Back Aa

Officer 666

Close

<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> <h3>THRILL BEGETS THRILL.</h3> Gladwin’s exit from the room served as a signal for the agile-witted Barnes to strike while the iron was hot. His friend had hardly vanished through the portières when he turned to Helen with an air of easy confidence, looking frankly into her eyes, and said: “It’s singular that my friend doesn’t know what you referred to––the object of your call,” and he nodded his head with a knowing smile. “Why, do you?” asked Helen eagerly, coming toward him. Whitney’s knowing smile increased in its quality of knowingness and he spoke with an inflection that was quite baffling. “Well,” he said, in a confiding whisper, “I have an idea; but he”––jerking his thumb over his shoulder where Travers Gladwin was last seen departing from view––“is Travers Gladwin’s most intimate friend.” The astonishing character of this information served only further to confuse the beautiful Miss Burton’s already obfuscated reasoning faculties and hypnotize her into that receptive condition where she was capable of believing any solemnly expressed statement. “Really!” she said with a little start of surprise. “Oh, yes,” ran on the glib Barnes, “they are lifelong chums––love each other like brothers; one of those Castor and Pollox affairs, you know––only more so. Never have any secrets from each other and all that sort of thing.” Helen dropped back into her chair and her brow wrinkled with perplexity. “That’s curious,” she said. “I don’t think Travers ever spoke to me about that kind of a friend.” The idea was just burgeoning in her mind to ask for the friend’s name when Barnes hastened on: “Well, now that is singular. Are you sure that”–– The sudden brisk return of Travers Gladwin saved Barnes from an immediate excruciating tax upon his ingenuity. “I’m awfully sorry,” said Gladwin, going to Helen and shaking his head regretfully, “but I couldn’t find him.” “Oh, dear! That’s very provoking!” cried Helen. “He didn’t say he was going out, did he?” “No; I could have sworn he was here a few minutes ago,” spoke up Barnes, turning his head away for fear his smile would suddenly get out of control. “Well, is his man here?” demanded the girl. <div></div> “Why, he let you in,” blurted Gladwin. “I don’t mean the Japanese.” “You mean the butler, perhaps,” Gladwin corrected. “Yes,” Helen answered mechanically. Travers Gladwin felt it was time for Barnes to take a hand again, as his mental airship was bucking badly in the invisible air currents. “Is Gladwin’s butler here?” he inquired sharply, frowning at Barnes. “No,” said Barnes promptly. “I am sorry, but he is not here,” Gladwin communicated to Helen. “Well, where is he?” cried the exasperated Helen. “Where is he?” Gladwin asked Barnes. Whitney Barnes went down for the count of one but bobbed up serenely. “Where is he?” he said with a nonchalant gesture. “Oh, he’s giving a lecture on butling.” The bewildered Miss Burton did not catch the text of this explanation. In her increasing agitation she wrung her hands in her muff and almost sobbed: “I’m sure I don’t know what to do. I simply must get word to him somehow. It’s awfully important.” Whitney Barnes saw the trembling lip and the dampening eye and strove to avert a catastrophe that would probably double the difficulty of probing into the mystery. Turning to Gladwin, but half directing his remarks to Helen, he said: <div></div> “I’ve just been telling the ladies that you and Travers are bosom pals.” Travers Gladwin flashed one look of amazement and then caught on. “Oh, yes,” he cried, “we are very close to each other––I couldn’t begin to tell you how close.” “And I have also hinted,” pursued Barnes, “that you never have any secrets from each other, and that I felt sure that you knew all about––all about––a––a er––to-night.” “Oh, of course,” assented Gladwin, beginning to warm up to his part and feel the rich thrill of the mystery involved. “Yes, yes––of course––he’s told me all about to-night.” “Has he?” gasped Helen, looking into the young man’s brown eyes for confirmation, feeling that she liked the eyes, but uncertain that she read the confirmation. “Yes, everything,” lied Gladwin, now glowing with enthusiasm. All this while the shy and silent Sadie had remained demurely in her chair looking from one to the other and vainly endeavoring to catch the drift of the conversation. Sadie was too dainty a little soul to be possessed of real reasoning faculties. The one thought that had been uppermost in her mind all day was that Helen was taking a desperate step, probably embarking upon some terrible tragedy. She had hungered for an opportunity to compare notes with some sturdier will than her own and the instant she heard Travers Gladwin admit that he “knew all about to-night” she rose from her chair and asked, breathlessly, turning up her big, appealing eyes to Travers Gladwin: “Then won’t you––oh, please, won’t you––tell her what you think of it?” There was something so naïve and innocent in Sadie’s attitude and expression that Whitney Barnes was charmed. It also tickled his soul to see how thoroughly his friend was stumped. So to add to Travers’s confusion he chimed in: “Oh, yes, go on and tell her what you think of it.” “I’d rather not,” said Gladwin ponderously, trying to escape from the appealing eyes. “But really you ought to, old chap,” reproved Barnes. “It’s your duty to.” “Oh, yes, please do!” implored Sadie. The victim was caught three ways. Both young ladies regarded him earnestly and with looks that hung upon his words, while Barnes stood to one side with a solemn long face, elbow in one hand and chin gripped tightly in the other, manifestly for the moment withdrawn from rescue duty. There was nothing for the badgered young man to do but mentally roll up his sleeves and plunge in. “Well, then,” with exaggerated sobriety, “if you must know––I think––that is, when I was thinking of it––or I mean, what I had thought of it, when I was thinking of it––turning it over in my mind, you know––why, it didn’t seem to me––I am afraid”––turning squarely on Helen––“what I am going to say will offend you.” “On the contrary,” cried Helen, flushing to her tiny pink ears, “if you are Travers’s best friend, I should like to know just what you think of it.” “Well, then,” said Travers Gladwin desperately, “if you must know the truth, I don’t like it.” “There!” breathed Sadie, overjoyed, and dropped back in her chair. But Helen Burton was far from pleased. “You don’t like what?” she demanded. “Why––this thing to-night,” he groped. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew Mr. Hogg,” the indignant girl flung out. “There, Gladwin––that’s a clincher––you don’t know Hogg.” Whitney Barnes was up to his ears in clover. “How do you know I don’t know him?” asked Gladwin, a little wildly. “Why, how could you?” said Helen, accusingly. “How could I know Mr. Hogg?” “Yes.” “Why, just go out to his pen, introduce yourself and shake his tail.” Helen failed to see the humor of this sally and again the tears struggled for an outlet. “Now you’re making fun of me,” she said, turning away. “I think it’s very unkind.” <div></div> Travers Gladwin felt a sharp pang of remorse and hated himself for his break. In his eagerness to repair the wound, he stepped to the young girl’s side and said with great seriousness: “I wouldn’t hurt you in any way for the world.” Helen looked up at him and read the soul of sincerity and sympathy in his eyes. She was both reassured and embarrassed by the intensity of his look. “Really?” she managed to murmur, backing away and sitting down again. The mention of Mr. Hogg had inflamed Whitney Barnes’s curiosity, and he desired to know more of that unknown. “Well, I don’t see what Mr. Hogg has to do with it,” he spoke up. “Why, Auntie insists upon my marrying him.” Helen blurted this out involuntarily “That’s dreadful!” exclaimed Whitney Barnes, and Helen rewarded him with a smile of gratitude. <hr class="toprule" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2