Jason: A Romance

by Justus Miles Forman

  IX

  JASON GOES UPON A JOURNEY, AND RICHARD HARTLEY PLEADS FOR HIM

  It may as well be admitted at the outset that neither Ste. Marie norRichard Hartley proved themselves to be geniuses, hitherto undeveloped,in the detective science. They entered upon their self-appointed taskwith a fine fervor, but, as Miss Benham had suggested, with no otherqualifications in particular. Ste. Marie had a theory that, when engagedin work of this nature, you went into questionable parts of the city,ate and drank cheek by jowl with questionable people--if possible, gotthem drunk while you remained sober (difficult feat), and sooner orlater they said things which put you on the right road to your goal, orelse confessed to you that they themselves had committed the particularcrime in which you were interested. He argued that this was the way ithappened in books, and that surely people didn't write books aboutthings of which they were ignorant.

  Hartley, on the other hand, preferred the newer, or scientific, methods.You sat at home with a pipe and a whiskey-and-water--if possible, in along dressing-gown with a cord round its middle. You reviewed all theknown facts of the case, and you did mathematics about them with Xs andYs and many other symbols, and in the end, by a system of elimination,you proved that a certain thing must infallibly be true. The chiefdifficulty for him in this was, he said, that he had been at Oxfordinstead of at Cambridge, and so the mathematics were rather beyond him.

  In practice, however, they combined the two methods, which was doubtlessas well as if they hadn't, because for some time they accomplishednothing whatever, and so neither one was able to sneer at the other'sstupidity.

  This is not to say that they found nothing in the way of clews. Theyfound an embarrassment of them, and for some days went about in a feverof excitement over these; but the fever cooled when clew after clewturned out to be misleading. Of course, Ste. Marie's first efforts weredirected toward tracing the movements of the Irishman O'Hara, but theefforts were altogether unavailing. The man seemed to have disappearedas noiselessly and completely as had young Arthur Benham himself. He wasunable even to settle with any definiteness the time of the man'sdeparture from Paris. Some of O'Hara's old acquaintances maintained thatthey had seen the last of him two months before, but a shifty-eyedperson in rather cheaply smart clothes came up to Ste. Marie one eveningin Maxim's and said he had heard that Ste. Marie was making inquiriesabout M. O'Hara. Ste. Marie said he was, and that it was an affair ofmoney; whereupon the cheaply smart individual declared that M. O'Harahad left Paris six months before to go to the United States of America,and that he had had a picture postal-card from him, some weeks since,from New York. The informant accepted an expensive cigar and a Dubonnetby way of reward, but presently departed into the night, and Ste. Mariewas left in some discouragement, his theory badly damaged.

  He spoke of this encounter to Richard Hartley, who came on later to joinhim, and Hartley, after an interval of silence and smoke, said: "Thatwas a lie! The man lied!"

  "Name of a dog, why?" demanded Ste. Marie; but the Englishman shruggedhis shoulders.

  "I don't know," he said. "But I believe it was a lie. The man came toyou--sought you out to tell his story, didn't he? And all the othershave given a different date? Well, there you are! For some reason, thisman or some one behind him--O'Hara himself, probably--wants you tobelieve that O'Hara is in America. I dare say he's in Paris all thewhile."

  "I hope you're right," said the other. "And I mean to make sure, too. Itcertainly was odd, this strange being hunting me out to tell me that. Iwonder, by-the-way, how he knew I'd been making inquiries about O'Hara.I've questioned only two or three people, and then in the most casualway. Yes, it's odd."

  It was about a week after this--a fruitless week, full of the alternatebrightness of hope and the gloom of disappointment--that he met CaptainStewart, to whom he had been, more than once, on the point of appealing.He happened upon him quite by chance one morning in the rue Royale.Captain Stewart was coming out of a shop, a very smart-looking shop,devoted, as Ste. Marie, with some surprise and much amusement, observed,to ladies' hats, and the price of hats must have depressed him, for helooked in an ill humor, and older and more yellow than usual. But hisface altered suddenly when he saw the younger man, and he stopped andshook Ste. Marie's hand with every evidence of pleasure.

  "Well met! Well met!" he exclaimed. "If you are not in a hurry, come andsit down somewhere and tell me about yourself."

  They picked their way across the street to the terrace of the TaverneRoyale, which was almost deserted at that hour, and sat down at one ofthe little tables, well back from the pavement, in a corner.

  "Is it fair," queried Captain Stewart--"is it fair, as a rivalinvestigator, to ask you what success you have had?"

  Ste. Marie laughed rather ruefully, and confessed that he had as yet nosuccess at all.

  "I've just come," said he, "from pricking one bubble that promised well,and Hartley is up in Montmartre destroying another, I fancy. Oh, well,we didn't expect it to be child's play."

  Captain Stewart raised his little glass of dry vermouth in anold-fashioned salute and drank it.

  "You," said he--"you were--ah, full of some idea of connecting this man,this Irishman O'Hara, with poor Arthur's disappearance. You've foundthat not so promising as you went on, I take it."

  "Well, I've been unable to trace O'Hara," said Ste. Marie. "He seems tohave disappeared as completely as your nephew. I suppose you have noclews to spare? I confess I'm out of them at the moment."

  "Oh, I have plenty," said the elder man. "A hundred. More than I canpossibly look after." He gave a little chuckling laugh. "I've beenwaiting for you to come to me," he said. "It was a little ungenerous,perhaps, but we all love to say, 'I told you so.' Yes, I have a greatquantity of clews, and of course they all seem to be of the greatest andmost exciting importance. That's a way clews have."

  He took an envelope from an inner pocket of his coat, and sorted severalfolded papers which were in it.

  "I have here," said he, "memoranda of two--chances, shall I callthem?--which seem to me very good, though, as I have already said, everyclew seems good. That is the maddening, the heart-breaking, part of suchan investigation. I have made these brief notes from letters received,one yesterday, one the day before, from an agent of mine who has beensearching the bains de mer of the north coast. This agent writes thatsome one very much resembling poor Arthur has been seen at Dinard andalso at Deauville, and he urges me to come there or to send a man thereat once to look into the matter. You will ask, of course, why this agenthimself does not pursue the clew he has found. Unfortunately, he hasbeen called to London upon some pressing family matter of his own; he isan Englishman."

  "Why haven't you gone yourself?" asked Ste. Marie.

  But the elder man shrugged his shoulders and smiled a tired, deprecatorysmile.

  "Oh, my friend," said he, "if I should attempt personally to investigateone-half of these things, I should be compelled to divide myself intotwenty parts. No, I must stay here. There must be, alas! the spider atthe centre of the web. I cannot go; but if you think it worth while, Iwill gladly turn over the memoranda of these last clews to you. They maybe the true clews, they may not. At any rate, some one must look intothem. Why not you and your partner--or shall I say assistant?"

  "Why, thank you!" cried Ste. Marie. "A thousand thanks! Of course, Ishall be--we shall be glad to try this chance. On the face of it, itsounds very reasonable. Your nephew, from what I remember of him, ismuch more apt to be in some place that is amusing, some place of gayety,than hiding away where it is merely dull, if he has his choice in thematter--that is, if he is free. And yet--" He turned and frownedthoughtfully at the elder man. "What I want to know," said he, "is howthe boy is supporting himself all this time? You say he had no money, orvery little, when he went away. How is he managing to live if yourtheory is correct--that he is staying away of his own accord? It costs alot of money to live as he likes to live."

  Captain Stewart nodded.

  "Oh, that," sa
id he--"that is a question I have often proposed tomyself. Frankly, it's beyond me. I can only surmise that poor Arthur,who had scattered a small fortune about in foolish loans, managed,before he actually disappeared (mind you, we didn't begin to look forhim until a week had gone by)--managed to collect some of this money,and so went away with something in pocket. That, of course, is only aguess."

  "It is possible," said Ste. Marie, doubtfully, "but--I don't know. It isnot very easy to raise money from the sort of people I imagine yournephew to have lent it to. They borrow, but they don't repay." Heglanced up with a half-laughing, half-defiant air. "I can't," said he,"rid myself of a belief that the boy is here in Paris, and that he isnot free to come or go. It's only a feeling, but it is very strong inme. Of course, I shall follow out these clews you've been so kind as togive me. I shall go to Dinard and Deauville, and Hartley, I imagine,will go with me, but I haven't great confidence in them."

  Captain Stewart regarded him reflectively for a time, and in the end hesmiled.

  "If you will pardon my saying it," he said, "your attitude is just alittle womanlike. You put away reason for something vaguely intuitive. Ialways distrust intuition myself."

  Ste. Marie frowned a little and looked uncomfortable. He did not relishbeing called womanlike--few men do; but he was bound to admit that theelder man's criticism was more or less just.

  "Moreover," pursued Captain Stewart, "you altogether ignore the point ofmotive--as I may have suggested to you before. There could be nopossible motive, so far as I am aware, for kidnapping or detaining, orin any way harming, my nephew except the desire for money; but, as youknow, he had no large sum of money with him, and no demand has been madeupon us since his disappearance. I'm afraid you can't get round that."

  "No," said Ste. Marie, "I'm afraid I can't. Indeed, leaving thataside--and it can't be left aside--I still have almost nothing withwhich to prop up my theory. I told you it was only a feeling."

  He took up the memoranda which Captain Stewart had laid upon themarble-topped table between them, and read the notes through.

  "Please," said he, "don't think I am ungrateful for this chance. I amnot. I shall do my best with it, and I hope it may turn out to beimportant." He gave a little wry smile. "I have all sorts of reasons,"he said, "for wishing to succeed as soon as possible. You may be surethat there won't be any delays on my part. And now I must be going on. Iam to meet Hartley for lunch on the other side of the river, and, if wecan manage it, I should like to start north this afternoon or evening."

  "Good!" said Captain Stewart, smiling. "Good! That is what I call truepromptness. You lose no time at all. Go to Dinard and Deauville, by allmeans, and look into this thing thoroughly. Don't be discouraged if youmeet with ill success at first. Take Mr. Hartley with you, and do yourbest."

  He paid for the two glasses of aperitif, and Ste. Marie could not helpobserving that he left on the table a very small tip. The waiter cursedhim audibly as the two walked away.

  "If you have returned by a week from to-morrow," he said, as they shookhands, "I should like to have you keep that evening--Thursday--for me. Iam having a very informal little party in my rooms. There will be two orthree of the opera people there, and they will sing for us, and theothers will be amusing enough. All young--all young. I like young peopleabout me." He gave his odd little mewing chuckle. "And the ladies mustbe beautiful as well as young. Come if you are here! I'll drop a line toMr. Hartley also."

  He shook Ste. Marie's hand, and went away down the street toward the ruedu Faubourg St. Honore where he lived.

  Ste. Marie met Hartley as he expected to do, at lunch, and they talkedover the possibilities of the Dinard and Deauville expedition. In theend they decided that Ste. Marie should go alone, but that he was totelegraph, later on, if the clew looked promising. Hartley had two orthree investigations on foot in Paris, and stayed on to complete these.Also he wished, as soon as possible, to see Helen Benham and explainSte. Marie's ride on the galloping pigs. Ten days had elapsed since thatevening, but Miss Benham had gone into the country the next day to makea visit at the De Saulnes' chateau on the Oise.

  So Ste. Marie packed a portmanteau with clothes and things, and departedby a mid-afternoon train to Dinard, and toward five Richard Hartleywalked down to the rue de I'Universite. He thought it just possible thatMiss Benham might by now have returned to town, but if not he meant tohave half an hour's chat with old David Stewart, whom he had not seenfor some weeks.

  At the door he learned that mademoiselle was that very day returned andwas at home. So he went in to the drawing-room, reserving his visit toold David until later. He found the room divided into two camps. At oneside Mrs. Benham conversed in melancholic monotones with two elderlyFrench ladies who were clad in depressing black of a dowdiness surpassedonly in English provincial towns. It was as if the three mournedtogether over the remains of some dear one who lay dead among them.Hartley bowed low, with an uncontrollable shiver, and turned to thetea-table, where Miss Benham sat in the seat of authority, flanked by ayoung American lady whom he had met before, and by Baron de Vries, whomhe had not seen since the evening of the De Saulnes' dinner-party.

  Miss Benham greeted him with evident pleasure, and to his great delightremembered just how he liked his tea--three pieces of sugar and no milk.It always flatters a man when his little tastes of this sort areremembered. The four fell at once into conversation together, and theyoung American lady asked Hartley why Ste. Marie was not with him.

  "I thought you two always went about together," she said--"were neverseen apart and all that--a sort of modern Damon and Phidias."

  Hartley caught Baron de Vries' eye, and looked away again hastily.

  "My--ah, Phidias," said he, resisting an irritable desire to correct thelady, "got mislaid to-day. It sha'n't happen again, I promise you. He'sa very busy person just now, though. He hasn't time for socialdissipation. I'm the butterfly of the pair."

  The lady gave a sudden laugh.

  "He was busy enough the last time I saw him," she said, crinkling hereyelids. She turned to Miss Benham. "Do you remember that evening wewere going home from the Madrid and motored round by Montmartre to seethe fete?"

  "Yes," said Miss Benham, unsmiling, "I remember."

  "Your friend Ste. Marie," said the American lady to Hartley, "wasdistinctly the lion of the fete--at the moment we arrived, anyhow. Hewas riding a galloping pig and throwing those paper streamerthings--what do you call them?--with both hands, and a genial lady in ablue hat was riding the same pig and helping him out. It was just likethe _Vie de Boheme_ and the other books. I found it charming."

  Baron de Vries emitted an amused chuckle.

  "That was very like Ste. Marie," he said. "Ste. Marie is a veryexceptional young man. He can be an angel one moment, a child playingwith toys the next, and--well, a rather commonplace social favorite thethird. It all comes of being romantic--imaginative. Ste. Marie--I knownothing about this evening of which you speak, but Ste. Marie is quitecapable of stopping on his way to a funeral to ride a galloping pig--oron his way to his own wedding. And the pleasant part of it is," saidBaron de Vries, "that the lad would turn up at either of these twoceremonies not a bit the worse, outside or in, for his ride."

  "Ah, now, that's an oddly close shot," said Hartley. He paused a moment,looking toward Miss Benham, and said: "I beg pardon! Were you going tospeak?"

  "No," said Miss Benham, moving the things about on the tea-table beforeher, and looking down at them. "No, not at all!"

  "You came oddly close to the truth," the man went on, turning back toBaron de Vries.

  He was speaking for Helen Benham's ears, and he knew she wouldunderstand that, but he did not wish to seem to be watching her.

  "I was with Ste. Marie on that evening," he said. "No, I wasn't riding apig, but I was standing down in the crowd throwing serpentines at thepeople who were. And I happen to know that he--that Ste. Marie was onthat day, that evening, more deeply concerned about something, moreabsolutely wrapped up in it, dev
oted to it, than I have ever known himto be about anything since I first knew him. The galloping pig was anincident that made, except for the moment, no impression whatever uponhim." Hartley nodded his head. "Yes," said he, "Ste. Marie can be anangel one moment and a child playing with toys the next. When he seestoys he always plays with them, and he plays hard, but when he dropsthem they go completely out of his mind."

  The American lady laughed.

  "Gracious me!" she cried. "You two are emphatic enough about him, aren'tyou?"

  "We know him," said Baron de Vries.

  Hartley rose to replace his empty cup on the tea-table. Miss Benham didnot meet his eyes, and as he moved away again she spoke to her friendabout something they were going to do on the next day, so Hartley wentacross to where Baron de Vries sat at a little distance, and took aplace beside him on the chaise lounge. The Belgian greeted him withraised eyebrows and the little, half-sad, half-humorous smile which wascharacteristic of him in his gentler moments.

  "You were defending our friend with a purpose," he said, in a low voice."Good! I am afraid he needs it--here."

  The younger man hesitated a moment. Then he said:

  "I came on purpose to do that. Ste. Marie knows that she saw him on thatconfounded pig. He was half wild with distress over it, because--well,the meeting was singularly unfortunate just then. I can't explain--"

  "You needn't explain," said the Belgian, gravely. "I know. Helen told mesome days ago, though she did not mention this encounter. Yes, defendhim with all your power, if you will. Stay after we others have goneand--have it out with her. The Phidias lady (I must remember that mot,by-the-way) is preparing to take her leave now, and I will follow her atonce. She shall believe that I am enamoured, that I sigh for her. Eh!"said he, shaking his head--and the lines in the kindly old face seemedto deepen, but in a sort of grave tenderness--"eh, so love has come tothe dear lad at last! Ah, of course, the hundred other affairs! Yes,yes. But they were light. No seriousness in them. The ladies may haveloved. He didn't--very much. This time, I'm afraid--"

  Baron de Vries paused as if he did not mean to finish his sentence, andHartley said:

  "You say 'afraid'! Why afraid?"

  The Belgian looked up at him reflectively.

  "Did I say 'afraid'?" he asked. "Well, perhaps it was the word I wanted.I wonder if these two are fitted for each other. I am fond of them both.I think you know that, but--she's not very flexible, this child. And shehasn't much humor. I love her, but I know those things are true. Iwonder if one ought to marry Ste. Marie without flexibility and withouthumor."

  "If they love each other," said Richard Hartley, "I expect the otherthings don't count. Do they?"

  Baron de Vries rose to his feet, for he saw that the Phidias lady wasgoing.

  "Perhaps not," said he; "I hope not. In any case, do your best for himwith Helen. Make her comprehend if you can. I am afraid she is unhappyover the affair."

  He made his adieus, and went away with the American lady, to that youngperson's obvious excitement. And after a moment the three ladies acrossthe room departed also, Mrs. Benham explaining that she was taking hertwo friends up to her own sitting-room, to show them something vaguelyrelated to the heathen. So Hartley was left alone with Helen Benham.

  It was not his way to beat about the bush, and he gave battle at once.He said, standing, to say it more easily:

  "You know why I came here to-day? It was the first chance I've had sincethat--unfortunate evening. I came on Ste. Marie's account."

  Miss Benham said a weak "Oh!" And because she was nervous andoverwrought, and because the thing meant so much to her, she said,cheaply: "He owes me no apologies. He has a perfect right to act as hepleases, you know."

  The Englishman frowned across at her. "I didn't come to make apologies,"said he. "I came to explain. Well, I have explained--Baron de Vries andI together. That's just how it happened. And that's just how Ste. Marietakes things. The point is that you've got to understand it. I've got tomake you."

  The girl smiled up at him dolefully. "You look," she said, "as if youwere going to beat me if necessary. You look very warlike."

  "I feel warlike," the man said, nodding. He said: "I'm fighting for afriend to whom you are doing, in your mind, an injustice. I know himbetter than you do, and I tell you you're doing him a grave injustice.You're failing altogether to understand him."

  "I wonder," the girl said, looking very thoughtfully down at the tablebefore her.

  "I know," said he.

  Quite suddenly she gave a little overwrought cry, and she put up herhands over her face. "Oh, Richard!" she said, "that day when he washere! He left me--oh, I cannot tell you at what a height he left me! Itwas something new and beautiful. He swept me to the clouds with him. AndI might--perhaps I might have lived on there. Who knows? But then thathideous evening! Ah, it was too sickening: the fall back to common earthagain!"

  "I know," said the man, gently--"I know. And _he_ knew, too. Directlyhe'd seen you he knew how you would feel about it. I'm not pretendingthat it was of no consequence. It was unfortunate, of course. But thepoint is, it did not mean in him any slackening, any stooping, anyletting go. It was a moment's incident. We went to the wretched place byaccident after dinner. Ste. Marie saw those childish lunatics at play,and for about two minutes he played with them. The lady in the blue hatmade it appear a little more extreme, and that's all."

  Miss Benham rose to her feet and moved restlessly back and forth. "Oh,Richard," she said, "the golden spell is broken--the enchantment he laidupon me that day. I'm not like him, you know. Oh, I wish I were! I wishI were! I can't change from hour to hour. I can't rise to the cloudsagain after my fall to earth. It has all--become something different.Don't misunderstand me!" she cried. "I don't mean that I've ceased tocare for him. No, far from that! But I was in such an exalted heaven,and now I'm not there any more. Perhaps he can lift me to it again. Ohyes, I'm sure he can, when I see him once more; but I wanted to go onliving there so happily while he was away! Do you understand at all?"

  "I think I do," the man said, but he looked at her very curiously and alittle sadly, for it was the first time he had ever seen her swept fromher superb poise by any emotion, and he hardly recognized her. It wasvery bitter to him to realize that he could never have stirred her tothis--never, under any conceivable circumstances.

  The girl came to him where he stood, and touched his arm with her hand."He is waiting to hear how I feel about it all, isn't he?" she said. "Heis waiting to know that I understand. Will you tell him a little lie forme, Richard? No, you needn't tell a lie. I will tell it. Tell him that Isaid I understood perfectly. Tell him that I was shocked for a moment,but that afterward I understood and thought no more about it. Will youtell him I said that? It won't be a lie from you, because I did say it.Oh, I will not grieve him or hamper him now while he is working in mycause! I'll tell him a lie rather than have him grieve."

  "Need it be a lie?" said Richard Hartley. "Can't you truly believe whatyou've said?"

  She shook her head slowly.

  "I'll try," said she, "but--my golden spell is broken and I can't mendit alone. I'm sorry."

  He turned with a little sigh to leave her, but Miss Benham followed himtoward the door of the drawing-room.

  "You're a good friend, Richard," she said, when she had comenear--"you're a good friend to him."

  "He deserves good friends," said the young man, stoutly. "And besides,"said he, "we're brothers in arms nowadays. We've enlisted together tofight for the same cause." The girl fell back with a little cry.

  "Do you mean," she said, after a moment--"do you mean that _you_ areworking with him--to find Arthur?"

  Hartley nodded.

  "But--" said she, stammering. "But, Richard--"

  The man checked her.

  "Oh, I know what I'm doing," said he. "My eyes are open. I know that I'mnot--well, in the running. I work for no reward except a desire to helpyou and Ste. Marie. That's all. It pleases me to be useful."

  H
e went away with that, not waiting for an answer, and the girl stoodwhere he had left her, staring after him.

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