A Discord in Avalon/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
More than once it seemed to Quentin that the girl was on the point of making some confidence—hinted at by the fleeting expression of her face, not by any words; more than once he saw her glance in the direction of the detective's table as though she sensed the presence of some disturbing factor.
"I hope we'll find Mathews there to-night," he said finally, when dinner was all but finished. "Burlington will be over by the morning if he's traced you."
Swift alarm shot into her face.
"Then—if I dared"
"Well?" he smiled, as she paused abruptly. "Is there anything you have not told me, Miss Elsmere?"
"Yes—I— no," and the struggle in her face was gone. "No, doctor; I must play out the game"
"What do you mean?" He leaned forward, wondering what lay behind those words. "You can trust me absolutely, Miss Elsmere."
"Oh, it is not that, indeed! But my—my uncle must not see me."
"He shall not, believe me," and Quentin settled back in his chair. After all. her agitation at Burlington's name was quite natural, he told himself; yet—what if Burlington should prove to be in the right? If the girl had a brain tumor, it was possible that her sight could be restored, but as he watched those violet eyes Quentin found it hard to believe that Enid Elsmere was either so afflicted or was even blind. At times the fixed, vacant expression was lost in her face, and in those moments the violet eyes seemed to be scanning him, reading his very thoughts. It was uncanny, and to quiet his doubts he rose.
"I must send a telegram and get a room here, so if you'll wait I'll be back in a moment, and we can start out for the Mathews place."
She nodded smilingly, and Quentin departed to the lobby. Here he registered, got a room not far from that of Enid, and sent a wire to his housekeeper, instructing her to wire him twenty dollars that night without fail. So, with his immediate future provided for, he returned to the dining room, and in ten minutes left the hotel with Enid on his arm.
As he helped her into the car at the incline, he forgot that conversation on the glass-bottomed launch, the loss of his pocketbook, and his fleeting doubts. She settled near him with a shivery fear as the car began to lift.
"Why, it seems like—like some of me was missing!" she gasped. "As if it had suddenly left me alone and I wanted it right back!"
"What a queer child you are!" he laughed joyously, holding her arm in his.
"How—am I different from other girls?"
She laughed a little, as though the idea were not half unpleasant, and Quentin wondered. It swiftly occurred to him that such a thought should have been terribly jarring on the sensitive nerves of a blind girl—or so at least he would have supposed.
"Confound it!" he exclaimed mentally. "Here I am doubting again!" He resolutely cast all doubts from him, and answered her question with a confident pressure on her arm.
"You're different, Miss Elsmere, and I'm glad of it. You can give cards to all the girls I ever knew, and then beat them; the only thing they have on you is sight, and that you may regain, I trust."
"Do you think I can?" She turned her face to him eagerly, and Quentin saw that her eyes were wide set, as though she were looking through and beyond him. It struck him to the heart.
"I do not know," he made earnest answer, careful not to raise any false hopes. "I know of only one cause for such blindness, and that would be a small brain tumor, which could be removed easily. Only a very careful examination can determine."
With that the car stopped, and he helped her out. He paused a moment, holding her hand in his.
"Please promise me one thing; that you will take the thought of regaining your sight very quietly, Miss Elsmere. By upsetting your nervous system you can impair any good I might be"
"I thought you said where it was necessary to extract a promise it wasn't safe to trust?" she asked, laughing a little. He saw that her poise had been regained, and smiled at the way she had turned his words on himself.
"Surely," she went on, more gravely, "I will do all I can (o help, doctor, "It is entirely to my own interest to do so."
He could not help wondering at her calmness, and he admired her the more for it. At the edge of the park they paused while he stood looking down at the moonlit view beneath, and described, it to her. The curving bay with its white-sailed yachts and other swarming craft, the little city of Avalon with its gleaming lights, and farther on Sugar Loaf and Bachelor Point. She responded to his words as if she felt the utter beauty of the scene, then caught at his arm suddenly.
"Listen! There is music!"
He turned, and caught the first notes of the band concert floating up from the Greek theater in the valley below. It was "La Paloma" they played, and Quentin suddenly decided that the air was not so hackneyed, after all; indeed, this girl on his arm seemed to him not a little like a helpless dove—and to curb the sentimental influence of the night and the thought, he led her to a seat close by.
"Physician's orders—moonlight and music," he laughed. "Ten to one the Mathews people will be doing likewise, if they've come home. If not, there's no hurry."
She did not answer; he saw that she was content to rest and listen to the music, and he himself was far too well satisfied to disturb her. The moonlight softened her face remarkably, deepening its shadows until he could see only the strong curves of brow and nose and chin.
Hardly speaking, they sat for a short half hour while the moon rose higher and lost its warm, early glow. Quentin's reverie was interrupted suddenly when she laid her hand on his arm without turning to him.
"Come!"
He looked down at her wrist, and caught the glint of a silver bracelet watch, with two initials set over against the dial in brilliants. He stiffened suddenly, then spoke:
"Why are the initials 'M. P.' on this bracelet, Miss Elsmere? They are not yours?"
She started, but turned a perfectly calm face to his.
"No—the bracelet was given me by a friend, Mary Palmer, three years ago. She set her own initials in it so that I—I would not forget her."
Despite the quiet words, Quentin had a helpless feeling that the explanation was lame. But he savagely forced down the thought, though he stored away that name in his mind, and without comment led her along toward the Mathews cottage.
As they drew closer to it, he saw, with no little dismay, that the house was dark and seemingly empty. Turning in at the gate, he led Enid up the path, though he found that she was wonderfully apt at evading trees and bushes even without his warnings. When they reached the side entrance, Quentin pushed at the bell in vain, though he could distinctly hear the faint answering ring. There was no doubt of it: the Mathews had not returned.
Nor was the caretaker in evidence. Quentin usually carried a small pocket electric flash lamp, and after seating the girl in one of the porch chairs he drew it out and flashed it swiftly over the door. No, all was closed and screened, and the sight of the girl's silent despair when he told her the result caused him to do some swift thinking.
The failure of Mathews to return home was annoying in the extreme, he cogitated, and it might easily prove much more. Burlington was not apt to have great difficulty in tracing the girl, and he could either take the regular morning boat to the islands or else he would get a launch from Long Beach and come over. In that case, every moment would count.
"I can bluff Burlington or lead him off the trail," he reflected, "but I'd better leave a note here telling Mathews to get down to the hotel on the jump. He might gain time by coming over in one of the Long Beach boats, since he's coming from Los Angeles. I guess I'll do that."
So, taking the girl's hand in his, he placed the flash lamp in her palm and set her finger on the button.
"If you'll hold that just so, I'll write a note to your friend and leave it, and we can get back to the hotel," he said, and since it was necessary for her to hold the light steady he was slow in loosing her hand—quite unaccountably so. In fact, the contact thrilled him very pleasantly. Then, with the thought that he was taking advantage of her implicit trust, he stepped away and explored his pockets for paper and pencil.
Finding an old prescription blank, he scribbled a hasty note, merely telling Mathews that his presence was urgently needed at the hotel by Miss Enid Elsmere and asking him to lose not a moment in getting there. Signing the paper, he read over the note to the girl for her approval.
"That will do nicely," she said with a decisive nod. "Where will you put it? Is there a mail box?"
"Nothing doing in that line," he chuckled. "The mail box is back at the front gate. I'll open the door, or else slip it under."
Taking the light from her, he flashed it over the door again, but found the outer screen door fastened. As the opening was tight, he drew out his pocketknife and without trouble inserted the blade so that the catch raised, and he swung the screen back.
"If my friend Osgood could see me now," he chuckled inwardly, "he'd be apt to run me in on general principles, I guess!"
As he expected, he found the inner door locked. So he stooped over and slipped the note inside, and rose with a feeling of relief. After all, Burlington might not be over in the morning, and Mathews would be easily able to handle the legal difficulties of the girl's situation. In any case, he himself had three days to spare, and he could remain and take care of Enid, if necessary.
"I feel unaccountably like a thief," he laughed under his breath, as he flashed the light across the door again and closed the screen.
"It does feel silent and deserted." She shivered a little.
He put away his flash lamp and was just turning to take her arm when another stream Of light shot full into his face, blinding him. He stood in astounded surprise, and involuntarily his hand went to his pocket in search of his own light again. But a deep voice halted him abruptly:
"Hands up, there—quick!"
Protruding across the ray of light, Quentin saw the ugly barrel of an automatic, with the hand holding it. The sharp light blinded him to all behind.
"What's this—a holdup?" he demanded hotly, but obeying the command.
"Maybe. You two crooks will go back with me now, I guess!"
And into the moonlight stepped the burly figure of Osgood, the detective.