The Vagrant Duke Part 28

"But blackmail----!"

"I've got to, Nichols--this time. I've got to."

"I wouldn't, sir," said Peter stoutly.

"But you don't know everything. I've only told you part," said McGuire, almost whining. "This is no ordinary case--no ordinary blackmail. I've got to be quick. I'm going to get the money--I'm going to get you to go to New York and get it."

"Me!"

"Yes. Yes. This is Wednesday. I can't take any chances of not having it here Friday. Peggy is going back this afternoon. I'll get her to drive you up. I'll 'phone Sheldon to expect you--he'll give you the money and you can come back to-morrow."

"But to-night----"

"He knows the danger of trying to reach me. That's why he wrote this. I won't be bothered to-night. I'll shut the house tight and put some of the men inside. If he comes, we'll shoot."

"But Friday----Do you mean, sir, that you'll go out to him with five thousand dollars and risk----"

"No, I won't. _You_ will," said McGuire, watching Peter's face craftily.

"Oh, I see," replied Peter, aware that he was being drawn more deeply into the plot than he had wished. "You want me to meet him."

McGuire noted Peter's dubious tone and at once got up and laid his hands upon his shoulders.

"You'll do this for me, won't you, Nichols? I don't want to see this man. I can't explain. There wouldn't be any danger. He hasn't anything against you. Why should he have? I haven't any one else that I can trust--but Stryker. And Stryker--well--I'd have to tell Stryker. _You_ know already. Don't say you refuse. It's--it's a proof of my confidence.

You're just the man I want here. I'll make it worth your while to stay with me--well worth your while."

Peter was conscious of a feeling partly of pity, partly of contempt, for the cringing creature pawing at his shoulders. Peter had never liked to be pawed. It had always rubbed him the wrong way. But McGuire's need was great and pity won.

"Oh, I'll do it if you like," he said, turning aside and releasing himself from the clinging fingers, "provided I a.s.sume no responsibility----"

"That's it. No responsibility," said McGuire, in a tone of relief.

"You'll just take that money out--then come away----"

"And get nothing in return?" asked Peter in surprise. "No paper--no receipt----?"

"No--just this once, Nichols. It will keep him quiet for a month or so.

In the meanwhile----" The old man paused, a crafty look in his eyes, "In the meanwhile we'll have time to devise a way to meet this situation."

"Meaning--precisely what?" asked Peter keenly.

McGuire scowled at him and then turned away toward the window.

"That needn't be your affair."

"It won't be," said Peter quickly. "I'd like you to remember that I came here as a forester and superintendent. I agreed also to guard your house and yourself from intrusion, but if it comes to the point of----"

"There, there, Nichols," croaked McGuire, "don't fly off the handle.

We'll just cross this bridge first. I--I won't ask you to do anything a--a gentleman shouldn't."

"Oh, well, sir," said Peter finally, "that's fair enough."

McGuire came over and faced Peter, his watery eyes seeking Peter's.

"You'll swear, Nichols, to say nothing of this to any one?"

"Yes. I'll keep silent."

"Nothing to Sheldon?"

"No."

"And you'll see this--this niece of the housekeeper's?"

"Yes."

The man gave a gasp of relief and sank into his chair.

"Now go, Nichols--and s.h.i.+ft your clothes. Peggy's going about four. Come back here and I'll give you a letter and a check."

Peter nodded and reached the door. As he opened it, Stryker straightened and bowed uncomfortably. But Peter knew that he had been listening at the keyhole.

CHAPTER IX

SHAD IS UNPLEASANT

Peter returned from New York on Thursday night, having accomplished his curious mission. He had first intercepted Beth on her way to the kitchen and sworn her to secrecy, advising her to say nothing to Mrs. Bergen about the events of the previous night. And she had agreed to respect his wishes. On the way to New York he had sat in the rumble of the low red runabout, Miss Peggy McGuire at the wheel, driving the fas.h.i.+onable Freddy. Miss McGuire after having yielded, the night before, to the musical predilections of Miss Delaplane, had apparently reconsidered Peter's social status and had waved him to the seat in the rear with a mere gesture and without apologies. And Peter, biting back a grin and touching his hat, had obeyed. The familiarities tolerable in such a wilderness as Black Rock could not of course be considered in the halls of the fas.h.i.+onable hotel where Miss Peggy lived in New York, and where by dint of great care and exclusiveness she had caught a hold of the fringe of society. But Peter sat up very straight, trying not to hear what was said in front. If he could only have worn his Colonel's uniform and decorations, or his Grand Ducal coronet, and have folded his arms, the irony would have been perfection.

He had gone to Sheldon, Senior, in the morning and in return for McGuire's check had been given cash in the shape of ten virginal five hundred dollar bills. This money had been put into an envelope and was now folded carefully in Peter's inside pocket. Sheldon, Senior, to be sure, had asked questions, but with a good grace Peter had evaded him.

d.i.c.k Sheldon was out of town, so Peter put in the remaining period before his train-time in a music store where he spent all the money that remained of his salary, on books, a few for the piano but most of them for Beth. Peter had wasted, as he had thought, two perfectly good years in trying to learn to sing. But those two years were not going to be wasted now--for Beth was to be his mouthpiece. He knew the beginnings of a training--how to give her the advantage of the instruction he had received from one of the best teachers in Milan. He was lucky enough to find books on the Italian method of voice production and on the way back to McGuire's, armed with these, he stopped off at the Bergen house in Black Rock village and returned Beth's call.

There he found Shad Wells, in his s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, smoking a pipe in the portico, and looking like a thundercloud. In response to Peter's query, he moved his right shoulder half an inch in the direction of the door, and then spat in the geranium bed. So Peter knocked at the door, softly at first, then loudly, when Beth emerged, her sleeves rolled to her shoulders and her arms covered with soapsuds.

"Why, Shad," she said witheringly, after she had greeted Peter, "you might have let me know! Come in, Mr. Nichols. Excuse my appearance.

Wash-day," she explained, as he followed her into the dark interior.

"I can't stop," said the visitor, "I just came to bring these books----"

"For _me_!" she exclaimed, hurriedly wiping her arms on her ap.r.o.n.

"I got them in New York----"

She pulled up the shade at the side, letting in the sunlight, an act permissible in the parlors of Black Rock only on state occasions, for the sunlight (as every one knew) was not kind to plush-covered furniture.

"For _me_!" Beth repeated softly. "I didn't think you meant it."