  When Anthony left us that morning there was much speculation as to where he had gone and deny it as I might, I am pretty certain that the company generally regarded me as being in his confidence. “What’s his game, Bill?” demanded Arkwright. “You must know—from—what’s the correct term—information received.” I declared my ignorance. “Bathurst has not told me his destination—and what’s more, I haven’t asked him. I told Jack just now I knew nothing of his movements or intentions—for to-day! He has, of course, confided one or two matters to me during the past few days. I think, perhaps, I’ve helped him a bit—once or twice.” I spoke with a sense of pride. “Well, I for one, wish him success,” cut in Jack Considine, crisply. “Gerry Prescott was one of the best. A thunderin’ good all-round sportsman, and we can ill afford to lose him. I tell you I’m more than sorry that he’s gone—there are plenty of fellows the world could have spared before Gerry Prescott! I know we shall miss him in the ‘House.’” This outburst of Jack’s startled me somewhat, and I noticed Helen Arkwright and her husband look at him curiously. Sir Charles himself, also seemed a trifle taken aback. “Seems to me we have to wait till we’re dead—to be thoroughly appreciated,” I put in. “Something like that, Bill,” said Mary. “I’ve noticed that.” She rose and went into the garden. To me she had grown more lovely than ever, during the past few days. The blow that had befallen Considine Manor, and the sorrow that it had brought in its train, seemed to have invested Mary with a serener beauty. It was almost as though the charming winsomeness of the maid had merged into the more steadfast beauty of the woman. The sadness and sorrow had hastened the hand of Time. It was borne upon me at that moment, that Life to me meant Mary Considine, and I determined to put into active form a resolution that had been but a thought to me for many months past. I found her in the garden. “The roses are going off, Bill,” she said—pointing to the rose trees. “What a pity they don’t last two or three months longer.” I looked at them. “Tell me their names, Mary?” “Sharman Crawford, Caroline Testout, Daily Mail, La France, Betty, Xavier——” I interrupted her. “Some roses are always with us,” I ventured. “Why, what do you mean, Bill?” “I meant you,” I replied. Lamely, I’m afraid. It sounded so, at least. She smiled very sweetly. “That’s very nice of you, Bill. I hope you really meant it.” “Of course I meant it. I never meant anything half so much in my life before.” “You mustn’t make me conceited, Bill—and I’m afraid you will if you talk like that.” “I couldn’t make you anything,” I declared. “Only a master could make you, and I’m only a big lump of commonplaceness and ordinariness. You’re just lovely. And to me, Mary, the loveliest, dearest and sweetest girl in the world,—for I love you.” “Oh, Bill,” she gasped. I caught her by the hand. “I want you to marry me, Mary. After all, I’ve got some little right to ask you. I’ve watched you grow up, you know. Give me the right to watch you grow up always.” I watched her face anxiously. And I fancied I saw her sweeping lashes brim with tiny tears. “Tell me—you will, darling?” I urged. “This is very sudden, Bill—I know that sounds silly—but I can’t think of anything else to say—and it’s very dear of you to think so much of me.” “Then you will?” I said with eagerness. “I don’t know, Bill. I’m not quite sure. Of course, I like you—as we all do—but——” I tried to take her in my arms but she evaded me. “There’s no one else——?” I asked. “Say there’s no one else!” “No.” She spoke very quietly. “You may be easy on that point. There is no one else.” “Then why do you hesitate, dear? Put me out of my misery!” “You must give me a little time to think it over, Bill.” She held out her hand to me, and I took it. “How long, Mary? How long? It isn’t as though I’m a stranger to you.” “Not very long, Bill. I’ll promise that. I just want to feel sure—you know.” She broke away and left me. The rest of the day passed miserably for me. Anthony’s absence didn’t make it any the brighter and Mary’s reception of my proposal had left me in an agony of apprehension. One moment I rose to heaven’s heights and “struck the stars with my uplifted head”—the next found me in the depths of an intolerable despair. But generally, I was able to find courage and with courage—optimism! “There is no one else,” she had said. Perhaps I had tried her too closely after Prescott and Prescott’s death. “There is no one else!” Prescott belonged to the past tense. Would she have said that a week ago? I pondered the whole thing over in my mind. And the wondering with its attachment of doubt and uncertainty brought me the alternating moods that I have just described. So the day wore on to the evening and dinner. Anthony had not returned, and everybody seemed very quiet. The meal passed uneventfully and conversation was desultory. I watched Mary carefully, trying to read my answer in her face. She seemed cheerful and smiling. Jack and Arkwright went into the drawing-room together, and in the buzz of their conversation I caught Prescott’s name. The girls started music and we settled down comfortably. All the Considines have good voices, and they were always well worth listening to. After a time, Jack Considine and Arkwright strolled into the garden, but I refused the invitation to accompany them. I was thinking about Mary. Suddenly two revolver shots rang out on the evening air. Shots that were succeeded by shouts. Captain Arkwright came running up. “Somebody’s tried to murder Jack,” he shouted. “In cold blood. Two shots have been fired at him from the direction of the Allingham Road. Great Scott! it was a near thing and no mistake. One has gone clean through his hat.” He paused and wiped his face—pale with anxiety and worry. “Where is Jack?” cried Lady Considine. “Are you sure he’s all right?” “He’s coming. And he’s all right—by the mercy of Providence. But what does it all mean?” “Where were you, Arkwright?” demanded Sir Charles. “Weren’t you with him?” “No! I had left him for a moment. I stopped behind one of the trees on the way to the tennis courts to light a cigarette. There’s a strong wind blowing.” “And Jack had walked on?” “Yes, Jack was a couple of dozen paces ahead of me. Just as I was in the act of lighting up, my attention fully taken up—I heard two shots—revolver shots, I knew with certainty. I saw Jack spin round in amazement—his hat had been neatly drilled.” “A merciful escape,” murmured Sir Charles. “A merciful escape indeed, sir,” replied Arkwright. “Then Jack shouted and I shouted—and I rushed back to tell you. He’s coming along.” I ran into Jack some distance from the house. He looked a bit rattled and nervy, but was otherwise none the worse for the adventure. “Been having a Wild West display, William,” he grinned, when I met him. “Some enterprising blighter has succeeded in letting daylight into my best hat.” He held out his soft hat to me. “Look!” “What the devil’s the matter with the place?” I growled. “Not much peaceful Sussex about it now. Who was it—any idea?” “Not on your life, Bill,” he responded. “All I know is that the beggar popped at me from the Allingham direction. And very nearly got me!” He paused and grasped me by the shoulder. “Considine Manor doesn’t seem to be a health resort these days.” “Did you make any attempt to discover who it was?” I asked him. “Well, for the moment I was too scared. When I did recover my presence of mind there wasn’t a sign of anybody.” We reached the others. Sir Charles was bursting with indignation at this fresh outrage, but Lady Considine seemed more thankful at Jack’s miraculous escape than upset at the shock. She fussed over him—mother-like. “I suppose it’s useless sending a search party out now?” fumed Sir Charles, “but by all the powers, I’ll put Baddeley on to this in the morning!” “Baddeley?” said a well-known voice. “What’s Baddeley wanted for now?” Sir Charles wheeled round quickly. His face lighted with relief. “Another dastardly outrage, Bathurst! And in my own grounds, too!” He proceeded to relate the incident. Anthony listened to him, gravely. “Not more than a quarter of an hour ago, eh? I can’t have missed it by much—I’ve just got back.” He turned to Jack Considine. “Tell me all the facts!” Jack, assisted by Arkwright, retailed the whole story again. “Come and show me the exact places you occupied when the shots were fired.” He accompanied Jack Considine along the path that led to the tennis courts. “You walked straight along with Arkwright, you say?” “I’ll tell you when we come to the trees where he stopped to light up,” replied Jack. “Right,” replied Anthony. “That’s what I want you to.” They walked on. Then Considine stopped and pointed. “Arkwright fell behind just here and sidled up to that tree for shelter.” Anthony walked to the tree. He looked round. “All in order, Considine,” he shouted. “Here’s the match he threw away.” He quickly rejoined his companion. “I don’t think I shall have to trouble you for any more information. This time, I propose to show you where you were when you were shot at.” “What do you mean?” Jack Considine stared at him, incredulously. “Wait a moment. You’ll see what I mean.” They walked on for a short distance, Considine watching him curiously. Suddenly Anthony stopped and caught his companion by the arm. “This is where you were when the first shot was fired. Approximately. Am I right?” “You are, you wizard,” responded Jack. “This is almost the identical spot.” Anthony laughed. “Well, I told you I would, didn’t I?” “Explain yourself, for the love of Mike!” Anthony shook his head. “All in good time. Believe me, I have an excellent reason for keeping silent—for the present. I am sure you will understand.” “What do you think, Bathurst?” asked Sir Charles Considine when they returned. “Shall I put Baddeley on to it in the morning?” “As you please, sir—but I don’t think he’ll be able to help you much.” He turned away to greet Mary who had come up to the group. She spoke to him quietly. Then I saw him jerk his head up and say, “Certainly! I’ll come now!” They wandered away, and as I watched them, Sir Charles broke out again. “It’s all very well for Bathurst to talk as he does. Baddeley won’t be able to help me, indeed! Deuced fine outlook when you can’t take a stroll in your own garden without having your brains blown out. What do you think, Bill?” I turned to reply when a hand touched my sleeve. It was Mary, who had just returned from her walk with Anthony. She had a curiously strained and excited look on her face. “Bill,” she said, “that question you asked me to-day—so seriously. I’ve decided to give you the chance you want. You’re far too hot for me at cricket, I know that well enough. We’ll consider that game played. But I’ll play you eighteen holes of golf over at Cranwick to-morrow morning. Jack will caddie for you and Mr. Bathurst has promised to do the same for me. And, Bill, jolly good luck!” |
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