The Streets of Ascalon

He had started without any definite plan, a confident but patient opportunist; and as he approached the Ledwith property and finally sighted the chimneys of the house above the trees, something – some errant thought seemed to amuse him, for he smiled slightly. His smile was as rare as his laughter – and as brief; and there remained no trace of it as he swung up the last hill and stood there gazing ahead.

The sun had set. A delicate purple haze already dimmed distances; and the twilight which falls more swiftly as summer deepens into autumn was already stealing into every hollow and ravine, darkening the alders where the stream stole swampwards. A few laggard crows were still winging toward the woods; a few flocks of blackbirds passed overhead almost unseen against the sky. Somewhere some gardener had been burning leaves and refuse, and the odour made the dusk more autumn-like.

As he crossed the line separating his land from the Ledwith estate he nodded to the daughter of one of his own gardeners who was passing with a collie; and then he turned to look again at the child whose slender grace and freshness interested him.

"Look out for that bull, Europa," he said, staring after her as she walked on.

She looked back at him, laughingly, and thanked him and went on quite happily, the collie plodding at her heels. Recently Sprowl had been very pleasant to her.

When she was out of sight he started forward, climbed the fence into the road, followed it to the drive-way, and followed that among the elms and Norway firs to the porch.

It was so dark here among the trees that only the lighted transom guided him up the steps.

To the maid who came to the door he said coolly: "Say to Mrs. Ledwith that Mr. Sprowl wishes to see her for a moment on a very important matter."

"Mrs. Ledwith is not at home, sir."

"What?"

"Mrs. Ledwith is not at home."

"Where is she; out?"

"Y-yes, sir."

"Where?"

"I don't know, sir – "

"Yes, you do. Mrs. Ledwith is at home but has given you instructions concerning me. Isn't that so?"

The maid, crimson and embarrassed, made no answer, and he walked past her into the drawing-room.

"Light up here," he said.

"Please, sir – "

"Do as I tell you, my good girl. Here – where's that button? – there! – " as the pretty room sprang into light – "Now never mind your instructions but go and say to Mrs. Ledwith that I must see her."

He calmly unfolded a flat packet of fresh bank-notes, selected one, changed it on reflection for another of higher denomination, and handed it to her. The girl hesitated, still irresolute until he lifted his narrow head and stared at her. Then she went away hurriedly.

When she returned to say that Mrs. Ledwith was not at home to Mr. Sprowl he shrugged and bade her inform her mistress that their meeting was not a matter of choice but of necessity, and that he would remain where he was until she received him.

Again the maid went away, evidently frightened, and Sprowl lighted a cigarette and began to saunter about. When he had examined everything in the room he strolled into the farther room. It was unlighted and suited him to sit in; and he installed himself in a comfortable chair and, throwing his cigarette into the fire-place, lighted a cigar.

This was a game he understood – a waiting game. The game was traditional with his forefathers; every one of them had played it; their endless patience had made a fortune to which each in turn had added before he died. Patience and courage – courage of the sort known as personal bravery – had distinguished all his race. He himself had inherited patience, and had used it wisely except in that one inexplicable case! – and personal courage in him had never been lacking, nor had what often accompanies it, coolness, obstinacy, and effrontery.

He had decided to wait until his cigar had been leisurely finished. Then, other measures – perhaps walking upstairs, unannounced, perhaps an unresentful withdrawal, a note by messenger, and another attempt to see her to-morrow – he did not yet know – had arrived at no conclusion – but would make up his mind when he finished his cigar and then do whatever caution dictated.

Once a servant came to the door to look around for him, and when she discovered him in the half-light of the music-room she departed hastily for regions above. This amused Sprowl.

As he lounged there, thoroughly comfortable, he could hear an occasional stir in distant regions of the house, servants moving perhaps, a door opened or closed, faint creaks from the stairs. Once the distant sounds indicated that somebody was using a telephone; once, as he neared the end of his cigar, a gray cat stole in, caught sight of him, halted, her startled eyes fixed on him, then turned and scuttled out into the hall.

Finally he rose, flicked his cigar ashes into the fireplace, stretched his powerful frame, yawned, and glanced at his watch.

And at the same instant somebody entered the front door with a latch-key.

Sprowl stood perfectly still, interested, waiting: and two men, bare-headed and in evening dress, came swiftly but silently into the drawing-room. One was Quarren, the other Chester Ledwith. Quarren took hold of Ledwith's arm and tried to draw him out of the room. Then Ledwith caught sight of Sprowl and started toward him, but Quarren again seized his companion by the shoulder and dragged him back.

"I tell you to keep quiet," he said in a low voice – "Keep out of this! – go out of the house!"

"I can't, Quarren! I – "

"You promised not to come in until that man had left – "

"I know it. I meant to – but, good God! Quarren! I can't stand there – "

He was struggling toward Sprowl and Quarren was trying to push him back into the hall.

"You said that you had given up any idea of personal vengeance!" he panted. "Let me deal with him quietly – "

"I didn't know what I was saying," retorted Ledwith, straining away from the man who held him, his eyes fixed on Sprowl. "I tell you I can't remain quiet and see that blackguard in this house – "

"But he's going I tell you! He's going without a row – without any noise. Can't you let me manage it – "

He could not drag Ledwith to the door, so he forced him into a chair and stood guard, glancing back across his shoulder at Sprowl.

"You'd better go," he said in a low but perfectly distinct voice.

Sprowl, still holding his cigar, sauntered forward into the drawing-room.

"I suppose you are armed," he said contemptuously. "If you threaten me I'll take away your guns and slap both your faces – ask the other pup how it feels, Quarren."

Ledwith struggled to rise but Quarren had him fast.

"Get out of here, Sprowl," he said. "You'll have a bad time of it if he gets away from me."

Sprowl stared, hands in his pockets, puffing his cigar.

"I've a notion to kick you both out," he drawled.

"It would be a mistake," panted Quarren. "Can't you go while there's time, Sprowl! I tell you he'll kill you in this room if you don't."

"I won't —kill him! – Let go of me, Quarren," gasped Ledwith. "I – I won't do murder; I've promised you that – for her sake – "

"Let him loose, Quarren," said Sprowl.

He waited for a full minute, watching the struggling men in silent contempt. Then with a shrug he went out into the hall, leisurely put on his hat, picked up his stick, opened the door, and sauntered out into the darkness.

"Now," breathed Quarren fiercely, "you play the man or I'm through with you! He's gone and he won't come back – I'll see to that! And it's up to you to show what you're made of!"

Ledwith, freed, stood white and breathing hard for a few moments. Then a dull flush suffused his thin face; he looked down, stood with hanging head, until Quarren laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It's up to you, Ledwith," he said quietly. "I don't blame you for losing your head a moment, but if you mean what you said, I should say that this is your chance… And if I were you I'd simply go upstairs and speak to her… She's been through hell… She's in it still. But you're out; and you can stay out if you choose. There's no need to wallow if you don't want to. You're not in very good shape yet, but you're a man. And now, if you do care for her, I really believe it's up to you… Will you go upstairs?"

Ledwith turned and went out into the familiar hall. Then, as though dazed, resting one thin hand on the rail, he mounted the stairway, head hanging, feeling his way blindly back toward all that life had ever held for him, but which he had been too weak to keep or even to defend.

Quarren waited for a while; Ledwith did not return. After a few minutes an excited maid came down, stared at him, then, reassured, opened the door for him with a smile. And he went out into the starlight.

He had been walking for only a few moments when he overtook Sprowl sauntering down a lane; and the latter glanced around and, recognising him, halted.

"Where's the other hero?" he asked.

"Probably discussing you with the woman he is likely to remarry."

Sprowl shrugged:

"That's what that kind of a man is made for – to marry what others don't have to marry."

"You lie," said Quarren quietly.

Sprowl stared at him: then the long-pent fury overwhelmed his common sense again, and again it was in regard to the woman he had lost by his violence.

"You know," he said, measuring his words, "that you're the same kind of a man, too. And some day, if you're good, you can marry what I don't have to marry – "

He reeled under Quarren's blow, then struck at him blindly with his walking-stick, leaping at him savagely but recoiling, dizzy, half senseless under another blow so terrific that it almost nauseated him.

He stood for a time, supporting himself against a tree; then as his wits returned he lifted his bruised face and stared murderously about him. Quarren was walking toward Witch-Hollow – half way there already and out of earshot as well as sight.

Against the stars something moved on a near hill-top, and Sprowl reeled forward in pursuit, breaking into a heavy and steady run as the thing disappeared in the darkness. But he had seen it move, just beyond that fence, and he seized the top rail and got over and ran forward in the darkness, clutching his stick and calling to Quarren by name.

Where had he gone? He halted to listen, peering around with swollen eyes. Blood dripped from his lips and cheek; he passed his hand over them, glaring, listening. Suddenly he heard a dull sound close behind him in the night; whirled to confront what was coming with an unseen rush, thundering down on him, shaking the very ground.

He made no outcry; there was no escape, nothing to do but to strike; and he struck with every atom of his strength; and went crashing down into darkness. And over his battered body bellowed and raged the bull.

Even the men who found them there in the morning could scarcely drive away the half-crazed brute. And the little daughter of the gardener, who had discovered what was there in the pasture, cowered in the fence corner, crying her heart out for her father's dead master who had spoken kindly to her since she had grown up and who had even taken her into his arms and kissed her the day before when she had brought him a rare orchid from the greenhouse.

Every newspaper in America gave up the right-hand columns to huge headlines and an account of the tragedy at South Linden. Every paper in the world chronicled it. There were few richer men in the world than Langly Sprowl. The tragedy moved everybody in various ways; stocks, however, did not move either way to the surprise of everybody. On second thoughts, however, the world realised that his wealth had been too solidly invested to cause a flurry. Besides he had a younger brother financing something or other for the Emperor of China. Now he would return. The great race would not become extinct.

That night Quarren went back to the Wycherlys and found Molly waiting for him in the library.

"What on earth did Mary Ledwith want of Jim this evening?" she asked.

"Sprowl was in the house."

"What!"

"That's why the poor child telephoned. She was probably afraid of him, and wanted Jim there."

Molly's teeth clicked:

"Jim would have half-killed him. It's probably a good thing he was in town. What did you do?"

"Nothing. Sprowl went all right."

"What did Mary say to you?"

"I didn't see her."

"You didn't see her?"

"No."

Molly's eyes grew rounder:

"Where is Chester Ledwith? He didn't go with you into the house, did he?"

"Yes, he did."

"But where is he? You – you don't mean to say – "

"Yes, I do. He went upstairs and didn't return… So I waited for a while and then – came back."

They sat silent for a while, then Molly lifted her eyes to his and they were brimming with curiosity.

"If they become reconciled," she said, "how are people going to take it, Rix?"

"Characteristically I suppose."

"You mean that some will be nasty about it?"

"Some."

"But then – "

"Oh, Molly, Molly," he said, smiling, "there are more important things than what a few people are likely to think or say. The girl made a fool of herself, and the man weakened and nearly went to pieces. He's found himself again; he's disposed to help her find herself. It was only one of those messes that the papers report every day. Few get out of such pickles, but I believe these two are going to… And somehow, do you know – from something Sprowl said to-night, I don't believe that she went the entire limit – took the last ditch."

Molly reddened: "Why?"

"Because, although they do it in popular fiction, men like Sprowl never really boast of their successes. His sort keep silent – when there's anything to conceal."

"Did he boast?"

"He did. I was sure he was lying, and I – " he shrugged.

"Told him so?"

"Well, something of that sort."

"I believe he was lying, too… It was just like that romantic little fool to run off to Reno after nothing worse than the imprudence of infatuation. I've known her a long while, Rix. She's too shallow for real passion, too selfish to indulge it anyway. His name and fortune did the business for her – little idiot. Really she annoys me."

Quarren smiled: "Her late husband seems to like her. Fools feminine have made many a man happy. You'll be nice to her I'm sure."

"Of course… Everybody will on Mrs. Sprowl's account."

Quarren laughed again, then:

"Meanwhile this Ledwith business has prevented my talking to Strelsa over the telephone," he said.

"Oh, Rix! You said you were going to surprise her in the morning!"

"But I want to see her, Molly. I don't want to wait – "

"It's after ten and Strelsa has probably retired. She's a perfect farmer, I tell you – yawns horribly every evening at nine. Why, I can't keep her awake long enough to play a hand at Chinese Khan! Be reasonable, Rix. You had planned to surprise her in the morning… And – I'm lonely without Jim… Besides, if you are clever enough to burst upon Strelsa's view in the morning when the day is young and all before her, and when she's looking her very best, nobody can tell what might happen… And I'll whisper in your ear that the child has really missed you… But don't be in a hurry with her, will you, Rix?"

"No," he said absently.

Molly picked up her knitting.

"If Chester Ledwith doesn't return by twelve I'm going to have the house locked," she said, stifling a yawn.

At twelve o'clock the house was accordingly locked for the night.

"It's enough to compromise her," said Molly, crossly. "What a pair of fools they are."