The Gloved Hand Read online

  CHAPTER III

  THE DRAMA IN THE GARDEN

  I glanced at my watch, as soon as I was out of bed, and saw that itwas after ten o'clock. All the sleep I had lost during the hot nightsof the previous week had been crowded into the last nine hours; I feltlike a new man, and when, half an hour later, I ran downstairs, it waswith such an appetite for breakfast as I had not known for a longtime.

  There was no one in the hall, and I stepped out through the open doorto the porch beyond, and stood looking about me. The house was builtin the midst of a grove of beautiful old trees, some distance backfrom the road, of which I could catch only a glimpse. It was a smallhouse, a story and a half in height, evidently designed only as asummer residence.

  "Good morning, sir," said a voice behind me, and I turned to find apleasant-faced, grey-haired woman standing in the doorway.

  "Good morning," I responded. "I suppose you are Mrs. Hargis?"

  "Yes, sir; and your breakfast's ready."

  "Has Mr. Godfrey gone?"

  "Yes, sir; he left about an hour ago. He was afraid his machine wouldwaken you."

  "It didn't," I said, as I followed her back along the hall. "Nothingshort of an earthquake would have wakened me. Ah, this is fine!"

  She had shown me into a pleasant room, where a little table was setnear an open window. It made quite a picture, with its white cloth andshining dishes and plate of yellow butter, and bowl of crimsonberries, and--but I didn't linger to admire it. I don't know when Ihave enjoyed breakfast so much. Mrs. Hargis, after bringing in theeggs and bacon and setting a little pot of steaming coffee at myelbow, sensibly left me alone to the enjoyment of it. Ever since thatmorning, I have realised that, to start the day exactly right, a manshould breakfast by himself, amid just such surroundings, leisurelyand without distraction. A copy of the morning's _Record_ was lying onthe table, but I did not even open it. I did not care what hadhappened in the world the day before!

  At last, ineffably content, I stepped out upon the driveway at theside of the house, and strolled away among the trees. At the end of afew minutes, I came to the high stone wall which bounded the estateof the mysterious Worthington Vaughan, and suddenly the wish came tome to see what lay behind it. Without much difficulty, I found thetree with the ladder against it, which we had mounted the nightbefore. It was a long ladder, even in the daytime, but at last Ireached the top, and settled myself on the limb against which itrested. Assuring myself that the leaves hid me from any chanceobserver, I looked down into the grounds beyond the wall.

  There was not much to see. The grounds were extensive and hadevidently been laid out with care, but there was an air of neglectabout them, as though the attention they received was careless andinadequate. The shrubbery was too dense, grass was invading the walks,here and there a tree showed a dead limb or a broken one. Near thehouse was a wide lawn, designed, perhaps, as a tennis-court orcroquet-ground, with rustic seats under the trees at the edge.

  About the house itself was a screen of magnificent elms, whichdoubtless gave the place its name, and which shut the house incompletely. All I could see of it was one corner of the roof. This,however, stood out clear against the sky, and it was here, evidently,that the mysterious midnight figures had been stationed. As I lookedat it, I realised the truth of Godfrey's remark that probably from noother point of vantage but just this would they be visible.

  It did not take me many minutes to exhaust the interest of this emptyprospect, more especially since my perch was anything but comfortable,and I was just about to descend, when two white-robed figures appearedat the edge of the open space near the house and walked slowly acrossit. I settled back into my place with a tightening of interest whichmade me forget its discomfort, for that these were the twostar-worshippers I did not doubt.

  The distance was so great that their faces were the merest blurs; butI could see that one leaned heavily upon the arm of the other, asmuch, or so it seemed to me, for moral as for physical support. Icould see, too, that the hair of the feebler man was white, while thatof his companion was jet black. The younger man's face appeared sodark that I suspected he wore a beard, and his figure was erect andvigorous, in the prime of life, virile and full of power.

  He certainly dominated the older man. I watched them attentively, asthey paced back and forth, and the dependence of the one upon theother was very manifest. Both heads were bent as though in earnesttalk, and for perhaps half an hour they walked slowly up and down.Then, at a sign of fatigue from the older figure, the other led himto a garden-bench, where both sat down.

  The elder man, I told myself, was no doubt Worthington Vaughan. Smallwonder he was considered queer if he dressed habitually in a whiterobe and worshipped the stars at midnight! There was something monkishabout the habits which he and his companion wore, and the thoughtflashed into my mind that perhaps they were members of some religiousorder, or some Oriental cult or priesthood. And both of them, I addedto myself, must be a little mad!

  As I watched, the discussion gradually grew more animated, and theyounger man, springing to his feet, paced excitedly up and down,touching his forehead with his fingers from time to time, and raisinghis hands to heaven, as though calling it as a witness to his words.At last the other made a sign of assent, got to his feet, bent hishead reverently as to a spiritual superior and walked slowly awaytoward the house. The younger man stood gazing after him until hepassed from sight, then resumed his rapid pacing up and down,evidently deeply moved.

  At last from the direction of the house came the flutter of a whiterobe. For a moment, I thought it was the old man returning; then as itemerged fully from among the trees, I saw that it was a woman--ayoung woman, I guessed, from her slimness, and from the mass of darkhair which framed her face. And then I remembered that Godfrey hadtold me that Worthington Vaughan had a daughter.

  The man was at her side in an instant, held out his hand, and saidsomething, which caused her to shrink away. She half-turned, as thoughto flee, but the other laid his hand upon her arm, speaking earnestly,and, after a moment, she permitted him to lead her to a seat. Heremained standing before her, sometimes raising his hands to heaven,sometimes pointing toward the house, sometimes bending close aboveher, and from time to time making that peculiar gesture of touchinghis fingers to his forehead, whose meaning I could not guess. But Icould guess at the torrent of passionate words which poured from hislips, and at the eager light which was in his eyes!

  The woman sat quite still, with bowed head, listening, but making nosign either of consent or refusal. Gradually, the man grew moreconfident, and at last stooped to take her hand, but she drew itquickly away, and, raising her head, said something slowly and withemphasis. He shook his head savagely, then, after a rapid turn up anddown, seemed to agree, bowed low to her, and went rapidly away towardthe house. The woman sat for some time where he had left her, her facein her hands; then, with a gesture of weariness and discouragement,crossed the lawn and disappeared among the trees.

  For a long time I sat there motionless, my eyes on the spot where shehad disappeared, trying to understand. What was the meaning of thescene? What was it the younger man had urged so passionately upon her,but at which she had rebelled? What was it for which he had pled soearnestly? The obvious answer was that he pled for her love, that hehad urged her to become his wife; but the answer did not satisfy me.His attitude had been passionate enough, but it had scarcely beenlover-like. It had more of admonition, of warning, even of threat,than of entreaty in it. It was not the attitude of a lover to hismistress, but of a master to his pupil.

  And what had been the answer, wrung from her finally by hisinsistence--the answer to which he had at first violently dissented,and then reluctantly agreed?

  No doubt, if these people had been garbed in the clothes of every day,I should have felt at the outset that all this was none of mybusiness, and have crept down the ladder and gone away. But theirstrange dress gave to the scene an air at once unreal and theatrical,and not for an instant had I felt myself
an intruder. It was as thoughI were looking at the rehearsal of a drama designed for the publicgaze and enacted upon a stage; or, more properly, a pantomime, dim andfigurative, but most impressive. Might it not, indeed, be a rehearsalof some sort--private theatricals--make-believe? But that scene atmidnight--that could not be make-believe! No, nor was this scene inthe garden. It was in earnest--in deadliest earnest; there was aboutit something sinister and threatening; and it was the realisation ofthis--the realisation that there was something here not right,something demanding scrutiny--which kept me chained to myuncomfortable perch, minute after minute.

  But nothing further happened, and I realised, at last, that if I wasto escape an agonising cramp in the leg, I must get down. I put myfeet on the ladder, and then paused for a last look about the grounds.My eye was caught by a flutter of white among the trees. Someone waswalking along one of the paths; in a moment, straining forward, I sawit was the woman, and that she was approaching the wall.

  And then, as she came nearer, I saw that she was not a woman at all,but a girl--a girl of eighteen or twenty, to whom the flowing robesgave, at a distance, the effect of age. I caught only a glimpse ofher face before it was hidden by a clump of shrubbery, but thatglimpse told me that it was a face to set the pulses leaping. Istrained still farther forward, waiting until she should come intosight again....

  Along the path she came, with the sunlight about her, kissing herhair, her lips, her cheeks--and the next instant her eyes were staringupwards into mine.

  I could not move. I could only stare down at her. I saw the hot coloursweep across her face; I saw her hand go to her bosom; I saw her turnto flee. Then, to my amazement, she stopped, as though arrested by asudden thought, turned toward me again, and raised her eyesdeliberately to mine.

  For fully a minute she stood there, her gaze searching and intent, asthough she would read my soul; then her face hardened with suddenresolution. Again she put her hand to her bosom, turned hastily towardthe wall, and disappeared behind it.

  The next instant, something white came flying over it, and fell on thegrass beneath my tree. Staring down at it, I saw it was a letter.