Argument followed while the chauffeur burrowed into the mechanism of his car. It ended by the Englishman bestowing two dollars upon Mr. Murphy to get a message to Mr. Remsen containing a protest and an address. The two gentlemen then moved away in the extinguished taxi.
Tickets had been provided by the forethoughtful Harmon. The fugitive was the first man in the parlor car. Hardly had he settled when a young couple in suspiciously new apparel arrived, and were shown into Drawing-Room “A,” at the upper end of the car. Shortly after, another couple, also glistening as to garb, entered and took possession of Drawing-Room “B,” at the lower end of the car. The eluder of justice eyed them and drew his own conclusions.
“Here we are, all of us,” he said to himself, retiring discreetly behind his newspaper.
This was just one short of the full and fateful facts.
CHAPTER XI
ONE into the dim recesses of the past was the nuptial day of October 15. Gone also, into what dim recesses their erstwhile flat-mate knew not, were Mrs. Holcomb Lee, née Maud Raines, and Mrs. Paul Wood, née Helen Barrett. Presently Darcy would be gone also, for this was October 17, and, although the fact had been successfully concealed from the society editors of the metropolis, ever avid of news with a title in it, on October 16 she had been married to Sir Montrose Veyze, of Veyze Holdings, Hampshire, England, at the Church of the Imagination. Sir Montrose had sent a wireless (forged by Miss Gloria Greene) advising his fiancee that he would arrive on the 16th, and they would be married at once. All of which would have profoundly astonished and perhaps scandalized the authentic Sir Montrose Veyze, at that particular time huddled over an insufficient stove and fervently cursing a Siberian northeaster with three feet of snow in its clouds.
No little strategy had been required to keep up the deception until after the real brides were wedded, and, as the conspirators supposed, safely out of the way. Gloria supplied the required strategy, but it exhausted her store. What was going to be the outcome she knew no more than Darcy did. One fact only was clear: Darcy must disappear for a while. Accordingly the self-appointed manageress of the affair had borrowed Tom Harmon’s hospitality for her protégée. Unfortunately, or fortunately according to the point of view, Mr. Harmon had refrained from mentioning to Gloria the other prospective visits.
Behold, then, on the fateful 17th of October, Miss Darcy Cole, a one-day bride of fancy, swinging down the long platform of the Grand Central Terminal with fifteen minutes to spare for the nine o’clock train. In her hand was a ticket to Weirs, and a small green slip entitling her to seat No. 12 in the parlor car “Chorea.” In her eyes was a twinkling and perilous light, and in her heart a song of sheer, happy bravado. For Darcy was feeling in reckless spirits. It was her first vacation for more than a year. She was tingling with health and vitality. She rejoiced in that satisfaction, more precious to woman than rubies or diamonds or a conscience clear of reproach, the pervading sense of being perfectly dressed. As for the wraith of Sir Montrose Veyze, Bart., of Veyze Holdings, Hampshire, England, and all the consequences depending therefrom, she was much in the mood to twiddle her thumbs at the whole affair and defy fate to do its worst.
She entered the car and saw him.
If ever a willful, skillful, careful, circumstantial lie came to life and embodiment for the purpose of confronting its perpetrator, hers stood before her with a monocle in its eye. In every detail it was as she had conceived Sir Montrose Veyze: tall, slender, clad in impeccable tweeds, with an intelligent, thin face inappropriately half-framed in side whiskers, and an expression of dissociation with the outside world; not so much conscious aloofness as a sort of habitual mental absenteeism. The apparition was, at the moment, trying to dispose an extremely British ulster in a rather insufficient rack.