Against Odds Part 23

In the time spent in waiting the end of this little dialogue I had decided that I must know this young man--so reticent, yet so frank--better, and that I must win his confidence, and to do this perfect frankness, I knew, would be my best aid.

When the 'mystery' was safely out of sight, and on this occasion I had no desire to follow her, I rejoined the guard, and I was sure that I surprised upon his face a look of perplexity and annoyance, which vanished when I put my hand upon his arm, and, falling into step with him, began:

'I hope you understood my meaning when I went into ambush so suddenly?

I really did not care to encounter your friend.'

'That is hardly the right name, seeing that the lady is a stranger to me,' he replied, slightly smiling.

'Indeed!' I retorted. 'Then may I wager that I know what she had to say to you?' I saw him flush, and his lips compress themselves as if to hold back some hasty speech, but I went lightly on: 'That is the young person who claimed the bag belonging to your acquaintance--you remember the circ.u.mstance--and if she is still as angry at me as she was on that day she was doubtless imploring you to "run me in," and put me in more irons than Christopher Columbus ever wore. Honestly now, am I not right?'

He was silent and seemed perplexed again, and I promptly changed my tone. 'If I am mistaken, and if the young woman is someone you know, I beg your pardon; but, remembering how she turned her look upon you on the occasion of that first meeting----'

'One moment,' he broke in. 'It is possible that we have been unjust in this case, and I think I may tell you, without a breach of confidence, what this young lady'--I thought he emphasized the 'lady'

somewhat--'who by-the-by is a stranger to me, had to say just now.'

I bowed my a.s.sent, lest speech might cause a discussion, and he went on:

'The young lady, after excusing herself for doing what she termed an unconventional thing in addressing me, asked at once after you.'

'After me? But--go on.'

'She spoke of you as "the person" I was talking with on the day when her friend lost her bag and she tried to reclaim it, and when I disclaimed all knowledge of you, she told me how "cavalierly"--that is also her word--you refused to yield up the bag, and how anxiously her friend was hoping to secure that bag--even yet.'

'Ah! Indeed!'

'You will pardon me,' he went on, not heeding my interjection, and speaking with marked courtesy, 'but I almost fear you have mistaken this young lady.'

'Why?'

'Because she not only gave me the name of the owner of the bag, but she a.s.sured me that the lady recognised me in pa.s.sing, a thing which I regret, and she called me by my name.'

Here was a coil indeed. My head was a nest of queer thoughts and suspicions, but I kept to the subject by asking:

'And may I ask how you replied to all this?'

'In the only way I could. You were a stranger, who was anxious, I felt sure, to restore the bag to its owner. You had a.s.sured me of this much. As to your address, I could not give it, and your name I did not know; but I added the promise that should I chance to meet you, as I might, I would ask you to send the bag to the lady's address.'

'Pardon--was this the lady's proposition?'

'No. She asked me to get it from you--the bag.'

'And to restore it through her?'

'Yes.'

'And the address? Did she give you the young lady's address, the owner's, or her own?'

'She gave the owner's address.'

'Then if you will give it to me I can promise that to-morrow will see the little bag in its owner's possession.'

He took from his pocket a visiting card, upon which was engraved the name June E. Jenrys, and underneath in pencil the address.

I had seen just such a card, minus the pencilled address, in Miss Jenrys' card-tray on Was.h.i.+ngton Avenue; and that pencilled address! It was that of the cafe to which Miss Jenrys was to send her note concerning the evening excursion.

I had not spoken of the adventure of the bag during the afternoon, and I had not meant to do so. Since our last meeting my position in relation to Miss Jenrys had been changed. I was now in some degree the guardian of her interests, and while I believed in and admired this handsome and secretive stranger guard, and might have entrusted him with a secret all my own, perhaps, my mouth was closed concerning the young lady whom he professed to know yet was unwilling to meet.

As I looked at the tall, lithe figure, the erect head and handsome face, I wondered what this mystery could be which caused him to withhold his name from those who might be his friends; to shun a lovely girl whom he knew and in whom he was evidently interested; and, above all, which linked him, as was now fairly proven, through the wily brunette, with the strange pursuit of Miss Jenrys. Was it possible, I asked myself, that this medley of mysterious happenings could reach back through the brunette to Greenback Bob, the counterfeiter, and Delbras, the king of confidence men?

CHAPTER XVI.

THAT LITTLE DECOY.

I stowed the false address in my waistcoat pocket, and after promising to see the guard again on the next day, a promise which I fully intended to keep, and exchanging a few friendly but important sentences with him, we shook hands and separated. We had grown almost friendly in our manner each toward each, in spite of the fact that neither knew the name of the other. He had told me where he lodged, among the number who were housed within the grounds; and we had agreed to dine together at an early date at a place which he had recommended in reply to my inquiry after a satisfactory place to dine within the walls of the Fair. He had dined there regularly, he a.s.sured me, and I was glad to know this, for I foresaw that I might need his help in the defence of Miss Jenrys and her interests, and I could not know too much of his whereabouts.

'Till we meet and wine and dine,' I said flippantly, upon leaving him, little dreaming how soon and in what manner we were to meet again.

As I left the Plaisance the handsome guard was still the subject of my thoughts. That he had told me the truth concerning his interview with the brunette I did not doubt, but was it the whole truth?

All that he had rehea.r.s.ed to me could have been said in much less than half the time she had spent in brisk conversation with the guard, whose part seemed to have been that of listener.

Not that I had any right to demand or expect his full confidence; still, why had he withheld it; and what was it that the brunette had slipped into his hand at parting?

Another thing, we had planned to dine together soon, and he knew that I was, or seemed to be, quite at leisure, while he would be relieved from duty very soon, and yet--well, he had certainly not grasped at the opportunity.

I did not expect to meet Brainerd until a late hour, and I had decided to do nothing further in the matter of the Trent disappearance until we could talk it over. In fact, there was little to be done until I had seen Miss Jenrys and her aunt, and reported to them, as I had engaged to do at seven o'clock. At this hour I called and made my meagre report, which, however, was better than nothing, as the ladies were good enough to declare.

They had remained at home all day, and late in the afternoon received a message from Miss O'Neil. The picture, it a.s.sured her, would be sent at once.

A little to my surprise, I found that the ladies were prepared to go to town in company with Monsieur Voisin, to hear a famous monologue artist. He had persuaded them, Miss Jenrys said, rather against their wishes, but they had at last decided that this would be better than to pa.s.s the evening as they had already pa.s.sed the day, in useless speculation, discussion, and anxiety.

Of course I agreed with them; but I came away early, not caring to encounter the handsome Frenchman again, and I re-entered the gates of the Fair City a little out of tune, and wandered about the brightly-illuminated and beautiful Court of Honour, finding, for the first time in this place, that time was dragging, and wis.h.i.+ng it were time to meet Dave, and begin what I knew would be a lively and two-sided discussion.

At eight o'clock there was music upon the Grand Plaza, and the band-stand was surrounded by a merry, happy crowd. At nine the band was playing popular airs, and a picked chorus that had been singing in Choral Hall in the afternoon was filling the great s.p.a.ce with vocal melody, in which from time to time the crowd joined with enthusiasm.

Coming nearer this centre of attraction, I saw, seated near the water's edge, and quite close to the great Fountain, the little brunette and a companion. It was impossible to mistake the brunette, for she wore the costume of the afternoon--a somewhat conspicuous costume, as I afterward remembered; but her companion puzzled me. She was tall and slight, and quietly well dressed, and her face could not well be seen under the drooping hat which she wore. There seemed, at the very first, something familiar about this hat. It was broad-brimmed, slightly curved upward at the sides, and bent to shade the face and fall over the hair at the back; but long dark plumes fell at one side, and a third stood serenely erect in front; and suddenly I remembered that I had seen Miss Jenrys wear such a hat upon the day of our first meeting. But Miss Jenrys, in a dainty white theatre bonnet, had gone up town; and there was no monopoly of drooping hats and feathers--so I told myself.

But I wondered what mischief, new or old, the brunette was bent upon, and I decided to give her the benefit of my unoccupied attention.

From time to time the two changed their positions, but I noted that they kept upon the outskirts of the throng, and seemed to avoid the well-lighted s.p.a.ces, sitting or standing in the shadow of the great statues, the columns, and angles.

For nearly an hour the music continued, vocal for the most part, and the crowd kept in place, singing and applauding by turns. I had been standing near the east facade of the Administration Building for some time, having followed the brunette and her companion to that side of the Plaza, when I saw a group of Columbian Guards, evidently off duty, place themselves against the wall quite near me. They were strolling gaily, and after a little, as the singers began a national anthem, some of them joined in the chorus or refrain. It was amateurish singing enough, until suddenly a new voice lifted itself among them--a tenor voice--sweet, strong, high, and thoroughly cultured. I turned to look closer, and saw that the singer was my friend, the handsome guard. He was standing slightly aloof from the others, and when he saw that his music was causing many heads to turn, he suddenly ceased singing, and in spite of the remonstrances of his companions, moved away from them, slowly at first, and then with more decision of movement, until he was out of their sight in the crowd.

'He wants to avoid them,' I said to myself, 'and he seems to be looking for someone.' And then I turned my attention to the brunette once more.