullen glare at vacancy which gave noevidence of the fears that had inspired him, but indicated a mind madeup in desperation to carry out his plans, through Peter, whateverhappened later. Only the present concerned him. But underneath hisoutward appearance of calm, Peter was aware of an intense alertness, forfrom time to time his eyes glowed suddenly and the muscles worked in hischeeks as he clamped his jaws shut and held them so.
As the clock struck ten McGuire got to his feet and walked to the safe,which he opened carefully and took out the money that Peter had brought.Then he went to a closet and took out an electric torch which he testedand then put upon the table.
"You're armed, Nichols?" he asked.
Peter nodded. "But of course there's no reason why your mysteriousvisitor should take a pot at me," he said. And then, curiously, "Do youthink so, Mr. McGuire?"
"Oh, no," said the other quickly. "You have no interest in this affair.You're my messenger, that's all. But I want you to follow myinstructions carefully. I've trusted you this far and I've got to go thewhole way. This man will say something. You will try to remember wordfor word what he says to you, and you're to repeat that message to me."
"That shouldn't be difficult."
McGuire was holding the money in his hand and went on in an abstractionas though weighing words.
"I want you to go at once to the maple tree. I want you to go now sothat you will be there when this man arrives. You will stand waiting forhim and when he comes you will throw the light into his face, so thatyou can see him when you talk to him, and so that he can count thismoney and see that the amount is correct. I do not want you to go tooclose to him nor to permit him to go too close to you--you are merely tohand him this package and throw the light while he counts the money.Then you are to say to him these words, 'Don't forget the blood on theknife, Hawk Kennedy.'"
"'Don't forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy,'" murmured Peter inamazement. And then, "But suppose he wants to tell me a lot of thingsyou don't want me to know----"
"I'll have to risk that," put in McGuire grimly. "I want you to watchhim carefully, Nichols. Are you pretty quick on the draw?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, can you draw your gun and shoot quickly--surely? If you can't,you'd better have your gun in your pocket, keep him covered and at thefirst sign, shoot through your coat."
Peter took out his revolver and examined it quizzically. "I thought yousaid, Mr. McGuire," he put in coolly, "that I was not to be required todo anything a gentleman couldn't do."
"Exactly," said the old man jerkily.
"I shouldn't say that shooting a defenseless man answers thatrequirement."
McGuire threw up his hands wildly.
"There you go--up in the air again. I didn't say you were to shoot him,did I?" he whined. "I'm just warning you to be on the lookout in case heattacks you. That--that's all."
"Why should he attack me?"
"He shouldn't, but he might be angry because I didn't come myself."
"I see. Perhaps you'd better go, sir. Then you can do your killingyourself."
McGuire fell back against the table, to which he clung, his face graywith apprehension, for he saw that Peter had guessed what he hoped.
"You want this man killed," Peter went on. "It's been obvious to me fromthe first night I came here. Well, I'm not going to be the one to doit."
McGuire's glance fell to the rug as he stammered hoarsely, "I--I neverasked you to do it. Y-you must be dreaming. I--I'm merely making plansto assure your safety. I don't want you hurt, Nichols. That's all.You're not going to back out now?" he pleaded.
"Murder is a little out of my line----"
"You're not going to fail me----?" McGuire's face was ghastly. "You_can't_," he whispered hoarsely. "You can't let me down now. _I_ can'tsee this man. I can't tell Stryker all you know. You're the only one.You promised, Nichols. You promised to go."
"Yes. And I'll keep my word--but I'll do it in my own way. I'm notafraid of any enemy of yours. Why should I be? But I'm not going toshoot him. If that's understood give me the money and I'll be off."
"Yes--yes. That's all right, Nichols. You're a good fellow--and honest.I'll make it worth your while to stay with me here." He took up themoney and handed it to Peter, who counted it carefully and then put itin an inside pocket. "I don't see why you think I wanted you to killHawk Kennedy," McGuire wen
t on, whining. "A man's got a right to protecthimself, hasn't he? And you've got a right to protect _yourself_, if hetries to start anything."
"Have you any reason to believe that he might?"
"No. I can't say I have."
"All right. I'll take a chance. But I want it understood that I'm notresponsible if anything goes wrong."
"That's understood."
Peter made his way downstairs, and out of the front door to the portico.Stryker, curiously enough, was nowhere to be seen. Peter went out acrossthe dim lawn into the starlight. Jesse Brown challenged him by the bigtree and Peter stopped for a moment to talk with him, explaining that hewould be returning to the house later.
"The old man seems to be comin' to life, Mister," said Jesse.
"What do you mean?"
"Not so skeered-like. He was out here when you went to the Cabin forthem plans----"
"Out here?" said Peter in amazement.
Andy nodded. "He seemed more natural-like,--asked what the countersignwas and said mebbe we'd all be goin' back to the mills after a night orso."
"Oh, did he? That's good. You're pretty tired of this night work?"
"Not so long as it pays good. But what did he mean by changin' theguards?"
"He didn't say anything to me about it," said Peter, concealing hissurprise.
"Oh, didn't he? Well, he took Andy off the privet hedge and sent himdown to the clump of pines near the road."
"I see," said Peter. "Why?"
"You've got me, Mister. If there's trouble to-night, there ain't no oneat the back of the house at all. We're one man short."
"Who?"
"Shad Wells. He ain't showed up."
"Ah, I see," muttered Peter. And then, as he lighted a cigarette, "Oh,well, we'll get along somehow. But look sharp, just the same."
Peter went down the lawn thoughtfully. From the first he hadn't been anytoo pleased with this mission. Though Peter was aware that in the realmof big business it masqueraded under other names, blackmail, at thebest, was a dirty thing. At the worst--and McGuire's affair with theinsistent Hawk seemed to fall into this classification,--it was bothsinister and contemptible. To be concerned in these dark doings even asan emissary was hardly in accordance with Peter's notion of his job, andhe had acceded to McGuire's request without thinking of possibleconsequences, more out of pity for his employer in his plight than forany other reason. But he remembered that it usually required a guiltyconscience to make blackmail possible and that the man who paid alwayspaid because of something discreditable which he wished to conceal.
McGuire's explanations had been thin and Peter knew that the real reasonfor the old man's trepidations was something other than the ones he hadgiven. He had come to Black Rock from New York to avoid any possiblepublicity that might result from the visits of his persecutor and wasnow paying this sum of money for a respite, an immunity which at thebest could only be temporary. It was all wrong and Peter was sorry tohave a hand in it, but he couldn't deny that the interest with which hehad first approached Black Rock House had now culminated in a curiositywhich was almost an obsession. Here, close at hand, was the solution ofthe mystery, and whether or not he learned anything as to the factswhich had brought McGuire's discomfiture, he would at least see and talkwith the awe-inspiring Hawk who had been the cause of them. Besides,there was Mrs. Bergen's share in the adventure which indicated thatBeth's happiness, too, was in some way involved. For Peter, having hadtime to weigh Beth's remarks with the housekeeper's, had come to theconclusion that there had been but one man near the house that night.The man who had talked with Mrs. Bergen at the kitchen door was not JohnBray the camera-man, or the man with the dark mustache, but Hawk Kennedyhimself.
Peter entered the path to the Cabin, and explored it carefully,searching the woods on either side and then, cutting into the scrub oakat the point where he and Beth had first seen the placard, made his wayto the maple tree. There was no one there. A glance at his watch underthe glare of the pocket torch showed that he was early for the tryst, sohe walked around the maple, flashing his light into the undergrowth andat last sat down, leaning against the trunk of the tree, lighted anothercigarette and waited.
Under the depending branches of the heavy foliage it was very dark, andhe could get only the smallest glimpses of the starlit sky. At one pointtoward Black Rock House beyond the boles of the trees he could see shortstretches of the distant lawn and, in the distance, a light which hethought must be that of McGuire's bedroom, for to-night, Peter hadnoticed, the shutters had been left open. It was very quiet too. Peterlistened for the sounds of approaching footsteps among the dry leaves,but heard only the creak of branches overhead, the slight stir of thebreeze in the leaves and the whistle of a locomotive many miles away, onthe railroad between Philadelphia and Atlantic City.
The sound carried his mind beyond the pine-belt out into the great worldfrom which he had come, and he thought of many things that might havebeen instead of this that was--the seething yeast that was Russia, thetearing down of the idols of centuries and the worship of new gods thatwere no gods at all--not even those of brass or gold--onlyvisions--will-o'-the-wisps.... The madness had shown itself here too.Would the fabric of which the American Ideal was made be strong enoughto hold together against the World's new madness? He believed inAmerican institutions. Imperfect though they were, fallible as the humanwills which controlled them, they were as near Liberty, Equality,Fraternity as one might yet hope to attain in a form of government thisside of the millennium.
Peter started up suddenly, for he was sure that he had heard somethingmoving in the underbrush. But after listening intently and hearingnothing more he thought that his ears had deceived him. He flashed hislantern here and there as a guide to Hawk Kennedy but there was nosound. Complete silence had fallen again over the woods. If McGuire'smysterious enemy was approaching he was doing it with the skill of anIndian scout. And it occurred to Peter at this moment that Hawk Kennedytoo might have his reasons for wishing to be sure that he was to befairly dealt with. The placard had indicated the possibility ofchicanery on the part of McGuire. "No tricks," Hawk had written. Hewould make sure that Peter was alone before he showed himself. So Peterflashed his lamp around again, glanced at his watch, which showed thatthe hour of the appointment had passed, then lighted a third cigaretteand sank down on the roots of the tree to wait.
There was no other sound. The breeze which had been fitful at best haddied and complete silence had fallen. Peter wasn't in the least alarmed.Why should he be? He had come to do this stranger a favor and no oneelse except McGuire could know of the large sum of money in hispossession. The trees were his friends. Peter's thoughts turned backagain, as they always did when his mind was at the mercy of hisimagination. What was the use of it all? Honor, righteousness, pride,straight living, the ambition to do, to achieve something real by hisown efforts--to what end? He knew that he could have been living snuglyin London now, married to the Princess Galitzin, drifting with thecurrent in luxury and ease down the years, enjoying those things----
Heigho! Peter sat up and shrugged the vision off. He must not bethinking back. It wouldn't do. The new life was here. _Novaya Jezn._Like the seedling from the twisted oak, he was going to grow straightand true--to be himself, the son of his mother, who had died with aprayer on her lips that Peter might not be what his father had been.Thus far, he had obeyed her. He had grown straight, true to the memoryof that prayer.
Yes, life was good. He tossed away his cigarette, ground it into theground with his heel, then lay back against the tree, drinking in greatdrafts of the clean night air. The forest was so quiet that he couldhear the distant tinkle of Cedar Creek down beyond the Cabin. The timewas now well after eleven. What if Hawk Kennedy failed to appear? Andhow long must----?
A tiny sound close at hand, clear, distinct. Peter took a chance andcalled out,
"Is that you, Hawk Kennedy?"
Silence and then a repetition of the sound a little louder now and fromdirectly overhead.
Peter rose, peering upward in amazement.
"Yes, I'm here," said a low voice among the leaves above him.
And presently a foot appeared, followed by legs and a body, emergingfrom the gloom above. Peter threw the light of his torch up into thetree.
"Hey! Cut that," commanded a voice sharply.
And Peter obeyed. In a moment a shape swung down and stood beside him.After the glare of the torch Peter couldn't make out the face under thebrim of the cap, but he could see that it wore a mustache and shortgrowth of beard. In size, the stranger was quite as tall as Peter.
Hawk Kennedy stood for a moment listening intently and Peter was soastonished at the extraordinary mode of his entrance on the scene thathe did not speak.
"You're from McGuire?" asked the man shortly.
"Yes."
"Why didn't he come himself?"
The voice was gruff, purposely so, Peter thought, but there wassomething about it vaguely reminiscent.
"Answer me. Why didn't he come?"
Peter laughed.
"He didn't tell me why. Any more than you'd tell me why you've been upthis tree."
"I'm takin' no chances this trip. I've been watchin'--listenin'," saidthe other grimly. "Well, what's the answer? And who--who the devil areyou?"
The bearded visage was thrust closer to Peter's as though inuncertainty, but accustomed as both men now were to the darkness,neither could make out the face of the other.
"I'm McGuire's superintendent. He sent me here to meet you--to bring yousomething----"
"Ah--he comes across. Good. Where is it?"
"In my pocket," said Peter coolly, "but he told me to tell you first notto forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy."
The man recoiled a step.
"The blood on the knife," he muttered. And then, "McGuire asked you tosay that?"
"Yes."
"Anything else?"
"No. That's all."
Another silence and then he demand in a rough tone,
"Well, give me the money!"
Impolite beggar! What was there about this shadow that suggested toPeter the thought that this whole incident had happened before? Thatthis man belonged to another life that Peter had lived? Peter shruggedoff the illusion, fumbled in his pocket and produced the envelopecontaining the bills.
"You'd better count it," said Peter, as the envelope changed hands.
"It's not 'phoney'----?" asked Hawk's voice suspiciously.
"Phoney?"
"Fake money----?"
"No. I got it in New York myself yesterday."
"Oh----." There was a silence in which the shade stood uncertainlyfingering the package, peering into the bushes around him and listeningintently. And then, abruptly,
"I want to see the color of it. Switch on your light."
Peter obeyed. "You'd better," he said.
In the glow of lamp Hawk Kennedy bent forward, his face hidden by hiscap brim, fingering the bills, and Peter saw for the first time that hisleft hand held an automatic which covered Peter now, as it had coveredhim from the first moment of the interview.
"Five hundreds--eh," growled Kennedy. "They're real enough, all right.One--two--three--four----"
A roar from the darkness and a bullet crashed into the tree behindthem.... Another shot! Peter's startled finger relaxed on the button ofthe torch and they were in darkness. A flash from the trees to theright, the bullet missing Peter by inches.
"A trick! By ----!" said Hawk's voice in a fury, "but I'll get _you_ forthis."
Peter was too quick for him. In the darkness he jumped aside, strikingKennedy with his torch, and then closed with the man, whose shot wentwild. They struggled for a moment, each fighting for the possession ofthe weapon, McGuire's money ground under their feet, but Peter was theyounger and the stronger and when he twisted Hawk's wrist the mansuddenly relaxed and fell, Peter on his chest.
The reason for this collapse was apparent when Peter's hand touched themoisture on Kennedy's shoulder.
"Damn you!" Hawk was muttering, as he struggled vainly.
Events had followed so rapidly that Peter hadn't had time to think ofanything but his own danger. He had acted with the instinct ofself-preservation, which was almost quicker than his thought, but as heknew now what had happened he realized that he, too, had been tricked byMcGuire and that the murderous volley directed at Hawk Kennedy had comeperilously near doing for himself. With the calm which followed theissue of his struggle with Kennedy, came a dull rage at McGuire forplacing him in such danger, which only showed his employer's desperateresolve and his indifference to Peter's fate. For Hawk Kennedy had beenwithin his rights in supposing Peter to be concerned in the trick andonly the miracle of the expiring torch which had blinded the intruderhad saved Peter from the fate intended for Hawk. Peter understood nowthe meaning of McGuire's explicit instructions and the meaning of thechanging of the guards. The old man had hoped to kill his enemy with oneshot and save himself the recurrence of his terror. What had become ofhim now? There was no sound among the bushes or any sign of him. He hadslipped away like the poltroon that he was, leaving Peter to his fate.
"Damn you!" Hawk muttered again. "What did _you_ want to come meddlingfor!"
The man couldn't be dangerously hurt if he possessed the power ofinvective and so, having possessed himself of Hawk's automatic, Petergot off his chest and fumbled around for the electric torch.
"It won't do you any good to lie there cursing me. Get up, if you'reable to."
"Got me in the shoulder," muttered the man.
"And he might have gotten _me_," said Peter, "which would have beenworse."
"You mean--you didn't--_know_," groaned Hawk, getting up into a sittingposture.
"No. I didn't," replied Peter.
He had found the torch now and was flashing it around on the groundwhile he picked up the scattered money.
"I'll fix him for this," groaned the stranger.
Peter glanced at him.
"His men will be down here in a moment. You'd better be getting up."
"I'm not afraid. They can't do anything to _me_. They'd better leave mealone. McGuire don't want me to talk. But I'll squeal if they botherme." Peter was aware that the man was watching him as he picked up thebills and heard him ask haltingly, "What are you--going to do--with thatmoney?"
"My orders were to give it to you. Don't you want it?"
Peter turned and for the first time flashed the lamp full in the injuredman's face. Even then Peter didn't recognize him, but he saw HawkKennedy's eyes open wide as he stared at Peter.
"Who----?" gasped the man. And then, "_You_ here! '_Cre nom!_ It's Pete,the waiter!"
Peter started back in astonishment.
"Jim Coast!" he said.
Hawk Kennedy chuckled and scrambled to his feet, halfway between a laughand a groan.
"Well, I'm damned!"
Peter was still staring at him, the recovered bills loose in his hand.Jim Coast thrust out an arm for them.
"The money," he demanded. "The money, Pete."
Without a word Peter handed it to him. It was none of his. Coast countedthe bills, the blood dripping from his fingers and soiling them, but hewiped them off with a dirty handkerchief and put them away into hispocket. Blood money, Peter thought, and rightly named.
"And now, _mon gars_, if it's all the same to you, I'd like you to takeme to some place where we can tie up this hole in my shoulder."
This was like Coast's impudence. He had regained his composure againand, in spite of the pain he was suffering, had become his proper self,the same Jim Coast who had bunked with Peter on the _Bermudian_, full ofsmirking assertiveness and sinister suggestion. Peter was too full ofastonishment to make any comment, for it was difficult to reconcile thethought of Jim Coast with Hawk Kennedy, and yet there he was, the terrorof Black Rock House revealed.
"Well, Pete," he growled, "goin' to be starin' at me all night?"
"You'd better be off," said Peter briefly.
"Why?
"
"They'll be here in a minute. You've got your money."
"Let 'em come. They'll have to take me to McGuire----"
"Or the lock-up at Egg Harbor----"
"All right. I'll go. But when I open my mouth to speak, McGuire willwish that Hell would open for him." And then, "See here, Pete, do youknow anything of what's between me and McGuire?"
"No--except that he fears you."
"Very well. If you're workin' for him you'll steer these guys away fromme. I mean it. Now think quick."
Peter did. Angry as he was at McGuire, he knew that Jim Coast meant whathe said and that he would make trouble. Also Peter's curiosity knew nosubsidence.
"You go to my cabin. It's hidden in the woods down this path at theright----"
"That's where you live, is it?"
"Yes. You'll find water there and a towel on the washstand. I'll bethere to help you when I sheer these men off."
Coast walked a few steps and then turned quickly.
"No funny business, Pete."
"No. You can clear out if you like. I don't care. I only thought if youwere badly hurt----"
"Oh, all right. Thanks."
Peter watched the dim silhouette merge into the shadows and disappear.Then flashed his light here and there that the men who must beapproaching now might be guided to him. In a moment they were crashingthrough the undergrowth, Jesse and Andy in the lead.
"What's the shootin'?" queried Jesse Brown breathlessly.
"A man in the woods. I'm looking for him," said Peter. "He got away."
"Well, don't it beat Hell----"
"But it may be a plan to get you men away from the house," said Peter asthe thought came to him. "Did you see McGuire?"
"McGuire! No. What----?"
"All right. You'd better hurry back. See if he's all right. I'll getalong----"
"Not if you go flashin' _that_ thing. I could a got ye with my rifle aseasy as----"
"Well, never mind. Get back to the house. I'll poke around here for awhile. Hurry!"
In some bewilderment they obeyed him and Peter turned his footsteptoward the Cabin.