CHAPTER V.

AN UNCANNY GUEST

Hemming finished his novel and took it to his publisher. Then he decided to go somewhere,--to get out of New York and back to the life that meant something. He confided his intention to O'Rourke, and later to Smith.

"I wish you'd wait for awhile," pleaded O'Rourke, "and then I'd go with you."

"How long do you want me to wait?" asked Hemming.

"Oh, until we're married."

"Great Scott, man, surely you don't intend deserting your bride immediately after the marriage ceremony!"

"Not much," exclaimed O'Rourke, "but she could come, too."

Hemming stared, for he knew that many of his friend's jokes required a lot of looking at; and Smith, who was tidying the table, hid his smile in the duster.

"What have you been drinking?" inquired Hemming at last. O'Rourke made a movement as one awaking from a trance. He smiled foolishly.

"Forgive me," he said; "for a moment I quite forgot what sort of trips we used to indulge in. Of course it would never do to take Helen on jaunts like those."

"I wonder if you are old enough to take care of a wife," said his friend, severely.

When Hemming returned to his rooms late that evening, he was still undecided as to where he would go. O'Rourke was away at some sort of function. Hemming had been walking for more than an hour, aimlessly, but at a hard pace. As he dropped wearily into his chair, Smith entered, and handed him a paper from the table. It was a note from Stanley, written in red ink on the back of a laundry list. It ran as follows:

"Hurry 'round to my diggings as soon as you get this. I want you to meet my seafaring friend, who seems in a mood to honour me with a visit of some length. He is very droll, and looks as if he means to stay. I send this by our hall boy.

"Merrily yours, "T. F. STANLEY."

He found Stanley alone in a big and lavishly furnished room. He sat at a table, whereon stood two glasses, a syphon of soda-water, and a decanter. He stood up upon Hemming's entrance. "Ah," he said, "this is good of you. We had almost given up hopes of seeing you to-night."

"I was out," replied Hemming, "and just got your note. Where is your seafaring friend?"

"Allow me to introduce you," said Stanley. "Mr. Kelley, my friend, Mr. Hemming."

Hemming looked about him, open-mouthed, and, though he straightened his monocle, he could see neither hair nor track of Mr. Kelley.

"What is your game?" he inquired, icily.

"It is as I feared," said Stanley, "and I assure you the loss is yours. I alone may enjoy Kelley's delightful society, it appears. His very smile, as he sits there, has a world of humour in it. He tells such droll stories, too, of his adventures by land and sea."

Hemming caught him roughly by the arm. "What damned nonsense is this?" he asked.

Stanley pulled himself away, and the Englishman, fearless though he was, felt daunted by the strange light in his host's eyes.

"If you don't like my friend, why, get out!" cried Stanley. "If you're a snob, and won't drink with a common sailor, and a dead one at that, why, just say so. But I tell you, Hemming, I like him. I didn't when I killed him, but I love him now. You should hear him sing."

For a moment Hemming stood undecided. Then he removed his overcoat, and drew a chair for himself up to the table.

"I am very stupid to-night," he said, smiling. "Of course I'll have a drink with you and Kelley. Just a couple of fingers, old chap. Kelley seems a good sort. Do you think he will favour us with a song?"

Stanley got another glass, and poured the whiskey for his guest. His face was haggard, though he was clearly pleased with Hemming's change of manner. "Oh, he is a good sort, sure enough," he said, "but I don't believe you could hear him sing. It is all I can do sometimes. He has a fine voice, but he is a bit handicapped by the cut in his lip. Do you notice the cut in his lip? I gave him that years ago. Knocked four or five teeth down his neck, too, I guess. Do you know, Hemming, I was afraid, when you first came in, that you thought me nutty."

For a little while Stanley seemed sunk too deep in meditation for utterance. He looked up presently, but not at Hemming.

"Kelley," he said, "_you_ can understand being afraid of a man, and there was a time when _I_ was afraid of a ghost, but what do you think of a man who is afraid of a woman?" He paused for a moment, and seemed to receive an answer, for he laughed and continued, "Just my sentiment, old cock. She isn't after him with a knife, either. She is in love with him, and once he was in love with her, but now he's afraid to go within miles of her. He's in love with her, too; at least, so they told Tarmont."

Hemming jumped from his chair. "Who the devil are you talking about?" he cried.

Stanley glared blankly for a moment.

"Why, sure enough; I'm talking about you," he said.

"See here, Stanley," exclaimed the Englishman, earnestly, "are you drunk, or are you mad, or are you only making a fool of yourself, and trying to make one of me?"

"I am not drunk," replied the other, slowly, "and why should I try to make a fool of you? Some one has saved me that trouble. But I may be mad, old chap, though I haven't taken to biting people yet."

Hemming started, and glanced about him uneasily. "Well, I really must go," he said; "I have some work to do," and he hurried away without shaking hands. He went to the nearest drug-store, where he might use the public telephone. He was about to ring up a doctor when an amused chuckle at his shoulder arrested him. He turned his head. There stood Stanley, leering pleasantly.

"Don't trouble yourself. I'm not wanting medical advice just now," said Stanley. In his confusion, Hemming blushed guiltily, and left the telephone, and the shop, without a word. As he passed into the street, he heard Stanley laughing with the cashier, very likely explaining his action as that of a harmless idiot.

Hemming made all speed to Washington Square. O'Rourke had not yet returned, but on a scrap of paper among his manuscripts he found Tarmont's address. With the help of a cab, he was soon in that gentleman's studio. But, to his disgust, he found that he was not the only visitor. Half a dozen men were lounging on the wide divans, smoking. Hemming managed to get Tarmont away from the crowd.

"Have you seen Stanley to-day?" he asked.

"Not since last night. Why?"

"He is mad as a hatter. Thinks he is entertaining some dead sailor in his rooms."

"Heavens!" exclaimed the artist.

"He talked rather wildly about several things," said Hemming, "and quoted you concerning a girl in England--and me."

"He may have heard me speaking of it," returned Tarmont, defiantly. "He was here last night."

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked the Englishman.

"It was just country-house gossip," replied the artist, "and I hardly thought you would thank me. I imagined you were old enough to know your own business best."

"It was country-house gossip, and now you have made studio gossip of it," said Hemming, tartly.

"I am very sorry," said Tarmont, honestly.