The Husbands of Edith | Page 3

mean it. No one must get a breath of it. That's why
I'm whispering. I'm not a lunatic, so don't stare like that. I'd do as much
for you if the conditions were reversed."
"I dare say you would, Rox, but what the devil is it you want me to
do?"
"Do I appear to be agitated?"
"Well, I should say so."
"Well, I am. You know how I loathe asking a favour of anyone.
Besides, it's rather an extraordinary one I'm going to ask of you. Came
to me in a flash this morning when I saw your name in the paper. Sort
of inspiration, 'pon my word. I think Edith sees it the same as I,
although I haven't had time to go into it thoroughly with her. She's
ripping, you know; pluck to the very core."
Brock's face expressed bewilderment and perplexity.
"Won't you have another drink, old man?" he asked gently.

"Another? Hang it all, I haven't had one in a week. Come along. I must
talk it all over with you before I introduce you to her. You must be
prepared."
"Introduce me to whom?" demanded Brock, pricking up his ears. He
was following Medcroft to the elevator.
"To my wife--Edith," said Medcroft, annoyed by the other's obtuseness.
"Does it require preparation for an ordeal so charming?" laughed Brock.
He was recalling the fact that Medcroft had married a beautiful
Philadelphia girl some years ago in London, a young lady whom he had
never seen, so thoroughly expatriated had she become in consequence
of almost a lifetime residence in England. He remembered now that she
was rich and that he had sent her a ridiculously expensive present and a
congratulatory cablegram at the time of the wedding. Also, it occurred
to him that the Medcrofts had asked him to visit them at their
shooting-box for several seasons in succession, and that their town
house was always open to him. While he had not ignored the
invitations, he had never responded in person. He began to experience
twinges of remorse: Medcroft was such a good fellow!
The Londoner did not respond to the innocuous query. He merely
stared in a preoccupied, determined manner at the succeeding _étages_
as they slipped downward. At the fourth floor they disembarked, and
Brock led the way to his rooms, overlooking the inner court. Once
inside, with the door closed, he turned upon the Englishman.
"Now, what's up, Rox? Are you in trouble?" he demanded.
"Are we quite alone?" Medcroft glanced significantly at the transom
and the half-closed bathroom door. With a laugh, Brock led him into
the bathroom and out, and then closed the transom.
"You're darned mysterious," he said, pointing to a chair near the
window. Medcroft drew another close up and seated himself.
"Brock," he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward impressively,

"I want you to go to Vienna in my place." Brock stared hard. "You are
a godsend, old man. You're just in time to do me the greatest of favours.
It's utterly impossible for me to go to Vienna as I had planned, and yet
it is equally unwise for me to give up the project. You see, I've just got
to be in London and Vienna at the same time."
"It will require something more than a stretch of the imagination to do
that, old man. But I'm game, and my plans are such that they can be
changed readily to oblige a friend. I shan't mind the trip in the least and
I'll be only too happy to help you out! 'Gad, I thought by your manner
that you were in some frightful difficulty. Have a cigaret."
"By Jove, Brock, you're a brick," cried Medcroft, shaking the other's
hand vigorously. At the same time his face expressed considerable
uncertainty and no little doubt as to the further welfare of his as yet
partially divulged proposition.
"It's easy to be a brick, my boy, if it involves no more than the
changing of a single letter in one's name. I'd like to attend the
convention, anyway," said Brock amiably.
"Well, you see, Brock," said Medcroft lamely, "I fear you don't quite
appreciate the situation. I want you to pose as Roxbury Medcroft."
"You--What do you mean?"
"I thought you'd find that a facer. That's just it: you are to go to Vienna
as Roxbury Medcroft, not as yourself. Ha, ha! Ripping, eh?"
"'Pon my soul, Rox, you are not in earnest?"
"Never more so."
"But, my dear fellow--"
"You won't do it? That's what your tone means," in despair.
"It isn't that, and you know it. I've got nothing to lose. It's you that will
have to suffer. You're known all over Europe. What will be said when

the trick is discovered? 'Gad, man!"
"Then you will