IV
The little man went on promptly with his hasty and hurtling attack.
“I know, stunning and absurd and incredible. It sounds all that, I know. To me it is all that—only, I’ve got to face things as they appear to me and I’ve so little to go on, yet so much. A huge fortune, that foolish girl’s happiness, and all that sort of thing—is at stake....”
He seemed anxious to impress Clement with the soundness of his case, and it was now Clement who cried, “But get on with it, man. You haven’t too much time. You’ll have to go ashore very soon. Tell me the facts.”
“Facts,” snapped the little man. “The first is she’s going out expressly to find and marry this weak-will, this ne’er-do-well Henry Gunning.”
“Why? Is she engaged to him?” demanded Clement, with peculiar interest.
“Engaged to him. Good gad—rubbish. Sheer quixotery. This is the story: They were brought up together—boy and girl. He was an unpleasant, feckless cub. His people had estates next old Reys. Both of ’em went about as kids. There was a sort of calf love. Both of ’em had it mildly ... nothing else to do in the country for the young but to be calves. Then he did something idiotic, and he was shipped off to Canada. His guardians did it—parents dead then.”
“What was it?”
“Oh, general irritation with his spinelessness and low tastes, plus a crisis. They made use of that crisis. Matter of fact, he stole.”
“Stole! But could Miss Heloise have anything to do with a thief?”
“Oh, but a plausible thief,” snapped the little lawyer. “What he stole, he said, was his. As a matter of fact, it wasn’t, and he knew it. It was a picture, an Old Master, belonging to his family. Family had died up to its ears in debt—for which his own bad habits were mainly responsible. Everything had been sold to settle those debts. He knew that all right. But he stole that picture, sold it, and went on the spree with the proceeds. There you get the type of man he is in a nutshell.”
“That doesn’t explain Miss Reys’ attitude.”
“Oh, he made a case. Said he thought he’d taken only what was his own. He bought her a silly little trinket, too, and made her believe he had sold the picture to get that. Absurd. But she was woefully young. She has a generous heart, and she was on the side of the scamp in affection. Well, that’s the beginning. He left her with the usual vows. He’d been unlucky. He had an unlucky nature, so he told her; but he was going to the great and grand New World to carve out a fortune for her. He would return, like the hero in a story, rich and powerful, and all because of her—all for her.”
“Well, what’s next. Has he made that fortune?”
“Not a bit of it. He’s the sort that doesn’t. Hasn’t the guts or the honesty. I don’t know what he’s done in the ten years he’s been away; nobody knows. I suspect a mountain of beastliness. But one thing I know. He hasn’t made that fortune.”
“You’re sure?”
“My dear lad, isn’t that why she’s going out? Oh, of course, I’m running on too fast. Well, that is the reason, anyhow. First year or two there were plenty of letters. Then the letters dropped away. His were sloppy and disconsolate, I gather. He was the unlucky sort even in Canada, he let her know. Of course he was. Then the letters stopped altogether. For years nothing was heard of him. Things went on with Heloise ever so much better. I thought she’d forgotten the ass. Then, quite suddenly, the whole of this business started again. Came at us, as it were, out of the blue.”
“And what precisely do you mean by that?” Clement asked.
“I can’t quite explain. Know nothing definite, you see. First Heloise’s father died. He left her in control of this fortune. Really an immense fortune. When I mentioned the figure of a million pounds I meant it. It is more than true. Heloise continued for some time in a state of happy ordinariness. Then she had another letter from the scallywag Gunning. I don’t know what was in it, but it seemed to fling her right back to those old flapperish, calfish days. From what I could gather, Gunning was still fighting his luck. He was fighting (so he hinted) with dogged courage. He remembered his vow to her, and had kept himself staunch, unfettered, and upright because of it. He meant to redeem it; in fact, he hinted that there was a chance of redeeming it—if only his spell of bad luck would break. He had a big thing in view—a huge thing—that would bring him a great fortune. Then he would be able to come to her. But he didn’t do more than hint at this big coup he had in mind. I told Heloise that that was the man all over; that he was merely exhibiting his vague and spineless nature. Stupid of me to say that. I was set aside as hard and unsympathetic at once, and nothing more was told to me. Heloise, naturally, thought it was his noble nature cropping out. He would tell her nothing until he had brought it off. He would be beholden to nobody until he had fulfilled himself. I said it was all rubbish; but Heloise, who thinks the best of everybody, clung to her view.... And then this confounded new companion supported that view, gave it a new strength?”
“How could a companion do any such thing?”
“I can’t answer riddles; I can only guess. Perhaps I am too easily suspicious. I suspected the old companion when she so inexplicably left Heloise’s service. Why? Well, it seemed illogical. She had an extraordinarily well-paid, extraordinarily comfortable job. It is the sort of job no woman of that kind would leave in a hurry. But she did. She said she had come into some money, a lot of it, and wanted to set up a little business of her own. Well, I couldn’t find out how she had come into that money—a few thousands it must have been. I tried to trace a source. I couldn’t find one. But she had the money from some one all right.”
“You suspect it was an underhand affair—she was paid?”
“I suspect, only. No facts. This new companion made me more suspicious. She’s a Canadian, or says she is.”
“Perhaps that’s the reason Miss Reys chose her—a reason of sentiment,” said Clement.
“You’ve touched the crucial plausibility of the matter. That is why Heloise chose her. The departing companion recommended this creature—suspicious again. Heloise was not altogether smitten with her at first, but the fact that she knew Canada turned the scale. The sentimental note won. And then—too surprising for life, I think: an attractive coincidence, thinks Heloise—this new companion knows Gunning.”
Clement nodded. He, too, was beginning to think that the long arm of coincidence was beginning to suffer from strain.
“‘It only came out casually,’ says Heloise,” went on the little man; “but there’s the fact this companion who came to her by fishy means knew Gunning. Knew him well enough to sing rather an attractive song about him. Oh, she made it all sound very ordinary. She had not actually spoken to or known Gunning, but she had stayed at a place called Sicamous, where he was often to be seen, and where his name was very well known. He was known there as the Englishman whom providence had a grouch against. He was also known as the Englishman who would be a millionaire some day. No, don’t ask me why he was called that. That hasn’t been told me. I suspect my attitude of non-sympathy has been adroitly enlarged by that confounded companion. I’ve been kept out of it. All I know is that Heloise is filled with a sort of sentimental certainty that Gunning is out there in the wilds needing help. He is fighting a lone hand against circumstances beyond his strength. He is there working doggedly with a great chance within his grasp; but for lack of means, for lack of support, for lack of money he cannot make good. That’s how I see it, and I can see how the sentimental side has been worked up to secure Heloise’s sympathy. She feels he won’t, he doesn’t write to her because of his pride. His self-respect, his sense of decency, his grit and all that sort of bunkum forbids his writing to the girl he loves and wants to marry. That’s how they are playing on Heloise’s candid and sympathetic nature.”
“Well,” said Clement. “It might be correct. Men are rather like that, don’t you think?”
“Men, yes,” snapped the little lawyer. “Fellows like you, real men, would be like that. But Gunning—I don’t believe it.”
“That’s rather drastic.”
“My boy, I know Gunning. We acted for his people too. Gunning is not like that. He’s a moral tadpole. If he has changed, then the age of miracles has very certainly not passed.”
Clement thought this sort of talk led to nothing. He changed the line.
“And what’s the big chance that lies before him?”
“I told you I didn’t know,” said the little lawyer. “I’ve been kept in the dark over that.”
“Is Miss Reys in the dark?”
“What do you mean by that? As I tell you, I think she is certainly in the dark concerning this foul plot that is being worked on her. But concerning this big coup that Gunning is supposed to be able to bring off—no. She knows all about that. She’s been writing letters to people in Canada. The companion has supplied her with addresses, I take it. She’s received replies that have convinced her of the genuineness of Gunning and his prospects. Of that I am certain.”
“You don’t think those letters genuine?”
“I don’t think anything connected with this trip to Canada is genuine.”
Clement frowned. Thinking, he said, “Exactly what do you think these rogues, if they be rogues, are out to do?”
“I think they are out to get control of rather more than a million pounds sterling, which, at present, belongs to Heloise.”
“How will they do that—if she marries Gunning?”
“How will they?” began the little lawyer in exasperation. Then he said more precisely and quietly, “I will tell you exactly what I think. I think that, somehow, a band of rogues in Canada has found out from Henry Gunning that there is a sort of engagement between him and Heloise. They have learned from the same source that Heloise is worth a million of money. They have that rascal in their power. They have seen that through him there is a very good chance of getting that million of money into their power.”
“You’re making rather a long shot, aren’t you? After all, they must have known that they would have to reckon with Heloise, who will have something to say in the matter.”
The little man waggled his umbrella fiercely.
“Not a long shot,” he insisted. “They probably saw her letters to him. If they read those letters they would see exactly the sort of girl Heloise is. She is fine, honest. She is too generous for this world.... She is undoubtedly quixotic, as I have told you several times. They would see that a girl like that would respond to adroit handling. Her sense of honor would lead her to remain true to the letter of the bargain she made with Gunning years ago. Her sense of chivalry would send her out post-haste to his aid, if that aid was required. She would feel that he was making a tremendous sacrifice for her, and she would at once be willing to make a tremendous sacrifice in return.”
The little man paused, gazing at Clement.
“That’s her nature; generous to folly. She gives greatly, tremendously, if her heart is touched.... Well, that’s what these brutes have done. As I see it, they have assessed her, sized her up. They have put this plot into motion. Cunningly they have reawakened her interest in Gunning; first, by that letter from him; then they got rid of the old companion, and substituted this—this temptress from Canada. She has spent all her days playing upon Heloise’s heart-strings. She has cast a spell, a glamour, a damned romantic glamour, over that poor girl. She has painted a picture of the stoic Gunning fighting against luck for her. Painted him proud and silent and full of pluck, refusing to call on her aid, though she has but to stretch out a finger, back up some scheme of his, and he will win—he will win a fortune and win her. Oh, they have painted for her a beauteous and beastly picture. The sort of picture that can have but one effect on such a girl as Heloise. She has become inspired by it. She sees the great and the generous way. If this true man, Gunning, is too proud to cry for help, then she should be proud to go to him and help him. She will make her sacrifice also.... So—so off she packs to Canada. She starts out like a sort of rapturous female knight-errant.”
The little man had to stop, because his face and throat were working.
“And then when she finds him,” he ended, his voice harsh with emotion, “there’ll be a love scene ... and a marriage ... and then ... God knows what they will do then ... but as sure as I’m here, Clement Seadon, they’ll get that million ... and I daren’t ask myself how they will get it.”
Clement stood stiff with the tragedy that had suddenly burst in horror into that little cabin.
“I daren’t ask myself how they will get that million,” the little lawyer had said in emotion, and Clement shuddered. He saw the gaunt and lonely mountains of Sicamous (wasn’t that the place?). The dark, spruce-clad valleys, awfully lonely and awfully quiet. And in those silent valleys away from man—away from help and discovery—anything might happen.
He had a quick vision of the beautiful and splendid girl, and his skin crept with horror of—of the things that might happen.
He found that he had very little to say. He muttered lamely, “You are sure she is going out for this?”
“To see Gunning? Yes. She told me so frankly.”
“But—but to marry him?”
“I think so. Of course she wouldn’t tell me that, but”—and a gleam in his eye relieved the horror of the moment—“but I, as her lawyer, have been called upon lately to settle heavy bills with all the milliners, dressmakers, and purveyors of dainty feminine trivia in the kingdom of woman’s shopping. I don’t want to let you into delicate secrets; but, even to the unsophisticated male, such wholesale buying seems to point to one definite end.”
“I am a—a bachelor in such matters,” said Clement, glad to get the topic off the ugly strain. “But even with such preparations woman is not doomed to marriage. After ten years—Henry Gunning may not be likable. A man of the type you have described is an unpleasant object when he goes to seed; as, no doubt, he has gone to seed.”
“That gives me no ground for hope,” said the little lawyer. “He is plausible. He will probably get himself up to the scratch for the time being. Even this gang would see to that, don’t you think? His very seediness may make him seem more romantic—women are so illogically and amazingly made. And then in a lonely place.... No, the only safe and settled thing is to prevent the marriage. For you to prevent the marriage.”
Clement laughed with a touch of annoyed self-consciousness. “After all you’ve told me,” he said lamely, “I’ll keep my eye on her.”
“No—make love to her,” snapped the little lawyer.
“Perhaps I can advise her.”
“Rubbish—make her love you. Advise her? Good Lord, can any man advise a headstrong, well-educated young woman of the twentieth century. Advise her? Haven’t I been advising her not to do this mad thing for months! She’s certain of herself. She’s so practical about the whole matter.—Advise her? You might just as well try to advise Mount Popocatepetl to melt into the plain. Don’t attempt to advise. Do! Love her. Marry her.”
A sharp voice came swiftly along the gallery outside. A boy, running with some urgency, was yelling a name.
“Marry her, man,” snapped the little lawyer. “I’m cut off from her. I can do nothing. I depend on you.” He listened to the boy’s yells. “My name. I’m wanted.” He sprang to the door, ran up the alley-way to the gallery. “Boy! Boy! I’m Mr. Hard. Want me?”
A shrill voice yelled, “Lookin’ fer you everywhere, sir. Hurry. Ca’pen Heavy’s compliments, you gotter get off the ship damn quick. Casting off now. Look sharp, sir.”
The little man swung round, called down the alley-way into which Clement had come, “Got to go ashore. Don’t forget what you’ve got to do.”
“I’ll do my best,” cried the confused Clement.
“Best! No good. Marry her.”
“But, you see, she mightn’t——”
“Marry her,” snapped the little lawyer, already on the run. “Don’t give in to her. Make her marry you.”
Running, he went along the gallery out of sight.
Clement stared after him in bewilderment.
“Holy romance!” he murmured to himself. “Here’s a thing with which to begin a sea voyage.”
He turned to go back to his cabin. Away along the gallery, by the staircase that led up to the smoking room, he saw two men standing. They were standing watching him. They stood there for but a second, and then, with furtive quickness, they stepped back out of his sight.
It had been a matter of an instant. But Clement had recognized both of them.
One was the steward with the evil face who had tried to get the little lawyer off the ship, and had, so Clement felt, tried to get him off the ship, too, by sending his luggage astray.
The other was a tall, huge, almost excessive man. A man with little, sinister eyes ... the man who had all but prevented his getting into the train. The man whom he had seen close to his baggage before it went astray. He was there watching Clement, talking to the evil steward in an intimate way.
“Ah,” reflected Clement. “So you are in this. You are one of them.... And now that I come to think things out, there was never any doubt of it.”
He sat down on his bunk to face the problem of saving the girl Heloise from a gang of rogues, of whom the companion, Méduse, this huge man, and the steward at least were members.