Kitabı oku: «The Automobile Girls at Newport: or, Watching the Summer Parade», sayfa 11

CHAPTER XXII – THE TENNIS TOURNAMENT

The girls were dressing for the tennis tournament. The games were to begin at noon, and continue until six o’clock. Three hours later the annual tennis ball took place at the Casino.

“You know, Ruth,” said Bab, fixing a pin in her friend’s collar, as they stood before the mirror, “that the really most important thing in our whole stay at Newport is your winning the silver cup in the tournament to-day.”

“Oh!” cried Ruth. “Don’t be quite so energetic, Bab. You jabbed that pin right into my neck. I believe I am going to win. I can’t imagine a good soldier going into battle with the idea that he is going to be beaten. Why, an idea like that would take all the fight out of a man, or a girl either, for that matter. No, Hugh and I are going to do everything we possibly can to come out winners. But, if we do, Bab, Hugh and I will think we owe it to you and Ralph. You have been such trumps about keeping us up to the mark with your fine playing.”

“Nonsense, Ruth!” retorted Bab, decidedly. “All Ralph and I ask this afternoon is a chance to do some shouting for the winners. What time is the tourney on for the ‘eighteen-year-olds’?”

“Just after lunch; about two o’clock, I believe. Bab, are you nervous about to-night?” Ruth asked. “Do you think there is going to be a scene at the ball? The detectives will be watching Mr. Townsend closely. They suspect that he means to make another big attempt, don’t they?”

“I really don’t know, Ruth,” Barbara answered. “I had a short note from Mr. Burton this morning. I meant to show it to you, but I did not have a chance. It simply said: ‘Thanks. The game is ours. Keep a sharp lookout!’ But I want to forget the whole burglary business to-day. Tennis is the only really important thing. Hurrah for Miss Ruth Stuart, the famous girl champion!” cried Barbara, then suddenly sobered down. The two girls had been in the wildest spirits all day. Indeed, Miss Sallie had sent them into the same room to dress, in order to get rid of them.

“What is the matter, Bab?” said Ruth, turning round to look into her friend’s face.

“I’ve a confession to make to you. In my heart of hearts, way down underneath, I am kind of sneakingly sorry for Harry Townsend. I know he is a rogue and everything that’s wicked. When I think of him in that way I am not sorry for him a bit. Then the thought comes of the man who has been around with us for weeks, playing tennis with us and going to our parties, and I can’t quite take it in.”

“I know just what you mean, Bab,” replied Ruth, reflectively. “Don’t you think it must be the same idea as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? Everyone has a good and a bad side. We can’t help being sorry for the good part of a person, when the evil gets ahead of it. But, then, you and I have never really liked even the good side of Harry Townsend much. So I wonder why we both feel sorry.”

“It’s the woman in us, I suppose,” sighed Bab.

“Ruth, come in here and let me see how you look,” called Miss Sallie. She had sent up to New York for a special tennis costume for Ruth. The suit was a light-weight white serge skirt with an embroidered blouse of handkerchief linen, and the only color was Ruth’s pale blue necktie and the snood on her hair, which was carefully braided and securely fastened to the back of her head.

Gowns were an important part of tournament days; indeed, the New York Horse Show seldom shows more elaborate dressing than does the annual tennis tournament at the Newport Casino.

Mollie and Barbara were the proud owners of two new gowns made by their mother for this special occasion. Bab’s frock was a simple yellow dimity, and she wore a big white hat with a wreath of yellow roses round it.

“You’re a baby blue, Mollie, aren’t you?” asked Grace standing and admiring her little friend. Grace had on a lingerie frock of lavender muslin and lace, and a big hat trimmed in lavender plumes.

“Well,” said Mollie, making her a low bow, “lucky am I to be dressed in blue, if it means I may sit near so lovely a person as you. Fortunately, lavender and blue make a pretty color combination.”

Miss Stuart had a box for the tennis tournament.

When she and the girls entered it, they found it nearly filled with roses. There were no cards except a single one inscribed: “For the Automobile Girls,” for Miss Sallie was as much an automobile girl as any of the others. The girls selected the bunches of flowers that seemed most suited to their costumes. Miss Sallie and Grace immediately decided on the white roses, Mollie chose the pink ones, looking in her pale blue dress and hat like a little Dresden shepherdess.

In some one’s garden a yellow rose bush of the old-fashioned kind must have bloomed for Bab. “Why!” uttered Miss Sallie, holding up Bab’s flowers, from which streamed a long yellow satin bow, “I have not seen these little yellow garden roses since I was a girl. See how they open out their hearts to everyone! Is that like you, Bab? Be careful how you hold them,” teased Miss Sallie; “they have a few thorns underneath, and must be gently handled.”

Ruth half suspected Hugh had been the anonymous giver of the flowers, as soon as she discovered her own bunch. They formed a big ball of pale blue hydrangeas, tied with Ruth’s especial shade of blue ribbon.

“See!” said Ruth, laughing, and holding them up for the other girls to admire. “Hugh was not discouraged by the fact that blue flowers are so hard to find. I wouldn’t have dreamed that hydrangeas could look so lovely, except on the bush.”

Ruth sat in the front of the box, waiting for her name to be called for her tennis match. She was one of the most popular visitors in Newport; nearly everyone who passed her box stopped to wish good luck to her and to Hugh.

“I have seen a good many sights, in my day,” said Miss Sallie, gazing around through her lorgnette, “but never one more beautiful than this.”

The grass of the wide lawns was so perfectly trimmed that it looked like a carpet of moss. Over the green there swept a crowd of laughing, happy people, the women in frocks of every delicate color. Even the sober note that men’s clothes generally make in a gay throng was missing to-day, for the boys, young and old, wore white flannels and light shirts that rivaled the dresses of the girls in the brightness of their hues.

Tier upon tier of seats rose up around the tennis courts; before the first game was called every one was filled.

“Give me my smelling salts, Grace,” said Miss Sallie, when Ruth and Hugh were called out to commence their game. “I shall not look at them until the set is over.”

“O Miss Sallie!” declared Ralph, who had quietly slipped into Ruth’s place next Barbara. “I am ashamed of you for not having more courage. I am certain they will win. We shall have two silver cups in this box in the next hour or so.”

Over the heads of the great crowd Barbara could see the Countess Bertouche. She was standing near Mr. and Mrs. Erwin’s box, in which sat Governor and Mrs. Post, Gladys and Harry Townsend.

For the first time in her acquaintance with them, Barbara saw Harry Townsend leave his seat and walk across the lawn with the countess. Evidently she had made some request of him. Not far off Barbara could also see a tall, blond man, with a curly, light mustache, who followed the pair with his eyes and then moved nonchalantly in their direction.

But Harry Townsend was back with his friends in a minute. He had only taken the countess to her place, so that she need not be alone in the crowd.

Ruth and Hugh were easy winners. They had no such tennis battle as they fought the day they earned the right to represent their crowd over the heads of Ralph and Barbara.

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” shouted the crowd.

Ruth and Hugh were standing near each other in front of the judges’ stand, where the prizes were awarded.

With a low bow, Mr. Cartwright presented Ruth with a beautiful silver cup and to Hugh another of the same kind. On the outside of each cup was engraved a design of two racquets crossing each other, with the word “champion” below.

Barbara and Ruth had given up all their interest and thought to the tennis match during the day; but Ruth having won her cup, both girls’ minds turned to the jewel robbery.

Except for the note Bab had received in the morning, she had had no sign nor signal from the two detectives. The Countess Bertouche, apparently as calm and undisturbed as any of the other guests, had been an interested watcher of the tournament.

The girls were late in arriving at the ball. Miss Stuart had insisted on their resting an hour after dinner, and the affair was in full swing when they entered the beautiful Casino ballroom.

“You’re just in time for the barn dance, all of you,” called Mrs. Cartwright. “We are going to be informal for the next half hour, at least. Come, Ruth, I insist on you and Hugh leading off. You are our special tennis champions. Wasn’t it hard luck that I didn’t win, when my husband was a judge?”

“Miss Thurston,” said Harry Townsend, turning suddenly to Barbara, “won’t you dance with me?”

Barbara’s hands turned cold as ice and her cheeks suddenly flamed. She hated to dance with a man whom she knew to be of the character of Harry Townsend. Yet how could she refuse?

He looked at her coolly, and Bab saw a mocking smile curl the corners of his lips. But he was as smooth and courteous as usual.

“He is the prince of actors,” thought Bab. “I was a goose to let him see how I felt. I will show him that I know how to act as well as he does, when I am forced to it.”

Barbara accepted the invitation quietly. They took their places with the two long rows of dancers extending down the whole length of the great ballroom.

The barn dance, with its merry, unconventional movement, its swinging music and grace, was generally the greatest joy to Bab. But tonight, in spite of her pretense at acting, her feet lagged. She dared not look into the face of her partner. He was as gay and debonair as usual.

When the dance was over, Townsend asked Bab to walk out on the lawn with him.

As Ruth saw Harry and Barbara walk out at the door, she turned suddenly to the stranger with whom she was talking. “Will you,” she said to him, “tell Ralph Ewing I would like to speak to him at once? I want to tell him something that is very important. Please forgive my asking you, but I must see him. I will wait right here until you find him.” It was five – ten minutes, before Ralph was found.

Harry Townsend meant to discover what Barbara Thurston knew. She was a young girl, still at school. He was a man approaching thirty, with a record behind him of nearly ten years of successful villainy.

Would Barbara betray herself? Would she “give the game away?”

“Miss Thurston,” began Harry Townsend, politely, “as I shall be going away from Newport very soon, I want to have a talk with you. I must confess, that, since the night of Mrs. Erwin’s ball, I have been very angry with you. No high-minded man could endure the suggestion you made against my honor, when you asked Hugh Post to search me, so soon after his mother’s jewels had disappeared. But time has passed, and I do not now feel so wounded. Before I go away, would you mind telling me why you made such an accusation against me?”

“Mr. Townsend,” said Barbara, biting her lips, but keeping cool and collected, “is it necessary for you to ask me why I made such an accusation? If it is, then, I beg your pardon. The jewels were not in your possession, certainly, when the search was made. I own I was most unwise.”

“Then you withdraw the accusation?” Townsend was puzzled. He had expected Barbara to defy him, to insist he had stolen the jewels, that she had seen him in the act of doing it. He was wise enough to know that, if he could once make her angry, she would betray what she knew. He had still to discover who the gypsy was that had so strangely revealed to him her knowledge of his crimes.

Barbara’s heart was beating like a sledgehammer.

There was a slight movement in the nearby shrubbery. Harry Townsend wheeled like a flash. Barbara turned at the same instant. It was only a stranger who had wandered across the lawn and mistaken the path, but Barbara knew that his presence there meant eternal vigilance.

“O Mr. Townsend,” she said, “the music is commencing. I would rather return to the ballroom. I have an engagement for this dance.”

Harry Townsend realized he must manage to entice Barbara to a more secluded part of the Casino grounds before he could have a satisfactory talk with her.

“No,” he said, “we will not go back yet, I want to talk to you. We must understand each other better, before the night is over. Come!” He spoke in a voice as cold and hard as ice and took Barbara by the wrist.

Barbara could not jerk away or call for help. She decided it was best to follow him.

“You are not running away, are you, Miss Thurston?” It was Ralph’s voice calling. “I am sure Mr. Townsend will excuse you, as you have a previous engagement with me.”

“Oh, certainly,” said Harry Townsend, pleasantly, “sorry as I am to lose Miss Thurston’s society.” As Barbara and Ralph walked away, he bit his lips savagely. Then he decided to follow the tall man he had seen moving about in the shrubbery. It might be that the man suspected something. But Townsend found him ten minutes later in the smoking-room, quietly moving around among the men.

“Bab,” Ruth had a chance to whisper to her later in the evening, “is it all right with you? I was desperately frightened when I saw you disappear outside with Harry Townsend. Have you noticed something?”

“What?” said Bab, gazing searchingly about her.

“Only,” Ruth answered, “that the Countess Bertouche is not here this evening.”

Both realized that the first card in the game had been played.

CHAPTER XXIII – BROUGHT TO BAY

One other person had noticed, with even greater interest than had Ruth and Bab, that the Countess Bertouche had failed to appear at the ball. That person was the jewel thief, Harry Townsend. He was filled with a silent rage. How dared she fail him this night of all others?

All the fellow’s plans were carefully laid. The woman with the jewels he coveted sat in the ballroom; large and slow witted, she would not be quick either to discover her loss or to raise an alarm. And Harry Townsend was on friendly terms with her. Once she decided to leave the brightly lighted halls for the darkness of the grounds outside, lifting the tiara would be an easy matter. But Townsend never kept the jewels he stole in his possession ten minutes after their theft. How was he to get rid of them to-night?

It was after midnight. Many of the guests had withdrawn to the veranda; the lawns were filled with people walking about. Now Harry Townsend stood back of a row of lights that cast a deep shadow. He was talking to some acquaintances. The women were elegantly gowned, and one of them wore a beautiful diamond tiara.

Bab was standing alone in the door of the girls’ dressing-room. Miss Sallie had called her in, after supper, to smooth her hair. The other girls had been with her, but they had returned to join the dancers. Bab was resting and thinking. Mollie and Grace knew nothing of what she and Ruth had on their minds. The younger girls knew that Harry Townsend and the Countess Bertouche were suspected as thieves, but they did not know that the detectives were on the alert, and that the arrest might come to-night.

Barbara was wondering if she ought to tell Gladys Le Baron what she knew. After all, Gladys was her cousin; and, as she had told Ralph, the other day, Bab felt that there ought to be a certain loyalty among people of the same blood, even when they were not fond of one another.

To-night Gladys Le Baron had been more conspicuous with Harry Townsend than ever before. Not only was she seen with him constantly, but she wore an air of conscious pride, as if to say, “See what a prize I have won!”

Gladys had passed Bab two or three times during the evening, but had pretended not to see her. Now she was coming in at the dressing-room door.

“Gladys,” said Bab, timidly.

Gladys turned to her haughtily. “I would rather,” she said, “that you did not speak to me. We cannot have much to say to each other. Harry Townsend told me” – Gladys spoke so passionately and with such deep anger in her tones that Barbara stared at her aghast – “of the accusation you made against him. He made me promise not to speak of it, but I will speak of it to you. I want you to know that I shall never forgive you as long as I live, and that I shall get even with you some day. You are jealous and envious of me because we have more money, and because Harry Townsend likes me. I want you never to talk to me.”

“O Gladys!” said Barbara. She was angry and hurt, but she was more frightened by the real feeling her cousin showed. Did she care for Mr. Townsend so much? Gladys was nearly eighteen, and Bab knew that ever since she was a girl of fourteen she had been brought up to think she was a young lady.

“Gladys,” said Bab, firmly, “listen to me! Be quiet. I cannot tell you what I wish to say in this ballroom, to-night, among all these people, but I have something to tell you that you simply must know. Do you understand? Come to my house in the morning, and don’t fail.” Barbara’s tones were so new and commanding that Gladys could only stare at her in silent amazement.

“Yes,” she said, meekly; “I will come.”

Bab’s eyes were burning, and her cheeks stung with the shame of the scene between herself and Gladys. In order to be alone in the fresh air, she slipped out of the dressing-room door which opened into a side yard. This yard had a double hedge of althea bushes which led into the back part of the Casino grounds. At the same instant that Bab left the dressing-room door, a man passed her on the other side of the hedge. He was going into the back part of the garden.

The show grounds of the Casino were in a central court. In the rear, back of the kitchens, was a long arbor covered with heavy grapevines. The man Bab followed slipped into this arbor.

When Barbara glanced into it a second later – she dared not move quickly, for fear of making a noise – there was no human figure in sight. “He has gone on down through the arbor and slipped over the fence,” she thought to herself.

She was feeling her way along, trying to keep in the center path. The night was dark, and there were few stars overhead.

Suddenly, Bab gave a little shriek of terror and started back. Crouching in the darkness was a man. His back was turned to Barbara, and, if the darkness was not deceiving her, he was digging in the earth.

But Barbara’s shriek roused him. “You, again!” he cried. He leaped at her, and, before she could call for help, his hand covered her mouth, and her head was pressed back.

“Don’t make a noise,” another voice said quietly. “My instructions were not to make a scene.”

Townsend felt his own arms seized and drawn down to his sides. The big, blond man, who had interrupted his tête-à-tête with Barbara earlier in the evening, was again by his side. A smaller, dark man stood near him.

“Well, we have got you this time with the goods on you, or pretty close to you,” said the smaller detective, striking a match and looking down at his feet. Just near where they stood, only partially concealed by the dirt, which had been hastily dug up, something brilliant flashed and sparkled.

“Did you think, Mr. Townsend,” laughed Detective Burton quietly, “that you were the only clever person in Newport? These jewels you have just stolen are hardly worth the risk you ran. You might get about twenty-five dollars for the lot. I suppose you didn’t know, since it has become the fashion to have a jewel thief in Newport, it has also become the fashion to wear paste jewels.” The man held the tiara in his hand. “But I will restore them to the rightful owner,” he said. “Mrs. Oliver informed me they were gone, two minutes after you slipped them out of her hair.”

Townsend had not spoken. “Don’t,” he now said, with a shudder, “put those handcuffs on my hands. I will go quietly. I see the game is up – thanks to you!” He turned to Barbara with a snarl. But Ruth and Ralph were standing close by her side.

Barbara was much shaken and frightened by her encounter, but she tried to summon a little of her old spirit. “You do me too much honor, Mr. Townsend,” she answered quietly.

“Where is the Countess Bertouche?” asked Townsend stolidly.

“She is ready to leave Newport with you to-night. Only we persuaded her to get ready a little earlier; indeed, we called upon her this afternoon, while she was at the tournament, and were waiting for her when she got back. She had two or three little trinkets in her possession, which she was holding for you, that we wished to return to their rightful owners. The lady will be able to travel as soon as you are. We think it best not to have any excitement in Newport. By the way,” went on the detective – the three young people were listening breathlessly – “the lady is not such a cool customer as you are. She confessed that she was not a countess, but a poor newspaper woman out of a job, whom you enticed down here to help you. She explained that you had been mailing letters of instruction to her by sending them on to New York and having them remailed to her here. A poor business it has been for both of you, I am thinking.”

“Ruth,” said Barbara, quickly, “it’s too awful! Let us go back to Miss Sallie!”