The Disentanglers Part 29

Merton pa.s.sed a miserable week of suspense and perplexity of mind. Never had he been so imprudent; he felt sure of that, and it was the only thing of which he did feel sure. The newspapers contained bulletins of an epidemic of smallpox at Bulcester. How would that work into the plot?

Then the high animal spirits and daring fancy of Miss Martin might carry her into undreamed-of adventures.

'But they won't let her have even a gla.s.s of champagne,' reflected Merton. 'One gla.s.s makes her reckless.'

It was with a trembling hand that Merton, about ten on the Monday morning, took the telegraphic envelope of Fate.

'I can't face it,' he said to Logan. 'Read the message to me.' Merton was unmanned!

Logan carelessly opened the envelope and read:

'_Happy ending_, _but awfully disappointed. Will call at one o'clock_.'

'Oh, thanks to all gracious Powers,' said Merton falling limply on to a sofa. 'Ring, Logan, and order a small whisky-and-soda.'

'I won't,' said Logan. 'Horrid bad habit. Would you like me to send out for smelling-salts? Be a man, Merton! Pull yourself together!'

'You don't know that awful girl,' said Merton, slowly recovering self- control. 'However, as she is disappointed though the ending is happy, her infernal plan must have been miscarried, whatever it was. It _must_ be all right, though I sha'n't be quite happy till I see her. I am no coward, Logan' (and Merton was later to prove that he possessed coolness and audacity in no common measure), 'but it is the awful sense of responsibility. She is quite capable of getting us into the newspapers.'

'You funk being laughed at,' said Logan.

Merton lay on the sofa, smoking too many cigarettes, till, punctually at one o'clock, a peal at the bell announced the arrival of Miss Martin. She entered, radiant, smiling, and in her costume of innocence she looked like a sylph.

'It is all right--they are engaged, with Mr. Warren's full approval,' she exclaimed.

'Were we on the stage, I should embrace you!' exclaimed Merton rapturously.

'We are not on the stage,' replied Miss Martin demurely. 'And _I_ have no occasion to congratulate myself. My plot did not come off; never had a look in. Do you want to be vaccinated? If so, shake hands,' and Miss Martin extended her own hands ungloved.

'I do not want to be vaccinated,' said Merton.

'Then don't shake hands,' said Miss Martin.

'What on earth do you mean?' asked Merton.

'Look there!' said the lady, lifting her hand to his eyes. Merton kissed it.

'Oh, _take care_!' shrieked Miss Martin. 'It would be awkward--on the lips. Do you see my ring?'

Merton and Logan examined her ring. It was a beautiful _cinque cento_ jewel in white and blue enamel, with a high gold top containing a pointed ruby.

'It's very pretty,' said Merton--'quite of the best period. But what is the mystery?'

'It is a poison ring of the Borgias,' said Miss Martin. 'I borrowed it from Sir Josiah Wilkinson. If it scratched you' (here she exhibited the mechanism of the jewel), 'why, there you are!'

'Where? Poisoned?'

'No! Vaccinated!' said Miss Martin. 'It is full of the stuff they vaccinate you with, but it is quite safe as far as the old poison goes.

Sir Josiah sterilised it, in case of accidents, before he put in the glycerinated lymph. My own idea! He was delighted. Shall I shake hands with the office-boy?--it might do him good--or would Kutuzoff give a paw?'

Kutuzoff was the Russian cat.

'By no means--not for worlds,' said Merton. 'Kutuzoff is a Conscientious Objector. But were you going to shake hands with Miss Truman with that horrible ring? Sacred emblems enamelled on it,' said Merton, gingerly examining the jewel.

'No; I was not going to do that,' replied Miss Martin. 'My idea was to acquire the confidence of the lover--the younger Mr. Warren--explain to him how the thing works, lend it to him, and then let him press his Jane's wrist with it in some shady arbour. Then his Jane would have been all that the heart of Mr. Warren _pere_ could desire. But it did not come off.'

'Thank goodness!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Merton. 'There might have been an awful row. I don't know what the offence would have been in the eye of the law. Vaccinating a Conscientious Objector, without consent, yet without violence,--what would the law say to _that_?'

'We might make it _hamesucken under trust_ in Scotland,' said Logan, 'if it was done on the premises of the young lady's domicile.'

'We have not that elegant phrase in England,' said Merton. 'Perhaps it would have been a common a.s.sault; but, anyhow, it would have got into the newspapers. Never again be officer of mine, Miss Martin.'

'But how did all end happily?' asked Logan.

'Why, _you_ may call it happily and so may the lovers, but _I_ call it very disappointing,' said Miss Martin.

'Tell us all about it!' cried Logan.

'Well, I went down, simple as you see me.'

'_Simplex munditiis_!' said Merton.

'And was met at the station by young Mr. Warren. His father, with the wisdom of a Nonconformist serpent, had sent him alone to make my acquaintance and be fascinated. My things were put on a four-wheeler. I was all young enthusiasm in the manner of _The Young Girl_. He was a good-looking boy enough, though in a bowler hat, with turn-down collar.

But he was gloomy. I was curious about the public buildings, ecstatic about the town hall, and a kind of Moeso-Gothic tabernacle (if it was not Moeso-Gothic in style I don't know what it was) where the Rev. Mr. Truman holds forth. But I could not waken him up, he seemed miserable. I soon found out the reason. The placards of the local newspapers shrieked in big type with

SPREAD OF SMALLPOX.

135 CASES.

When I saw that I took young Mr. Warren's hand.'

'Were you wearing the ring?' asked Merton.

'No; it was in my dressing-bag. I said, "Mr. Warren, I know what care clouds your brow. You are brooding over the fate of the young, the fair, the beloved--the unvaccinated. I know the story of your heart."

'"How the D--- I mean, how do you know, Miss Martin, about my private affairs?"

'"A little bird has told me," I said (style of _The Young Girl_, you know). "I have friends in Bulcester who esteem you. No, I must not mention names, but I come, not too late, I hope, to bring you security.

She shall be preserved from this awful scourge, and you shall be her preserver." He wanted to know how it was to be done, of course, and after taking his word of honour for secrecy, I told him that the remedy would lie in his own hands, showed him the ring, and taught him how to work it. Mr. Squeers,' went on Miss Martin, 'had never wopped a boy in a cab before, and I had never beheld a scene of pa.s.sionate emotion before--in a four-wheeler. He called me his preserver, he said that I was an angel, he knelt at my feet, and, if we had been on the stage--as Mr. Merton said--'

'And were you on the stage?' asked Merton.

'That is neither here nor there. It was an instructive experience, and you little know the treasures of pa.s.sion that may lie concealed in the heart of a young oilcloth manufacturer.'

'Happy young oilcloth manufacturer!' murmured Merton.

'They are both happy, but I did not manage my fortunate conclusion in my own way. When young Mr. Warren had moderated the transports of his grat.i.tude we were in the suburbs of Bulcester, where the mill-owners live in houses of the most promiscuous architecture: Tudor, Jacobean, Queen Anne, Bedford Park Queen Anne, _chalets_, Chineseries, "all standing naked in the open air," for the trees have not grown up round them yet.

Then we came to a gate without a lodge, the cabman got down and opened it, and we were in the visible presence of Mr. Warren's villa. The style is the Scottish Baronial; all pepper-pots, gables and crowsteps.