The Man from Brodney's

  CHAPTER IX

  THE ENEMY

  "I've sighted the Enemy," exclaimed Bobby Browne, coming up fromNeptune's Pool--the largest of the fountains. His wife and LadyDeppingham were sitting in the cool retreat under the hanging garden."Would you care to have a peek at him?"

  "I should think so," said his wife, jumping to her feet. "He's been onthe island three days, and we haven't had a glimpse of him. Come along,Lady Deppingham."

  Lady Deppingham arose reluctantly, stifling a yawn.

  "I'm so frightfully lazy, my dear," she sighed. "But," with a slightacceleration of speech, "anything in the shape of diversion is worth theeffort, I'm sure. Where is he?"

  They had come to call the new American lawyer "The Enemy." No one knewhis name, or cared to know it, for that matter. Bowles, in answer to thetelephone inquiries of Saunders, said that the new solicitor had takentemporary quarters above the bank and was in hourly consultation withVon Blitz, Rasula and others. Much of his time was spent at the mines.Later on, it was commonly reported, he was to take up his residence inWyckholme's deserted bungalow, far up on the mountain side, in plainview from the chateau.

  Life at the chateau had not been allowed to drag. The Deppinghams andthe Brownes confessed in the privacy of their chambers that there wasscant diplomacy in their "carryings-on," but without these indulgencesthe days and nights would have been intolerable.

  The white servants had become good friends, despite the natural disdainthat the trained English expert feels for the unpolished Americandomestic. Antipathies were overlooked in the eager strife forcompanionship; the fact that one of Mrs. Browne's maids was of Irishextraction and the other a rosy Swede may have had something to do withtheir admission into the exclusive set below stairs, but that is outsidethe question. If the Suffolk maids felt any hesitancy about acceptingthe hybrid combination as their equals, it was never manifested by wordor deed. Even the astute Antoine, who had lived long in the boulevardsof Paris, and who therefore knew an American when he saw one at anydistance or at any price, evinced no uncertainty in proclaiming themAmericans.

  Miss Pelham, the stenographer from West Twenty-third Street, might havebeen included in the circle from the first had not her dignity stood inthe way. For six days she held resolutely aloof from everything excepther notebook and her machine, but her stock of novels beginning to runlow, and the prospect of being bored to extinction for six months tocome looming up before her, she concluded to wave the olive branch inthe face of social ostracism, assuming a genial attitude ofcondescension, which was graciously overlooked by the others. As sheafterward said, there is no telling how low she might have sunk, had itnot entered her head one day to set her cap for the unsuspecting Mr.Saunders. She had learned, in the wisdom of her sex, that he was fancyfree. Mr. Saunders, fully warned against the American typewriter girl asa class, having read the most shocking jokes at her expense in the comicpapers, was rather shy at the outset, but Britt gallantly came to MissPelham's defence and ultimate rescue by emphatically assuring Saundersthat she was a perfect lady, guaranteed to cause uneasiness to no man'swife.

  "But I have no wife," quickly protested Saunders, turning a dull red.

  "The devil!" exclaimed Britt, apparently much upset by the revelation.

  But of this more anon.

  * * * * *

  Browne conducted the two young women across the drawbridge and to thesunlit edge of the terrace, where two servants awaited them withparasols.

  "Isn't it extraordinary, the trouble one is willing to take for themerest glimpse of a man?" sighed Lady Agnes. "At home we try to avoidthem."

  "Indeed?" said pretty Mrs. Browne, with a slight touch of irony. It wasthe first sign of the gentle warfare which their wits were to wage.

  "There he is! See him?" almost whispered Browne, as if the solitary,motionless figure at the foot of the avenue was likely to hear his voiceand be frightened away.

  The Enemy was sitting serenely on one of the broad iron benches justinside the gates to the park, his arms stretched out along the back, hislegs extended and crossed. The great stone wall behind him affordedshelter from the broiling sun; satinwood trees lent an appearance ofcoolness that did not exist, if one were to judge by the absence of hatand the fact that his soft shirt was open at the throat. He was not morethan two hundred yards away from the clump of trees which screened hiswatchers from view. If he caught an occasional glimpse of dainty blueand white fabrics, he made no demonstration of interest oracknowledgment. It was quite apparent that he was lazily surveying thechateau, puffing with consistent ease at the cigarette which droopedfrom his lips. His long figure was attired in light grey flannels; onecould not see the stripe at that distance, yet one could not helpfeeling that it existed--a slim black stripe, if any one should haveasked.

  "Quite at home," murmured her ladyship, which was enough to show thatshe excused the intruder on the ground that he was an American.

  "Mr. Britt was right," said Mrs. Browne irrelevantly. She was peering atthe stranger through the binoculars. "He is _very_ good-looking."

  "And you from Boston, too," scoffed Lady Deppingham. Mrs. Browneflushed, and smiled deprecatingly.

  "Wonder what he's doing here in the grounds?" puzzled Browne.

  "It's plain to me that he is resting his audacious bones," said herladyship, glancing brightly at her co-legatee. The latter's wife, in asudden huff, deliberately left them, crossing the macadam driveway inplain view of the stranger.

  "She's not above an affair with him," was her hot, inward lament. Shewas mightily relieved, however, when the others tranquilly followed heracross the road, and took up a new position under the substitute clumpof trees.

  The Enemy gave no sign of interest in these proceedings. If he wasconscious of being watched by these curious exiles, he was not in theleast annoyed. He did not change his position of indolence, nor did hepuff any more fretfully at his cigarette. Instead, his eyes were bentlazily upon the white avenue, his thoughts apparently far away from theview ahead. He came out of his lassitude long enough to roll and light afresh cigarette and to don his wide madras helmet.

  Suddenly he looked to the right and then arose with some show ofalacrity. Three men were approaching by the path which led down from thefar-away stables. Browne recognised the dark-skinned men as servants inthe chateau--the major-domo, the chef, and the master of the stables.

  "Lord Deppingham must have sent them down to pitch him over the wall,"he said, with an excited grin.

  "Impossible! My husband is hunting for sapphires in the ravine backof--" She did not complete the sentence.

  The Enemy was greeting the statuesque natives with a friendliness thatupset all calculations. It was evident that the meeting was prearranged.There was no attempt at secrecy; the conference, whatever its portent,had the merit of being quite above-board. In the end, the tallsolicitor, lifting his helmet with a gesture so significant that it leftno room for speculation, turned and sauntered through the broad gatewayand out into the forest road. The three servants returned as they hadcome, by way of the bridle path along the wall.

  "The nerve of him!" exclaimed Browne. "That graceful attention was meantfor us."

  "He is like the polite robber who first beats you to death and then saysthank you for the purse," said Lady Deppingham. "What a strangeproceeding, Mr. Browne. Can you imagine what it means?"

  "Mischief of some sort, I'll be bound. I admire his nerve in holding theconfab under our very noses. I'll have Britt interview those fellows atonce. Our kitchen, our stable and our domestic discipline arethreatened."

  They hastened to the chateau, and regaled the resourceful Britt with thedisquieting news.

  "I'll have it out of 'em in a minute," he said confidently. "Where'sSaunders? Where's Miss Pelham? Confound the girl, she's never aroundwhen I want her these days. Hay, you!" to a servant. "Send Miss Pelhamto me. The one in pink, understand? Golden-haired one. Yes, yes, that'sright: the one who jiggles her fingers. Tell her to hurry.
"

  But Miss Pelham was off in the wood, self-charged with the arousing ofMr. Saunders; an hour passed before she could be found and brought intothe light of Mr. Britt's reflections. If her pert nose was capable ofelevating itself in silent disdain, Mr. Saunders was not able to emulateits example. He was not so dazzled by the sunshine of her sprightlyrecitals but that he could look sheep-faced in the afterglow of Britt'sscorn.

  Britt, with all his clever blustering, could elicit no information fromthe crafty head-servants. All they would say was that the strange sahibhad intercepted them on their way to the town, to ask if there were anyrooms to rent in the chateau.

  "That's what he told you to say, isn't it?" demanded Britt angrily."Confounded his impudence! Rooms to rent!"

  That evening he dragged the reluctant Saunders into the privacy of thehanging garden, and deliberately interrupted the game of bridge whichwas going on. If Deppingham had any intention to resent the intrusion ofthe solicitors, he was forestalled by the startling announcement of Mr.Britt, who seldom stood on ceremony where duty was concerned.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," said Mr. Britt, calmly dropping into a chairnear by, "this place is full of spies."

  "Spies!" cried four voices in unison. Mr. Saunders nodded a plaintiveapology.

  "Yes, sir, every native servant here is a spy. That's what the Enemy washere for to-day. I've analysed the situation and I'm right. Ain't I, Mr.Saunders? Of course, I am. He came here to tell 'em what to do and howto report our affairs to him. See? Well, there you are. We've simply gotto be careful what we do and say in their presence. Leave 'em to me.Just be careful, that's all."

  "I don't intend to be watched by a band of sneaks--" began LordDeppingham loftily.

  "You can't help yourself," interrupted Britt.

  "I'll discharge every demmed one of them, that's--"

  "Leave 'em to me--leave 'em to me," exclaimed Britt impatiently. Hislordship stiffened but could find no words for instant use. "Now let metell you something. This lawyer of theirs is a smooth party. He's hereto look out for their interests and they know it. It's not to theirinterest to assassinate you or to do any open dirty work. He is tooclever for that. I've found out from Mr. Bowles just what the fellow hasdone since he landed, three days ago. He has gone over all of thecompany's accounts, in the office and at the mines, to see that we, asagents for the executors, haven't put up any job to mulct the nativesout of their share of the profits. He has organised the whole populationinto a sort of constabulary to protect itself against any shrewd move wemay contemplate. Moreover, he's getting the evidence of everybody toprove that Skaggs and Wyckholme were men of sound mind up to the hour oftheir death. He has the depositions of agents and dealers in Bombay,Aden, Suez and three or four European cities, all along that line. Hegoes over the day's business at the bank as often as we do as agents forthe executors. He knows just how many rubies and sapphires were washedout yesterday, and how much they weigh. It's our business, as youragents, to scrape up everything as far back as we can go to prove thatthe old chaps were mentally off their base when they drew up thatagreement and will. I think we've got a shade the best of it, eventhough the will looks good. The impulse that prompted it was a crazy onein the first place." He hesitated a moment and then went on carefully."Of course, if we can prove that insanity has always run through the twofamilies it--"

  "Good Lord!" gasped Browne nervously.

  "--it would be a great help. If we can show that you and Mrs.--er--LadyDeppingham have queer spells occasionally, it--"

  "Not for all the islands in the world," cried Lady Deppingham. "Theidea! Queer spells! See here, Mr. Britt, if I have any queer spells tospeak of, I won't have them treated publicly. If Lord Deppingham canafford to overlook them, I daresay I can, also, even though it costs methe inheritance to do so. Please be good enough to leave me out of theinsanity dodge, as you Americans call it."

  "Madam, God alone provides that part of your inheritance--" began Brittinsistently, fearing that he was losing fair ground.

  "Then leave it for God to discover. I'll not be a party to it. It'sutter nonsense," she cried scathingly.

  "Rubbish!" asserted Mr. Saunders boldly.

  "What?" exclaimed Britt, turning upon Saunders so abruptly that thelittle man jumped, and immediately began to readjust his necktie."What's that? Look here; it's our only hope--the insanity dodge, I mean.They've got to show in an English court that Skaggs and--"

  "Let them show what they please about Skaggs," interrupted Bobby Browne,"but, confound you, I can't have any one saying that I'm subject to fitsor spells or whatever you choose to call 'em. I don't have 'em, but evenif I did, I'd have 'em privately, not for the benefit of the public."

  "Is it necessary to make my husband insane in order to establish thefact that his grandfather was not of sound mind?" queried pretty Mrs.Browne, with her calmest Boston inflection.

  "It depends on your husband," said Britt coolly. "If he sticks atanything which may help us to break that will, he's certainly insane.That's all I've got to say about it."

  "Well, I'm hanged if I'll pose as an insane man," roared Browne.

  "Mr. Saunders hasn't asked _me_ to be insane, have you, Mr. Saunders?"asked Lady Agnes in her sweetest, scorn.

  "I don't apprehend--" began Saunders nervously.

  "Saunders," said Britt, calculatingly and evenly, "next thing we'll haveto begin hunting for insanity in your family. We haven't heard anythingfrom you on this little point, Lord Deppingham."

  "I don't know anything about Mr. Saunders's family," said Deppinghamstiffly. Britt looked at him for a moment, puzzled and uncertain. Thenhe gave a short, hopeless laugh and said, under his breath:

  "Holy smoke!"

  He immediately altered the course of the discussion and harked back tohis original declaration that spies abounded in the chateau. When hefinally called the conference adjourned and prepared to depart, hecalmly turned to the stenographer.

  "Did you get all this down, Miss Pelham?"

  "Yes, Mr. Britt."

  "Good!" Then he went away, leaving the quartette unconsciously depressedby the emphasis he placed upon that single word.

  The next day but one, it was announced that the Enemy had moved into thebungalow. Signs of activity about the rambling place could be made outfrom the hanging garden at the chateau. It was necessary, however, toemploy the binoculars in the rather close watch that was kept by theinterested aristocrats below. From time to time the grey, blue orwhite-clad figure of the Enemy could be seen directing the operations ofthe natives who were engaged in rehabilitating Wyckholme's "nest."

  The chateau was now under the very eye of the Enemy.