XVI
FRIENDS
A shaded walk, with a glimpse of sea beyond, embowering trees, a stretchof lawn on one side, and on the other the dormer windows of a fine oldhouse half hidden by scaffolding, from which there came now and then thequick strokes of a workman's hammer.
It was half-past four, if the sharp little note of a cuckoo-clock,snapping out one, told the time correctly.
Two men are pacing this leafy retreat, both of whom we have seen before,but under circumstances so distracting that we took little note of theirappearance, fine as it undoubtedly was in either case. However, we aremore at leisure now, and will pause for an instant to give you some ideaof these two prominent men, with one of whom our story will henceforthhave very much to do.
One of them--the Curator of our famous museum--lacks comeliness offigure, though at moments he can be very impressive. We can thereforerecognize him at a distance by means of a certain ungainliness ofstride sometimes seen in a man wholly given over to intellectualpursuits. But when he turns and you get a glimpse of his face, youexperience at once the scope of mind and charm of spirit which make hiscountenance a marked one in the metropolis. A little gray about thetemples, a tendency--growing upon him, alas!--to raise his hand to hisear when called upon to listen, show that he has already passed themeridian of life; but in his quick glance, and clear and rapid speech,youth still lingers, making of him a companion delightful to many andadmirable to all.
The other--Carleton Roberts, his bosom friend, and the museum's chiefdirector--is of a different type, but no less striking to the eye. Forhim, personality has done much toward raising him to his present statusamong the leading men of New York. While not tall, he is tall enoughnever to look short, owing to the trim elegance of his figure and thequiet dignity of his carriage. He does not need to turn his face toimpress you with the idea that he is handsome; but when he does so, youfind that your expectations are more than met by the reality. For thoughhe may not have the strictly regular features we naturally associate withone of his poise and matchless outline, there is enough of that quality,and more than enough of that additional elusive something which is anattraction in itself, to make for handsomeness in a marked degree. He,like his friend, has passed his fortieth year, but nowhere save in hisabundant locks can one see any sign of approaching age. They are quitewhite--cut close, but quite white, so white they attracted the notice ofhis companion, who stole more than one look at them as he chatted on inwhat had become almost a monologue, so little did Roberts join in theconversation.
Finally the Curator paused, and stealing another look at that white head,remarked anxiously:
"Have you not grown gray very suddenly? I don't remember your beingwhiter than myself the day I dined with you just preceding the horribleoccurrence at the museum."
"I have been growing gray for a year," rejoined the other. "My father waswhite at forty; I am just forty-three."
"It becomes you, and yet--Roberts, you have taken this matter too muchto heart. We were not to blame in any way, unless it was in having suchdeadly weapons within reach. How could one suppose----"
"Yes, how could one suppose!" echoed the director. "And the mystery ofit! The police seem no nearer solving the problem now than on the nightthey practised archery in the galleries. It does wear on me, possiblybecause I live so much alone. I see----"
Here he stopped abruptly. They had been strolling in the direction of thehouse, and at this moment were not many paces from it.
"See what?" urged the Curator with an accent one might almost calltender--would have been called tender, if used in addressing a woman.
"See _her_, that dead girl!--constantly--at night when my eyes areshut--in the daytime while I go about my affairs, here, there andeverywhere. The young, young face! so white, so still, so strangely andso unaccountably familiar! Do you feel the same? Did she remind you ofanyone we know? I grow old trying to place her. I can say this to you;but not to another soul could I speak of what has become to me a sort ofblind obsession. She was a stranger. I know of no Madame Duclos and amsure that I never saw her young daughter before; and yet I have startedup in my bed more than once during these past few nights, confident thatin another moment memory would supply the clue which will rid my mind ofthe eternal question as to where I have seen a face like hers before? Butmemory fails to answer; and the struggle, momentarily interrupted, beginsagain, to the destruction of my peace and comfort."
"Odd! but you must rid yourself of what unnerves you so completely. Itdoes no good and only adds to regrets which are poignant enough inthemselves."
"That is true; but--stop a minute. I see it now--her face, I mean. Itcomes between me and the house there. Even your presence does not dispelit. It is--no, it's gone again. Let us go back once more and take anotherlook at the sea. It is the one thing which draws me away from thispursuing vision."
They resumed their stroll, this time away from the house and toward theoval cut in the trees for a straight view out to the sea. Across thisoval a ship was now sailing which attracted the eyes of both; not till ithad passed, did the Curator say:
"You live too lonely a life. You should seek change--recreation--possiblysomething more absorbing than either."
"You mean marriage?"
"Yes, Roberts, I do. Pardon me; I want to see your eye beam again withcontentment. The loss of your late companion has left you desolate, moredesolate than you have been willing to acknowledge. You cannot replaceher----"
"I am wedded to politics."
"An untrustworthy jade. When did politics ever make a man happy?"
"Happy!" They were turned toward the house again. When near, Robertscapped his exclamation with the remark:
"You ask a great deal for me, more than you ask for yourself. You havenot married again."
"But my mistress is not a jade. I find joy in my work. I have not hadtime to woo a woman as she should be wooed if she's to be a happy secondwife. I should have so much to explain to her. When I get looking overprints, the dinner-bell might ring a dozen times without my hearing it. Aletter from an agent telling of some wonderful find in Mesopotamia wouldmake me forget whether my wife's hair were brown or black. I don't needdiversion, Roberts."
"Yet you enjoy a couple of hours in the country, a whiff of freshair----"
"And a chat with a friend. Yes, I do; but if the museum were open----"
Mr. Roberts smiled.
"I see that you are incorrigible." Then, with a gesture toward the house:"Come and see my new veranda. Its outlook will surprise you."
As you have already surmised, he was the owner of this place; and the manfor whose better understanding Sweetwater had again taken up the planeand the hammer.
The Mystery of the Hasty Arrow Page 16
