The Terms of Surrender Part 20

"He seemed to have some information about you, sir, which caused Mrs.

Marten to hurry away before seven. There has been a sad blunder, I'm sure. What a pity! But if you know what hotel Mrs. Marten will stay at, you can fix matters by a telegram within a couple of hours.... Aren't you well, sir? Can I get you anything? Some brandy?"

By some occult process of thought, Willard, though stupefied by rage and dread--for he never doubted for a second that Nancy had flown with Power--held fast to the one tangible idea that her household was ignorant, as yet, of the social tornado which had burst on Newport that morning. Could anything be done to avert its havoc? G.o.d! He must have time to recover his senses! While choking with pa.s.sion, he must be dumb and secret as the grave! A false move now, the least slip of a tongue aching to rain curses on Power, and irretrievable mischief would be done. Small wonder, then, that the butler mistook his pallid fury for illness.

"Won't you come into the morning-room, and sit down, sir?" inquired the man sympathetically.

"Yes, take me anywhere--I'm dead beat. I've been traveling for days in this d.a.m.ned heat.... No! no brandy, thank you. A gla.s.s of water. Mrs.

Marten expected me, you say?"

"Yes, sir--at New York."

"Ah, my fault--entirely my fault. I misled her, not purposely, of course. She gave you no address?"

"No, sir. Said she would write in a few days, perhaps within a week; but she imagined your movements were uncertain, and she could decide nothing till she had seen you."

"Ah, the devil take it, my fault! I ought to have telegraphed."

He harped on this string as promising some measure of safety for the hour. By this time he was seated, and ostensibly sipping iced water, while his frenzied brain was striving to find an excuse to encourage the man to talk.

"Perhaps Mrs. Marten may return when she discovers her mistake," he contrived to say with some show of calmness.

"Well, sir, that may happen, of course. My mistress did not take any large supply of clothing, and left her maid here; so, when she misses you in New York, she will probably wire for Julie, at any rate."

"Julie?"

"The French maid, sir."

"What time did Mr. Power call?"

"Very early, sir. About six o'clock."

Willard was slowly gaining a semblance of self-control. He realized that he had been checkmated in some inexplicable way; but it was imperative that Power's interference should not give ground for suspicion.

"I am beginning to grasp the situation now," he said, forcing a ghastly smile. "Mr. Power heard of the accident to my train--it was derailed late last night--and, fearing lest I might be injured, he hurried Mrs.

Marten away without telling her."

"Then you came by way of New York, sir?"

"Yes. We were held up near Groton."

"Pity you didn't come by the Fall River steamer, sir. Then you would have caught Mrs. Marten, as the boat arrives here at a quarter of four in the morning."

Willard wanted badly to swear at the well-meaning butler. He had chosen the train purposely in order to be in Newport the previous night, and his own haste had proved his undoing. Why should this fat menial put an unerring finger on the one weak spot in his calculations?

But he felt the urgent need for action, and he was only losing time now, as it was evident that Nancy had covered her tracks dexterously where her servants were concerned.

"Is that cab still waiting?" he demanded suddenly.

"Yes, sir. I didn't notice any baggage. Shall I----"

"I don't intend to remain. I'll telegraph to New York, and go there by tonight's steamer. Meanwhile, I have some friends at the Ocean House whom I would like to look up. By the way, don't mention to anyone that I am upset by my daughter's absence. It might come to Mrs. Marten's ears, and she would be unnecessarily worried. My heart is slightly affected--you understand?"

The butler understood perfectly. He could be trusted not to cause Mrs.

Marten any uneasiness.

Then Willard set out on the trail of the runaways, following it with a grim purpose not to be balked by repeated failure. At the station he had little difficulty in learning that a lady and gentleman--lady young and good-looking, gentleman who walked with a limp--had taken tickets for Boston. He was in Boston within three hours; but Power had broken the line there to such good purpose that the scent failed, for he had caused Nancy to go alone on a shopping expedition, and purchase her own ticket for Burlington, and, when he joined her in a parlor car, the fact that they were traveling in company was by no means published to all the world.

So Willard returned to Newport, removed his baggage from the Ocean House--for some inscrutable reason he distrusted Dacre's smiling _bonhomie_--and occupied quarters in a less important hotel. Changing his name, by the simple expedient of ordering a supply of visiting cards, he called on the horse-breeding judge, who could facilitate his seemingly eager quest for Power only by telling him to send a letter to the care of a New York bank. This was something gained, and he hurried to New York, where, of course, he was suavely directed to write, and the letter would be forwarded.

Driven to his wits' end after a week of furtive visits to restaurants, on the off chance that the fugitives might really be in the metropolitan city, he employed a private inquiry agent, and, five days later, received the first definite news. A "Mr. and Mrs. Darien Power" had registered at the Lake Champlain Hotel on the evening of the day of Nancy's flight, and had gone into the Adirondacks next morning!

On the principle that it never rains but it pours, quick on the heels of this startling intelligence came a letter from Nancy. It had been sent to Denver, and some bungle in readdressing it had caused a prolonged delay. It was brief and to the point, and had been posted at Boston.

"My dear Father [she wrote].--It will cause you much distress, but not any real surprise, to hear that I have decided to dissolve my marriage with Mr. Marten. I have met Derry Power, and now I know just what happened at Bison when you forced me to marry a man whom I detested. I forgive you your share in that horrible deceit; but I cannot forgive Marten, and the action I am taking renders it impossible that he and I should ever meet again. You will learn the why and the wherefore in due course. Meanwhile, I hope you will not take this thing too deeply to heart, and I look forward to our reunion in more peaceful days. When the divorce proceedings are ended, and Derry and I are married, I shall tell you where to find me. By that time, perhaps, you will have decided to accept the inevitable, and let the past be forgotten. I am well, and happy--very, very happy.

"Your loving, "NANCY."

Willard brooded long over this straightforward message. He was blind and deaf to its gentle reproach, finding in it only a confirmation of his worst fears. There was no need now to map out a course of action; he had limned that in the main before leaving Newport. Vengeance on Power, vengeance ample and complete, was what he craved for. He understood, in some furtive and perverted way, that he could not strike a mortal blow at a man of Power's temperament by using the bludgeons of the law to expiate an offense against society. Both Nancy and her lover must have discounted the effect of the social pillory before they transgressed its code beyond redemption. Indeed, they would hail with joy the edict which banned them--be it proclaimed from the housetops and carried round the earth by the myriad-tongued press! Nancy's letter, too, showed that she would not scruple to make known her defense, and Willard was well aware that it would serve to rehabilitate her in the eyes of her friends.

So he had devised a ghoulish and crafty punishment, which, the more he pondered it, the more subtle and effective did it appear. As the scheme grew in his imagination, he almost hugged himself in rapturous approval of it. So warped was his mind that he might have discovered, were he capable of making an honest a.n.a.lysis of motives, that he was actually gloating over the position in which his daughter was placed if only because of the weapon it placed in his hands against Power.

To succeed, two conditions were necessary--Power must not have written to his mother, nor Nancy to her husband. To his thinking, neither of these eventualities was likely. The very environment of the woods and lakes of the Adirondacks forbade the notion. If he was right, he would turn Power's dream of happiness into bitterest gall; if wrong, there was still another alternative, deadlier, more lurid, but far from being so attractive to a mean and rather cowardly nature. Time alone would show which project promised success--to fail in both was nearly, if not quite, impossible.

Meanwhile, no painted Indian ever camped on the trail of unsuspecting pioneer with more malign intent and rancorous tenacity than Willard displayed in his pursuit and tracking of the erring pair. He was not a righteously incensed father, but a disappointed man who saw within his grasp the means of glutting the stored malice of years. To appreciate to the full Willard's mental processes at this period of his life, not only his double-dealing in the matter of Nancy's marriage, but his vain longings for the lost wealth of the Dolores Ranch, must be taken into account. Even then, his apologist might plead an obsession mounting almost to insanity. Nothing else would explain his actions; but no words could palliate them, for the ruthless p.a.w.nee he resembled would a.s.suredly have chosen a less ign.o.ble revenge.

CHAPTER X

NANCY DECIDES

A long spur of the Adirondack Mountains stretches across Hamilton County from northeast to southwest. In a hollow on the western slopes of the range nestles Forked Lake. Some five or six miles nearer the watershed, and some hundreds of feet higher in alt.i.tude, lies a smaller and prettier lake, difficult of access, and far from the beaten track of tourists. Hither, by devious paths, Power had brought Nancy. A guide, hired at Elizabethtown, was enthusiastic about the fis.h.i.+ng in that particular sheet of water, and he vouched for it that there was quarry in plenty for gun as well as rod; moreover, attracted by the sport and scenery, he had built a hut on the unfrequented side of the lake, in which were stored a sufficiency of rough furniture, some cooking utensils, and a canoe. Given fine weather and good health, what more did anyone want?

"Let us go there at once, Derry," said Nancy. "A cabin among trees on the sh.o.r.e of a lake has always been my dream."

"It sounds almost too idyllic," said Power, trying to be cynical; "but we'll hire the outfit for a week, and move on to the next caravan in a day if we don't like it."

They arrived at night, in a drenching downpour of rain, the outcome of the first and only thunderstorm of the season, and were inclined consequently to view with critical eyes the accommodation at their disposal. The owner of the property, who also owned a peculiar name, Peter Granite, had gone to a wood hutch for dry fuel, and Power divested Nancy of a dripping waterproof; while Peter's dog, a nondescript of the hound type, known as "Guess," shook his s.h.a.ggy fur noisily.

"'Peter' and 'Granite' each signifies 'rock,'" he whispered; "but Guess seems to be of opinion that we are stranded in a swamp." Incidentally, he kissed her.

"Hus.h.!.+ I have faith in Peter. He told me today that some famous author came here every summer till he died; so the place must have a charm of its own."

"Perhaps the famous author was a detached soul; in other words, a queer fish."

"And perhaps you'll get that wet coat off, and make yourself useful.

Please strike a match. If it were not for Guess, I should be sure that something was going to leap out of the dark and grab me."