“Look here! I don't know who you are or what you mean,” he said, in as steady tones as he could summon, “but if you suggest that any girl will come to harm from Captain Maitland, then I say you are a liar and a fool.” So speaking, little Vic set himself for the rush which he was firmly convinced would come. McNish, however, stood still, fighting for control. Then, between his deep-drawn breaths, he slowly spoke:
“Ye may be richt. A hope tae God A am baith liar and fule.” The agony in his face moved Vic to pity.
“I say, old chap,” he said, “you are terribly mistaken somehow, I can swear to that. Where is Maitland, anyway, do you know?”
“They went away together.” McNish had suddenly gotten himself in hand. “They went away in his car, secretly.”
“Secretly,” said Vic, scornfully. “Now, that is perfect rot. Look here, do you know Captain Maitland? I am his friend, and let me tell you that all I ever hope to own, here and hereafter, and all my relatives and friends, I would gladly trust with him.”
“Maybe, maybe,” muttered McNish. “Ye may be richt. A apologise, sir, but if—” His eyes blazed again.
“Aw, cut out the tragedy stuff,” said Vic, “and don't be an ass. Good-night.”
Vic turned on his heel and left McNish standing in a dull and dazed condition, and made his way toward the ballroom.
“Who is the Johnny, anyway?” he said to himself. “He is mad—looney—utterly bughouse. Needs a keeper in the worst way. But what about the Captain—must think up something. Let's see. Taken suddenly ill? Hardly—there is the girl to account for. Her mother—grandmother—or something—stricken—let's see. Annette has a brother—By Jove! the very thing—I've got it—brother met with an accident—run over—fell down a well—anything. Hurry call—ambulance stuff. Good line. Needs working up a bit, though. What has happened to my grey matter? Let me think. Ah, yes—when that Johnny brought word of an accident, a serious accident to her brother, Maitland, naturally enough, the gallant soul, hurries her off in his car, sending word by aforesaid mad Johnny.”
Vic went to the outer door, feeling the necessity for a somewhat careful conning of his tale to give it, as he said himself, a little artistic verisimilitude. Then, with his lesson—as he thought—well learned, and praying for aid of unknown gods, he went back to find his partner.