Love Insurance

by Earl Derr Biggers

  "Oh, well," sighed Thacker, "I won't argue. But one thing is certain, Jephson. You can't go back to England now. Your place is in San Marco with one hand on the rope that rings the wedding bells."

  Jephson shook his great bald head.

  "No," he said. "I must return to-day. It is absolutely necessary. My interests in San Marco are in the hands of Providence."

  Mr. Thacker walked the floor wildly.

  "Providence needs help in handling a woman," he protested. "Miss Meyrick must not change her mind. Some one must see that she doesn't. If you can't go yourself—" He paused, reflecting. "Some young man, active, capable—"

  Mr. Richard Minot had risen from his chair, and was moving softly toward his overcoat. Looking over his shoulder, he beheld Mr. Thacker's keen eyes upon him.

  "Just going out to lunch," he said guiltily.

  "Sit down, Richard," remarked Mr. Thacker with decision.

  Mr. Minot sat, the dread of something impending in his heart.

  "Jephson," said Mr. Thacker, "this boy here is the son of a man of whom I was very fond. His father left him the means to squander his life on clubs and cocktails if he had chosen—but he picked out a business career instead. Five years ago I took him into this office, and he has repaid me by faithful, even brilliant service. I would trust him with—well, I'd trust him as far as you'd trust a member of your own peerage."

  "Yes?" said Mr. Jephson.

  Mr. Thacker wheeled dramatically and faced his young assistant.

  "Richard," he ordered, "go to San Marco. Go to San Marco and see to it that Miss Cynthia Meyrick does not change her mind."

  A gone feeling shot through Mr. Minot in the vicinity of his stomach. It was possible that he really needed that lunch.

  "Yes, sir," he said faintly. "Of course, it's up to me to do anything you say. If you insist, I'll go, but—"

  "But what, Richard?"

  "Isn't it a rather big order? Women—aren't they like an—er—April afternoon—or something of that sort? It seems to me I've read they were —in books."

  "Humph," snorted Mr. Thacker. "Is your knowledge of the ways of women confined to books?"

  A close observer might have noted the ghost of a smile in Mr. Minot's clear blue eyes.

  "In part, it is," he admitted. "And then again —in part, it isn't."

  "Well, put away your books, my boy," said Mr. Thacker. "A nice, instructive little vacation has fallen on you from heaven. Mad old Jephson here must be saved from himself. That wedding must take place—positively, rain or shine. I trust you to see that it does, Richard."

  Mr. Minot rose and stepped over to his hat and coat.

  "I'm off for San Marco," he announced blithely. His lips were firm but smiling. "The land of sunshine and flowers—and orange blossoms or I know the reason why."

  "Jephson trusts Harrowby," said Mr. Thacker. "All very well. But just the same if I were you I'd be aboard that yacht to-night when it leaves New York harbor. Invited or uninvited."

  "I must ask," put in Mr. Jephson hurriedly, "that you do nothing to embarrass Lord Harrowby in any way."

  "No," said Thacker. "But keep an eye on him, my boy. A keen and busy eye."

  "I will," agreed Mr. Minot. "Do I look like Cupid, gentlemen? No? Ah—it's the overcoat. Well, I'll get rid of that in Florida. I'll say good-by—"

  He shook hands with Jephson and with Thacker.

  "Good-by, Richard," said the latter. "I'm really fond of old Jephson here. He's been my friend in need—he mustn't lose. I trust you, my boy."

  "I won't disappoint you," Dick Minot promised. A look of seriousness flashed across his face. "Miss Cynthia Meyrick changes her mind only over my dead body."

  He paused for a second at the door, and his eyes grew suddenly thoughtful.

  "I wonder what she's like?" he murmured.

  Then, with a smile toward the two men left behind, he went out and down that stenographer bordered lane to San Marco.

  Chapter 2

  AN EVENING IN THE RIVER

  THOUGH San Marco is a particularly gaudy tassel on the fringe of the tourist's South, it was to the north that Mr. Richard Minot first turned. One hour later he made his appearance amid the gold braid and dignity of the Plaza lobby.

  The young man behind the desk—an exquisite creature done in Charles Dana Gibson's best manner—knew when to be affable. He also knew when not to be affable. Upon Mr. Minot he turned the cold fishy stare he kept for such as were not guests under his charge.

  "What is your business with Lord Harrowby?" he inquired suspiciously.

  "Since when," asked Mr. Minot brightly, "have you been in his lordship's confidence?"

  This was the young man's cue to wince. But hotel clerks are notoriously poor wincers.

  "It is customary—" he began with perfect poise.

  "I know," said Mr. Minot. "But then, I'm a sort of a friend of his lordship."

  "A sort of a friend?" How well he lifted his eyebrows!

  "Something like that. I believe I'm to be best man at his wedding."

  Ah, yes; that splendid young man knew when to be affable. Affability swamped him now.

  "Boy!" he cried. "Take this gentleman's card to Lord Harrowby."

  A bell-boy in a Zenda uniform accepted the card, laid it upon a silver tray, glued it down with a large New York thumb, and strayed off down gilded corridors shouting, "Lord Harrowby."

  Whereat all the pretty little debutantes who happened to be decorating the scene at the moment felt their pampered hearts go pit-a-pat and, closing their eyes, saw visions and dreamed dreams.

  Lord Harrowby was at luncheon, and sent word for Mr. Minot to join him. Entering the gay dining-room, Minot saw at the far end the blond and noble head he sought. He threaded his way between the tables. Although he was an unusually attractive young man, he had never experienced anything like the array of stares turned upon him ere he had gone ten feet. "What the devil's the matter?" he asked himself. "I seem to be the cynosure of neighboring eyes, and then some." He did not dream that it was because he was passing through a dining-room of democrats to grasp the hand of a lord.

  "My dear fellow, I'm delighted, I assure you—" Really, Lord Harrowby's face should have paid closer attention to his words. Just now it failed ignominiously in the matter of backing them up.

  "Thank you," Mr. Minot replied. "Your lordship is no doubt surprised at seeing me so soon—"

  "Well—er—not at all. Shall I order luncheon?"

  "No, thanks. I had a bite on the way up." And Mr. Minot dropped into the chair which an eager waiter held ready. "Lord Harrowby, I trust you are not going to be annoyed by what I have to tell you."

  His lordship's face clouded, and worry entered the mild blue eyes.

  "I hope there's nothing wrong about the policy."

  "Nothing whatever. Lord Harrowby, Mr. Jephson trusts you—implicitly."

  "So I perceived this morning. I was deeply touched."

  "It washer—touching." Minot smiled a bit cynically. "Understanding as you do how Mr. Jephson feels toward you, you will realize that it is in no sense a reflection on you that our office, viewing this matter in a purely business light, has decided that some one must go to San Marco with you. Some one who will protect Mr. Jephson's interests."

  "Your office," said his lordship, reflecting. "You mean Mr. Thacker, don't you?"

  Could it be that the fellow was not so slow as he seemed?

  "Mr. Thacker is the head of our office," smiled Mr. Minot. "It has been thought best that some one go with you, Lord Harrowby. Some one who will work night and day to see to it that Miss Meyrick does not change her mind. I—I am the some one. I hope you are not annoyed."

  "My dear chap! Not in the least. When I said this morning that I was quite set on this marriage, I was frightfully sincere." And now his lordship's face, frank and boyish, in nowise belied his words. "I shall be deeply grateful for any aid Lloyds can give me. And I am already grateful that Lloyds has selected you to be my ally."
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  Really, very decent of him. Dick Minot bowed.

  "You go south to-night?" he ventured.

  "Yes. On the yacht Lileth, belonging to my friend, Mr. Martin Wall. You have heard of him?"

  "No. I can't say that I have."

  "Indeed! I understood he was very well-known here. A big, bluff, hearty chap. We met on the steamer coming over and became very good friends."

  A pause.

  "You will enjoy meeting Mr. Wall," said his lordship meaningly, "when I introduce you to him—in San Marco."

  "Lord Harrowby," said Minot slowly, "my instructions are to go south with you—on the yacht."

  For a moment the two men stared into each other's eyes. Then Lord Harrowby pursed his thin lips and gazed out at Fifth Avenue, gay and colorful in the February sun.

  "How extremely unfortunate," he drawled. "It is not my boat, Mr. Minot. If it were, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to extend an invitation to you."

  "I understand," said Minot. "But I am to go—invited or uninvited."

  "In my interests?" asked Harrowby sarcastically.

  "As the personal conductor of the bridegroom."

  "Mr. Minot—really—"

  "I have no wish to be rude, Lord Harrowby. But it is our turn to be a little fantastic now. Could anything be more fantastic than boarding a yacht uninvited?"

  "But Miss Meyrick—on whom, after all, Mr. Jephson's fate depends—is already in Florida."

  "With her lamp trimmed and burning. How sad, your lordship, if some untoward event should interfere with the coming of the bridegroom."

  "I perceive," smiled Lord Harrowby, "that you do not share Mr. Jephson's confidence in my motives."

  "This is New York, and a business proposition. Every man in New York is considered guilty until he proves himself innocent—and then we move for a new trial."

  "Nevertheless"—Lord Harrowby's mouth hardened—"I must refuse to ask you to join me on the Lileth."

  "Would you mind telling me where the boat is anchored?"

  "Somewhere in the North River, I believe. I don't know, really."

  "You don't know? Won't it be a bit difficult— boarding a yacht when you don't know where to find it?"

  "My dear chap—" began Harrowby angrily.

  "No matter." Mr. Minot stood up. "I'll say au revoir, Lord Harrowby—until to-night."

  "Or until we meet in San Marco." Lord Harrowby regained his good nature. "I'm extremely sorry to be so impolite. But I believe we're going to be very good friends, none the less."

  "We're going to be very close to each other, at any rate," Minot smiled. "Once more—au revoir, your lordship."

  "Pardon me—good-by," answered Lord Harrowby with decision.

  And Richard Minot was again threading his way between awed tables.

  Walking slowly down Fifth Avenue, Mr. Minot was forced to admit that he had not made a very auspicious beginning in his new role. Why had Lord Harrowby refused so determinedly to invite him aboard the yacht that was to bear the eager bridegroom south? And what was he to do now? Might he not discover where the yacht lay, board it at dusk, and conceal himself in a vacant cabin until the party was well under way? It sounded fairly simple.

  But it proved otherwise. He was balked from the outset. For two hours, in the library of his club, in telephone booths and elsewhere, he sought for some tangible evidence of the existence of a wealthy American named Martin Wall and a yacht called the Lileth. City directories and yacht club year books alike were silent. Myth, myth, myth, ran through Dick Minot's mind.

  Was Lord Harrowby—as they say at the Gaiety—spoofing him? He mounted to the top of a bus, and was churned up Riverside Drive. Along the banks of the river lay dozens of yachts, dismantled, swathed in winter coverings. Among the few that appeared ready to sail his keen eye discerned no Lileth.

  Somewhat discouraged, he returned to his club and startled a waiter by demanding dinner at four-thirty in the afternoon. Going then to his rooms, he exchanged his overcoat for a sweater, his hat for a golf cap. At five-thirty, a spy for the first time in his eventful young life, he stood opposite the main entrance of the Plaza. Near by ticked a taxi, engaged for the evening.

  An hour passed. Lights, laughter, limousines, the cold moon adding its brilliance to that already brilliant square, the winter wind sighing through the bare trees of the park—New York seemed a city of dreams. Suddenly the chauffeur of Minot's taxi stood uneasily before him.

  "Say, you ain't going to shoot anybody, are you?" he asked.

  "Oh, no—you needn't be afraid of that."

  "I ain't afraid. I just thought I'd take off my license number if you was."

  Ah, yes — New York! City of beautiful dreams!

  Another hour slipped by. And only the little taxi meter was busy, winking mechanically at the unresponsive moon.

  At eight-fifteen a tall blond man, in a very expensive fur coat which impressed even the cab starter, came down the steps of the hotel. He ordered a limousine and was whirled away to the west. At eight-fifteen and a half Mr. Minot followed.

  Lord Harrowby's car proceeded to the drive and, turning, sped north between the moonlit river and the manlit apartment-houses. In the neighborhood of One Hundred and Tenth Street it came to a stop, and as Minot's car passed slowly by, he saw his lordship standing in the moonlight paying his chauffeur. Hastily dismissing his own car, he ran back in time to see Lord Harrowby disappear down one of the stone stairways into the gloom of the park that skirts the Hudson. He followed.

  On and on down the steps and bare wind-swept paths he hurried, until finally the river, cold, silvery, serene, lay before him. Some thirty yards from shore he beheld the lights of a yacht flashing against the gloomy background of Jersey. The Lileth!

  He watched Lord Harrowby cross the railroad tracks to a small landing, and leap from that into a boat in charge of a solitary rower. Then he heard the soft swish of oars, and watched the boat draw away from shore. He stood there in the shadow until he had seen his lordship run up the accommodation ladder to the Lileth's deck.

  He, too, must reach the Lileth, and at once. But how? He glanced quickly up and down the bank. A small boat was tethered near by—he ran to it, but a chain and padlock held it firmly. He must hurry. Aboard the yacht, dancing impatiently on the bosom of Hendrick Hudson's important discovery, he recognized the preparations for an early departure.

  Minot stood for a moment looking at the wide wet river. It was February, yes, but February of the mildest winter New York had experienced in years. At the seashore he had always dashed boldly in while others stood on the sands and shivered. He dashed in now.

  The water was cold, shockingly cold. He struck out swiftly for the yacht. Fortunately the accommodation ladder had not yet been taken up; in another moment he was clinging, a limp and dripping spectacle, to the rail of the Lileth.

  Happily that side of the deck was just then deserted. A row of outside cabin doors in the bow met Minot's eye. Stealthily he swished toward them.

  And, in the last analysis, the only thing between him and them proved to be a large commanding gentleman, whose silhouette was particularly militant and whose whole bearing was unfavorable.

  "Mr. Wall, I presume," said Minot through noisy teeth.

  "Correct," said the gentleman. His voice was sharp, unfriendly. But the moonlight, falling on his face, revealed it as soft, genial, pudgy—the inviting sort of countenance to which, under the melting influence of Scotch and soda, one feels like relating the sad story of one's wasted life.

  Though soaked and quaking, Mr. Minot aimed at nonchalance.

  "Well," he said, "you might be good enough to tell Lord Harrowby that I've arrived."

  "Who are you? What do you want?"

  "I'm a friend of his lordship. He'll be delighted, I'm sure. Just tell him, if you'll be so kind."

  "Did he invite you aboard?"

  "Not exactly. But he'll be glad to see me. Especially if you mention just one word to him."

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bsp; "What word?"

  Mr. Minot leaned airily against the rail.

  "Lloyds," he said.

  An expression of mingled rage and dismay came into the pudgy face. It purpled in the moonlight. Its huge owner came threateningly toward the dripping Minot.

  "Back into the river for yours," he said savagely.

  Almost lovingly—so it might have seemed to the casual observer—he wound his thick arms about the dripping Minot. Up and down the deck they turkey-trotted.

  "Over the rail and into the river," breathed Mr. Wall on Minot's damp neck.

  Two large and capable sailormen came at sound of the struggle.

  "Here, boys," Wall shouted. "Help me toss this guy over."

  Willing hands seized Minot at opposite poles.

  "One—two—" counted the sailormen.

  "Well, good night, Mr. Wall," remarked Minot.

  "Three!"

  A splash, and he was ingloriously in the cold river again. He turned to the accommodation ladder, but quick hands drew it up. Evidently there was nothing to do but return once more to little old New York.

  He rested for a moment, treading water, seeing dimly the tall homes of the cave dwellers, and over them the yellow glare of Broadway. Then he struck out. When he reached the shore, and turned, the Lileth was already under way, moving slowly down the silver path of the moon. An old man was launching the padlocked rowboat.

  "Great night for a swim," he remarked sarcastically.

  "L-lovely," chattered Minot. "Say, do you know anything about the yacht that's just steamed out?"