Captivating Mary Carstairs | Page 4

slowly dying for something new and
interesting to do?"
Peter nodded.
"I think of your pleasure," said Varney, "always. By looking about me
and keeping my eyes and ears open at all hours, I have found you just
the thing."
"New and interesting?"
"There are men in this town who would run themselves to death trying
to get in it on the ground floor."
Maginnis shook his head.
"I have done everything in this world," he said almost sadly, "except, I

may say, the felonies."
"But this," said Varney, "is a felony."
Struck by his tone, Peter glanced up. "Mean it?"
"Sure thing."
"As I remarked before, what is the proposition?"
"To sum it all up in a word," said Varney, "there's a job of kidnapping
on and I happened to get the contract. That's all there is to the little
trifle."
Peter swung his feet around to the floor, and sat up. His conviction that
Varney was trying to be funny died hard.
Varney laughed. "I need a pal," he added. "Five minutes ago I
telephoned and got permission to offer the place to you."
"Stop being so confounded mysterious," Peter broke out, "and go
ahead!"
Varney blew smoke thoughtfully and said, "I will. In fact, that's what I
came for. It's a devil of a delicate little matter to talk about to anybody,
as it happens. Of course, what I tell you must never go an inch further,
whether you come along or not."
"Naturally."
"You know my Uncle Elbert?"
"Old Carstairs?"
Varney nodded. "He wouldn't thank you for the adjective, though. I got
the contract from him. By the way, he's not my uncle, of course; he was
simply a great friend of my mother's. I inherited the friendship, and in
these last five years he and I have somehow managed to get mighty
close together. Eight years or so ago," he continued, "as you may, or

may not know, Uncle Elbert and his wife parted. There wasn't a thing
the matter, I believe, except that they weren't hitting it off particularly
well. They simply agreed to disagree. Nouveau riche, and all that,
wasn't it? Mrs. Carstairs has some money of her own. She picked up,
packed up, walked out, bought a place up the river, near Hunston, and
has lived there ever since."
Peter looked up quickly. "Hunston? Ha! But fire away."
"She and Uncle Elbert have stayed pretty good friends all through it.
They exchange letters now and then, and once or twice when she has
been in the city, I believe they have met--though not in recent years.
My private suspicion is that she has never entirely got over being in
love with him. Anyhow, there's their general relationship in a
nutshell--parted but friendly. It might have stayed just like that till they
were both in their graves, but for one accidental complication. There is
a child."
"I seem to remember," said Peter. "A little boy."
"On the contrary. A little girl. Uncle Elbert," said Varney, "is a bit of a
social butterfly. Mrs. Carstairs is an earnest domestic character. As I
gather, that was what they clashed on--the idea of what a home ought to
be. When the split came, Mrs. Carstairs took the child and Uncle Elbert
was willing enough to have her do it. That was natural enough, Peter.
He had his friends and his clubs and his little dinners, and he was no
more competent to raise a girl baby than you are, which is certainly
going some for a comparison. I suppose the fact was that he was glad to
be free of the responsibility. But it's mighty different now.
"You see," said Varney, lighting one cigarette from another and
throwing the old one away, "he must be pretty lonely all by himself in
that big house of his. On top of that he's getting old and isn't in very
good health. Explain it any way you like. The simple fact is that within
this last year or so, it's gradually gotten to be a kind of obsession with
him, an out-and-out, down-and-out monomania, to know that kid--to
have her come and spend part of every year with him. That's natural,
too, I should say."

"H'm. Mrs. Carstairs sticks to her like fly-paper, I suppose?"
"Not at all. She admits Uncle Elbert's rights and is entirely willing to let
him have Mary--for such is our little heroine's name--for part of the
time. It is the child who is doing the fly-paper business. The painful
fact is that she declines to have anything whatever to do with her father.
Invitations, commands, entreaties--she spurns them all. Yes, I asked
him if they had tried spanking, but he didn't answer--seemed rather
miffed, in fact. The child simply will not come, and that is point
number