The Gloved Hand Read online

  CHAPTER V

  A CALL FOR HELP

  "For heaven's sake, Swain," I said, "sit down and pull yourselftogether."

  But he did not seem to hear me. Instead he read the letter throughagain, then he turned toward me.

  "How did you get this, Mr. Lester?" he asked.

  "I found it lying under the trees. It had been thrown over the wall."

  "But how did you know it was thrown over by Miss Vaughan?"

  "That was an easy guess," I said, sparring feebly. "Who else wouldattempt to conduct a surreptitious correspondence with a handsomeyoung man?"

  But he did not smile; the look of intensity in his eyes deepened.

  "Come, Mr. Lester," he protested, "don't play with me. I have a rightto know the truth."

  "What right?" I queried.

  He paused an instant, as though nerving himself to speak, as thoughasking himself how much he should tell me. Then he came toward meimpulsively.

  "Miss Vaughan and I are engaged to be married," he said. "Some personsmay tell you that the engagement has been broken off; more than once,I have offered to release her, but she refuses to be released. We loveeach other."

  The word "love" is a difficult one for us Anglo-Saxons to pronounce;the voice in which Swain uttered it brought me to my feet, withoutstretched hand.

  "If there's anything I can do for you, my boy," I said, "tell me."

  "Thank you, Mr. Lester," and he returned my clasp. "You have done agreat deal already in giving me this letter so promptly. The onlyother thing you can do is to permit me to stay here until to-night."

  "Until to-night?"

  "Miss Vaughan asks me to meet her to-night."

  "In her father's grounds?"

  "Yes."

  "Unknown to him?"

  "Yes."

  "He is not friendly to you?"

  "No."

  I had a little struggle with myself.

  "See here, Swain," I said, "sit down and let us talk this thing overcalmly. Before I promise anything, I should like to know more of thestory. From the glimpse I caught of Miss Vaughan, I could see that sheis very beautiful, and she also seemed to me to be very young."

  "She is nineteen," said Swain.

  "Her father is wealthy, I suppose?"

  "Very wealthy."

  "And her mother is dead?"

  "Yes."

  "Well," I began, and hesitated, fearing to wound him.

  "I know what you are thinking," Swain burst in, "and I do not blameyou. You are thinking that she is a young, beautiful and wealthy girl,while I am a poverty-stricken nonentity, without any profession, andable to earn just enough to live on--perhaps I couldn't do even that,if I had to buy my clothes! You are thinking that her father is rightto separate us, and that she ought to be protected from me. Isn't thatit?"

  "Yes," I admitted, "something like that."

  "And I answer, Mr. Lester, by saying that all that is true, that I amnot worthy of her, and that nobody knows it better than I do. Thereare thousands of men who could offer her far more than I can, and whowould be eager to offer it. But when I asked her to marry me, Ithought myself the son of a wealthy man. When I found myself apauper, I wrote at once to release her. She replied that when shewished her release, she would ask for it; that it wasn't my money shewas in love with. Then I came out here and had a talk with her father.He was kind enough, but pointed out that the affair could not gofurther until I had established myself. I agreed, of course; I agreed,too, when he suggested that it would only be fair to her to leave herfree--not to see her or write to her, or try to influence her in anyway. I wanted to be fair to her. Since then, I have not seen her, norheard from her. But her father's feelings have changed toward me."

  "In what way?"

  "I thought he might be interested to know what I was doing, and two orthree months ago, I called and asked to see him. Instead of seeing me,he sent word by a black-faced fellow in a white robe that neither henor his daughter wished to see me again."

  His face was red with the remembered humiliation.

  "I wrote to Miss Vaughan once, after that," he added, "but my letterwas not answered."

  "Evidently she didn't get your letter."

  "Why do you think so?"

  "If she had got it, she would have known that you were no longer at1010 Fifth Avenue. Her father, no doubt, kept it from her."

  He flushed still more deeply, and started to say something, but I heldhim silent.

  "He was justified in keeping it," I said. "You had promised not towrite to her. And I don't see that you have given me any reason why Ishould assist you against him."

  "I haven't," Swain admitted more calmly, "and under ordinarycircumstances, my self-respect would compel me to keep away. I am nota fortune-hunter. But I can't keep away; I can't stand on my dignity.When she calls for aid, I _must_ go to her, not for my own sake butfor hers, because she needs to be protected from her father far morethan from me."

  "What do you mean by that?" I demanded.

  "Mr. Lester," he said, leaning forward in his chair and speaking in alowered voice and with great earnestness, "her father is mad--I amsure of it. No one but a madman would live and dress as he does; noone but a madman would devote his whole time to the study of thesupernatural; no one but a madman would believe in the supernatural ashe does."

  But I shook my head.

  "I'm afraid that won't do, Swain. A good many fairly sane peoplebelieve in the supernatural and devote themselves to its study--thereis William James, for instance."

  "But William James doesn't dress in flowing robes, and worship thesun, and live with a Hindu mystic."

  "No," I smiled, "he doesn't do that," and I thought again of themysterious light and of the two white-clad figures. "Does he live witha Hindu mystic?"

  "Yes," said Swain, bitterly. "An adept, or whatever they call it. He'sthe fellow who kicked me out."

  "Does he speak English?"

  "Better than I do. He seems a finely-educated man."

  "Is he a lunatic, too?"

  Swain hesitated.

  "I don't know," he said, finally. "I only saw him once, and I wascertainly impressed--I wasn't one, two, three with him. I supposemysticism comes more or less natural to a Hindu; but I'm convincedthat Mr. Vaughan has softening of the brain."

  "How old is he?"

  "About sixty."

  "Has he always been queer?"

  "He has always been interested in telepathy and mental suggestion,and all that sort of thing. But before his wife's death, he was fairlynormal. It was her death that started him on this supernaturalbusiness. He hasn't thought of anything else since."

  "Are there any relatives who could be asked to interfere?"

  "None that I know of."

  I thought over what he had told me.

  "Well," I said at last, "I can see no harm in your meeting MissVaughan and finding out what the condition of affairs really is. Ifher father is really mad, he may be a good deal worse now than he waswhen you saw him last. It would, of course, be possible to have hissanity tested--but his daughter would scarcely wish to do that."

  "No, of course not," Swain agreed.

  "Her letter tells you nothing?"

  "Nothing except that she is in great trouble, and wishes to see me atonce."

  "You are to go to the house?"

  "No; there is an arbour in one corner of the grounds. She says thatshe will be there at eleven-thirty every night for three nights. Afterthat, she says it will be no use for me to come--that it will be toolate."

  "What does she mean by 'too late'?"

  "I have no idea," he answered, and turned to another anxious perusalof the letter.

  I turned the situation over in my mind. Evidently Miss Vaughanbelieved that she had grave cause for alarm, and yet it was quitepossible she might be mistaken. She was being urged to consent tosomething against her will, but perhaps it was for her own good. Inany event, I had seen no indication that her consent was being soughtby violence. There must be
no interference on our part until we weresurer of our ground.

  "Well, Swain," I said, at last, "I will help you on one condition."

  "What is that?"

  "You will meet Miss Vaughan to-night and hear her story, but you willtake no action until you and I have talked the matter over. She,herself, says that she has three days," I went on, as he started toprotest, "so there is no necessity for leaping in the dark. And Iwould point out to you that she is not yet of age, but is still underher father's control."

  "She is nineteen," he protested.

  "In this state, the legal age for women, as for men, is twenty-one.The law requires a very serious reason for interfering between a childand its father. Moreover," I added, "she must not be compromised. Ifyou persuade her to accompany you to-night, where would you take her?In no case, will I be a party to an elopement--I will do all I can toprevent it."

  He took a short turn up and down the room, his hands clenched behindhim.

  "Mr. Lester," he said, at last, stopping before me, "I want you tobelieve that I have not even thought of an elopement--that would betoo base, too unfair to her. But I see that you are right. She mustnot be compromised."

  "And you promise to ask my advice?"

  "Suppose I make such a promise, what then?"

  "If you make such a promise, and I agree with you as to the necessityfor Miss Vaughan to leave her father, I think I can arrange for her tostay with Mr. and Mrs. Royce for a time. There she will be safe.Should legal proceedings become necessary, our firm will help you. Iwant to help you, Swain," I added, warmly, "but I must be convincedthat you deserve help. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

  "Yes," he agreed, and held out his hand. "And I promise."

  "Good. And now for the arrangements."

  Two twelve-foot ladders were necessary, one for either side of thewall; but, beyond a short step-ladder, the place possessed none exceptthe long one by which Godfrey and I had mounted into the tree. Swainsuggested that this might do for one, but I felt that it would betterstay where it was, and sent Hargis over to Yonkers to buy two newones, instructing him to bring them back with him.

  Then Swain and I reconnoitred the wall, and chose for the crossing aspot where the glass escarpment seemed a little less formidable thanelsewhere.

  "You can step from one ladder to the other," I pointed out, "withouttouching the top of the wall. A mere touch would be dangerous in thedark."

  He nodded his agreement, and finally we went back to the house.Getting there, we found suddenly that we had nothing more to say.Swain was soon deep in his own thoughts; and, I must confess, that,after the first excitement, I began to find the affair a littlewearying. Another man's love-affair is usually wearying; and, besidesthat, the glimpse which I had caught of Marjorie Vaughan made me thinkthat she was worthy of a bigger fish than Swain would ever be. He wasright in saying that there were thousands of men who had more to giveher, and who would be eager to give.

  I examined Swain, as he sat there staring at nothing, with eyes notwholly friendly. He was handsome enough, but in a stereotyped way. Andhe was only an insignificant clerk, with small prospect of ever beinganything much better, for he had started the battle of life too late.Honest, of course, honourable, clean-hearted, but commonplace, with adepth of soul easily fathomed. I know now that I was unjust to Swain,but, at the moment, my scrutiny of him left me strangely depressed.

  A rattle of wheels on the drive brought us both out of our thoughts.It was Hargis returning with the ladders. I had him hang them upagainst the shed where he kept his gardening implements, for I did notwish him to suspect the invasion we had planned; then, just to killtime and get away from Swain, I spent an hour with Hargis in hisgarden; and finally came the summons to dinner. An hour later, as wesat on the front porch smoking, and still finding little or nothing tosay, Mrs. Hargis came out to bid us good-night.

  "Mr. Swain can use the bedroom next to yours, Mr. Lester," she said.

  "Perhaps he won't stay all night," I said. "If he does, I'll show himthe way to it. And thank you very much, Mrs. Hargis."

  "Is there anything else I can do, sir?"

  "No, thank you."

  "Mr. Godfrey will be here a little before midnight--at least, that'shis usual time."

  "We'll wait up for him," I said. "Good night, Mrs. Hargis."

  "Good night, sir," and she went back into the house.

  I have never passed through a longer or more trying hour than the nextone was, and I could tell by the way Swain twitched about in his chairthat he felt the tedium as much as I. Once or twice I tried to start aconversation, but it soon trickled dry; and we ended by smoking awaymoodily and staring out into the darkness.

  At last Swain sprang to his feet.

  "I can't stand this any longer," he said. "I'm going over the wall."

  I struck a match and looked at my watch.

  "It isn't eleven o'clock yet," I warned him.

  "I don't care. Perhaps she'll be ahead of time. Anyway, I might aswell wait there as here."

  "Come on, then," I agreed, for I felt myself that another such hourwould be unendurable.

  Together we made our way back to the shed and took down the ladders. Amoment later, we were at the wall. Swain placed his ladder against it,and mounted quickly to the top. As he paused there, I handed him upthe other one. He caught it from my hands, lifted it over the wall,and lowered it carefully on the other side. As he did so, I heard himgive a muffled exclamation of mingled pain and annoyance, and knewthat he had cut himself.

  "Not bad, is it?" I asked.

  "No; only a scratch on the wrist," he answered shortly, and the nextinstant he had swung himself over the wall and disappeared.