The City of Masks Part 25

"Must you be going?" she said to herself, whimsically, as she adjusted her hat in front of the mirror.

There was no one to say good-bye to her, except Peasley, the footman. He opened the big front door for her, and she pa.s.sed out into the foggy March night. A fine mist blew upon her hot face.

"Good-bye, Miss," said Peasley, following her to the top of the steps.

"Good-bye, Peasley. Thank you for taking down my things."

"You'll find 'em in the taxi," said he. He peered hard ahead and sniffed. "A bit thick, ain't it? Reminds one of London, Miss." He referred to the fog.

At the bottom of the steps she encountered the irrepressible and somewhat jubilant scion of the house. His soft hat was pulled well down over his eyes, and the collar of his overcoat was turned up about his ears. He promptly accosted her, his voice lowered to an eager, confident undertone.

"Don't cry, little girl," he said. "It isn't going to be bad at all.

I--Oh, I say, now, listen to me!"

She tried to pa.s.s, but he placed himself directly in her path. The taxi-cab loomed up vaguely through the screen of fog. At the corner below an electric street lamp produced the effect of a huge, circular vignette in the white mist. The raucous barking of automobile horns, and the whir of engines came out of the street, and shadowy will-o'-the-wisp lights scuttled through the yielding, opaque wall.

"Be good enough to let me pa.s.s," she cried, suddenly possessed of a strange fear.

"Everything is all right," he said. "I'm not going to see you turned out like this without a place to go--"

"Will you compel me to call for help?" she said, backing away from him.

"Help? Why, hang it all, can't you see that I'm trying to help you? It was a rotten thing for mother to do. Poor little girl, you sha'n't go wandering around the streets looking for--Why, I'd never forgive myself if I didn't do something to offset the cruel thing she's done to you tonight. Haven't I told you all along you could depend on me? Trust me, little girl. I'll--"

Suddenly she blazed out at him.

"I see it all! That is _your_ taxi, not mine! So that is your game, is it? You beast!"

"Don't be a d.a.m.n' fool," he grated. "I ought to be sore as a crab at you, but I'm not. You need me now, and I'm going to stand by you. I'll forgive all that happened today, but you've got to--"

She struck his hand from her arm, and dashed out to the curb.

"Driver!" she cried out. "If you are a man you will protect me from this--"

"Hop in, Miss," interrupted the driver from his seat. "I've got all your bags and things up but,--What's that you're saying?"

"I shall not enter this cab," she said resolutely. "If you are in the pay of this man--"

"I was sent here in answer to a telephone call half an hour ago. That's all I know about it. What's the row?"

"There is no row," said Stuyvesant, coming up. "Get in, Miss Emsdale.

I'm through. I've done my best to help you."

But she was now thoroughly alarmed. She sensed abduction.

"No! Stay on your box, my man! Don't get down. I shall walk to my--"

"Go ahead, driver. Take those things to the address I just gave you,"

said Stuyvesant. "We'll be along later."

"I knew! I knew!" she cried out. In a flash she was running down the sidewalk toward the corner.

He followed her a few paces and then stopped, cursing softly.

"Hey!" called out the driver, springing to the sidewalk. "What's all this? Getting me in wrong, huh? That's what the little roll of bills was for, eh? Well, guess again! Get out of the way, you, or I'll bat you one over the bean."

In less time than it takes to tell it, he had whisked the trunk from the platform of the taxi and the three bags from the interior.

"I ought to beat you up anyhow," he grunted. "The Parkingham Hotel, eh?

Fine little place, that! How much did you say was in this roll?"

"Never mind. Give it back to me at once or I'll--I'll call the police."

"Go ahead! Call your head off. Good _night_!"

Ten seconds later, Stuyvesant alone stood guard over the scattered effects on the curb. A tail-light winked blearily at him for an additional second or two, the taxi chortled disdainfully, and seemed to grind its teeth as it joined the down-town ghosts.

"Blighter!" shouted Stuyvesant, and urged by a sudden sense of alarm, strode rapidly away,--not in the wake of Miss Emsdale nor toward the house from which she had been banished, but diagonally across the street. A glance in the direction she had taken revealed no sign of her, but the sound of excited voices reached his ear. On the opposite sidewalk he slowed down to a walk, and peering intently into the fog, listened with all his ears for the return of the incomprehensible governess, accompanied by a patrolman!

A most amazing thing had happened to Lady Jane. At the corner below she b.u.mped squarely into a pedestrian hurrying northward.

"I'm sorry," exclaimed the pedestrian. He did not say "excuse me" or "I beg pardon."

Jane gasped. "Tom--Mr. Trotter!"

"Jane!" cried the man in surprise. "I say, what's up? 'Gad, you're trembling like a leaf."

She tried to tell him.

"Take a long breath," he suggested gently, as the words came swiftly and disjointedly from her lips.

She did so, and started all over again. This time he was able to understand her.

"Wait! Tell me the rest later on," he interrupted. "Come along! This looks pretty ugly to me. By gad, I--I believe he was planning to abduct you or something as--"

"I must have a policeman," she protested, holding back. "I was looking for one when you came up."

"Nonsense! We don't need a bobby. I can take care of--"

"But that man will make off with my bags."

"We'll see," he cried, and she was swept along up the street, running to keep pace with his prodigious strides. He had linked his arm through hers.

They found her effects scattered along the edge of the sidewalk. Trotter laughed, but it was not a good-humoured laugh.

"Skipped!" he grated. "I might have known it. Now, let me think. What is the next, the best thing to do? Go up there and ring that doorbell and--"

"No! You are not to do that. Sit down here beside me. My--my knees are frightfully shaky. So silly of them. But I--I--really it was quite a shock I had, Mr. Trotter."