The Summons

芐Summons, The

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Summons, by A.E.W. Mason This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Summons
Author: A.E.W. Mason
Release Date: July 28, 2005 [EBook #16381]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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THE SUMMONS
BY A.E.W. MASON
AUTHOR OF "THE FOUR FEATHERS," "THE TURNSTILE," ETC.
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1920. BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

TO THOSE WHO SERVED WITH ME ABROAD THROUGH THE FOUR YEARS

CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I
THE OLYMPIC GAMES 11
II AN ANTHEM INTERVENES 18
III MARIO ESCOBAR 28
IV THE SECRET OF HARRY LUTTRELL 35
V HILLYARD'S MESSENGER 47
VI THE HONORARY MEMBER 55
VII IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN 65
VIII HILLYARD HEARS NEWS OF AN OLD FRIEND 70
IX ENTER THE HEROINE IN ANYTHING BUT WHITE SATIN 80
X THE SUMMONS 91
XI STELLA RUNS TO EARTH 100
XII IN BARCELONA 111
XIII OLD ACQUAINTANCE 121
XIV "TOUCHING THE MATTER OF THOSE SHIPS" 135
XV IN A SLEEPING-CAR 144
XVI TRICKS OF THE TRADE 155
XVII ON A CAPE OF SPAIN 163
XVIII THE USES OF SCIENCE 173
XIX UNDER GREY SKIES AGAIN 183
XX LADY SPLAY'S PREOCCUPATIONS 193
XXI THE MAGNOLIA FLOWERS 208
XXII JENNY PRASK 219
XXIII PLANS FOR THE EVENING 227
XXIV JENNY PRASK IS INTERESTED 235
XXV IN A LIBRARY 238
XXVI A FATAL KINDNESS 248
XXVII THE RANK AND FILE 257
XXVIII THE LONG SLEEP 263
XXIX JENNY PUTS UP HER FIGHT 273
XXX A REVOLUTION IN SIR CHICHESTER 287
XXXI JENNY AND MILLIE SPLAY 298
XXXII "BUT STILL A RUBY KINDLES IN THE VINE" 306

THE SUMMONS
CHAPTER I
THE OLYMPIC GAMES
"Luttrell! Luttrell!"
Sir Charles Hardiman stood in the corridor of his steam yacht and bawled the name through a closed door. But no answer was returned from the other side of the door. He turned the handle and went in. The night was falling, but the cabin windows looked towards the north and the room was full of light and of a low and pleasant music. For the tide tinkled and chattered against the ship's planks and, in the gardens of the town across the harbour, bands were playing. The town was Stockholm in the year nineteen hundred and twelve, and on this afternoon, the Olympic games, that unfortunate effort to promote goodwill amongst the nations, which did little but increase rancours and disclose hatreds, had ended, never, it is to be hoped, to be resumed.
"Luttrell," cried Hardiman again, but this time with perplexity in his voice. For Luttrell was there in the cabin in front of him, but sunk in so deep a contemplation of memories and prospects that the cabin might just as well have been empty. Sir Charles Hardiman touched him on the shoulder.
"Wake up, old man!"
"That's what I am doing--waking up," said Luttrell, turning without any start. He was seated in front of the writing-desk, a young man, as the world went before the war, a few months short of twenty-eight.
"The launch is waiting and everybody's on deck," continued Hardiman. "We shall lose our table at Hasselbacken if we don't get off."
Then he caught sight of a telegram lying upon the writing-table.
"Oh!" and the impatience died out of his voice. "Is anything the matter?"
Luttrell pushed the telegram towards his host.
"Read it! I have got to make up my mind--and now--before we start."
Hardiman read the telegram. It was addressed to Captain Harry Luttrell, Yacht The Dragonfly, Stockholm, and it was sent from Cairo by the Adjutant-General of the Egyptian Army.
"_I can make room for you, but you must apply immediately to be transferred._"
Hardiman sat down in a chair by the side of the table against the wall, with his eyes on Luttrell's face. He was a big, softish, overfed man of forty-five, and the moment he began to relax from the upright position, his body went with a run; he collapsed rather than sat. The little veins were beginning to show like tiny scarlet threads across his nose and on the fullness of his cheeks; his face was the colour of wine; and the pupils of his pale eyes were ringed with so pronounced an arcus senilis that they commanded the attention like a disfigurement. But the eyes were shrewd and kindly enough as they dwelt upon the troubled face of his guest.
"You have not answered this?" he asked.
"No. But I must send an answer to-night."
"You are in doubt?"
"Yes. I was quite sure when I cabled to Cairo on the second day of the games. I was quite sure, whilst I waited for the reply. Now that the reply has come--I don't know."
"Let me hear," said the older man. "The launch must wait, the table at the Hasselbacken restaurant must be assigned, if need