Nedra

  CHAPTER IV

  READY FOR THE SEA

  Ridgeway, his nerves tense and his eyes gleaming, marched his thoroughlychilled companion up to the bar. He manoeuvred so that the plain-clothesman stood with his back toward the door, and he seemed to be in noespecial haste to attract the attention of the bartender. As they gavetheir order for drinks, Hugh saw Grace, in his mind's eye, slipping fromthe carriage and off into the crowd--and every fibre of his heart waspraying for success to attend her flight. He found himself talkingglibly, even volubly to the watcher, surprised that he could be doing itwith his mind so full of other thoughts.

  "Awful night to be out. I'd hate to have a job like yours," he wasrattling on, heaving intermittent breaths of relief as he saw the sizeof the drink the other was pouring out for himself.

  "I've been at it for twelve years. I don't mind anything just so ithelps to make a comfortable home for the old lady and the kids."

  "Ah, the kids," said Hugh, grasping at the subject as if it were theproverbial straw. "How I love kids! How many have you?"

  "Four. The oldest is ten."

  "They're worth working for, I'll bet. Nothing like children. How manyhave you?"

  "Four," said the officer, looking at him in surprise.

  "I'm a little deaf," explained Hugh, recovering himself quickly. "Ithought you said ten."

  "No; the oldest is ten. Yes; they're worth slaving for. I've hung ontothis job all these years just because it might go hard with 'em if Igave it up and tried something else."

  Hugh looked into the sober, serious face and a lump flew to his throat.It struck him as probable that this man was to lose his position thenext morning. A sort of pity assailed Ridgeway for an instant, but heput it away resolutely.

  After all, he had Grace to think of and not the children of theplain-clothes man.

  They had a second drink and it fired his brain with a gleeful desire foraction. The plain-clothes man shivered as he swallowed the fiery stuff.He looked thin and haggard and ill, a condition which Hugh, in hishatred, had failed to observe until this moment.

  "You certainly have a home and some money saved up by this time," hesaid, trying to suppress the eager gleam in his eyes.

  "We've had lots of sickness and it's taken nearly everything. Besides,I've been too d---- honest. It's my own fault that I haven't a big wadput away."

  "What is your name?" demanded Hugh suddenly.

  "Friend."

  "I understand all that. But what is your name?"

  "That's it--George Friend--Street Station."

  "Oh, I see." Hugh also saw the picture of this poor fellow as he stoodbefore his superior later on with his luckless tale, facing athirty-days' lay-off at the lowest. "By the way, I want to write a shortnote." He secured envelope, paper and stamp from the bar and hastilywrote a brief letter. The inscription on the outside of the envelope was"George Friend,--Police Station, New York," and there were threeone-hundred-dollar bills inclosed with the note of explanation. "I'llmail it later," he said. "Come on."

  They went forth into the rain, Hugh's blood leaping with excitement, theplain-clothes man shivering as if he were congealing. Mr. Ridgewaydashed across the pavement and peered into the cab. Grace was not there,just as he had hoped and expected.

  "The lady's in the drug-store below, sir," announced the cabman.

  "Wait here" called Hugh to the plain-clothes man. "I'm afraid she's ill.She's gone to the drug-store." He hurried toward the drug-store as theofficer began to question the driver. A second later Mr. Ridgeway turnedthe corner and was off like the wind toward Sixth Avenue. Turning intoan alley, he fled southward, chuckling to himself as he splashed throughthe puddles and mudholes. He heard shouts in the distance and he did notdecrease his speed until he neared the street opening below. There heran into some one and fell. Besmeared and bespattered, he quicklypicked himself up; and when, a moment later, he gained the sidewalk, noone would hardly have recognized in the dilapidated-looking creature thedapper Hugh Ridgeway. Police whistles were calling behind him, nearerand nearer, but he walked boldly out into the street and up to SixthAvenue. His nerves were tingling and his breathing was hard to controlafter the mad dash through the alley, but he slouched along in the leeof the buildings to escape the downpour, stopping near the corner.

  Suddenly he rushed out and hailed a passing cab, climbed inside and gaveorders to drive as quickly as possible to the Twenty-third Street Ferry.Then he sat up boldly and stared forth with all the courage that hisescape inspired.

  "By Jove," he was shouting inwardly, "that poor devil was on my heels.He looked hard as he hustled past, but I stared back just as hard. Ittook nerve to face him. Hang it all, I'm sorry for him. He wasn't toblame. But this letter will cheer him up. It's for the kids if anythinghappens to him."

  Apparently changing his mind at Herald Square, he instructed the driverto go down Thirty-fifth Street to Eighth Avenue and drop him at thecorner. After leaving the cab he ventured into an all-night shop andbought a cheap raincoat, slouch hat and umbrella. Then, like a thief, hestole forth and warily made his way toward the dock. It was bad goingand he hailed a second cab. Before climbing into it, he crossed anddropped an envelope into the mailbox.

  "There," he muttered, "that helps my conscience. By Jove, this has beena corking start for the adventure. Talk about dime novels!"

  He instructed the driver to take him to a point not far from the dock, aprecaution which suddenly invested itself. It would be wise to approachthe liner by stealth, taking no chances. They were sailing by one of theobscure lines, not for economy's sake, but to avoid possible contactwith friends of their own class.

  As he rattled off through the night, huddled back in the blackness ofthe cab, Hugh began to have the first pangs of uneasiness. Thedistressing fear that all had not gone well with Grace flooded his brainwith misgivings and feverish doubts. A clock in a shop window told himit was nearly ten o'clock. He was cursing himself for permitting her torush off alone in a night like this, into a quarter that reeked withuncertainty and disorder. Vague horrors presented themselves to hisdistressed mind; calamity stared at him from the mouth of every darkalley; outrage, crime, misfortune, danced in every shadow. As forhimself, he was a sorry sight and enough to frighten Grace intoconvulsions at one glance. Rain-soaked, muddy, bedraggled, it was notthe debonnaire Chicagoan of old who skulked away from the cab at acertain black corner and made his way stealthily, even fearfully, towardthe distant dock.

  Every sound startled and alarmed him; every pedestrian looked like apursuer in plain clothes or blue. A couple of policemen eyed him sharplyand he trembled in his boots. The sudden, overpowering recollection thathe had the passage tickets in his pockets with the reservations and theluggage checks almost sent him flying through the air, so swift was hispace. He lost his way twice, but was set straight by unsuspectingbluecoats.

  At last he zigzagged his way through devious channels and into thepresence of a company's official, who informed him that Miss Ridge hadnot gone aboard nor had she presented herself at the dock during theevening. Hugh's jaw dropped and a sick, damp perspiration started on hisforehead. Hardly knowing what he did, he went aboard and plied hisquestions right and left, hoping that she might have come throughunobserved. But she was not there, and it was half past ten o'clock.

  Out into the drizzle he sallied once more, racked by a hundred doubtsand misgivings. Reproaching himself fiercely for a fool, a dolt, heposted himself at the approach to the dock and strained his eyes andears for the first sight of Grace Vernon. Other people went aboard, butan hour passed before he gave up all hope and distractedly made up hismind to institute a search for the missing girl. He conjectured allmanner of mishaps, even to the most dreadful of catastrophes. Runawayaccident, robbery, abduction, even murder harassed his imagination untilit became unbearable. The only cheerful alternative that he could hopefor was that she might not have escaped the authorities after all andwas still in custody, crushed and despairing. Reviling himself with abitterness that was
explicit but impotent, he started off resolutely toseek the aid of the police--the last extremity.

  A quick little shriek came to his ears, and then the door of a cab thathad been standing at the opposite corner flew open.

  "Hugh! Hugh!" called a shrill voice. His heart gave a wild leap and thenhis long legs did the same--repeatedly. As he brought up beside the cab,Grace Vernon tumbled out, sobbing and laughing almost hysterically.

  "Good Heavens!" shouted he, regardless of the driver, who grinnedscornfully from his private box above, the only witness to this mostunconventional comedy of circumstances.

  "I've been--been here an hour--in this cab!" she cried plaintively. "Oh,oh, oh! You'll never know how I felt all that time. It seemed a year.Where did you get those awful-looking clothes, and--"

  "What--aw--oh, the coat? Great Jehoshaphat! You don't mean to saythat--"

  "I thought you were a detective!" she sobbed. "Oh, how wretched I'vebeen. Pay the man, dear, and take me--take me any place where there islight. I'm dying from the sight and sound of this awful night."

  Mr. Ridgeway lost no time in paying the driver and getting her on boardthe _Saint Cloud_. She tried to explain as they hurried along, but hetold her there was time enough for that.

  "We may be watched, after all," he said, looking anxiously in alldirections, a habit that had grown upon him to such an extent that hefeared it would cling to him through life. "Go to your stateroom,dearest, and I'll send you something hot to drink. Good Heavens, what aneternity it has been! Oh, if you could only know what I've beencalling myself!"

  "I'm ashamed to admit it, dear, but _I've_ been calling you things, too.And I've been so worried about you. How did you get away from that man?"

  "Not now, dear. I'll meet you out here in the library in half an hour.I'll see about the luggage."

  "You must change your clothes, Hugh. You're frightfully wet. Send mysmall trunk and bag right up, dear."

  Like a thief and murderer, Hugh slunk out and attended to the trunks andbags, watching all the time for the dreaded plain-clothes man and hiscohorts, trembling with a nervous fear so unbecoming in a strong manthat the baggage master smiled in derision and imagined he was lookingupon a "greenie" who was making his first voyage and was afraid of thesea. Offering up a prayer of thankfulness, he bolted into his ownstateroom soon afterward and came forth later on in dry clothes and anew frame of mind. He was exuberant, happy once more.

  They did not look like brother and sister as they sat on one of thewide sofas and drank the toddy that came from below in charge of awell-feed steward.

  "Be careful, dear!" he warned, with returning reason. "They'll thinkwe're bride and groom."

  "Oh, dear me," she lamented. "It is almost out of the question to actlike brother and sister after all we've been through to-night."

  "Now, tell me all about it. How did it all work out for you," he askedeagerly.

  "Well, it was all very simple--although I was frightened half todeath--until I drove up to the spot where you saw me a little while ago.I thought it would be wise to take a look around before I tried to goaboard. Just as I left the cab a man rushed past me and I flew back intomy seat like a bullet. He was a tall, slouchy fellow, with a sly look.All at once it came to me that he was a detective. You know, they'realways mysterious looking. So I stayed in the cab trying to think whatto do next. I was quite sure you had not yet arrived, for I had comedown as quickly as possible. And I wasn't real sure, either, that youhad escaped. I didn't know how many drinks it might take, dear."

  "Don't let me forget to tell you how sorry I was for Mr. Plain Clothesand what I did afterward for the kids," interposed Hugh.

  "The kids?"

  "Yes. His."

  "Oh, I see. Well, pretty soon that awful man came out and stood at thecorner. He was waiting for some one. He was nervous and sleuth-like. Heacted so queerly that I was sure of it. He was after you and me. Ofcourse, I nearly fainted. All the time I was afraid you would run rightinto his arms, so I was watching from both windows to warn you ifpossible. My plan was to get you into the cab and drive away like mad.Hours passed, it seemed to me, and--"

  "I know the rest!" he cried, laughing so loud that the steward looked upreprovingly.

  "Is everything ready, Hugh?" she asked anxiously. "The trunks, thetickets,--everything?"

  "Yes, dear," he said tenderly, soberly. "We are ready for the sea."

  "God be with us," she said wistfully.