Castle Craneycrow

  VIII. THE FATE OF A LETTER

  At Quevy the customs officers went through the train, and Quentinknew that he was in Belgium. For some time he had been weighing inhis mind the advisability of searching the train for a glimpse ofthe duke and his companion, doubtful as to the sincerity of thebeautiful and mysterious stranger. It was not until the trainreached Mons that he caught sight of the duke. He had started outdeliberately at last to hunt for the Italian, and the latterevidently had a similar design. They met on the platform and, thoughit was quite dark, each recognized the other. The American was onthe point of addressing the duke when that gentleman abruptly turnedand reentered the train, one coach ahead of that occupied byQuentin, who returned to his compartment and proceeded to awaken thesnoring man-servant. Without reserve he confided to Turk the wholestory of the night up to that point.

  "I don't know what their game is, Turk, but we must not be caughtnapping. We have a friend in the pretty woman who got off in therain at Le Cateau. She loves the prince, and that's why she's withus."

  "Say, did she look's if she had royal blood in her? Mebby she's aqueen er somethin' like that. Blow me, if a feller c'n tell w'atsort of a swell he's goin' up ag'inst over here. Dukes and lords areas common as cabbies are in New York. Anyhow, this duke ain't got nobulge on us. We're nex' to him, all right, all right. Shall I crackhim on the knot when we git to this town we're goin' to? A good joltwould put him out o' d' business fer a spell--"

  "Now, look here, young man; don't let me hear of you making a movein this affair till I say the word. You are to keep your mouthclosed and your hands behind you. What I want you to do is to watch,just as they are doing. Your early training ought to stand you wellin hand for this game. I believe you once said you had eyes in theback of your head."

  "Eyes, nothin'! They is microscopes, Mr. Quentin."

  Quentin, during the remainder of the run to Brussels, turned the newsituation over and over in his mind. That the prince was ready toacknowledge him as a dangerous rival gave him much satisfaction andinspired the hope that Miss Garrison had given her lover some causefor alarm. The decisive movement on the part of Prince Ugo toforestall any advantage he might acquire while near her in Brusselswas a surprise and something of a shock to him. It was an admission,despite his position and the pledge he had from the girl herself,that the Italian did not feel secure in the premises, and waswilling to resort to trickery, if not villainy, to circumvent theAmerican who knew him in other days. Phil felt positive that themove against him was the result of deliberate intent, else howshould his fair friend of the early evening know that a plot wasbrewing? Unquestionably she had heard or learned of the prince'sdirections to the duke. Her own interest in the prince was, ofcourse, the inspiration. To no one but herself could she entrust thedelivery of the warning. Her agitated wish, openly expressed, thatQuentin might win the contest had a much deeper meaning than wouldappear on the surface.

  From the moment he received the warning the affair began to take ona new aspect. Aside from the primal fact that he was desperately inlove with Dorothy Garrison, there was now the fresh incentive thathe must needs win her against uncertain odds and in the face ofsurprising opposition. In this day and age of the world, in affairsof the heart, an American does not look for rivalry that bears thesuggestion of medieval romance. The situation savored too much ofthe story-books that are born of the days when knights held sway, toappear natural in the eyes of an up-to-date, unromantic gentlemanfrom New York, that city where love affairs adjust themselveswithout the aid of a novelist.

  Quentin, of course, was loath to believe that Prince Ugo wouldresort to underhand means to checkmate a rival whose real purposehad not yet been announced. In six weeks the finest wedding in yearswas to occur in Brussels. St. Gudule, that historic cathedral, wasto be the scene of a ceremony on which all European newspapers hadthe eye of comment. American papers had printed columns concerningthe engagement of the beautiful Miss Garrison. Everywhere had beenpublished the romantic story of this real love match. What, then,should the prince fear?

  The train rumbled into the station at Brussels near midnight, andTurk sallied forth for a cab. This he obtained without the usualamount of haggling on his part, due to the disappointing fact thatthe Belgian driver could understand nothing more than the wordBellevue, while Turk could interpret nothing more than the wordfranc. As Quentin was crossing to the cab he encountered DukeLaselli. Both started, and, after a moment's pause, greeted eachother.

  "I thought I saw you at Mons," said Phil, after the firstexpressions of surprise.

  "Yes; I boarded the train there. Some business called me to Monslast week. And you, I presume, like most tourists, are visiting adozen cities in half as many days," said the duke, in his execrableEnglish. They paused at the side of the Italian's conveyance, andQuentin mentally resolved that the dim light, as it played upon theface of the speaker, was showing to him the most repellentcountenance he had ever looked upon.

  "Oh. no," he answered, quickly, "I shall probably remain until afterthe marriage of my friend, Miss Garrison, and Prince Ugo. Are you tobe here long?"

  "I cannot say," answered the other, his black eyes fastened onQuentin's, "My business here is of an uncertain nature."

  "Diplomatic, I infer?"

  "It would not be diplomatic for me to say so. I suspect I shall seeyou again, Mr. Quentin."

  "Doubtless; I am to be at the Bellevue."

  "And I, also. We may see some of the town together."

  "You are very kind," said Quentin, bowing deeply. "Do you travelalone?"

  "The duchess is ill and is in Florence. I am so lonely without her."

  "It's beastly luck for business to carry one away from a sick wife.By the way, how is my dear friend, Prince Ugo?"

  "Exceptionally well, thank you. He will be pleased to know you arehere, for he is coming to Brussels next week. I think, if you willpardon me, he has taken quite a fancy to you."

  "I trust, after longer acquaintance, he may not find me adisappointment," said Phil warmly, and a faint look of curiosityflashed into the duke's eyes. As they were saying good-night,Quentin looked about for the man who might be Courant, thedetective. But the duke's companion was not to be seen.

  The next morning Quentin proceeded in a very systematic andeffective way to locate the home of the Garrisons. He was aware, inthe beginning, that they lived in a huge, beautiful mansionsomewhere in the Avenue Louise. He knew from his Baedeker that theupper town was the fashionable quarter, and that the Avenue Louisewas one of the principal streets. An electric tramcar took himspeedily through the Boulevards Regent and Waterloo to the AvenueLouise. A strange diffidence had prevented him from asking at thehotel for directions that would easily have discovered her home.Somehow he wanted to stroll along the avenue in the early morningand locate the home of Dorothy Garrison without other aid than thepower which tells one when he is near the object of his adoration.He left the car at the head of the avenue and walked slowly alongthe street.

  His mind was full of her. Every vehicle that passed attracted hisgaze, for he speculated that she might be in one of them. Not awell-dressed woman came within the range of his vision but she wassubjected to a hurried inspection, even from a distance. He strodeslowly along, looking intently at each house. None of them seemed tohim to hold the object of his search. As his steps carried himfarther and farther into the beautiful avenue he began to smile tohimself and his plodding spirit wavered. After all, thought he, noone but a silly ass would attempt to find a person in a great cityafter the fashion he was pursuing. He was deciding to board atramcar and return to the hotel when, at some distance ahead, he sawa young lady run hurriedly down the steps of an impressive lookinghouse.

  He recognized Dorothy Garrison, and with a thump of exultation hisheart urged him across the street toward her. She evidently had notseen him; her eyes were on the ground and she seemed preoccupied. Inher hand she held a letter. A gasp of astonishment, almost of alarm,came from her lips, her eyes opened wide in that sort
of surprisewhich reveals something like terror, and then she crumpled theletter in her hand spasmodically.

  "I thought you lived down here somewhere," he exclaimed, joyfully,seizing her hand. "'I knew I could find you."

  "I--I am so glad to see you," she stammered, with a brave effort torecover from the shock his appearance had created. "What are youdoing here, Phil?"

  "Looking for you, Dorothy. Shall I post your letter?"

  She was still standing as if rooted to the spot, the letter in a sadplight.

  "Oh, I'll not--not post it now. I should have sent the footman. Comewith me and see mamma. I know she will be glad to have you here,"she hurried, in evident confusion. She bethought herself suddenlyand made an effort to withdraw the letter from its ratherconspicuous position. The hand containing it was drawn behind herback.

  "That will be very nice of her. Better post the letter, though.Somebody's expecting it, you know. Hullo! That's not a nice way totreat a letter. Let me straighten it out for you.''

  "Never mind, Phil--really, I don't care about it. You surprised me sotremendously that I fear I've ruined it. Now I shall have to writeanother."

  "Fiddlesticks! Send it as it is. The prince will blame thepostoffice people," cried he.

  "It is not for the prince," she cried, quickly, and then became moreconfused than ever. "Come to the house, Phil. You must tell me howyou happen to be here."

  As they walked slowly to the Garrison home and mounted the steps,she religiously held the epistle where he could not regard it tooclosely should his curiosity overcome his prudence. They wereushered into the reception room, and she directed the footman to askif Mrs. Garrison could see Mr. Quentin.

  "Now, tell me all about it," she said, taking a chair quite acrossthe big room.

  "There's nothing to tell," he said. "I am in Brussels, and I thoughtI'd hunt you up."

  "But why didn't you write or wire me that you were coming? Youhaven't acted much like a friend," she said, pointedly.

  "Perhaps I wrote and never mailed the letter. Remember yourexperience just now. You still hold the unlucky note in your hand.Sometimes we think better of our intentions at the very instant whenthey are going into effect. It is very mysterious to me that youwouldn't mail that letter. I can only believe that you changed yourmind when you saw me."

  "How absurd! As if seeing you could have anything to do with it!"

  "You ought to tell me if my appearance here is liable to alter anyplan that letter is intended to perfect. Don't let me be aninconvenience. You know I'd rather be anything than an inconvenience."

  "It doesn't matter in the least; really, it doesn't. Your coming--"

  The footman appeared on the landing above at that instant and saidsomething to her in a language Quentin could not understand. Heafterward heard it was French. And he always had thought himself apretty fair French scholar, too.

  "Mamma has asked for me, Phil. Will you pardon me if I leave youalone for a moment?" she said, arising and starting toward the grandstairway. The letter, which she had forgotten for the moment, fellfrom her lap to the rug. In an instant he had stepped forward topick it up. As he stooped she realized what had happened, and, witha frantic little cry, stooped also. Their heads were close together,but his hand was the first to touch the missive. It lay with theaddress upward, plain to the eye; he could not help seeing the name.

  It was addressed to "Philip Quentin, Esq., care of the Earl ofSaxondale, Park Lane, London, W. S." Surprise stayed his fingers,and hers clutched the envelope ruthlessly. As they straightenedthemselves each was looking directly into the other's eyes. In hersthere was shame, confusion, even guilt; in his, triumphant,tantalizing mirth.

  "My letter, please," he said, his voice trembling, he knew not why.His hand was extended. She drew suddenly away and a wave of scarletcrossed her face.

  "What a stupid I was to drop it," she cried, almost tearfully. Thenshe laughed as the true humor of the situation made itself felt inspite of consequences. "Isn't it too funny for anything?"

  "I can't see anything funny in tampering with the mails. You have myletter, and I hope it won't be necessary for me to call in theofficers of the law."

  "You don't expect me to give it to you?" she cried, holding itbehind her.

  "Most assuredly. If you don't, I'll ask Mrs. Garrison to command youto do so," he threatened, eagerly. He would have given his head toread the contents of the letter that caused her so much concern. Allsorts of conjectures were racing through his brain.

  "Oh, please don't do that!" she begged, and he saw real supplicationin her eyes. "I wouldn't give you the letter for the world, andI--I--well, don't you see that I am embarrassed?"

  "Give me the letter," he commanded, Sternly.

  "Do you wish me to hate you?" she blazed.

  "'Heaven forbid!"

  "Then forget that your name is on this--this detestable envelope,"she cried, tearing the missive into pieces. He looked on in wonder,chagrin, disappointment.

  "By George, Dorothy, that's downright cruel. It was intended forme--"

  "You should thank me. I have only saved you the trouble ofdestroying it," she said, smiling.

  "I would have kept it forever," he said, fervently.

  "Here's a small bit of the envelope which you may keep as asouvenir. See, it has your name--'Philip'--on it. You shall have thatmuch of the letter." He took it rather gracelessly and, deliberatelyopening his watch, placed it inside the case. "I'd give $10,000 toknow what that letter had to say to me."

  "You can never know," she said, defiantly, from the bottom of thesteps, "for I have forgotten the contents myself."

  She laughed as she ran upstairs, but he detected confusion in thetone, and the faint flush was still on her cheek. He sat down andwondered whether the contents would have pleased or displeased him.Philosophically he resolved that as long as he was never to know hemight just as well look at it from a cheerful point of view; hewould be pleased.