Books: Quill\'s Window

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"They say old man Dowd could shoot the eye out of a squirrel three
hundreds yards away with one of these rifles," announced Charlie;
"and it was no trick at all for him to nip a wild turkey's head
off at five hundred yards. I'll bet you didn't run up against any
such shooting as that over in France."

Blythe shook his head. "No such rifle shooting, I grant you. But
what would you say to a German cannon twelve miles away landing
ten shells in succession on a battery half as big as this stable
without even being able to see the thing they were shooting at?"

"I give up," said Charlie gloomily. "Old man Dowd was SOME liar,
but, my gosh, he couldn't hold a--well, my respect for the American
Army is greater than it ever was, I'll say that, Captain. Dan Dowd
was the rankest kind of an amateur."

"Do you mean as a shot,--or as a liar?" inquired Blythe, grinning.

"Both," said Charlie.

He had a very definite purpose in leading his guest through the
stable-yard. By doing so he avoided the customary approach to the
Tavern, in full view from Courtney's windows. They circled the
building and arrived at the long, low porch from the north. Here
they encountered Furman Hatch. Charlie appeared greatly surprised
to find the photographer there.

"What are you doing here at this time o' day, Tintype?" he demanded.
"Takin' a vacation?"

"I come over for some prints I left in my room last night," explained
Mr. Hatch.

"We're going up to call on Court," said Charlie. "Won't you join
us?"

Hatch looked at his watch, frowned dubiously, and then said he could
spare a few minutes,--and that was just what it was understood in
advance that he was to say!

"He goes by the name of Tintype," explained Mr. Webster, after
the two men had shaken hands. "Not because he looks like one, but
because the village idiot's name is Furman, and we have to have
some way of tellin' them apart."

A few minutes later, Charlie knocked resoundingly on Courtney's
door.

"Who is it?"

"It's me,--Charlie Webster. Got a nice surprise for you."

"Come in."

And in strode Charlie, followed by the tall stranger and the lank
Mr. Hatch.

Courtney, full dressed,--except that he wore instead of his coat
a thick blue bath gown,--was sitting at a table in front of the
small wood-fire stove, playing solitaire. A saucer at one corner
of the table served as an ash tray. It was half full of cigarette
stubs.

"Well, what the--" he began, and then, catching sight of the
stranger, scrambled up from his chair, his mouth still open.

"I thought you'd be surprised," said Charlie triumphantly. "This
is Mr. Blythe, Mr. Thane,--shake hands with each other, comrades.
When I told him you were so keen to see him and talk over old
times, he said slap-bang he'd come with me when I offered to bring
him up."

"I hope we're not intruding, Mr. Thane," said Blythe, advancing with
hand extended. "Mr. Webster assured me you were quite well enough
to receive--"

"I am glad you came," cried Courtney, recovering from his surprise.
"Awfully good of you. These beastly lungs of mine, you know. The
least little flare-up scares me stiff. Still, I had almost screwed
up my nerve to going out this afternoon--"

"It doesn't pay to take any risks," warned Blythe, as they shook
hands.

The two men looked each other closely, steadily in the eye. Courtney
was the first to speak at the end of this mutual scrutiny.

"I wasn't quite sure whether I met you over there, Captain Blythe,"
he said, "but now I know that I didn't. I've been puzzling my brain
for days trying to recall the name, or at least your face. I may
be wrong, however. I haven't much of a memory. I hope you will
forgive me if we did meet and I have forgotten it. I--"

"I have no recollection of ever having seen you, Mr. Thane," said
Blythe. "It isn't surprising, however. It--it was a pretty big war,
you know."

Charlie Webster was slightly dashed. If anything, Courtney Thane was
more at ease, more convincing than Addison Blythe. He felt rather
foolish. Something, it seemed, had fallen very flat. He evaded Mr.
Hatch's eye.

"Sit down, Captain Blythe," said Courtney affably. "Hope you don't
mind this bath gown. Charlie, make yourself at home on the bed,--you
too, Hatch. We're as shy of chairs here as we were at the front,
you see."

Blythe remained for half an hour and then went away with his two
companions. Courtney shook hands with him and said good-bye at the
hall door; then he strode over to the bureau to look at himself
in the glass. He saw reflected therein a very well satisfied face,
with brightly confident eyes and the suggestion of a triumphant
smile.

Hatch accompanied the moody Mr. Webster to the warehouse office.

"Strikes me, Charlie," said he, thoughtfully, "that of the two our
friend Courtney seems a long sight more genuine than this feller
Blythe. I guess you're off your base, old boy. Why, darn it, he
had Blythe up in the air half the time. If I was a betting man,
I'd put up a hundred or two that Blythe never even saw the places
they were talking about."

"Do you think Blythe is a fake?" cried Charlie in some heat.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," said Hatch diplomatically,
"but you'll have to admit that Court asked him a lot of questions
he didn't seem able to answer."

Charlie stared hard at the floor for a few seconds. Then: "Well, if
I was to ask you what my mother's maiden name was, Tintype, you'd
have to say you didn't know, wouldn't you?"

"Sure," said Hatch. "But I wouldn't go so far as to say I wasn't
certain whether she had a maiden name or not, would I?"

"There's no use arguing with you, Hatch," said Charlie irritably,
and turned to his desk by the window, there to frown fiercely over
his scales book.

II

Alix and Miss Blythe were sitting in front of the fireplace when
young Blythe entered the living-room on his return from Dowd's
Tavern. The former looked up at him brightly, eagerly as he planted
himself between them with his back to the cheerful blaze.

"Did you see him?" she inquired. He was struck by the deep, straining
look in her dark eyes,--as if she were searching for something far
back in his brain.

"Yes," he replied, as he took his pipe and tobacco pouch from his
pocket. "He was up and around the room and was as pleased as Punch
to see me." He began stuffing the bowl of the pipe. "He is a most
attractive chap, Alix. I don't know when I've met a more agreeable
fellow."

"Then you had not met before,--over there?"

"No. We missed each other by days on two or three occasions. He
left for the Vosges just before I got to Pont-a-Mousson, and was
transferred to another section when we all went up to Bar le Duc
at the time of the Verdun drive. He joined the Ambulance several
months before I did, and was shifted about a good deal. Had some
trouble with a French officer at Pont-a-Mousson and asked to be
transferred." Here he smiled feelingly. "He's got a mustard plaster
on his back now, he says, that would cover an army mule. I know
how that feels, by Jinks! I wore one for three weeks over there
because I didn't have the nerve to rip it off."

He was still aware of the unanswered question in her eyes. Changing
his position slightly, he busied himself with the lighting of his
pipe.

"Was he expecting you?" inquired Alix.

"Not at all. It seems that your roly-poly friend forgot to notify
him. I say, Alix, what a wonderful lot of pre-historic junk there
is in that old stable-yard. Webster took me around there and showed
me the stuff. Tell me something about the place."

Late in the afternoon Blythe,--after submitting to an interview at
the hands of A. Lincoln Pollock,--sat alone before the fire, his
long legs stretched out, a magazine lying idly in his lap, his pipe
dead but gripped firmly in the hand that had remained stationary for
a long, long time halfway to his lips. He was staring abstractedly
into the neglected fire.

His sister came in. He was not aware of her entrance until she
appeared directly in front of him.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, blinking.

"What is on your mind, Addy?"

He glanced over his shoulder.

"Where is Alix?"

"Writing letters. There were two or three she has to get off before
we start for town." She sat down on the arm of his chair. "You may
as well tell me what you really think of him, Addison. Isn't he
good enough for her?"

He lowered his voice. The frown of perplexity deepened in his eyes.

"I can't make him out, Mary," he said, lowering his voice.

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly.

"Well, I may be doing him the rottenest injustice, but--somehow--he
doesn't ring quite true to me."

"For goodness sake, Addy,--" she began, and then: "In what way?
Hurry up! Tell me before she comes down. Isn't he a--a gentleman?"

"Oh, yes,--I suppose he is. He's a most engaging chap; he certainly
seems well-bred, and he's darned good-looking. That isn't what I
mean." He hesitated a moment and then blurted out: "Does Alix know
POSITIVELY that he was in the American Ambulance? I mean, has she
anybody else's word for it except his?"

Mary Blythe stared at her brother, her lips parted. Then her eyes
narrowed suddenly.

"Don't--don't you think he's straight, Addy?" she half-whispered.

"I confess I'm puzzled. I never dreamed of doubting him when
I went there. But I've been doing a lot of thinking since I saw
him, and,--by George, Mary, I'm up a tree. Good Lord, if he should
be--well, if he should be putting something over on Alix, he ought
to be shot, that's all. Do you think she's in love with him?"

"I don't know. She's interested in him, I'm sure, but two or three
times I have caught the queerest little look in her eyes when she
is speaking of him,--almost as if she were afraid of something. I
can't describe it. It's just--well, the only thing I can think of
is that it's kind of pleading, if you know what I mean."

"Groping, I guess is the word you're after."

"Exactly. But go on,--tell me."

"It won't do to say anything about this to Alix, Mary," said he
firmly. "At least not at present. Not until I've satisfied myself.
I'm going to write to three or four fellows who were in Section
Two for months,--before I was there,--and see if they know anything
about him. I'd write to Mr. Hereford himself, but he's in Europe.
He could give me the right dope in a minute. Piatt Andrew's in
France, I understand. The records will show, of course, but it will
take time to get at them. We must not breathe a word of all this
to Alix, Mary. Understand? I've got to make sure first. It would
be unpardonable if I were to make a break about him and he turned
out to be all right."

"You must find out as quickly as possible, Addison. We would never
forgive ourselves if we allowed Alix to--"

"Don't you worry! It won't take long to get a line on him.
I'd telegraph if I were sure of the addresses. I ought to hear in
three or four days, a week at the outside. Of course, he talks very
convincingly. That's what floors me. But, on the other hand, he's
too darned convincing. First of all, he called me Captain Blythe
all the time. That isn't done by fellows in the know. I'm just plain
Mister these days. He was rather hazy about the places I know all
about, and tremendously clear about places I've never even heard
of,--the places around Pont-a-Mousson, I mean. He actually looked
suspicious of me when I said I didn't know where they were. And
he mentioned a lot of men that I am dead sure never were up at
Pont-a-Mousson,--either before or after I was there. Names I had
never heard before in my life. And, confound it, the way he lifted
his eyebrows made me feel for a minute or two that I hadn't been
there myself. He says that since his injury and his sicknesses his
memory isn't the best, but when I spoke of some of the fellows who
were there with me, he remembered them perfectly. Didn't know them
well, because he wasn't with the bunch very long, it seems. When I
remarked that he must see a good bit of the chaps who live in New
York City, he told me he had been sick ever since he came home from
England and hadn't seen one of the crowd. He said he knew Pottle,
and Fay, and Tyler, Sudbery and several others,--so I'm going to
write to all of them tomorrow."

"It would be terrible, Addy, if she were to--"

"Mind you, old girl, I'm not saying this fellow isn't square," he
interrupted. "He may be all he says he is. He's got me guessing,
that's all."

"She says he has the croix de guerre and a D. S. medal."

He looked at her pityingly. "I've got a couple of Iron Crosses,
old dear, but that doesn't mean I had 'em pinned on me by a Boche
general. I've also got a German helmet, but I got it the same way
I got the Crosses,--off of a German whose eyes were closed. Anyhow,
I'd like to see his medals. Has Alix seen them?"

"His mother has them in New York," she replied. She stared into
the fire for a moment or two and then turned to him, a look of deep
concern in her eyes. "I think Alix is in love with him, Addy. She
isn't herself at all. She is distrait. Twice this afternoon she
has asked me if I didn't want to walk down into the village,--to
the postoffice or the library. What she really wanted to do was to
walk past the place where he lives. Oh, I know the symptoms. I've
had them myself,--when I was younger than I am now. We don't do
the things at thirty-two that we did at twenty-four. She is the
dearest, finest girl I've ever known, Addy. We must not let anything
happen to her."

He shook his head slowly. "If she is really in love with him,
there's nothing we can do. The saying that 'there's no fool like an
old fool' isn't in it with 'there's no fool like a woman in love.'
Look at Isabel Harrington. Wasn't she supposed to be as sensible
as they make 'em? And didn't everybody she knew tell her what kind
of a man he was? Did it do any good?"

"She knew he gambled,--and drank--and he WAS a fascinating chap,
Addy. You'll admit that."

"You bet I admit it. It was certainly proved when those other women
turned up with marriage certificates, and old Mrs. Mason jumped
into the scrimmage and had him arrested for swindling her out of
thirty-five thousand dollars, and the New York police came along
with a warrant for--"

"Yes, yes," she interrupted impatiently. "But Alix is quite different.
She is NOT a fool, and Isabel was,--and still is, I maintain. You
have seen this friend of Alix's. Is he attractive?"

"Well," he mused aloud, "unless I am mistaken, he is the sort of
fellow that women fall for without much of an effort. The sort that
can fool women but can't fool men, Mary, if that means anything to
you. Now that I think of it, I believe Webster and that friend of
his are--Well, I'm sure they don't like him. He--"

"Sh! She is coming!"

Alix's quick, light tread was heard in the hall. She came from her
"office" in the wing where the kitchen was situated.

There was a heightened colour in her cheeks and her lovely eyes
were shining.

"Well, that job is done," she cried, tossing two or three letters
on the table. "Don't let me forget them, Mary. I'll post them in
the city. We leave at six o'clock, Addison. I telephoned to town
and asked George Richards to meet us at the Raleigh at a quarter
before seven. I am dreadfully disappointed, Mary, that Mr. Thane
cannot go, but you will like George. Mr. Thane NEVER goes to town.
He was going to break his rule tonight, and now he CAN'T go. Isn't
that always the way?"

"Mary's awfully partial to Georges," said Addison, "so don't you
worry about her. I know I shall have a better time if Thane isn't
in the party. To be perfectly frank with you, I'm jolly well fed
up with Mary,--as we say in London. And if Thane was along I'd HAVE
to talk to her for three solid--Why, 'pon my soul, Alix, you're
blushing!"

"Don't be silly!"

"Skip along, Addy, and see how quickly you can dress," interposed
his sister briskly. "You've got forty-six minutes."

"I can dress and undress three times in forty-six minutes, and
still have time to read the evening paper and do a few odd chores
about the place. I say, Alix, red is awfully becoming to you." With
that parting shot, he disappeared.

III

One of the envelopes on the table was addressed to David Strong. It
was a reply to a special delivery letter received in the afternoon
post. He had been very prompt in responding to Alix's curt note,
and she was being equally prompt with her answer. There were stamps
sufficient on hers to insure "special delivery" to him.

He had written:

DEAR ALIX:

I have not received the bracelet yet. Registered mail moves slowly.
If I did not know you so well, I might even hope that you had
changed your mind at the last minute and did not send it. But I know
it will come along in a day or so. I shall not ask you to explain
why you are returning my gift. You have a good reason, no doubt.
We have not been very friendly of late. I admit that I have been
stubborn about paying back the money your grandfather lent to me,
and I suppose I have not been very gentlemanly or tactful in trying
to make you understand. I still maintain that it is a very silly
thing for us to quarrel about, but I am not going to hector you about
it now. I trust you will forgive me if I add to your annoyance by
saying that I'd like to be where I could shake a little sense into
that stubborn head of yours.

You are returning my gift. As I told you when I sent it to you, it
was given me by a French lady whose son I had taken care of and for
whose ultimate recovery I was perhaps responsible. She appreciated
the fact that I could not and would not accept pay for my services.
This much I have told you before. Now, I shall tell you something
more. When she pressed it upon me she said that I was to give it
to my sweetheart back in America. I gave it to you. I daresay I am
greatly to blame for never having told you before that you were my
sweetheart, Alix.

Very sincerely yours,

DAVID.

To this Alix replied:

DEAR DAVID:

By this time you will have received the bracelet. It is not beyond
the bounds of probability that you may yet be in a position to
carry out the terms imposed by the lady in France. All the more
reason for my returning it to you. You are now free to give it to
any one to whom you may have confided the astonishing secret you
so successfully withheld from me. You seem to have forgotten that
I gave you a receipt in full for the amount you are supposed to
have owed my grandfather's estate. I did this with the consent of
my lawyer. He said it was perfectly legal and that it was in my
power to cancel the so-called obligation,--especially as we have
no documentary evidence that you ever had promised to reimburse
my grandfather. On the contrary, as I have told you over and over
again, I have in my possession a statement written by Grandfather
Windom which absolutely settles the matter. He states in so many
words that in making his will he failed to mention his "beloved
young friend, David Strong" as a beneficiary, in view of the fact
that "I have made him a substantial gift during the closing years
of my life in the shape of such education as he may require, and
for which I trust him to repay me, not in money, but in the simplest
and truest form of compensation: gratitude." In spite of this, you
continue to offend me,--I might even say insult me,--by choosing to
consider his gift as an obligation which can only be met by paying
MONEY to me. All that you owed my grandfather was gratitude and
respect. As for myself, I relieve you of the former but I do think
I am entitled to the latter.

Yours sincerely,

ALIX CROWN

The same post that carried her letter east was to take one from
Courtney Thane to his mother.

DEAREST MATER:

I am going to ask Alix Crown to marry me. I have hesitated to do so
for obvious reasons, perfectly clear to you. Now, I have decided.
She understands my financial situation. She knows that I am almost
entirely dependent on you for support at present. If it had not
been for the war and my confounded ill-health, I should, of course,
have been quite independent by this time. I have explained my
present unbearable situation to her in a general sort of way, and
I know that she is in complete sympathy with me. Your resolve to
not increase my allowance is, I suppose, irrevocable. I shall soon
be in a position, I hope, to dispense with what you are already so
gracious as to allow me. I have not deemed it wise to tell her at
this time of my unfortunate and, as you say, foolish mismanagement
of my affairs before and after father's death. When all is said and
done, he didn't leave me very much. It went before I quite knew
what was happening, and I submit that it was bad judgment due to my
youth rather than to recklessness, as old Mumford claims. I'll make
him eat his words some day. Thanks for your cheque. You are a darling.
You're the best mother a fellow ever had. I quite understand your
position, so don't lose a moment's sleep thinking that I may be
resenting your decision. I shall manage very nicely on what you
give me. It is ample for my present needs. I shall probably find it
rather humiliating when it comes time for a wedding journey, but,
bless your dear old heart, I'll manage somehow.

I am quite well and very happy. Hope you are the same. By the way,
have you made that visit to Washington?

Your loving son,

COURTNEY.

P.S.--I am still looking for the little parcel I asked you to send
me. Have you forgotten to attend to it?

C.

As Alix and her friends went out to the automobile, the big police
dog trotted beside Addison Blythe, looking up into his face with
pleased and friendly eyes. He allowed the man to stroke his head
and rumple the thick fur on his back.

"He likes you, Addison," said Alix, a serious little frown in her
eyes. "I can't understand his not liking Courtney Thane. His hair
fairly bristles and he growls like a bear every time he sees him.
Isn't it odd?"

Blythe looked up quickly. It was on the tip of his tongue to say
something tactless. What he did say was this:

"Can you blame the poor dog for being jealous?"

CHAPTER XIII

THE OLD INDIAN TRAIL

Courtney delayed. A certain aloofness on Alix's part caused him to
hesitate. Something in her manner following upon the visit of the
Blythes invited speculation. She was as pleasant as ever, yet he
sensed a subtle change that warned him of defeat if he attempted
to storm the citadel. His confidence was slightly shaken,--but not
his resolve.

"She's been different ever since those infernal Blythes were
here," he reflected aloud, scowling as he watched her pass in the
car several days after the departure of her guests.

She went to the city nearly every day now, and seldom returned before
dark. Somehow he felt that his grip was slipping. He was standing
in front of the Tavern. She had waved her hand to him, and had
smiled gaily, but it was not the first time that week she had failed
to stop and repeat her usual invitation for him to accompany her,
even though she knew he would politely decline. He resented this
oversight. How could she know that he hadn't changed his mind about
going to the city? As a matter of fact, he had changed it. He would
have gone like a shot. Indeed, he had dressed with that very object
in view,--and she had gone by with a casual wave of her hand.
His annoyance was increased by the remark of Mr. Nichols, who was
standing at the top of the steps at the time.

"Thought you said you was going up to town, Courtney," said the
old man, with a detestable grin on his wrinkled visage.

"I didn't say anything of the kind," snapped Courtney, and strode
off angrily.

His stroll,--and his reflections,--took him up the old Indian trail
along the bank of the river. He wanted solitude. He wanted to be
where he could talk without fear of being overheard. There was much
that he had to say to himself.

The rarely used path through the willows and underbrush ran along
the steep bank, sometimes within a few feet of water. Once before
he had walked a couple of hundred yards over this ancient, hard-packed
trail of Tecumseh's people, but had been turned back by the sight
of a small snake wriggling off into the long grass ahead of him.
That was in the warm days of early September. There was no likelihood
of serpents being abroad on this chill October morning.

Leaving the road at the cut above the ferry landing, he turned into
the trail. A half hour's walk brought him to the gradually rising,
rock-covered slope that led to the base of Quill's Window. On all
sides were great, flat slabs of stone, some of them almost buried
in the earth, others sticking their jagged points up above the
brush and weeds. Back in ages dim these drab, moss-covered rocks
had been sliced from the side of the towering mound by the forces
that shaped the earth, to be hurled hither and thither with the calm
disdain of the mighty. No human agency had blasted them from their
insecure hold on the shoulders of the cliff. Uncounted centuries
ago they had come bounding, crashing down from the heights, shaken
loose by the convulsions of Mother Earth, tearing their way through
the feeble barrier of trees to a henceforth place of security.

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