“Well, after that I made up my mind that I couldn’t stay anywhere where I had to see him. And I knew he would never go away without a scene. If I had asked Mrs. Prentice to send him away, there would have been a scandal, and it would have spoiled everybody’s trip. So I went out, and found there was a train for the East in a little while, and I packed up my things, and left a note for Mrs. Prentice. I told her a story—I said I’d had a telegram that your mother was ill, and that I didn’t want to spoil their good time, and had gone by myself. That was the best thing I could think of. I wasn’t afraid to travel, so long as I was sure that Charlie couldn’t catch up with me.”
Montague said nothing; he sat with his hands gripped tightly.
“It seemed like a desperate thing to do,” said Alice, nervously. “But you see, I was upset and unhappy. I didn’t seem to like the party any more—I wanted to be home. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Montague, “I understand. And I’m glad you are here.”
They reached home, and Montague called up Harvey’s and told his brother what had happened. He could hear Oliver gasp with astonishment. “That’s a pretty how-do-you-do!” he said, when he had got his breath back; and then he added, with a laugh, “I suppose that settles poor Charlie’s chances.”
“I’m glad you’ve come to that conclusion,” said the other, as he hung up the receiver.
This episode gave Montague quite a shock. But he had little time to think about it—the next morning at eleven o’clock his case was to come up for trial, and so all his thoughts were called away. This case had been the one real interest of his life for the last three months; it was his purpose, the thing for the sake of which he endured everything else that repelled him. And he had trained himself as an athlete for a great race; he was in form, and ready for the effort of his life. He went down town that morning with every fibre of him, body and mind, alert and eager; and he went into his office, and in his mail was a letter from Mr. Hasbrook. He opened it hastily and read a message, brief and direct and decisive as a sword-thrust:
“I beg to inform you that I have received a satisfactory proposition from the Fidelity Company. I have settled with them, and wish to withdraw the suit. Thanking you for your services, I remain, sincerely.”
To Montague the thing came like a thunderbolt. He sat utterly dumbfounded—his hands went limp, and the letter fell upon the desk in front of him.
And at last, when he did move, he picked up the telephone, and told his secretary to call up Mr. Hasbrook. Then he sat waiting; and when the bell rang, picked up the receiver, expecting to hear Mr. Hasbrook’s voice, and to demand an explanation. But he heard, instead, the voice of his own secretary: “Central says the number’s been discontinued, sir.”