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Updated: May 4, 2025
"It is commonly believed that he is about to marry her." "But how on earth has it happened that I never heard a whisper of this preposterous thing?" "It is extraordinary. Sometimes the one interested is the last to hear what every one is talking about." "Well, I never was so amused!" Yet Mrs. Carshaw's wintry smile was not joyous. "Rex! I must laugh him out of it, if I meet him anywhere!"
And, on a sudden, Carshaw was aware of a shouting, though he could not make out the words. It was Mick the Wolf, who had clambered into the tonneau and was bellowing: "Pull up, you Pull up, or I'll get you sure!" Nor was the threat a waste of words, for he had hardly shouted when again a bullet flicked past Carshaw's head.
Rachel Craik had never ascertained Carshaw's name, as it was not necessary that he should register in the Fairfield Inn, and Fowle, with a nose still rather tender to the touch, never spoke to her of the man who had smashed it.
Touched by the misery in Carshaw's eyes, he added: "What you really want is a marriage license. The minute you set eyes on Winifred rush her to the City Hall." "Once we meet we'll not part again," came the earnest vow.
In the river, unknown to him, was the police launch. On the wharf, plain in view, were several policemen, whose clothes in nowise concealed their character. On the bridge, visible now, was the uniformed police-captain. Above all, there was Fowle, wriggling in Carshaw's grasp, and pointing frantically at him, Voles. "Come right along, Mr.
Carshaw's well-bred syllables brought him back to sanity with chill deliberateness. "Shall I go on?" she said. "Shall I tell you of Rachel Bartlett; of the scandal to be raised about your ears, not only by this falsified trust, but by the outrageous attack on Ronald Tower?" He raised his pallid face. He was a proud man, and resented her merciless taunts.
It was on the tip of Carshaw's tongue to assure her that they were going to New York by the first train, and would hie themselves straight to the City Hall for a marriage license. But he had a mother, a prized and deeply reverenced mother. Ought he to break in on her placid and well-balanced existence with the curt announcement that he was married, even to a wife like Winifred.
He might have referred guardedly to Senator Meiklejohn. But he did not. Oddly enough, his temperament was singularly alike to Carshaw's, and that is why sparks flew. The heart, however, is deceitful, and Fate is stronger than an irritated young man whose conventional ideals have been besmirched by being marched through the streets in custody.
So he slowly hammered out a conclusion, and, having appraised it in his narrow circle of thought, determined to put it into effect. An East Orange doctor, who had received his instructions from the police, paid a second visit to Mick the Wolf shortly before the hour of Mrs. Carshaw's arrival in Atlantic City.
The mere sight of Fowle prowling in unwholesome quest stirred upwrath in Carshaw's mind; and the heart, always subtle and self-deceiving, whispered elatedly: "Here you have an excuse for renewing an acquaintance which you wished to make yourself believe you did not care to renew." He walked straight to the door of the brown-stone house and rang. Then he rapped. There was no answer.
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