Works of robert w chambe.., p.1030
Works of Robert W Chambers, page 1030
The two troopers went into the dance hall where Darragh was arranging the flowers from his greenhouses.
Stormont said quietly: “All right, Jim, but Eve must not know that they came from Harrod’s.”
Darragh nodded: “How is she, Jack?”
“All in.”
“Do you know the story?”
“Yes. Mike went into Drowned Valley early last evening after Quintana. He didn’t come back. Before dawn this morning Eve located Quintana, set a bear-trap for him, and caught him with the goods — —”
“What goods?” demanded Darragh sharply.
“Well, she got his pack and found Mike’s watch and jewelry in it — —”
“What jewelry?”
“The jewels Quintana was after. But that was after she’d arrived at the
Dump, here, leaving Quintana to get free of the trap and beat it.
“That’s how I met her — half crazed, going to find Quintana again. We’d found Mike in Drowned Valley and were bringing him out when I ran into Eve. … I brought her back here and called Ghost Lake. … They haven’t picked up Quintana’s tracks so far.”
After a silence: “Too bad this snow came so late,” remarked Trooper
Lannis. But we ought to get Quintana anyway.”
Darragh went over and looked silently at Mike Clinch
“I liked you,” he said under his breath. “It wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t mine, Mike. … I’ll try to square things. Don’t worry.”
He came back slowly to where Stormont was standing near the door:
“Jack,” he said, “you can’t marry Eve on a Trooper’s pay. Why not quit and take over the Harrod estate? … You and I can go into business together later if you like.”
After a pause: “That’s rather wonderful of you, Jim,” said Stormont, “but you don’t know what sort of business man I’d make — —”
“I know what sort of officer you made. … I’m taking no chance. … And I’ll make my peace with Eve — or somebody will do it for me. .. Is it settled then?”
“Thanks,” said Trooper Stormont, reddening. They clasped hands. Then Stormont went about and lighted the candles in the room. Clinch’s face, again revealed, was still faintly amused at something or other. The dead have much to be amused at.
As Darragh was about to go, Stormont said: “We’re burying Clinch at eleven to-morrow morning. The Ghost Lake Pilot officiates.”
“I’ll come if it won’t upset Eve,” said Darragh.
“She won’t notice anybody, I fancy,” remarked Stormont.
He stood by the veranda and watched Darragh take the Lake Trail through the snow. Finally the glimmer of his swinging lantern was lost in the woods and Stormont mounted the stairs once more, stood silently by Eve’s open door, realised she was still heavily asleep, and seated himself on a chair outside her door to watch and wait.
* * * * *
All night long it snowed hard over the Star Pond country, and the late grey light of morning revealed a blinding storm pelting a white robed world.
Toward ten o’clock, Stormont, on guard, noticed that Eve was growing restless.
Downstairs the flotsam of the forest had gathered again: Mr. Lyken was there in black gloves; the Reverend Laomi Smatter had arrived in a sleigh from Ghost Lake. Both were breakfasting heavily.
The pretty, sulky-faced girl fetched a tray and placed Eve’s breakfast on it; and Trooper Stormont carried it to her room.
She was awake when he entered. He set the tray on the table. She put both her arms around his neck.
“Jack,” she murmured, her eyes tremulous with tears.
“Everything has been done,” he said. “Will you be ready by eleven?
I’ll come for you.”
She clung to him in silence for a while.
* * * * *
At eleven he knocked on her door. She opened it. She wore her black wool gown and a black fur turban. Some of her pallor remained — traces of tears and bluish smears under both eyes. But her voice was steady.
“Could I see Dad a moment alone?”
“Of course.”
She took his arm: they descended the stairs. There seemed to be many people about but she did not lift her eyes until her lover led her into the dance hall where Clinch lay smiling his mysterious smile.
Then Stormont left her alone there and closed the door.
* * * * *
In a terrible snow-storm they buried Mike Clinch on the spot he had selected, in order that he might keep a watchful eye on the trespassing ghost of old man Harrod.
It blew and stormed and stormed, and the thin, nasal voice of “Rev. Smatter” was utterly lost in the wind. The slanting laces of snow drove down on the casket, building a white mound over the flowers, blotting the hemlock boughs from sight.
There was no time to be lost now; the ground was freezing under a veering and bitter wind out of the west. Mr. Lyken’s talented assistants had some difficulty in shaping the mound which snow began to make into a white and flawless monument.
The last slap of the spade rang with a metallic jar across the lake, where snow already blotted the newly forming film of ice; the human denizens of the wilderness filtered back into it one by one; “Rev. Smatter” got into his sleigh, plainly concerned about the road; Mr. Lyken betrayed unprofessional haste in loading his wagon with his talented assistants and starting for Ghost Lake.
A Game Protector or two put on snow-shoes when they departed. Trooper
Lannis led out his horse and Stormont’s, and got into the saddle.
“I’d better get these beasts into Ghost Lake while I can,” he said.
“You’ll follow on snow-shoes, won’t you, Jack?”
“I don’t know. I may need a sleigh for Eve. She can’t remain here all alone. I’ll telephone the Inn.”
Darragh, in blanket outfit, a pair of snow-shoes on his back, a rifle in his mittened hand, came trudging up from the lake. He and Stormont watched Lannis riding away with the two horses.
“He’ll make it all right, but it’s time he started,” said the latter.
Darragh nodded: “Some storm. Where is Eve?”
“In her room.”
What is she going to do, Jack?”
“Marry me as soon as possible. She wants to stay here for a few days but I can’t leave her here alone. I think I’ll telephone to Ghost Lake for a sleigh.”
“Let me talk to her,” said Darragh in a low voice.
“Do you think you’d better — at such a time?”
“I think it’s a good time. It will divert her mind, anyway. I want her to come to Harrod Place.”
“She won’t,” said Stormont grimly.
“She might. Let me talk to her.”
“Do you realise how she feels toward you, Jim?”
“I do, indeed. And I don’t blame her. But let me tell you; Eve Strayer is the most honest and fair-minded girl I ever knew. … Except one. … I’ll take a chance that she’ll listen to me. … Sooner or later she will be obliged to hear what I have to tell her. … But it will be easier for her — for everybody — if I speak to her now. Let me try, Jack.”
Stormont hesitate, looked at him, nodded. Darragh stood his rifle against the bench on the kitchen porch. They entered the house slowly. And met Eve descending the stairs.
The girl looked at Darragh, astonished, then her pale face flushed with anger.
“What are you doing in this house?” she demanded unsteadily. “Have you no decency, no shame?”
“Yes,” he said, “I am ashamed of what my kinsman has done to you and yours. That is partly why I am here.”
“You came here as a spy,” she said with hot contempt. “You lied about your name; you lied about your purpose. You came here to betray Dad! If he had known it he would have killed you!”
“Yes, he would have. But — do you know why I came here, Eve?”
“I’ve told you!”
“And you are wrong. I didn’t come here to betray Mike Clinch; I came to save him.”
“Do you suppose I believe a man who has lied to Dad?” she cried.
“I don’t ask you to, Eve. I shall let somebody else prove what I say. I don’t blame you for your attitude. God knows I don’t blame Mike Clinch. He stood up like a man to Henry Harrod. … All I ask is to undo some of the rotten things that my uncle did to you and yours. And that is partly why I came here.”
The girl said passionately: “Neither Dad nor I want anything from Harrod Place or from you! Do you suppose you can come here after Dad is dead and pretend you want to make amends for what your uncle did to us?”
“Eve,” said Darragh gravely, “I’ve made some amends already. You don’t know it, but I have. … You may not believe it, but I liked your father. He was a real man. Had anybody done to me what Henry Harrod did to your father I’d have behaved as your father behaved; I’d never have budged from this spot; I’d have hunted where I chose; I’d have borne an implacable hatred against Henry Harrod and Harrod Place, and every soul in it!”
The girl, silenced, looked at him without belief.
He said: “I am not surprised that you distrust what I say. But the man you are going to marry was a junior officer in my command. I have no closer friend than Jack Stormont. Ask him whether I am to be believed.”
Astounded, the girl turned a flushed, incredulous face to Stormont.
He said: “You may trust Darragh as you trust me. I don’t know what he has to say to you, dear. But whatever he says will be the truth.”
Darragh said, gravely: “Through a misunderstanding your father came into possession of stolen property, Eve. He did not know it had been stolen. I did. But Mike Clinch would not have believed me if I told him that the case of jewels in his possession had been stolen from a woman. … Quintana stole them. By accident they came into your father’s possession. I learned of this. I had promised this woman to recover her jewels.
“I cam here for that purpose, Eve. And for two reasons: first, because I learned that Quintana also was coming here to rob your father of these gems; second, because, when I knew your father, and knew you, I concluded that it would be an outrage to call on the police. I would mean prison for Clinch, misery and ruin for you, Eve. So — I tried to steal the jewels … to save you both.”
He looked at Stormont, who seemed astonished.
“To whom do these jewels belong, Jim?” demanded the trooper.
“To the young Grand Duchess of Esthonia. … Do you remember that I befriended her over there?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember that the Reds were accused of burning her chateau and looting it?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“Well, it was Quintana and his gang of international criminals who did that,” said Darragh drily.
And, to Eve: “By accident this case of jewels, emblazoned with the coat of arms of the Grand Duchess of Esthonia, came into your father’s possession. That is the story, Eve.”
There was a silence. The girl looked at Stormont, flushed painfully, looked at Darragh.
Then, without a word, she turned ascended the stairs, and reappeared immediately carrying the leather case.
“Thank you, Mr. Darragh,” she said simply; and laid the case in his hand.
“But,” said Darragh, “I want you to do a little more, Eve. The owner of these gems is my guest at Harrod Place. I want you to give them to her yourself.”
“I — I can’t go to Harrod Place,” stammered the girl.
“Please don’t visit the sins of Henry Harrod on me, Eve.”
“I — don’t. But — but that place — —”
After a silence: “If Eve feels that way,” began Stormont awkwardly, “I couldn’t become associated with you in business, Jim — —”
“I’d rather sell Harrod Place than lose you!” retorted Darragh almost sharply. “I want to go into business with you, Jack — if Eve will permit me — —”
She stood looking at Stormont, the heightened colour playing in her cheeks as she began to comprehend the comradeship between these two men.
Slowly she turned to Darragh, offered her hand:
“I’ll go to Harrod Place,” she said in a low voice.
Darragh’s quick smile brightened the sombre gravity of his face.
“Eve,” he said, “when I came over here this morning from Harrod Place I was afraid you would refuse to listen to me; I was afraid you would not even see me. And so I brought with me — somebody — to whom I felt certain you would listen. … I brought with me a young girl — a poor refugee from Russia, once wealthy, to-day almost penniless. … Her name is Theodorica. … Once she was Grand Duchess of Esthonia. … But this morning a clergyman from Five Lakes changed her name. … To such friends as you and Jack she is Ricca Darragh now … and she’s having a wonderful time on my new snow-shoes — —”
He took Eve by one hand and Stormont by the other, and drew them to the kitchen door and kicked it open.
Through the swirling snow, over the lake-slope at the timber edge, a graceful, boyish figure in scarlet and white wool moved swiftly over the drifts with all the naive delight of a child with a brand new toy.
As Darragh strode out into the open the distant figure flung up one arm in salutation and came racing over the drifts, her brilliant scarf flying.
All aglow and a trifle breathless, she met Darragh just beyond the veranda, rested one mitten hand on his shoulder while he knelt and unbuckled her snow-shoes, stepped lightly from them and came forward to Eve with out-stretched hand and sudden winning gravity in her lovely face.
“We shall be friends, surely,” she said in her quick, winning voice;— “because my husband has told me — and I am so grieved for you — and I need a girl friend — —”
Holding both Eve’s hands, her mittens dangling from her wrist, she looked into her eyes very steadily.
Slowly Eve’s eyes filled; more slowly still Ricca kissed her on both cheeks, framed her face in both hands, kissed her lightly on the lips.
Then, still holding Eve’s hands, she turned and looked at Stormont.
“I remember you now,” she said. “You were with my husband in Riga.”
She freed her right hand and held it out to Stormont. He had the grace to kiss it an did it very well for a Yankee.
Together they entered the kitchen door and turned into the dining room on the left, where were chairs around the plain pine table.
Darragh said: “The new mistress of Harrod Place has selected your quarters, Eve. They adjoin the quarters of her friend, the Countess Orloff-Strelwitz.”
“Valentine begged me,” said Ricca, smiling. “She is going to be lonely without me. All hours of day and night we were trotting into one another’s rooms — —” She looked gravely at Eve: “You will like Valentine; and she will like you very much. … As for me — I already love you.”
She put one arm around Eve’s shoulders: “How could you even think of remaining here all alone? Why, I should never close my eyes for thinking of you, dear.”
Eve’s head drooped; she said in a stifled voice: “I’ll go with you. …
I want to. … I’m very — tired.”
“We had better go now,” said Darragh. “Your things can be brought over later. If you’ll dress for snow-shoeing, Jack can pack what clothes you need. … Are there snow-shoes for him, too?”
Eve turned tragically to her lover: “In Dad’s closet — —” she said, choking; then turned and went up the stairs, still clinging to Ricca’s hand and drawing her with her.
Stormont followed, entered Clinch’s quarters, and presently came downstairs again, carrying Clinch’s snow-shoes and a basket pack.
He seated himself near Darragh. After a silence: “Your wife is beautiful, Jim. … Her character seems to be even more beautiful. … She’s like God’s own messenger to Eve. … And — you’re rather wonderful yourself — —”
“Nonsense,” said Darragh, “I’ve given my wife her first American friend and I’ve done a shrew stroke of business in nabbing the best business associate I ever heard of — —”
“You’re crazy but kind. … I hope I’ll be some good. … One thing;
I’ll never get over what you’ve done for Eve in this crisis — —”
“There’ll be no crisis, Jack. Marry, and hook up with me in business. That solves everything. … Lord! — what a life Eve has had! But you’ll make it all up to her … all this loneliness and shame and misery of Clinch’s Dump — —”
Stormont touched his arm in caution: Eve and Ricca came down the stairs — the former now in the grey wool snow-shoe dress, and carrying her snow-shoes, black gown, and toilet articles.
Stormont began to stow away her effects in the basket pack; Darragh went over to her and took her hand.
“I’m so glad we are to be friends,” he said. “It hurt a lot to know you held me in contempt. But I had to go about it that way.”
Eve nodded. Then, suddenly recollecting: “Oh,” she exclaimed, reddening, “I forgot the jewel case! It’s under my pillow — —”
She turned and sped upstairs and reappeared almost instantly, carrying the jewel-case.
Breathless, flushed, thankful and happy in the excitement of restitution, she placed the leather case in Ricca’s hands.
“My jewels!” cried the girl, astonished. Then, with a little cry of delight, she placed the case upon the table, stripped open the emblazoned cover, and emptied the two trays. All over the table rolled the jewels, flashing, scintillating, ablaze with blinding light.
And at the same instant the outer door crashed open and Quintana covered them with Darragh’s rifle.
“Now, by Christ!” he shouted, “who stirs a finger shall go to God in one jump! You, my gendarme frien’ — you, my frien’ Smith — turn your damn backs — han’s up high! — tha’s the way! — now, ladies! — back away there — get back or I kill! — sure, by Jesus, I kill you like I would some white little mice! — —”
With incredible quickness he stepped forward and swept the jewels into one hand — filled the pocket of his trousers, caught up every stray stone and pocketed them.
“You gendarme,” he cried in a menacing voice, “you think you shall follow in my tack. Yes? I blow your damn head off if you stir before the hour. … After that — well, follow and be damn!”
