Nothing But the Truth

sang Gee-gee, in the rather execrable French some one had drilled into her.

“Come and catch me,” was the refrain.

Bob shook his head. He didn’t want to play at that game. But life was a game of hide-and-seek, all right. He permitted himself the luxury of smiling as he once more looked over at the hammer-thrower and applauded Gee-gee. Odd, the idea of the hammer-thrower being that person he (Bob) was supposed to be, had never occurred to the latter! But no one ever would suspect that face! “My face is my fortune, sir,” he might have said. The hammer-thrower caught Bob’s smile.

“‘Come and catch me,’” reiterated Gee-gee.

That might be applicable to the hammer-thrower. Bob, for the moment, felt as happy as a child who has discovered the solution of a puzzle. So that when Miss Gerald deigned casually to glance at him, she was surprised at his new expression. It seemed a long while since Bob had looked happy, but now he looked almost like his old self. Was it the near presence of the temperamental young thing that had wrought this change, Miss Gerald might well have asked herself.

Violet eyes looked now into temperamental dark ones. Gwendoline, too, was smiling – at the song. But it was that cryptic kind of a smile once more. Bob’s smile was a rather large cryptic counterpart of Miss Gerald’s. The temperamental little thing, though, didn’t smile. She seemed reading Miss Gerald’s soul. She was dropping a plumb-line deep down into it.

Then Miss Gerald turned again to the hammer-thrower, who talked to her just as if Bob hadn’t seen anything, or imagined he had. Gee-gee sat down, at the same time condescending to bestow upon Bob a triumphal look. He had dared to scoff at her histrionic talent, had he? Well, she had shown him – and them. Maybe with a little publicity, she would become a star of dazzling magnitude. At that moment, the world looked bright to Gee-gee.

CHAPTER XVIII – A FORMIDABLE ADVERSARY

What a merry mad wag that hammer-thrower really must be at heart! thought Bob. How he was chuckling inside, or laughing in his sleeve most of the time while he went around with that heavy, serious, reliable visage of his! And that ponderous manner? – What lively little imps of mischief or fancy it concealed! That simulated slow tread, too? – Bob surmised he could get around pretty fast on occasions, if he wanted to, or had to. He was dancing very seriously with Miss Gerald now, seeming to take dancing as a kind of a moral lesson. Oh, that “duty talk” to Bob! He would “consider” Bob’s case! – He wanted to ponder over it – he? And how painfully in earnest he had been when he had sprung what his father had said about not giving a fellow a shove when he was down!

Bob disentangled himself as soon as he could from the temperamental little thing and went into the billiard room, where he began to toy with the ivories. If there was one thing he could do, it was play billiards. But he retired to the seclusion of the billiard room now principally for the reason that he expected the hammer-thrower would follow him there. He felt almost sure the other would seek him. So, though Bob proceeded to execute one or two fancy shots with much skill, his thoughts were not on the ivories. He was considering his position in relation to the hammer-thrower. He (Bob) might entertain a profound conviction regarding the latter’s profession, but could he prove anything?

True, he now remembered and could point out that the latter had attended all those functions where losses had occurred. But that wasn’t in itself particularly significant. Other people, also, had attended all the functions in question. Bob couldn’t even actually swear he had seen the other in his room when he had dropped something from Bob’s window to some one lurking below. Bob hadn’t had the chance to recognize him on that occasion. As far as evidence went, the “boot was all on the other leg.” The hammer-thrower was obviously in a position to use Bob to pull chestnuts out of the fire for him.

But why had he not denounced Bob to the entire household, then and there, when he had discovered him before Gee-gee’s door? Perhaps the hammer-thrower didn’t yet know that any one knew there had been substituted one or two imitation articles of jewelry for real ones. If this were so, then from his point of view a denunciation of Bob might lead to an investigation which would reveal the fact that substitutions had occurred and in consequence he would be but curtailing the period of his own future activities in this decidedly fertile field. He hadn’t, of course, refrained through any feeling of charity or commiseration for Bob. He had, moreover, paved the way to use Bob in the future, if need be, by discreetly mentioning the incident to Miss Gerald. Bob might prove serviceable as an emergency man. All this had no doubt been floating through the hammer-thrower’s brain while he had stood there with that puzzled, aggrieved and righteous expression.

A slight sound behind him caused Bob to turn quickly and, as he had expected, he beheld the hammer-thrower. Here was renewed confirmation of that which he had just learned.

“I felt it my duty to inform Miss Gerald of what occurred last night,” began the hammer-thrower without prelude.

“I know that already,” said Bob, continuing his play.

“Ah, then I am wasting time. But having concluded that it was incumbent on me to take that course, I thought it but right to come to you and tell you what I had done. Square thing, you know.”

Bob grinned. “Say it in Latin,” he observed flippantly.

A slight frown gathered on the other’s brow. “I really fail to understand. You placed me in an unpleasant position. It was not easy to speak of such a matter.”

“Then why did you?” said Bob lightly, executing a difficult play.

“You do not seem to realize there are some things we have to do.”

“Duty, eh?” observed Bob with another grin.

“Without wishing to pose as puritanical, or as a prig, I may say you have hit the nail fairly on the head.”

“Oh, you aren’t a prig,” said Bob. “You’re a lu-lu.”

“I don’t know whether you mean to be complimentary or not,” returned the hammer-thrower with unvarying seriousness. “As I believe I have remarked before, you appear totally not to comprehend your own position. I might have awakened the house and what would have been your status then? There have of late been so many mysterious burglaries at large country-houses and in the big city homes of the affluent that a guest, found rambling about in pajamas at unseemly hours, courts, to put it mildly, suspicion. Anyhow, for my own protection, I had to speak to Miss Gerald. You see that, don’t you? We’ll waive the moral side.”

“‘Your own protection’ is good,” said Bob, sending his ball twice around the table and complacently observing the result.

“I mean that if it became known that I had secreted you in my room and said nothing about it, it would, in a measure, place me in the light of being an accomplice,” returned the hammer-thrower, ignoring the point in Bob’s last words. “I don’t know whether anything will be discovered missing here or not, but if there should be – ?”

“Things will be discovered missing, all right,” returned Bob. “What was that you dropped out of the window in my room last night?”

The hammer-thrower stared at him. “I? – your room?” he said at length very slowly, with the most genuine amazement written all over his serious reliable features.

“You! My room!” repeated Bob. “You didn’t expect me to come back. I gave you quite a surprise, didn’t I? You are certainly some sprinter.”

Still the hammer-thrower continued to stare. “Mad!” he said at last. “I hardly credited it before, but now – That private sanatorium! – No doubt, it was best.”

Bob laughed. “That sanatorium fits in fine, doesn’t it? You’ll be trying the little abduction act next, yourself, I suppose.”

“I’m trying to make up my mind whether you aren’t really a dangerous person to be at large,” said the hammer-man heavily. “You might say something like that to some one else. You appear absolutely irresponsible.”

“I might,” observed Bob tentatively. Oh, if he only could!

“However, I hardly think you will,” remarked the other in his heaviest manner. “By the way, you play pretty good billiards.”

“Thanks awfully. Want to play?”

“Don’t mind.” And the hammer-thrower took down a cue.

“I should dearly like to beat you,” said Bob in wistful tones.

“And I should as dearly like not to be beaten by you, or any one else,” returned the other.

“I know,” conceded Bob, not without a touch of admiration, “you’re a great chap for winning prizes and things. You’ve taken no end of cups, haven’t you? I mean, legitimately.”

“Yes; I usually go in to win.” The other professed not to hear Bob’s last words.

“And you’ve been feted some, in consequence, too, haven’t you?” said Bob suddenly. “You were at the Duke of Somberland’s, I remember.” Meaningly. He remembered, too, that articles of great value had disappeared from the duke’s place at the same time.

“I believe I was. Met no end of interesting people!”

“And weren’t you at Lord Tumford’s?” Bob recalled reading how jewels had mysteriously vanished in the case of Lord Tumford’s guests, also.

“Yes, got asked over for the shooting. Believe I did very well for an American not accustomed to the British method of slaughter.”

“No doubt,” said Bob. The hammer-thrower was getting bigger in his way every moment. Now he had become an operator of international importance.

“Speaking about winning, you were on the losing team at college, weren’t you?” he observed significantly.

“Quite so!” answered Bob. “We worked awfully hard and ought to have won, but fate, I guess, was against us.”

“We,” said the hammer-man in his ponderous way, “are fate. Arbiters of our destinies! We succeed, or we don’t. And when we fail, it is we that fail. Fate hasn’t anything to do with it.”

“Maybe you’re right,” assented Bob. “I don’t know. Anyhow, it’s a test of true sportsmanship to know how to lose.”

“Not to whine, you mean? True. But it’s better not to lose. Now go ahead and try to beat me.”