CHAPTER XXIII

STILL RUNNING

With a glance of triumphant contempt at the bladder she had pricked so

easily, Mrs. Peters turned to her husband. "I think, Charles, that I

can safely leave you now to hear Mr. Hedderwick's explanation. I have

no wish to be present during a painful scene; besides, I am wanted in

the larder."

"_Mr. Hedderwick!_" repeated the vicar blankly. "What do you mean,

Clara? I can not understand--I have no idea--you must----"

"He will tell you," said the lady, vouchsafing nothing further. After

all, she had had a fair share of the lime-light, and there was no need

to risk an anticlimax. "If you had only listened to me when I warned

you ... but there! men are all alike."

She swept from the room, and the bewildered clergyman appealed to the

heap in the chair.

"Mr. Bangs--Mr. Hedderwick, perhaps I ought to say--will you be kind

enough to tell me what it all means?"

Robert raised a stricken head.

"I thought, Mr. Peters, that things were bad enough when I came. Your

wife's news proves to me that I am wrong. My name is not Bangs, but

Hedderwick."

"So I gathered," said the vicar uncomfortably. "I think you owe me an

explanation of your reasons for adopting a false name."

Robert glanced wildly at the clock.

"There is no time to go into details now. She may be here at any minute.

But for the moment, Mr. Peters, please accept my word that I am involved

in no disgrace--no shameful action. I am a churchwarden----"

"You really are?" There was excuse for the implied doubt.

"I really am, and innocent. My fault is an excessive love for romance

and a temporary desertion of my wife. Oh! do not misunderstand me!" he

begged, as he noticed an ecclesiastical stiffening. "I simply ran away

for a short holiday--I meant to go back very soon! Surely, surely, you

can understand! You are married--I mean, a clergyman in the exercise of

his duties must have a wide knowledge of the world--a certain

sympathy...."

"I can understand," said the vicar thoughtfully, perhaps flattered at

the tribute to his worldly knowledge. "I can not praise--possibly can

not sympathize; but at least I may fairly claim to understand."

"Thank you--thank you! Well, to be as brief as I can (and every minute

is precious!), my friend and I had reason to suspect the occupants of

The Quiet House----"

"Ha!" The vicar pricked up his ears. "Certain hints and whisperings have

drifted round to me in the course of my parochial visiting, but----"

"Please, _please_, don't interrupt. You forget the London train! Mr.

Wild and I entered The Quiet House garden by night to watch----"

"Surely that----"

"Yes--yes--yes! Most reprehensible, but you do not know all. We watched,

were discovered, and in making our escape Mr. Wild was captured. I have

not seen him since."

"What!"

"For five days I have been alone, miserable, in doubt and anguish. I

have wondered, waited, made cautious inquiries. Nothing has happened.

What am I to do?"

"You suspect----?" queried the vicar in delightful horror. He felt his

hair bristling in anticipation.

"I do not know ... I can not guess. They say it is high politics--the

Turkish government.... A spy.... I do not know what to believe. What can

I do?"

The vicar, who prided himself on being a business man, mused for a

moment, chin on hand.

"Suppose," he said brightly, "that Mott, the local policeman, applied

for a search-warrant?"

"I would rather not invoke the aid of the police, if possible. There may

be nothing serious after all, and in that case we should look

ridiculous. Besides ... I wondered if you could call?"

The vicar seemed pleased, but apprehensive.

"Of course," he said, "I would face any danger if necessary and for a

good cause. But I have my flock to think of.... If matters are as

serious as you suggest, might there not be a second kidnaping? One

hesitates to be melodramatic, but the possibilities of...."

"They would not dare to touch a minister of the church. There would be

an outcry----"

"True ... true ... but would they admit me? I have called and been

denied. Do you think----"

He paused, as a motor-horn sounded from the road. The noise of the

engine was plainly heard. A moment later and the gate leading to the

drive opened. The vicar walked to the window.

"Who can this be?" he said in surprise. "A motor-car, and in the

morning! I hope he'll be careful of the borders."

Robert joined him at the window, his heart filled with anxious

questioning. As he watched the car drive slowly in he clutched the

vicar's arm. "She has changed her plan!" he gasped. "It's my wife! You

must hide me quick!"

"B--but," stammered Mr. Peters, "there's no sense in that! Pull yourself

together, Mr. Bangs--Mr. Hedderwick, I mean. You say you have done

nothing wrong. Why not face her and get it over at once like a man?"

Robert, pallid in face and soul, gripped him more tightly, his knees

shaking. The desperate need of the moment scorned the veneer of

discretion. "You said you understood," he hissed fiercely. "Do you

always stand up to Mrs. Peters?"

The vicar avoided his eye, but his answer brought hope to Robert. "Come

along!" he said briskly, going to the door. He threw it open, and was

disappointed to find his wife in the hall. That way of escape was

blocked. "A caller, my dear!" he said, trying to cover his

embarrassment. "If I'm wanted, I shall be in here." He returned to the

room and closed the door. "You're caught, Mr. Hedderwick, I'm afraid.

I'm very sorry, but you'll have to face it, after all."

"No, no!" said Robert. "Isn't there another door--a window?"

"The chauffeur's outside. Yes; by jove! there's the buttery hatch.

Behind the screen! Get through that and out of the pantry window! It

opens on the back. After that you must look out for yourself. I won't

tell any lies on your behalf, but--but I'll try to give you a--a

sporting start!"

Robert breathed a blessing on his head. Then, with some ado, he lifted

the hatch and crawled through. The vicar closed it behind him, heard the

pantry window open with a noiseless chuckle, and then braced himself to

face a pair of indignant ladies. He had not long to wait, for, a minute

after Robert had gained the road, Mrs. Peters introduced his visitor.

Mrs. Hedderwick glanced round the room much as a terrier who has been

told there is a rat about, and without waiting for apologies or

declarations, said with an extraordinary bitterness, "Where is my

husband?"

"He was here a moment ago," replied the vicar, nervous, but not without

a certain enjoyment of the scene. "I suppose that you are looking

forward to--a reunion--a----"

"I am," said Mrs. Hedderwick with a vindictive quietness. "Where is he?

Hiding under the table?"

"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar, suppressing a wish to get there

himself, so alarming was her eye, "do you imagine----"

"I want to know where he _is_!" interrupted the lady, still dangerously

calm and determined. "Mrs. Peters most kindly--_most_ kindly telephoned

to say that he was in Shereling, and she has just said that she left him

here. Where is he?"

"He has gone," said the vicar dreamily, looking out of the window and

wondering whether Robert had reached The Happy Heart. A good runner, he

reflected, might perhaps have succeeded, but Mr. Bangs was no longer

young.

"_Gone!_" ejaculated both ladies together, and for once in his life the

amiable clergyman had the satisfaction of communicating dramatic and

exclusive news.

"Gone!" repeated Mrs. Peters. "Oh, Charles! Where? How?"

"Gone!" said Mrs. Hedderwick, with a rising inflection. "You have

helped----"

"How could I detain him?" urged the vicar, retreating behind a chair.

"Why blame me? Could I be expected to keep him here by force? If Mr.

Hedderwick preferred to depart by the buttery hatch----"

"The buttery hatch."

"Let me show you," said the vicar helpfully, thinking that a

reconstruction of the crime might divert a morbid interest in himself.

"You see here it is, behind the screen. Mr. Hedderwick opened it,

climbed through----"

"I do not believe it! It is too small for----"

"My dear madam," expostulated the vicar warmly, annoyed at having his

veracity impugned, "I assure you it _was_ so. Try for yourself!"

In her rage Mrs. Hedderwick raised her arm as if to strike the impious

suggester. Mrs. Peters interposed, as the vicar quailed, and the

situation was saved.

"Charles! What an indelicate thought! Imagine a lady like Mrs.

Hedderwick _crawling_----"

The vicar had been through an anxious quarter of an hour. His nerves

were on strings, and at any moment the tension might prove too strong.

Had he been master of himself--had he possessed no sense of humor--had

his late guest not presented so ridiculous an appearance in his exit,

all might have yet been well. But the image projected upon his brain by

the words of his wife (who had but an imperfect sympathy with comedy)

was too much. He did not roar aloud, as he could have wished, but he

buried his face in his hands and leaned upon the mantelpiece. The

heaving of the shoulders gave evidence of his emotion.

"I think," said Mrs. Hedderwick, after a dreadful pause, "that your

husband is hardly himself."

"I will attend to him presently," replied Mrs. Peters with menacing

sympathy. "Come, Mrs. Hedderwick: I am sorry you should meet with such a

disappointment. Your best course would be to drive to The Happy Heart,

where I understand the fugitive is staying."

They left the room, without deigning to bestow any further notice on the

vicar. He, unhappy man, pulled himself together too late. He wiped his

eyes and rushed after them to offer seemly apologies. But as he reached

his garden gate he saw the motor drive off. Behind the chauffeur were

seated Mrs. Hedderwick and his wife. Mrs. Peters was resolved, if

possible, to be in at the death.

"After all," thought the vicar when he realized that he could do nothing

to reestablish himself, "why shouldn't I, too, see what is going to

happen? Hedderwick suggested I should call at The Quiet House.... I

might try again.... His suspicion, surely, can not be founded on fact,

but at least it will be interesting--nay, a positive duty! If a fellow

creature wants our services, we ought to spare neither time nor

trouble--well, Brown! what is it?"

"Beg pardon, sir!" said the odd-job man, touching his hat. Mr. Peters

noticed with astonishment that he was in his Sunday clothes. "I want to

give notice!"

"I can't be bothered with that now," said the vicar impatiently. "I am

particularly busy. Come to me----"

"I am sorry, sir, but I want to go at once," he said, interrupting the

vicar.

The latter stared.

"But that's most unusual and inconsiderate. If you want to go, a week's

notice----"

"It's too important for that, sir. Of course I am ready to forego my

week's wages, but go I must."

"Not a death in the family, I hope?" said Mr. Peters, subduing the

impatience of his tone. "If so, I'm very sorry, and of course----"

"No, sir: nothing serious--serious in that sense at least. I am sorry to

have to give notice in such a hurry, but it must be done."

"Very well," replied the vicar, resuming an every-day voice. "Legally,

of course, you couldn't demand your wages; but I have no intention of

standing on the letter of the law. I might as well pay you now. Let's

see----" He searched his pockets for change.

"Thank you, sir," replied the odd-job man. "You're very good to be so

reasonable, and I wish I could oblige you by staying. Instead, if you'll

kindly put a sovereign in the poor-box for me, I shall be satisfied."

"Eh--eh!" stammered the vicar. "Has all the world gone mad this morning?

A sovereign in the poor-box, from my gardener! Wh--what----"

"A little mad, sir?" smiled Henry Brown. "Perhaps there's some excuse.

Good-by and thank you."

He touched his hat and left the Shereling garden forever. Mr. Peters

stared dumbly after him. He could make nothing of it, however, so he

came to the sensible resolution of setting out on his investigations at

once. Taking a stick in his hand, he trudged toward The Quiet House.

Here, by the way, he was told there was nobody at home.

Henry Brown, whistling a cheerful strain, betook himself to The Happy

Heart. He found the motor-car standing outside, the chauffeur indulging

in a cigarette. Voices from the parlor indicated that the landlord was

trying to reason with two ladies, neither of whom seemed to be amenable

to treatment.

"But he's gorn, I tell you, ma'am," said the voice of Mr. Glew

despairingly. "Ran in here, he did, a quarter of an hour ago: out again

in five minutes----"

"I think you are prevaricating, Glew," said the acid tones of Mrs.

Peters. "Your manner is not straightforward at all this morning----"

"And we shan't be satisfied till you have shown us his room," added Mrs.

Hedderwick. "So there!"

As the landlord resumed the mournful chant, apparently relying on

tautological emphasis rather than reasoned argument or ocular

demonstration (a suggestion that seemed unwelcome), Henry Brown smiled

and passed into the bar. Addressing the Boots, a "lad" of sixty-three,

who acted as barman, beater, stable-boy, or butler as occasion or the

seasons demanded, he said, "Is Miss Schmidt ready?"

"B'leeve so," said the Boots. "But I'll tell her you're here."

He went out, but returned shortly, followed by Mizzi, who was dressed

for traveling. "Ah!" said she, with a radiant smile of welcome. "I have

not kept you waiting long, have I?"

"Five days," answered Henry, to the astonishment of the Boots. "Five

wasted days. Can't think why you wanted to stay here all that time.

After being----"

He paused. He was about to say "sacked," but from consideration of his

audience, refrained. Mizzi thanked him with a laugh.

"Ah!" she said very cheerfully. "The separation--shall we say?--was due

to--guess!"

"Dunno," said Henry, watching her fasten her glove with admiring eyes.

"Jealousy!" she flashed, with a ripple of merriment. "Think of it!

_Jealousy!_ Even I could have hardly credited it. But I bear her no

ill-will. On the contrary, I regard her as more human and could love her

still more. (Bother--_bother--r--r_ this glove. Can you----?")

"But why did you wait?" he grumbled, fastening the glove and taking as

long as he could for the pleasure of pressing her dainty wrist.

"I will be frank," she said, laughing temptingly. Henry dumbly cursed

the Boots. "Curiosity! I wanted to watch a little longer. But I foresee

the end of the play and am ready to go. Let us be off!"

"Your luggage has gone to the station?"

"Yes, and it is time we followed. Come!"

"A kiss first," said Henry, hungrily bending forward.

At this moment Mrs. Peters, Mrs. Hedderwick and the landlord (the latter

still emitting "But he's gorn--varnished, I tell you!") came from the

parlor. They halted on observing the obvious sweethearts standing in the

passage. Mrs. Peters, her finest instincts revolting from such a naked

display of animalism--and in the morning, too!--at once relinquished the

lacquered Mr. Hedderwick for a more congenial theme.

"_Brown!_" she ejaculated in tones that would have chilled a satyr.

"_Brown!_ how disgusting! Go to your work at once!"

The odd-job man could not restrain a natural blush, but he was man

enough to stand his ground. The presence of Mizzi confirmed his courage

and quickened his wits.

"Mr. Brown, if you please, ma'am," he said quietly but with resolution.

"I've left your service and am my own master now."

Mrs. Peters, justly annoyed at being thus spoken to by a menial, changed

her line of attack.

"So this is the explanation!" she said, wishing she had a lorgnette for

Mizzi's benefit. She surveyed her with a severity that ought to have

appalled. The survey gave her no comfort, for Mizzi was dressed to

perfection. "So this is the young woman!"

"A deplorable exhibition," said Mrs. Hedderwick dispassionately. "The

lower classes--"

The young woman gave a most impertinent laugh, and said, "Come, Henry!

We shall miss the train!"

They left The Happy Heart; and the landlord, who had recovered breath,

but not a fresh inspiration, during the interlude, took up the tale

again.

Outside, the odd-job man, whose face was flushed, swore. "I wish they

were men!" he said vindictively: "if they were, I'd teach 'em a lesson

in manners. By jove! I'd like to get even with----"

"Do not worry," said Mizzi soothingly. "After all, I _am_ a young woman.

Mesdames would give their ears to be the same."

Henry stopped dead, an idea having come upon him. With a growing light

in his eye he surveyed the motor-car and the chauffeur, who in turn

surveyed Mizzi with a gathering admiration. He even threw away the

cigarette.

"I say," said Henry, "this isn't a private car?"

"No," said the chauffeur, glad of a chance further to admire this

enchanting damsel. "General Motor-Car Company. Druv the ole gal down

from London s'morning. Made me crawl, too."

"Driving her back?"

The chauffeur suppressed an instinct to spit disgustedly and said, "Yes,

wuss luck." Mizzi observed them, wondering.

"What would you take," said Henry, breathing hard, "to drive us back

instead?"

The chauffeur shook his head.

"I'd lose my job."

"Five pounds?" hinted Henry.

"A job's a job."

"I'll find you another."

"Garn!"

"Straight! I'm Henry Brown, taxicab proprietor, Bloomsbury. Is that good

enough?"

"_And_ a fiver?" stipulated the chauffeur, avaricious but cautious.

"Here you are," said Henry, diving into his pocket. A note changed

hands, and the chauffeur assumed a bland demeanor. "Jump in!" he said

concisely; "it's a bet!"

"Oh, but----" objected Mizzi, hanging back.

"_Romance!_" whispered Henry. "You said you liked it! Quick! Quick!"

She jumped in, smiling happily.

"You are a dear!"

"And you're a darling!" he said, getting in beside her and shutting the

door. "Now, William, give 'em the horn and then London!"

_Honk! Honk!_

"Once more!"

_Honk! Honk!_

Mrs. Hedderwick appeared fretfully at the porch. "Do not make that

exasperating noise!" she commanded. And then--"_What!_ what

impertinence--what----!"

"Higher up, William!" said Henry peacefully.

"Good-by, madam!" and he raised his hat. "There, my little foreigner;

will that do?"

"Oh, Harry dear!"

And Harry dear had no time even to say "Good biz!"