The Vagrant Duke

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE PLACARD

  The look that she had given him showed her sense of his sympathy. So heventured,

  "Did you hear from your father before he died?"

  "Aunt Tillie did,--once. Then we got word he'd been killed in a railwayaccident out West. I was glad. A man like that has no right to live."

  "You and Aunt Tillie have had a pretty hard time----" he mused.

  "Yes. She's an angel--and I love her. Why is it that good people havenothin' but trouble? She had an uncle who went bad too--he was youngerthan she was--my great-uncle--Jack Bray--he forged a check--or somethin'up in Newark--and went to the penitentiary."

  "And is he dead too?"

  "No--not at last accounts. He's out--somewhere. When I was little heused to come to Aunt Tillie for money--a tall, lantern-jawed man. I sawhim once three years ago. He was here. Aunt Tillie tried to keep me outof the kitchen. But I thought he was up to some funny business andstayed. He took a fancy to me. He said he was camera man in the movies.He wanted me to go with him--thought I could be as good as MaryPickford. I'm glad I didn't go--from what I know now. He was a bad man.Aunt Tillie was scared of him. Poor soul! She gave him all she had--mostof what was left from the old farm, I guess."

  "Do you think----" began Peter, then paused. And as she glanced at himinquiringly, "Did you notice that your Aunt Tillie seemed--er--frightenedlast night?" he asked at last.

  "I thought so for a while, but she said she was only sick. She neverlies to me."

  "She seemed very much disturbed."

  "Her nerve's not what it used to be--especially since Mr. McGuire'staken to seein' things----"

  "You don't believe then that she could have seen John Bray--that he hadcome back again last night?"

  "Why, no," said Beth, turning in surprise. "I never thought of it--andyet," she paused, "yes,--it might have been----"

  She became more thoughtful but didn't go on. Peter was on the trail of aclew to the mystery, but she had already told him so much that furtherquestions seemed like personal intrusion. And so,

  "I'd like to tell you, Beth," he said, "that I'm your friend and Mrs.Bergen's. If anything should turn up to make you unhappy or to make youraunt unhappy and I can help you, won't you let me know?"

  "Why--do you think anything is goin' to happen?" she asked.

  His reply was noncommittal.

  "I just wanted you to know you could count on me----" he said soberly."I think you've had trouble enough."

  "But I'm not afraid of Jack Bray," she said with a shrug, "even if AuntTillie is. He can't do anything to me. He can't _make_ me go to New Yorkif I don't want to."

  She had clenched her brown fists in her excitement and Peter laughed.

  "I think I'd be a little sorry for anybody who tried to make you doanything you didn't want to do," he said.

  She frowned. "Why, if I thought that bandy-legged, lantern-jawed, oldbuzzard was comin' around here frightenin' Aunt Tillie, I'd--I'd----"

  "What would you do?"

  "Never you mind what I'd do. But I'm not afraid of Jack Bray," shefinished confidently.

  The terrors that had been built up around the house of McGuire, themystery surrounding the awe-inspiring prowler, the night vigils, thesecrecy--all seemed to fade into a piece of hobbledehoy buffoonery atBeth's contemptuous description of her recreant relative. And he smiledat her amusedly.

  "But what would you say," he asked seriously, "if I told you that lastnight Mr. McGuire saw the same person your Aunt Tillie did, and that hewas terrified--almost to the verge of collapse?"

  Beth had risen, her eyes wide with incredulity.

  "Merciful Father! McGuire! Did he have another spell last night? Youdon't mean----?"

  "I went up to his room. He was done for. He had seen outside thedrawing-room window the face of the very man he's been guarding himselfagainst."

  "I can't believe----," she gasped. "And you think Aunt Tillie----?"

  "Your Aunt Tillie talked to a man outside the door of the kitchen. Youdidn't hear her. I did. The same man who had been frightening Mr.McGuire."

  "Aunt Tillie!" she said in astonishment.

  "There's not a doubt of it. McGuire saw him. Andy saw him too,--thoughthe was the chauffeur."

  Beth's excitement was growing with the moments.

  "Why, Aunt Tillie didn't know anything about what was frightening Mr.McGuire--no more'n I did," she gasped.

  "She knows now. She wasn't sick last night, Beth. She was justbewildered--frightened half out of her wits. I spoke to her after youwent home. She wouldn't say a word. She was trying to conceal something.But there was a man outside and she knows who he is."

  "But what could Jack Bray have to do with Mr. McGuire?" she asked inbewilderment.

  Peter shrugged. "You know as much as I do. I wouldn't have told you thisif you'd been afraid. But Mrs. Bergen is."

  "Well, did you _ever?_"

  "No, I never did," replied Peter, smiling.

  "It does beat _anything_."

  "It does. It's most interesting, but as far as I can see, hardlyalarming for you, whatever it may be to Mr. McGuire or Mrs. Bergen. Ifthe man is only your great-uncle, there ought to be a way to deal withhim----"

  "I've just got to talk to Aunt Tillie," Beth broke in, moving toward thedoor. Peter followed her, taking up his hat.

  "I'll go with you," he said.

  For a few moments Beth said nothing. She had passed through the stagesof surprise, anger and bewilderment, and was now still indignant butquite self-contained. When he thought of Beth's description of the Ghostof Black Rock House, Peter was almost tempted to forget the terrors ofthe redoubtable McGuire. A man of his type hardly lapses into hysteriaat the mere thought of a "bandy-legged buzzard." And yet McGuire'sterrors had been so real and were still so real that it was hardlyconceivable that Bray could have been the cause of them. Indeed it washardly conceivable that the person Beth described could be a source ofterror to any one. What was the answer?

  "Aunt Tillie doesn't know anything about McGuire," Beth said suddenly."She just couldn't know. She tells me everything."

  "But of course it's possible that McGuire and this John Bray could havemet in New York----"

  "What would Mr. McGuire be doin' with him?" she said scornfully.

  Peter laughed.

  "It's what he's doing with McGuire that matters."

  "I don't believe it's Bray," said Beth confidently. "I don't believeit."

  They had reached a spot where the underbrush was thin, and Beth, who hadbeen looking past the tree trunks toward the beginnings of the lawns,stopped suddenly, her eyes focusing upon some object closer at hand.

  "What's that?" she asked, pointing.

  Peter followed the direction of her gaze. On a tree in the woods not farfrom the path was a square of cardboard, but Beth's eyes were keenerthan Peter's, and she called his attention to some writing upon it.

  They approached curiously. With ironic impudence the message wasscrawled in red crayon upon the reverse of one of Jonathan McGuire'sneat trespass signs, and nailed to the tree by an old hasp-knife. Sideby side, and intensely interested, they read:

  TO MIKE MCGUIRE

  I'VE COME BACK.

  YOU KNOW WHAT I'VE GOT AND I KNOW WHAT YOU'VE GOT. ACT PRONTO. I'LL COME FOR MY ANSWER AT ELEVEN FRIDAY NIGHT--AT THIS TREE. NO TRICKS. IF THERE'S NO ANSWER--YOU KNOW WHAT I'LL DO.

  HAWK.

  "Hawk!" muttered Beth, "who on earth----?"

  "Another----," said Peter cryptically.

  "You see!" cried Beth triumphantly, "I knew it couldn't be Jack Bray!"

  "This chap seems to be rather in earnest, doesn't he? _Pronto!_ Thatmeans haste."

  "But it's only a joke. It must be," cried Beth.

  Peter loosened the knife, took the placard down and turned it over,examining it critically.

  "I wonder." And then, thoughtfully, "No, I don't believe it is. It'saddressed to McGuire. I'm going to take
it to him."

  "Mike McGuire," corrected Beth. And then, "But it really does lookqueer."

  "It does," assented Peter; "it appears to me as if this message musthave come from the person McGuire saw last night."

  Beth looked bewildered.

  "But what has Aunt Tillie got to do with--with Hawk? She never knewanybody of that name."

  "Probably not. It isn't a real name, of course."

  "Then why should it frighten Mr. McGuire?" she asked logically.

  Peter shook his head. All the props had fallen from under his theories.

  "Whether it's real to McGuire or not is what I want to know. And I'mgoing to find out," he finished.

  When they reached a path which cut through the trees toward the creek,Beth stopped, and held out her hand.

  "I'm not goin' up to the house with you and I don't think I'll see AuntTillie just now," she said. "Good-by, Mr.----"

  "Peter----," he put in.

  "Good-by, Mr. Peter."

  "Just Peter----" he insisted.

  "Good-by, Mr. Just Peter. Thanks for the playin'. Will you let me comeagain?"

  "Yes. And I'm going to get you some music----"

  "Singin' music?" she gasped.

  He nodded.

  "And you'll let me know if I can help--Aunt Tillie or you?"

  She bobbed her head and was gone.

  Peter stood for a while watching the path down which she haddisappeared, wondering at her abrupt departure, which for the momentdrove from his mind all thought of McGuire's troubles. It was difficultto associate Beth with the idea of prudery or affectation. Her visitproved that. She had come to the Cabin because she had wanted to hearhim play, because she had wanted to sing for him, because too hispromises had excited her curiosity about him, and inspired a hope of hisassistance. But the visit had flattered Peter. He wasn't inured to thissort of frankness. It was perhaps the greatest single gift of tributeand confidence that had ever been paid him--at least by a woman. A visitof this sort from a person like Anastasie Galitzin or indeed from almostany woman in the world of forms and precedents in which he had livedwould have been equivalent to unconditional surrender.

  The girl had not stopped to question the propriety of her actions. Thatthe Cabin was Peter's bedroom, that she had only seen him twice, that hemight not have understood the headlong impulse that brought her, hadnever occurred to Beth. The self-consciousness of the first few momentshad been wafted away on the melody of the music he had played, and afterthat he knew they were to be friends. There seemed to be no doubt inPeter's mind that she could have thought they would be anything else.

  And Peter was sure that he had hardly been able, even if he had wished,to conceal his warm admiration for her physical beauty. She had beenvery near him. All he would have had to do was to reach out and takeher. That he hadn't done so seemed rather curious now. And yet heexperienced a sort of mild satisfaction that he had resisted so trying atemptation. If she hadn't been so sure of him.... Idealism? Perhaps. Thesame sort of idealism that had made Peter believe the people at Zukovowere fine enough to make it worth while risking his life for them--thathad made him think that the people of Russia could emerge above Russiaherself. He had no illusions as to Zukovo now, but Beth was a child--andone is always gentle with children.

  He puzzled for another moment over her decision not to be seen comingwith him from the Cabin. Had this sophistication come as anafterthought, born of something that had passed between them? Or was itmerely a feminine instinct seeking expression? Peter didn't care whoknew or saw, because he really liked Beth amazingly. She had a gorgeousvoice. He would have to develop it. He really would.

  All the while Peter was turning over in his fingers the placard bearingthe strange message to "Mike" McGuire from the mysterious "Hawk." Heread and reread it, each time finding a new meaning in its wording.Blackmail? Probably. The "_pronto_" was significant. This message couldhardly have come from Beth's "bandy-legged buzzard." He knew little ofmovie camera men, but imagined them rather given to the depiction ofvillainies than the accomplishment of them. And a coward who would preyupon an old woman and a child could hardly be of the metal to attemptsuch big game as McGuire. The mystery deepened. The buzzard was now ahawk. "Hawk," whatever his real name, was the man McGuire had seen lastnight through the window. Was he also the man who had frightened Mrs.Bergen? And if so, how and where had she known him without Beth's beingaware of it? And why should Beth be involved in the danger?

  Peter was slowly coming to the belief that there had been two menoutside the house last night, "Hawk" and John Bray. And yet it seemedscarcely possible that the men on guard should not have seen the secondman and that both men could have gotten away without leaving a trace.And where was the man with the black mustache? Was he John Bray?Impossible. It was all very perplexing. But here in his hand he held thetangible evidence of McGuire's fears. "You know what I've got and I knowwhat you've got." The sentence seemed to have a cabalisticsignificance--a pact--a threat which each man held over the other.Perhaps it wasn't money only that "Hawk" wanted. Whatever it was, hemeant to have it, and soon. The answer the man expected was apparentlysomething well understood between himself and McGuire, better understoodperhaps since the day McGuire had seen him in New York and had fled interror to Sheldon, Senior's, office. And if McGuire didn't send thedesired answer to the tree by Friday night, there would be the verydevil to pay--if not "Hawk."

  Peter was to be the bearer of ill tidings and with them, he knew, allprospect of a business discussion would vanish. The situation interestedhim, as all things mysterious must, and he could not forget that he was,for the present, part policeman, part detective; but forestry was hisreal job here and every day that passed meant so many fewer days inwhich to build the fire towers. And these he considered to be a primenecessity to the security of the estate.

  He rolled the placard up and went toward the house. On the lawn hepassed the young people, intent upon their own pursuits. He was gladthat none of them noticed him and meeting Stryker, who was hoveringaround the lower hall, he sent his name up to his employer.

  "I don't think Mr. McGuire expects you just yet, sir," said the man.

  "Nevertheless, tell him I must see him," said Peter. "It's important."

  Though it was nearly two o'clock, McGuire was not yet dressed and hislooks when Peter was admitted to him bespoke a long night of anxiety andvigil. Wearing an incongruous flowered dressing gown tied at the waistwith a silken cord, he turned to the visitor.

  "Well," he said rather peevishly.

  "I'm sorry to disturb you, Mr. McGuire, but something has happened thatI thought----"

  "What's happened?" the other man snapped out, eying the roll ofcardboard in Peter's hand. "What----?" he gasped.

  Peter smiled and shrugged coolly.

  "It may be only a joke, sir--and I hardly know whether I'm evenjustified in calling it to your attention, but I found this placardnailed to a tree near the path to the Cabin."

  "Placard!" said McGuire, his sharp glance noting the printing of thetrespass sign. "Of course--that's the usual warning----"

  "It's the other side," said Peter, "that is unusual." And unrolling itcarefully, he laid it flat on the table beside his employer's breakfasttray and then stood back to note the effect of the disclosure.

  McGuire stared at the headline, starting violently, and then, as thoughfascinated, read the scrawl through to the end. Peter could not see hisface, but the back of his neck, the ragged fringe of moist hair aroundhis bald spot were eloquent enough. And the hands which held theextraordinary document were far from steady. The gay flowers of thedressing gown mocked the pitiable figure it concealed, which seemedsuddenly to sag into its chair. Peter waited. For a long while thedressing gown was dumb and then as though its occupant were slowlyawakening to the thought that something was required of him it stirredand turned slowly in the chair.

  "You--you've read this?" asked McGuire weakly.

  "Yes, sir. It was there to read. It was merely stuck
on a tree with thishasp-knife," and Peter produced the implement and handed it to McGuire.

  McGuire took the knife--twisting it slowly over in his fingers. "Ahasp-knife," he repeated dully.

  "I thought it best to bring them to you," said Peter, "especially onaccount of----"

  "Yes, yes. Of course." He was staring at the red crayon scrawl and as hesaid nothing more Peter turned toward the door, where Stryker stood onguard.

  "If there's nothing else just now, I'll----"

  "Wait!" uttered the old man, and Peter paused. And then, "Did any oneelse see this--this paper?"

  "Yes--Mrs. Bergen's niece--she saw it first."

  "My housekeeper's niece. Any one else?"

  "I don't know. I hardly think so. It seemed quite freshly written."

  "Ah----" muttered McGuire. He was now regarding Peter intently."Where--where is the tree on which you found it?"

  "A maple--just in the wood--at the foot of the lawn."

  "Ah!" He stumbled to the window, the placard still clutched in hishands, and peered at the woods as though seeking to pick out the singletree marked for his exacerbation. Then jerked himself around and facedthe bearer of these tidings, glaring at him as though he were the authorof them.

  "G---- d---- you all!" he swore in a stifled tone.

  "I beg pardon," said Peter with sharp politeness.

  McGuire glanced at Peter and fell heavily into the nearest armchair. "Itcan't--be done," he muttered, half to himself, and then another oath. Hewas showing his early breeding now.

  "I might 'a' known----," he said aloud, staring at the paper.

  "Then it isn't a joke?" asked Peter, risking the question.

  "Joke!" roared McGuire. And then more quietly, "A joke? I don't want ittalked about," he muttered with a senile smile. And then, "You say awoman read it?"

  "Yes."

  "She must be kept quiet. I can't have all the neighborhood into myaffairs."

  "I think that can be managed. I'll speak to her. In the meanwhile ifthere's anything I can do----"

  McGuire looked up at Peter and their glances met. McGuire's glancewavered and then came back to Peter's face. What he found there seemedto satisfy him for he turned to Stryker, who had been listeningintently.

  "You may go, Stryker," he commanded. "Shut the door, but stay withincall."

  The valet's face showed surprise and some disappointment, but he merelybowed his head and obeyed.

  "I suppose you're--you're curious about this message, Nichols--coming insuch a way," said McGuire, after a pause.

  "To tell the truth, I am, sir," replied Peter. "We've done all we couldto protect you. This 'Hawk' must be the devil himself."

  "He is," repeated McGuire. "Hell's breed. The thing can't go on. I'vegot to put a stop to it--and to him."

  "He speaks of coming again Friday night----"

  "Yes--yes--Friday." And then, his fingers trembling along the placard,"I've got to do what he wants--this time--just this time----"

  McGuire was gasping out the phrases as though each of them was wrenchedfrom his throat. And then, with an effort at self-control,

  "Sit down, Nichols," he muttered. "Since you've seen this, I--I'll haveto tell you more. I--I think--I'll need you--to help me."

  Peter obeyed, flattered by his employer's manner and curious as to theimminent revelations.

  "I may say that--this--this 'Hawk' is a--an enemy of mine, Nichols--abitter enemy--unscrupulous--a man better dead than alive. I--I wish toGod you'd shot him last night."

  "Sorry, sir," said Peter cheerfully.

  "I--I've got to do what he wants--this time. I can't have this sort ofthing goin' on--with everybody in Black Rock reading these damn things.You're sure my daughter Peggy knows nothing?"

  "I'd be pretty sure of that----"

  "But she might--any time--if he puts up more placards. I've got to stopthat, Nichols. This thing mustn't go any further."

  "I think you may trust me."

  "Yes. I think I can. I've _got_ to trust you now, whether I want to orno. The man who wrote this scrawl is the man I came down here to getaway from." Peter waited while McGuire paused. "You may think it's verystrange. It is strange. I knew this man--called 'Hawk,' many years ago.I--I thought he was dead, but he's come back."

  McGuire paused again, the placard in his hands, reading the line whichso clearly announced that fact.

  "He speaks of something I've got--something he's got, Nichols. It's apaper--a--er--a partnership paper we drew up years ago--out West andsigned. That paper is of great value to me. As long as he holds itI----," McGuire halted to wipe the sweat from his pallid brow. "He holdsit as a--well--not exactly as a threat--but as a kind of menace to myhappiness and Peggy's."

  "I understand, sir," put in Peter quietly. "Blackmail, in short."

  "Exactly--er--blackmail. He wanted five thousand dollars--in New York. Irefused him--there's no end to blackmail once you yield--and I came downhere--but he followed me. But I've got to get that paper away from him."

  "If you were sure he had it with him----"

  "That's just it. He's too smart for that. He's got it hidden somewhere.I've got to get this money for him--from New York--I haven't got it inthe house--before Friday night----"

  "But blackmail----!"

  "I've got to, Nichols--this time. I've got to."

  "I wouldn't, sir," said Peter stoutly.

  "But you don't know everything. I've only told you part," said McGuire,almost whining. "This is no ordinary case--no ordinary blackmail. I'vegot to be quick. I'm going to get the money--I'm going to get you to goto New York and get it."

  "Me!"

  "Yes. Yes. This is Wednesday. I can't take any chances of not having ithere Friday. Peggy is going back this afternoon. I'll get her to driveyou up. I'll 'phone Sheldon to expect you--he'll give you the money andyou can come back to-morrow."

  "But to-night----"

  "He knows the danger of trying to reach me. That's why he wrote this. Iwon't be bothered to-night. I'll shut the house tight and put some ofthe men inside. If he comes, we'll shoot."

  "But Friday----Do you mean, sir, that you'll go out to him with fivethousand dollars and risk----"

  "No, I won't. _You_ will," said McGuire, watching Peter's face craftily.

  "Oh, I see," replied Peter, aware that he was being drawn more deeplyinto the plot than he had wished. "You want me to meet him."

  McGuire noted Peter's dubious tone and at once got up and laid his handsupon his shoulders.

  "You'll do this for me, won't you, Nichols? I don't want to see thisman. I can't explain. There wouldn't be any danger. He hasn't anythingagainst you. Why should he have? I haven't any one else that I cantrust--but Stryker. And Stryker--well--I'd have to tell Stryker. _You_know already. Don't say you refuse. It's--it's a proof of my confidence.You're just the man I want here. I'll make it worth your while to staywith me--well worth your while."

  Peter was conscious of a feeling partly of pity, partly of contempt, forthe cringing creature pawing at his shoulders. Peter had never liked tobe pawed. It had always rubbed him the wrong way. But McGuire's need wasgreat and pity won.

  "Oh, I'll do it if you like," he said, turning aside and releasinghimself from the clinging fingers, "provided I assume noresponsibility----"

  "That's it. No responsibility," said McGuire, in a tone of relief."You'll just take that money out--then come away----"

  "And get nothing in return?" asked Peter in surprise. "No paper--noreceipt----?"

  "No--just this once, Nichols. It will keep him quiet for a month or so.In the meanwhile----" The old man paused, a crafty look in his eyes,"In the meanwhile we'll have time to devise a way to meet thissituation."

  "Meaning--precisely what?" asked Peter keenly.

  McGuire scowled at him and then turned away toward the window.

  "That needn't be your affair."

  "It won't be," said Peter quickly. "I'd like you to remember that I camehere as a forester and superintendent. I agreed also to
guard your houseand yourself from intrusion, but if it comes to the point of----"

  "There, there, Nichols," croaked McGuire, "don't fly off the handle.We'll just cross this bridge first. I--I won't ask you to do anythinga--a gentleman shouldn't."

  "Oh, well, sir," said Peter finally, "that's fair enough."

  McGuire came over and faced Peter, his watery eyes seeking Peter's.

  "You'll swear, Nichols, to say nothing of this to any one?"

  "Yes. I'll keep silent."

  "Nothing to Sheldon?"

  "No."

  "And you'll see this--this niece of the housekeeper's?"

  "Yes."

  The man gave a gasp of relief and sank into his chair.

  "Now go, Nichols--and shift your clothes. Peggy's going about four. Comeback here and I'll give you a letter and a check."

  Peter nodded and reached the door. As he opened it, Stryker straightenedand bowed uncomfortably. But Peter knew that he had been listening atthe keyhole.