"Well, I wish I"d known as much about Yorkshire before I started as I do now--that"s all."
Again he twisted his neck and freed it from the chafing contact of a tight collar. After a curious peep at Armathwaite, he bent a pair of gray-green eyes on the turf at his feet once more.
"Percy, don"t be stupid, but tell me why you"ve come," cried Marguerite.
"There"s no bad news from home, is there?"
"No--that"s all right. Edie sent me."
"Why?"
"You said you"d wire or write. When no telegram came yesterday, and no letter this morning, she bundled me off by the next train. "Go and see what has become of her?" was the order, and here I am. Where am I, please?"
"Near Elmdale. I"m awfully sorry, Percy. I--I couldn"t either telegraph or write yesterday. I"ve written to-day--"
"Near Elmdale!" he broke in. "Is it what the natives hereabouts call "a canny bit" away?"
"No--only a little over a mile. Poor Percy!"
"Idiotic Percy! Percy, the silly a.s.s! Percy, the blithering idiot! D"you see that suitcase?" and he swayed slightly, and directed a mournful glance at a small, leather portmanteau lying by his side. "I"ve sent that dashed thing, packed as it is now, by rail and parcels post scores of times, and they generally make it out as weighing about eleven pounds. That"s a bally mistake. I must have swindled the railway companies and the Post Office out of a pot of money. It weighs a ton--one solid ton. And I"ve carried it dozens of miles. Me, mind you, who hates carrying things, clung to it as if my life depended on it. I started out from Leyburn station hours and hours ago. I asked a chap how far it was to Elmdale across the moor. He showed me the road, and said: "It"s a gay bit, maister." I climbed a hill at least five miles high--higher than any mountain in Europe I can remember reading about--and met a man. "Is this the way to Elmdale?" I inquired. "Ay," he said. "How far?" said I. "It"s a nice bit, maister," said he. Being, as I thought, on top of the hill, I imagined that all I had to do was to walk down the other side; so I left him and rambled on. After walking miles and miles I met another man. "How far to Elmdale?" I said. "It"s a canny bit, maister," was his contribution. That knocked me out. I left him without another word. I staggered more miles, till I got this far; but when I saw the next hill I gave in. Tell me the worst, Meg, before I lie down and die. How far is it to Elmdale, really?"
"Mr. Armathwaite will carry your suitcase, and I"ll take your arm, and you"ll be at the Grange in twenty minutes. It"s all down hill after we leave this slight dip."
"Mr. Armathwaite?" inquired Percy dully, quite ignoring the other man"s courteous smile at the implied introduction.
"Yes, the new tenant of our house."
"First I"ve heard of any new tenant."
"Nothing surprising in that," and Marguerite"s voice grew almost snappy.
"Get up, anyhow, unless you wish to have a mattress and a quilt brought here."
The young man rose. He was not affecting a weariness he did not feel.
Being a weedy youth, not built for feats of athleticism, the long walk in a hot sun over difficult country had taxed his physique unduly.
"How d"ye do?" he said, raising lack-l.u.s.ter eyes to Armathwaite"s.
"I"m fit as a fiddle," said Armathwaite cheerfully, grabbing the portmanteau. "So will you be to-morrow. In fact, you"ll be surprised how quickly your muscles will lose their stiffness when you sight the journey"s end."
"I"ve been doing that every five minutes during the past two hours," was the doleful answer.
Armathwaite nodded sympathetically. Percy Whittaker struck him as a flabby creature, whose conversational style was unintentionally funny.
Like Falstaff, if not humorous in himself, he was "the cause of humor in others."
Truth to tell, Armathwaite gave him slight heed. He was mainly interested in Marguerite Ogilvey"s att.i.tude, and she was markedly irritated either by her friend"s lackadaisical pose or because he had appeared at all. The girl softened, however, when she saw how Percy limped. She linked an arm in his, and the trio moved off.
"How often have I told you to wear strong boots with good, stout soles?"
she said. "I"m a good walker myself, but I don"t tackle these moor roads in house slippers. Isn"t that so, Mr. Armathwaite? One ought to be properly shod for trudging about the country."
"You don"t seem to understand that I hate trudging anywhere; the last thing I dreamed of when I left Chester this morning was that I should tramp half across Yorkshire," protested Whittaker.
"Even now, I don"t see why you came."
"Couldn"t help myself--Edie"s orders."
"But why?"
"Well--er--"
"If you mean that she knew I had gone away intending to wear a boy"s clothes you needn"t spare my feelings. Mr. Armathwaite knows all about that."
"Does he? In that case, I"m spared any explanation. You see, Edie was naturally anxious. As for me, I hardly slept a wink last night through worrying about you. And then, a letter came for you this morning from your father. I recognized his handwriting, and it"s marked "Immediate."
Since there was no news from you, we were at a loss to decide on the best course to adopt. Now, I appeal to you, Mr. Armathwaite. Suppose--"
"I agree with you entirely," broke in Armathwaite. "I think Miss Ogilvey ought to be profoundly grateful for your self-sacrifice."
"There, Meg, do you hear that? Self-sacrifice! I"m literally skinned in your service, and you only pitch into me. Now, I"ve done most of the talking. It"s your turn. When are you coming home?"
"To-morrow, perhaps."
"But, I say, Meg! There"ll be a howling row with your people when they find out."
"Where is dad"s letter? You"ve brought it, of course?"
"Yes. Edie thought that was the best plan. Here you are!"
He produced a letter from a breast pocket, and sat down instantly when the girl murmured an apology and opened the envelope. Armathwaite refilled his pipe, and lit it. While doing so he became aware that Percy Whittaker was scrutinizing him with a curiously subtle underlook, and the notion was borne in on him that the newcomer, though effete in some respects, might be alert enough in others. For one thing, the tired gray-green eyes had suddenly become critical; for another, a weak mouth was balanced by a somewhat stubborn chin. For all his amusingly plaintive air, this young man could be vindictive if he chose. At any rate, Armathwaite realized that another barrier had been thrust in the way of Marguerite Ogilvey"s untroubled departure from Elmdale. Percy Whittaker was obviously an intimate friend, and the extraordinary crisis which had arisen in the Ogilvey household could hardly remain hidden from him. What use would he make of the knowledge? How would such a flabby youth act in circ.u.mstances which were utterly perplexing to a man ten years his senior in age and immeasurably more experienced?
Armathwaite could not make up his mind. He must simply bide his time and act as he deemed expedient in conditions that varied so remarkably from hour to hour. At the moment, he was in the position of the master of a ship becalmed in the tropics, surrounded by an unvexed sea and a cloudless sky, yet warned by a sharp fall in the barometer that a typhoon was imminent.
His thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from the girl.
"Just like dad!" she cried. "He writes asking me to search among the old bookshops of Chester for one of the very volumes I am bringing from his own library. He knows it is here, yet persists in disregarding the fact.
Mr. Armathwaite, what _am_ I to think? Isn"t it enough to turn one"s hair gray?"
"It is a puzzling situation, certainly," said Armathwaite, quickly alive to the fact that, in Whittaker"s presence, at any rate, the cousinship had been dropped.
"What is?" demanded Whittaker. "Not much to make a fuss about in searching for a book, is there?"
"No. But suppose I tell you that people here declare my father is dead, that he committed suicide two years ago, that he is buried in a neighboring cemetery, that his ghost is seen o" nights in our own house--what would you say then, Percy?"
"I"d say that the inhabitants are well suited to their country, and the sooner you and I are away from both, the better for the pair of us."
Meg crumpled up the letter in one hand, and hauled Whittaker to his feet with the other.
"Come on," she said emphatically. "If you hear the whole story now you"ll collapse. I"m glad you"ve arrived, though I thought at first you were adding to my worries. You can help in clearing up a mystery. Now, don"t interrupt, but listen! I"m going to give you a plain, straightforward version of events which sound like the maddest sort of nonsense. You wouldn"t believe a word I"m telling you if Mr. Armathwaite wasn"t present. But he will vouch for every syllable, and, when I"ve finished, you"ll agree that when I said we would leave here, "to-morrow, perhaps," I might just as well have subst.i.tuted "next week" or "next month" for "to-morrow." Isn"t that so, Mr. Armathwaite?"
Armathwaite removed his pipe from between teeth that were biting savagely into its stem. He wished the girl had been more discreet, yet, how could he forbid these confidences?
"Yes, and no," he answered. "Yes, if you mean to const.i.tute yourself into a court of inquiry; no, if you take my advice, and return to Chester with Mr. Whittaker without loss of time."