Part 76

He had, at this moment, a most clear and definite warning from his brain. “_Clear out!_” it said. “_Get out of this, now. Don’t wait; don’t ask questions; just go!_” All through his body this warning signal ran, making his scalp prickle and his heart beat fast. “_It is bad for you here. Go! Now!_”

And his stubborn and indomitable spirit answered: “_I won’t!_”

“I want to see Miss Solway,” he said, aloud.

Mrs. Jones looked at him for a moment, and apparently the expression on his face filled her with despair.

“Oh, dear!” she said, with a tremulous sigh. “I knew; I told her it was a mistake to send. Oh, dear!”

Ross stood there and waited.

“If you’ll go away,” she said, “Miss Solway will write to you.”

Ross still stood there and waited.

“Very well, sir!” she said, with another sigh. “If you must, you must. This way, please!”

He followed her out of the room, and he noticed that she did not even glance back. She couldn’t know. It was impossible that any one who was aware of what lay under the sofa could simply walk out of the room like that, closing the door upon it.

They went down the corridor, which was evidently a wing of the house, and turned the corner into a wider hall. Mrs. Jones knocked upon a door.

“Miss Amy, my pet!” she called, softly.

The door opened a little.

“The gentleman,” said Mrs. Jones. “He _will_ see you!”

“All right!” answered a voice he recognized; the door opened wider, and there was the girl he had seen before. Her body, in that soft gray dress, seemed almost incredibly fragile; her face, colorless, framed in misty black hair, with great, restless black eyes and delicate little features, was strange and lovely as a dream.

Too strange, thought Ross. For the first time he realized the significance of her presence in the housekeeper’s room. He remembered the wailing voice, her air of haste and terror as she had brushed past him. She had been in there, alone. What did she know? What had she seen?

“I had a note from you--” he began.

“Hush!” said Mrs. Jones. “If you please, sir! It’s a mistake, Miss Amy, my pet. This isn’t Mr. Ross. It’s quite a stranger.”

Obviously she was warning her pet to be careful what she said, and Ross decided that he, too, would be careful. He would have his own little mystery.

“Quite a stranger!” he repeated.

“But--how did you get my note?” asked the girl.

“It was given to me,” he answered.

He saw Mrs. Jones and the girl exchange a glance.

“If I hold my tongue and wait,” he thought, “they’ll surely have to tell me something.”

“But I don’t--” the girl began, when, to Ross’s amazement, Mrs. Jones gave him a vigorous push forward.

“You’re the new chauffeur!” she whispered, fiercely.

Then he heard footsteps in the hall. He stood well inside the room, now; a large room, furnished with quiet elegance. It was what people called a boudoir, he thought, as his quick eye took in the details; a dressing table with rose shaded electric lights and gleaming silver and glass; a little desk with rose and ivory fittings; a silver vase of white chrysanthemums on the table.

“I’m afraid we can’t take you,” said Mrs. Jones, in an altogether new sort of voice, brisk, and a little loud. “I’m sorry.”

Ross was very well aware that some one else had come to the door and was standing behind him. He was also aware of a sort of triumph in Mrs. Jones’s manner. She thought she was going to get rid of him. But she wasn’t.

“If it’s a question of wages,” he said, “I’ll take a little less.”

He saw how greatly this disconcerted her.

“No,” she said. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“What’s the matter? What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” demanded an impatient voice behind him. He turned, and saw a stout, middle-aged man of domineering aspect standing there and frowning heavily.

“The young man’s come to apply for the chauffeur’s position, sir,” Mrs. Jones explained. “But I’m afraid--”

“Well, what’s the matter with him?” cried the domineering man. “Can he drive a car? Has he got references, eh?”

“Yes, sir,” Ross replied.

“Let’s see your references!”

“I left them at the agency,” said Ross, as if inspired.

“Agency sent you, eh? Well, they know their business, don’t they? Can you take a car to pieces and put it together again? Have you brains enough to keep your gasoline tank filled, and to remember that when you’re going round a corner some other fellow may be doing the same thing?”

“Yes, sir,” said Ross.

The domineering man stared hard, and Ross met his regard steadily.

“He’ll do,” said the man. “I like him. Looks you straight in the face. Level headed. Well set up. Good nerves. Doesn’t drink. We’ll give him a chance. Eddy!”

He went out into the hall.

“Eddy!” he shouted. “I want Eddy!”

Mrs. Jones came close to Ross.

“Go away!” she whispered. “You _must_ go away!”

The domineering man had come back into the room.

“Now, then, what’s your name?” he demanded brusquely.

“Moss,” said Ross.

“Moss, eh? Very well! Ah, here’s Eddy! Eddy, take this young man over to the garage. See that he’s properly looked after. He’s our new chauffeur.”

V

The door closed behind them, and Ross round himself in the hall, alone with this Eddy. They stared at each other for a moment; then, in spite of himself, a grudging smile dawned upon Ross’s lean and dour face. Eddy grinned from ear to ear.

“Come on, shover!” he said. “I’ll show you your stall!”

A sheik, Eddy was; very slender, with black hair well oiled and combed back from his brow, and wearing clothes of the latest and jauntiest mode. But he lacked the lilylike languor of the true sheik; his rather handsome face was alert and cheerful; and although he moved with the somewhat supercilious grace of one who had been frequently called a just wonderful dancer, there was a certain wiry vigor about him.

Ross followed him down the hall and around the corner, into the corridor where Mrs. Jones’s room was. Ross saw that the door was a little ajar, and he dropped behind, because he wanted to look into that room, but Eddy, in passing, pulled it shut.

Did he know, too? Certainly he did not look like the sort of youth who went about closing doors unbidden, simply from a sense of order and decorum. And that grin--did it signify a shrewd understanding of a discreditable situation?

It was at this instant that Ross began to realize what he had done. Only dimly, though; for he thought that in a few moments he would be gone, and the whole affair finished, as far as he was concerned. He felt only a vague disquiet, and a great impatience to get away. He went after Eddy down the back stairs and through a dark passage on the floor below, at the end of which he saw a brightly lit kitchen where a stout cook bent over the stove, and that same disagreeable housemaid was mixing something in a bowl at the table.

Then Eddy opened a door, and a wild gust of wind and rain sprang at them.

“Step right along, shover!” said Eddy. “Here! This way!” And he took Ross by the arm.

It was black as the pit out there; the wind came whistling through the pines, driving before it great sheets of rain that was half sleet. It was a world of black, bitter cold and confusion, and Ross thought of nothing at all except getting under shelter again.

It was only a few yards; then Eddy stopped, let go of Ross’s arm, and slid back a door. This door opened upon blackness, too, but Ross was glad enough to get inside. Eddy closed the door, turned on a switch, and he saw that they were in a garage.

It was a very ordinary garage, neat and bare, with a cement floor, and two cars standing, side by side; yet, to Ross it had a sinister aspect. He was very weary, wet and chilled to the bone, and this place looked to him like a prison, a stone dungeon. Storm or no storm, he wanted to get out, away from this place and these people.

“Look here--” he began, but Eddy’s cheerful voice called out: “This way!” and he saw him standing at the foot of a narrow staircase in one corner.

The one thing which made Ross go up those stairs was his violent distaste for the dramatic. He felt that it would be absurd to dash out into the rain. Instinct warned him, but once again he defied that warning, and up he went.

He was surprised and pleased by what he found up there: the jolliest, coziest little room, green rug on the floor, big armchairs of imitation red leather, reading lamp. It was not a room of much æsthetic charm, perhaps, but comfortable, cheerful and homelike, and warm.

The rain was drumming loud on the roof and dashing against the windows, and Ross sighed as he looked at the big chairs. But he was beginning to think now.

“Take off your coat and make yourself at home,” said Eddy.

“No,” Ross objected. “I can’t stay to-night. Didn’t bring my things along.”

“Oh, didn’t you?” said Eddy. “Why not?”

“Because I didn’t come prepared to stay.”

“What _did_ you come for?” asked Eddy.

Now, this might be mere idle curiosity, and Ross decided to accept it as that.

“No,” he said, slowly. “I’ll go back to the city and get my things.”

“It’s raining too hard,” Eddy declared. “It wouldn’t be healthy for you to go out just now, shover.”

This was a little too much for Ross to ignore.

“Just the same,” he insisted, “I’m going now.”

“Nope!” said Eddy.

Ross moved forward, and Eddy moved, too, so that he blocked the doorway. He was grinning, but there was an odd light in his eyes.

“Now, lookit here!” he said. “You just make yourself comfortable for the night, see?”

Ross looked at him thoughtfully. He believed that it would not be difficult to throw this slender youth down the stairs, and to walk out of the garage, but he disliked the idea.

“I don’t want to make any trouble, Eddy,” he explained, almost mildly. “But I’m going.”

“Nope!” said Eddy.

Ross took a step forward. Eddy reached in his hip pocket and pulled out a revolver.

“Nope!” he said again.

“What!” cried Ross, astounded. “Do you mean--”

“Tell you what I mean,” said Eddy. “I mean to say that I know who you are, and what you come for, and you’re going to sit pretty till to-morrow morning. That’s what I mean.”

He spoke quite without malice; indeed, his tone was good-humored. But he was in earnest, he and his gun; there was no doubt about it.

It was not Ross’s disposition to enter into futile arguments. He took off his overcoat, sat down, calmly took out a cigarette and lit it.

“I see!” he remarked. “But I’d like to know who I am, and what I came for. I’d like to hear your point of view.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t,” said Eddy. “Anyway, that can wait. Got to see about feeding you now.”

He locked the door behind him and dropped the key into his pocket. Then he opened another door leading out of the sitting room, disclosing a small kitchen.

“Last shover we had, he was a married man,” he explained. “Him and his wife fixed the place up like it is. I been living here myself, lately. Let’s see--I got pork and beans, cawfee, cake--good cake--cook over at the house made it. How does that strike you?”

“Good enough!” answered Ross, a little absently.

Eddy was moving about in the kitchen, whistling between his teeth; from time to time he addressed a cheerful remark to his captive, but got no answer. Presently he brought in a meal, of a sort, and set it out on a table.

“Here you are!” he announced.

Ross drew up his chair, and fell to, with a pretty sharp appetite.

“Look here!” he said, abruptly. “Who was that man--the one who--hired me?”

“Him? The Prince of Wales!” Eddy replied. “Thought you’d recognized him.”

This was Ross’s last attempt at questioning. Indeed, he was quite willing to be silent now, for his deplorably postponed thinking was now well under way. His brain was busy with the events of this day--this immeasurably long day. Was it only this morning that he had got the note? Only this morning that he had said good-by to Phyllis Barron?

“She’d be a bit surprised if she knew where I’d gone!” he thought.

And then, with a sort of shock, it occurred to him that nobody--absolutely nobody on earth knew where he had gone, or cared. These people here did not know even his name. He had come here, had walked into this situation, and if he never came out again, who would be troubled?

Mr. Teagle had not expected him at any definite time, and would wait for weeks and weeks before feeling the least anxiety about his unknown client. The people at the Hotel Miston would scarcely notice for some time the absence of Mr. Ross of New York, especially as his luggage remained there to compensate them for any loss. Nobody would be injured, or unhappy, or one jot the worse, if he never saw daylight again.

This was one aspect of a completely free life which he had not considered. He was of no interest or importance to any one. He began to consider it now.

Eddy had cleared away their meal, and had been turning over the pages of a magazine. Now he began to yawn, and presently, getting up, opened another door, to display a tidy little bedroom.

“Whenever you’re ready to go by-by, shover,” he suggested.

“Thanks, I’m all right where I am,” Ross asserted.

“Suit yourself,” said Eddy.

He set a chair against the locked door, pulled up another chair to put his feet on, and made himself as comfortable as he could. But Ross made no such effort. His family had never cared about being comfortable. No; there he sat, too intent upon his thoughts to sleep.

The realization of his own utter loneliness in this world had set him to thinking about the man under the sofa. There might be some one waiting, in tears, in terrible anxiety for that man. Probably there was. There were very, very few human beings who had nobody to care.

He had made up his mind to go to the police with his story the next morning. And he saw very clearly the disagreeable position into which his perverse obstinacy had brought him. He had discovered a man who was certainly dead, and possibly murdered, and he had said not a word about it to any one.

He had refused to go away when he had a chance, and now, here he was, held prisoner while, if there had been foul play, the persons responsible would have ample time to make what arrangements they pleased. He could very well imagine how his tale would sound to the police.

“Good Lord!” he said to himself. “What a fool I’ve been!”

VI

It seemed to Ross that the great noise of the wind outside was mingled now with the throb of engines and the rushing of water. He thought he felt the lift and roll of the ship beneath him; he thought he was lying in his berth again, on his way across the dark waste of waters, toward New York. He wondered what New York would be like.

Phyllis Barron was knocking at his door, telling him to hurry, hurry and come on deck. This did not surprise him; he was only immensely relieved and glad.

“I knew you’d come!” he wanted to say, but he could not speak. He tried to get up and dress and go out to her, but he could not move. He made a desperate struggle to call to her.

“Wait! Wait!” he tried to say. “I’m asleep. But I’ll wake in a minute. Please don’t go away!”

Then, with a supreme effort, he did wake. He opened his eyes. There was Eddy, stretched out on his two chairs, sound asleep. And there was a muffled knocking at the door, and a little wailing voice:

“Eddy! Eddy! Oh, _can’t_ you hear me? Eddy!”

For a moment Ross thought it was an echo from his dream, but, as the drowsiness cleared from his head, he knew it was real. He got up and touched the sleeping youth on the shoulder.

“There’s some one calling you!” he said.

Eddy opened his eyes with an alert expression and glared at Ross.

“What?” he demanded, sternly. “No monkey tricks, now!”

As a matter of fact, he was still more than half asleep, and Ross had to repeat his statement twice before it was understood. Then he sprang up, pushed aside the chairs, and unlocked the door.

It was Miss Solway. She came in, like a wraith; she was wrapped in a fur coat, but she looked cold, pale, affrighted; her black eyes wide, her misty dark hair in disorder; a fit figure for a dream.

“Eddy!” she said. “Go away!”

“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy protested, anxiously. “Wait till morning.”

“But it is morning!” she cried. “Go away, Eddy! Quick! I want to speak to--Go away, do! I only have a minute to spare.”

“Morning!” thought Ross. He looked at his watch, which showed a few minutes past six; then at the window. It was as black as ever outside.

“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy began again. “If I was you, I’d--”

“Get out, fool!” she cried. “Idiot! This instant!”

Her fierce and sudden anger astounded Ross. Her eyes had narrowed, her nostrils dilated, her short upper lip was drawn up in a sort of snarl. Yet this rage was in no way repellent; it was like the fury of some beautiful little animal. He could perfectly understand Eddy’s answering in a tone of resigned indulgence.

“All right, Miss Amy. Have it your own way.”

It seemed to Ross that that was the only possible way for any man to regard this preposterous and lovely creature, not critically, but simply with indulgence.

Taking up his cap and overcoat, Eddy departed, whistling as he went down the stairs. Miss Solway waited, scowling, until he had gone; then she turned to Ross.

“_Who are you?_” she demanded.

He was greatly taken aback. He had not yet had time to collect his thoughts; nothing much remained in his mind except the decision of the night before that this morning he was going to the police with an account of what he had seen. And, stronger and clearer than anything else, was his desire and resolve to get away from here.

“Oh, tell me!” she entreated.

Ross reflected well before answering. Eddy suspected him of something--Heaven knew what. Perhaps this girl did, too. He imagined that they were both a little afraid of him. And, if he held his tongue, and didn’t let them know how casual and unpremeditated all his actions had been, he might keep them in wholesome doubt about him, and so get away.

“My name’s Moss,” he replied, as if surprised. “I came to get a job.”

“No!” she said. “You got my note. But how could you? Who _can_ you be? Nanna said--but I don’t believe it! I knew--as soon as I saw you--I felt sure you’d come to help me. Oh, tell me! My cousin James sent you, didn’t he?”

“James Ross?” asked Ross, slowly.

“Yes!” she answered, eagerly. “My cousin James. He did! I know it! Mother always told me to go to him if I needed help. Of course, I know he must be old now. I was afraid--so terribly afraid that he’d left the ship, or that I’d forgotten the name of it. But I was right, after all. I thought mother had said he was purser on the Farragut.”

“What!” cried Ross.

He began to understand now. Years and years ago--the dimmest memory--he had had a cousin James who was purser on one of the Porto Rico boats. He could vaguely remember his coming to their house in Mayaguez; a gloomy man with a black beard; son of his father’s elder brother William. It must have been on the old Farragut, scrapped nearly twenty years ago.

And that cousin James had vanished, too, long ago. William Ross had had three children, and outlived them all. Ross could remember his grandfather telling him that.

“All gone,” the old man had said; “both my sons and their sons. No doubt the Almighty has some reason for sparing _you_; but it’s beyond me.”

“_Your_ Cousin James?” said Ross, staring at her--because that had been _his_ Cousin James.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she answered, impatiently. “I told you. Now tell me how--”

But Ross wanted to understand.

“What was your father’s name?” he demanded.

“Luis Delmano,” she replied. “But what does that matter? I only have a minute--”

“Then why do you call yourself Solway if your name is--”

“Oh!” she cried. “Now I see! You didn’t know the name of my mother’s second husband! Nobody had told you that! Of course! I should have thought of that. Mother told me how horrible her brothers were. When she married daddy, they were so furious. They said they’d never see her or speak to her or mention her name again--and I suppose they didn’t. Nasty, heartless beasts! Their only sister!”

Although Ross had never before heard of any sister of his father’s, the story seemed to him probable. His grandfather, his father, and his uncle were so exactly the sort of people to possess a sister whose name was never mentioned; grim, savage, old-fashioned, excommunicating sort of people. Yes; it was probable; but it was startling. Because, if this girl’s mother had been his father’s sister, then he was her Cousin James, after all.

He did not want to be. His dark face grew a little pale, and he turned away, looking down at the floor, considering this new and unwelcome idea.

“Now you understand!” she said. “And you did come to help me, didn’t you?”

This time his silence was deliberate, and not due to any confusion in his thoughts. The blood in his veins spoke clearly to him. What those other Rosses had condemned, he, too, condemned. He was like them. This girl was altogether strange, exotic, and dangerous, and he wanted to get away from her.

It was his gift, however, to show no sign of whatever he might be thinking; his face was expressionless, and she read what she chose there. She came nearer to him, and laid her hand on his arm.

“You will help me?” she said, softly.

He looked down at her gravely. He knew that she was willfully attempting to charm him--and how he did scorn anything of that sort! And yet--He looked at her as some long forgotten Ross of Salem might have looked at a bonny young witch. The creature was dangerous, and yet--Bonny she was, and a young man is a young man.

“I don’t see,” he began, doubtfully, when suddenly she cried: “Look!” and pointed to the window. He turned, startled, but he saw nothing there.

“It’s getting light!” she cried.