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Against Odds

<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> <h2>'LET ME LAUGH!'</h2> There were moments, yes, even hours, during the week while our guard lay upon his hospital cot unconscious or delirious, when I blamed myself severely for my lack of confidence or frankness that afternoon of his encounter with the brunette; times when I felt that he should have been told at least what I believed was the truth concerning her. Yet, how was I to have guessed her intent concerning him? Knowing her pursuit of Miss Jenrys, I felt so sure that she was only using him as a means for obtaining infor[192]mation about that young lady, and that this interview was only the beginning of what was meant to become an acquaintance more or less confidential. As a result of my reticence, the young fellow had barely escaped with his life; even now, so the doctor said, fever or inflammation might put it in jeopardy. Well, it was not my only blunder, I thought, looking back, with a grim smile, to my first absurd exploit. But I would try very hard to make it my last; at least, where 'the gang,' as Dave was wont to call Delbras and Company, was concerned. And when thinking of 'the gang,' I could not but note how both Dave and myself had reversed our first order in naming them, and now spoke, invariably, not of 'Greenback Bob and the rest,' but of 'Delbras and Company.' Somehow, Delbras seemed to have taken the foremost place in our thoughts, as I fully believed he was foremost in all the plots, plans and undertakings of the mysterious and elusive three. And yet he was the one out of the gang against whom we had no actual case. We could see the hand of Greenback Bob in the counterfeit two-dollar greenbacks which had started into circulation so briskly, and then so suddenly dropped out of sight. And his work was also visible in that attack upon the guard; for who, according to the police records, could handle a 'slung-shot' as could Bob? And that the guard's wound was the work of a sling, we—the surgeon and myself—quite believed. As for the brunette, we might begin with her little confidence game, in which she did not secure Miss Jenrys' bag; charge her with the sale of the stolen emerald, and bring home to her the loss of the 'dew-drops' and other contents of the chamois-bag lost in her flight across Wooded Island—when we found her again. But Delbras! We might believe him to be the originator of, and prime mover in, the Lausch diamond robbery, but[193] the only shadow of corroboration was our belief—based upon the fact of Dave's having seen the three together—that they were 'partners,' and that Delbras was credited with being an expert diamond thief. Not a promising outlook, I sometimes said to Dave, in my moments of discouragement, which my practical friend declared were somehow always synonymous with my moments of hunger. But to return to our guard and his interests. During the fifteen minutes kindly granted by the doctor, and which somehow ran into half an hour before he came and ordered me away, I contrived to establish between myself and the invalid a very sufficient understanding, and I left him feeling that, so far as lay in my power, he was warned against his enemies, and knew them, at least, as well as I did. Upon one question, however, we differed. As I was about to take leave, I said: 'There is one thing that I foresee, and that is a renewal of your social relations with Miss Jenrys and a beginning of the same with her aunt. I can see reasons why it might be better—might simplify matters—if you kept up at least an outside appearance of coolness. You understand?' 'Yes.' He was silent for a little time, then: 'Will this be of actual use or help to you?' 'Only as your meetings may complicate matters by making new trouble for yourself, or—possibly—her.' 'Then,' said he, looking me straight in the eye, 'Miss Jenrys must decide the question.' As I came out from the hospital that day I came face to face with Monsieur Voisin. He paused a moment, as if in doubt, and then came quickly toward me, one hand extended, a smile upon his face. His greeting was the perfection of courtesy, and I, of course, responded in kind. After a few remarks of the usual sort, a word regarding the weather, which was perfect, and praises of the Fair,[194] Monsieur Voisin, who had seen me emerge from the hospital, said: 'So it is here that this great Fair cares for its sick and unfortunate? Have you been inspecting its methods, may I ask?' There are times when the truth is best; and I thought I knew my man, so I replied smilingly: 'A hospital is not in itself charming. I have been to call upon a friend.' 'That, indeed! A patient, I suppose?' 'A patient, yes.' I felt sure that he was not inclined to tarry, nor in truth was I; but I let him take the initiative, and after a few more airy, courteous words he murmured something about an appointment, and went his way. When he was quite out of sight I went back to the guard near the door of the hospital, who had grown to know me quite well. 'Did you notice the man who just spoke with me?' I asked him. 'Yes, sir.' 'Ever see him before?' 'I have that. A few days ago he stopped and asked after one of the patients—feller that fell into the lagoon the other night. Said he'd heard that a young man fell off a bridge.' 'And—may I ask how you answered him?' The guard looked at me quizzically. 'Well, you see, we've been ordered not to answer questions about this case, for some reason that you may know better than I do; and so I couldn't tell him much about it, but I offered to ask for him. He wouldn't have that; said it was only a passing inquiry,' and he laughed knowingly. He had seen me when I came with the men who bore the guard upon a stretcher, and felt that he might overstep the rules with safety.[195] 'How is the fellow, anyhow?' he asked. 'They say he was one of us.' 'He is one of you,' I replied, 'and we hope to see him about at the end of a week.' <hr style="width: 45%;" /> Precisely how Carr or Lossing—I called him 'our guard' in those days, by preference—precisely how he and June Jenrys met, I learned in detail, but not until the glorious White City had faded in truth to a dream city—a lovely vivid memory; but I had imagined the scene, even before it took place, and I was glad to know that my 'imagination machine,' to quote Dave, had not gone far wrong. Miss Jenrys had accepted my proffered escort that morning, and, a little to my surprise, I found that her aunt was not prepared to accompany her. For the first time that little woman gave me a glimpse of a strong foundation of that good sense that is not held in strictly orthodox leash, the sturdy independence that accepts convention as a servant but not as a mistress, that was hidden beneath that gentle, yielding manner of hers. 'My niece is not a child,' she said to me, when the young lady had left us to make ready for the walk to the hospital, 'and it is best that she should go alone to-day for his sake. Thee must understand?' I nodded, and she went on: 'June has told me the story, all of it, I think, and there is something that should be explained; there is error, at least, somewhere. It seems strange to be talking like this to thee, but thee seems to have come so intimately into our lives of late—besides, of course, I know that—having read that letter, which June has let me read also—thee sees the position——' 'One moment,' I interrupted her; 'I have wanted to speak upon this subject and have hesitated. Nine young women out of ten would have deeply resented my reading of that letter.'[196] 'But the circumstances——' 'I know. Still, I might have resisted the temptation to read on after I had discovered your address, and although she grants the mitigating circumstances, still she must resent, just a little, my knowledge of its contents.' She put up her hand, with a soft little laugh. 'I shall be sure to trip myself if I attempt a polite fib, so I will admit that. At first, for a little time, June did feel quite haughty when she thought of that letter and thy knowledge of it in the same moment. But great troubles often swallow up small annoyances, thee knows; and I can assure thee that my niece now looks upon thee as a real friend, to be trusted, not quarrelled with; besides—for thee must know we have talked over this very thing—she realizes that if thee had not read that letter something unpleasant might have befallen her, something terrible; who knows? Besides, there are all these later happenings, all your help to be put in the balance in your favour. No, Mr. Masters, thee has in June Jenrys a friend, who is grateful to thee, and who believes in thee, and she is no lukewarm partisan.' She put out her slim, white hand, ringless and soft, but firm in its touch, and I grasped it and was silent for a moment; then, thanking her for her kindness and confidence, I said hastily, and in momentary expectation of seeing Miss Jenrys enter the room: 'Miss Ross, I believe you have saved me from a blunder. As you have said, your niece is a woman, and a very clever one, and I have been near treating her like a child.' 'A child, and how?' 'There is a word concerning that same letter we have been speaking of, which I have been longing to speak. It should have been said before this visit of to-day, I think; and I have near been telling it to you, when it most concerns Miss Jenrys.'[197] She came closer, with a swift step. 'Does it—does it also concern—him?' 'Yes.' 'And—ah—I must ask thee if it is to his hurt?' 'It is not.' 'Then tell it to her at once, if it will make their meeting less embarrassing to either; tell it—hush!' Almost as she spoke the door opened and June Jenrys entered the room, and never had she looked so charming. It was evident in every detail of her simple toilet that she had dressed with the purpose and the power to please and charm. The gown was simply made, of some soft, creamy-tinted wool, that fell in long straight folds from her silken belt, and was drawn, soft and full, like the surplice of our grandmothers' day, about the shapely shoulders and across the breast; and the hat was black and broad, with curving brim and drooping plume, the same, in fact, worn by her on the now memorable day when we—the guard and I—saw her, all unconscious of the menacing Turks on Midway Plaisance. A soft, black glove with long, wrinkled wrists, and a long, slim umbrella, tightly furled, completed a charming picture of a New York girl par excellence. As we left the house and I turned at the foot of the steps to lift my hat to Miss Ross, looking after us from the doorway, she waved her hand and sent me a significant glance, which I well understood. It meant, 'Speak, and speak boldly.' When we had entered at the Fifty-seventh Street gate, and were crossing the bridge, I did speak, and boldly too, it seemed to me. 'Before we enter the hospital, Miss Jenrys,' I began, 'there is something which I think you ought to know. I have not spoken of it in your aunt's presence, because it is first and most your affair, to make known or to withhold[198] for a time. Will you sit in that arbour where I first talked to yourself and Miss Ross? I see that it is unoccupied, fortunately.' She assented promptly, and when we had entered the Nebraska House arbour, and were seated side by side upon the shadiest seat, she turned toward me an expectant look, and silently waited my pleasure. Her face was grave and somewhat paler than usual, but there rested in her lovely eyes a look of fixed purpose, a clear, fine light as of some decision, made after doubt and hesitation, in which she now rested and felt strong. She did not seem eager, as she sat beside me, only waiting, and her mind evidently was 'far away ahead.' I came promptly to the point. 'What I have to say, Miss Jenrys, concerns our friend whom we are about to visit, as well as yourself.' She let her lashes droop, and slightly bent her head. 'And it has been in my mind,' I went on, 'for some time—in fact ever since I came to the conclusion that our friend was, in truth, the Mr. Lossing whom you named in the letter I was so bold as to read;' here she flushed hotly. 'And here permit me to say, Miss Jenrys, that no man ever read his own mother's letter more respectfully than I perused that letter of yours, searching through it for the address of its writer. I hope you will believe me when I say that I hesitated long, and put down the letter more than once, before I ventured to give it a second glance, and that no eye save mine read or saw one word of its contents while it remained in my possession. When I met you first, and talked with you in this same spot, I wanted to say this to you, but I saw that you preferred to ignore this part of the affair——' 'I did,' she interrupted, with gentle dignity, reminding me of her aunt. 'I confess that at first I felt sore and sensitive about my poor letter, but that is over, Mr. Masters; you have made me again and again your debtor, even by[199] that act, as I now see clearly. Let us not refer to that letter again.' 'But I must once more at least, and I beg you to bear with me if I seem unduly meddling with your affairs; they are our friend's affairs too, and I believe he has been grievously wronged.' 'Wronged?' She started, and her face flushed and paled in the same moment. 'How—how?' 'I will tell you. You may not be aware how much a few written lines can sometimes convey to one in my profession, especially when written by one who speaks frankly, as friend to friend; and when I had read that portion of your letter which describes the scene in the conservatory, I seemed to see it all.' I was speaking with my eyes upon the ripples of the little stream at our feet, into which, from time to time, I tossed a leaf or twig from the branches just overhead. 'When I had read that portion of the letter, Miss Jenrys,' I went on, 'before I had seen you or Lossing, I said to myself, "She has been deceived—tricked!"' 'Tricked?' she whispered through pale lips, and then she drew herself erect, and awaited my next words. 'Miss Jenrys, I believe you know now whom I am about to accuse. Yesterday I had a talk with Lossing, as long as the doctor would permit, and I, on my part, took him quite into my confidence. He knows me for what I am; he knows what I am doing. I told him, after consulting you, the story of the letter—of the brunette—everything. Was I wrong?' 'No,' very slowly. 'And last I told him that I believed someone had played him a dastardly trick. Shall I tell you what he said to me?' 'Yes.' 'He swore that the words you heard behind the palms[200] were never uttered by him; that he saw only you and one other in the conservatory.' She clasped her two hands in her lap, and I saw that they trembled slightly; but her voice was low and calm when she turned to me and said: 'If he tells me this, I shall believe him.' And then, after a moment of silence, 'How was it done?' she asked. 'Can you not imagine a rival overhearing, perhaps, the appointment in the conservatory? If he is a good mimic or a ventriloquist, say, it would be easy to utter a few words behind the palms, impersonating two people; then, as his victim approaches, he glides behind some other leafy screen, to appear before you, perhaps, a little later, smiling and secretly triumphant.' 'I see!' she said, with sudden energy. 'Tell me what must—what ought I to do?' 'Will you take my advice, with a strong reason behind it?' 'Yes,' promptly. 'Then, say nothing, do nothing, for the present. Believe me, it will be best in the end, and an especial favour to me. I will explain more fully at another time.' I got up and stood before her, watch in hand. 'We are due at the hospital. Do you agree?' 'To wait?' She arose quickly. 'Will it really be a favour to you?' 'It will be a great favour. It will disarrange my most cherished plans for unmasking a villain if you make a sign too soon.' 'Then I will hold my peace; I will help you, even—can I?' 'Will you?' 'I will.' She put out her hand. 'Thank you. I will not cause you to regret your promise. Shall we go?' [201] <hr style="width: 45%;" /> Lossing lay eager-eyed and impatient, watching alternately his watch and the door, when June entered, stately and charming, and came alone straight to his cot. There were no heroics. These were not the lovers of the popular novel, who meet invariably, after long absence or a deadly quarrel, in an empty parlour at early twilight; they were young and ardent, but they were also familiar with les convenances, and possessed of the nineteenth-century horror of a scene. When she paused beside him his hand was outstretched to meet hers; and if the clasp was close and long, what of that? And if, when she sank gracefully into the seat placed for her by an attendant, there was a suspicious moisture in her eyes, which she seemed to wipe away, since her back was turned to the others; and if his lip quivered slightly, for he was very weak you know, what then? At first no word was spoken, but their eyes had met and exchanged greetings, without the aid of words. By-and-by, with his eyes devouring her face, he said feebly: 'You—have seen—Masters?' 'Yes, he brought me here.' 'And—he told—you——?' 'Everything.' He drew a long sigh of relief, and slid his hand along the counterpane toward hers. 'June,' appealingly. She put her hand in his for a moment, met his eyes for an instant, turned her own away quickly, and glanced over her shoulder; then suddenly she began to laugh softly. 'June!' reproachfully. 'Let me laugh! Oh, you poor boy! If I don't laugh, I'm afraid—I shall cry!' <hr style="width: 65%;" /> [202] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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