Lady Larkspur | Page 8

sir." His lips quivered, either from fear or vexation at my refusal to take his story seriously.
"If anything tangible happens, Antoine," I said kindly, "anything we can really put our hands on, we'll certainly deal with it. But you mustn't get nervous or allow yourself to suspect everybody who turns up here of evil designs against the Republic. I've come here for quiet, you know, and we can't have every passing stranger throwing the place into a panic."
I had no sooner reached the library, where he gave me coffee, than I heard a slow, measured tread on the broad brick terrace that ran along the house on the side toward the Sound. The windows were open and the guard was in plain view. I glanced at Antoine, whose attitude toward me was that of one benevolently tolerant of stupidity. He meant to save me in spite of my obtuseness. "Tell the picket to remove himself where I won't hear him, if you please, Antoine."
He disappeared through one of the French windows and in a moment I saw the guard patrolling a walk some distance from the house. I now made myself comfortable with a book and a cigar, but I had hardly settled myself for a quiet hour before I heard a commotion from the direction of the gate, followed a few minutes later by a shout and a noisy colloquy, after which a roadster arrived in haste at the front door.
"Mr. Torrence, sir," announced Antoine. "I'm sorry, sir, but he ran by the guard at the gate, and our man below the house stopped him. It's a precaution we've been taking, sir."
Torrence's sense of humor was always a little feeble, and I hastened into the hall to reassure him as to his welcome. He was wiping the perspiration from his face and swearing under his breath.
"For God's sake, Singleton, what's happened here? A band of pirates jumped on my running-board, and after I'd knocked them off a road-agent stopped me right there in sight of the house and poked the muzzle of a shotgun in my face."
"Mighty sorry you were annoyed, but there have been some queer characters about, tramps and that sort of thing, and the people on the place are merely a little anxious. Have a cigar?"
"All I can say is that you'd better send your friends the password! That fool out there with the gun----"
"Only a bell-hop, nothing more," I interrupted.
"--That fool, I say, is likely to kill somebody. Antoine"--he turned to the butler, who was drawing the curtains at the windows--"if the property's been threatened, you should have informed me immediately."
"Yes, sir; but it's only been quite recent, and, knowing Mr. Singleton was coming, we didn't like to bother you."
"We can only apologize, Torry," I interposed. "The employees have been alarmed, but we're bound to commend their zeal."
"Humph!" he ejaculated, the wounds to his dignity still rankling.
I forced a cigar upon him and talked of the weather to cover Antoine's retreat. I resolved not to tell him the real cause of the servant's apprehensions, knowing his disposition to magnify trifles and fearing he might send the police to investigate. He lived only five miles from Barton, a fact to which he now referred.
"Hadn't heard of any tramps over my way," he said, frowning. "These old lunatics your uncle left here are simply hipped; that's all. Mr. Bashford made a mistake in turning the place over to them; it was silly, downright silly. It's a wonder you didn't think of upsetting his will on the ground of mental unsoundness. It's not up to me to suggest such a thing, but I believe you could knock it out!"
"Oh, chuck it! They're well-meaning helpless people, and it's bully that Uncle Bash provided a home for them. There's nobody else to use the place."
His cigar had proved soothing, but my last remark caused him to sit up straight in his chair.
"By George! my hold-up almost made me forget what I came for. I have news for you, Singleton; good or bad, as you may take it; Mrs. Bashford is in America."
"Mrs. Bashford," I repeated faintly, "where do you get these pleasant tidings?"
"This," he answered, producing a telegram, "is all I know about it. Got it just as I was leaving the office this afternoon, and thought I'd motor over and give you a pleasant surprise."
He seemed to enjoy my discomfiture. The message read:
PITTSFIELD, MASS., Sept. 20.
J. B. TORRENCE, Bainbridge Trust Co., New York.
Landed at Seattle a week ago, and have been motoring east from Chicago to see the country. Will reach Barton in four or five days. Please wire me at the Washington Inn, Lenox, whether house is in order for occupancy.
ALICE BASHFORD.
"Well, what do you say to that?" he demanded.
"I say it's taking unfair advantage," I answered savagely.