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Brankley and Suzette had often rehearsed in the privacy of their minds the occasion when Elaine should come to pay her personal congratulations to her engaged cousin. It had never been in the least like this. On her return from her enjoyable afternoon visit Elaine found an express messenger letter waiting for her. It was from Comus, thanking her for her loan and returning it.
But these did not love and were not adored like Elaine was. They married either from interest, or that they might not remain old maids, that they might have more liberty and escape from troublesome guardianship.
Then he ran out of the front door and into the woods at an angle to the direction taken by Elaine, turning and going down hill, where a rapid, swollen stream curved about through a gorge. As he reached the stream, he heard a shot above, and a scream. He looked up. There was Elaine, swept down toward him. Below he knew the stream tumbled over a tall cataract into the gorge below. What could he do?
He looked about for signs of an intruder. There was not a sound. No one was about, here. "I don't see any one," he called up to Elaine and Atint Tabby in the window. He happened to look down at the ground. Before him was a small box. He picked it up. "Here's something, though," he said. Joshua went back into the house. "What is it?" asked Elaine as he rejoined the women.
As before, Elaine rode at the head, waving her hand to her father, while the cymbals and the bugles crashed out a welcome. She could not see, but she guessed that he was there, and in return he waved a tremulous hand at her, though well he knew that in the fast gathering twilight, the child of his heart could not see the one who awaited her.
She was dressed in white satin, and bore a lily in her left hand and a letter in her right. The king ordered two of his knights, the good Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval, to carry Elaine into his great hall. Then Arthur read the letter, which said: "Most noble lord, Sir Lancelot of the Lake: I, Elaine, the maid of Astolat, come to take my last farewell of you, for you left me without a farewell.
Just then the police burst through the secret panel and rushed on, leaving us alone, with the unconscious, scarcely breathing Elaine. From the sounds we could tell that they had come to the private room of the Clutching Hand. It was empty and they were non- plussed. "Not a window!" called one. "What are those curtains?" They pulled them back, disclosing an iron door.
I had been out for a tramp over the hills with no destination in particular. As I swung along the road, I heard the throbbing of a car coming up the hill, the cut-out open. I turned, for cars make walking on country roads somewhat hazardous nowadays. As I did so, some one in the car waved to me. I looked again. It was Elaine. "Where are you going?" she called. "Where are YOU going?"
"You're wondering why I've called on you," he began. "You're thinking that a stranger and a busy man at that wouldn't have travelled to Wiesbaden merely to inquire after you. You're thinking that I want something." "What is it you want from me?" asked Elaine with frank directness. "I want your help," returned Larssen with an assumption of equal frankness. "My help! For what?" "For Matheson."
He was looking at his watch. It was now only a few moments past nine o'clock! Not quarter of an hour later, our door was excitedly flung open and Elaine and Perry Bennett arrived. "I've just heard of the accident," she cried, fearfully. "Isn't it terrible. What had we better do?" For a few moments no one said a word.
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