Captivating Mary Carstairs | Page 8

genuine need was borne in upon him, of his loneliness,
his helplessness, and his entire dependence upon him, Varney, that he
had consented to undertake the extraordinary commission.

In a sense, it was all simply preposterous. Here was he, Laurence
Varney, in sane mind, of law-abiding habits and hitherto of tolerable
standing in the community, solemnly pledged to go and steal the person
of a child, in defiance and contempt of the statutes of all known nations.
And the place where this lawless deed was to be done was not Ruritania
or the hazy dominions of Prince Otto, but a commonplace, humdrum
American town, not an hour and a half from his office chair by the
expresses.
In going about this task he was to conduct himself with the frankness
and straightforwardness of a sneak-thief. Not a soul in New York was
to know where he had gone. Not a soul in Hunston must dimly suspect
what he had come for. It must be gum-shoe work from start to finish,
and the _Cypriani's_ motto would be the inspiring word, "Sh-h-h."
Though he had to find a nondescript child whom he did not know from
Eve, he was forbidden to do it in a natural, easy, and dashing way. He
could not ring her mother's door-bell, ask for her, throw a meal-sack
over her head, and whip his waiting horses to a gallop. No, he must
beat the tall grasses before the old homestead until such time as she
chose to walk abroad alone. Really, when you came to think of it, it
was an asinine sort of proposition.
But when Mary did come out of that house, he saw that the fun would
begin. A well brought-up, moneyed, petted and curled girl of twelve
was no easy pawn in anybody's game. He could not win her love by a
mere offer of gum-drops. In fact, getting acquainted was likely to be a
difficult matter, taxing his ingenuity to a standstill. But he entertained
no doubts of his ability to do it, sooner or later.
"Not to put too fine a point on it," mused he, glancing out of his
twentieth story window, "they flock to me, children do. I'm their good
old Uncle Dudley. But why the deuce isn't she five years younger?"
Clearly, it was the next step that was the most delicate: getting Mary
aboard the yacht. This was both the crux and the finale of the whole
thing: for Uncle Elbert was to be waiting for them, in a closed carriage,
at a private dock near 130th Street (Peter remaining in Hunston to
notify him by telephone of the start down), and Varney's

responsibilities were over when the Cypriani turned her nose
homeward. But here lay the thin ice. If anything should happen to go
wrong at the moment when they were coaxing Mary on the yacht, if
there was a leak in their plans or anybody suspected anything, he saw
that the situation might be exceedingly awkward. The penalties for
being fairly caught with the goods promised to be severe. As to
kidnapping, he certainly remembered reading in the newspapers that
some States punished it with death. At any rate, maybe the natives
would try to thrash him and Peter. In hopeful moments he conjured up
visions of the deuce to pay.
But, after all, he was going to Hunston, whether he liked it or not,
simply because Uncle Elbert had asked him. The lonely old gentleman,
he knew, loved him like a son: he had turned straight to him in his hour
of need. This had touched the young man, and had finally made up his
mind for him. Moreover Mary, a spoiled little piece who was suffered
to set her smug childish will against the combined wills of both her
parents, aroused his keenest antipathy. To put her in her place, to teach
her that children must obey their parents in the Lord, was a duty to
society, to the State. What Uncle Elbert wanted with such a child, he
could not conceive; but since he did want her, have her he should.
Tilting back his office chair and running his hand through his hair,
Varney longed to spank her.
This thought came to him, definitely and for about the seventh time, at
half-past one o'clock on the third day, Monday. At the same moment,
his telephone-bell rang sharply. It was the sailing-master to say that his
good spouse had come aboard and that everything on the Cypriani was
in readiness for the start.
"I'll be on board inside of an hour," said Varney.
He telephoned to Uncle Elbert, telephoned to Peter, and locked up his
desk. To his office he casually gave out that pressing business matters
were calling him out of town for a