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Updated: June 9, 2025
Billy would be far more likely to take that than the highroad and it leads to the Burgeman farm, too, run by an old couple that simply adore Billy. He might go there when he wouldn't go anywhere else. That's the place for a message. But what message?" "I know!" Patsy clapped her hands. "Have ye a scrap of paper anywheres about ye and a pencil?"
The master of Quality House happened to be a director of that bank on which the Burgeman check of ten thousand had been drawn. It had been the largest check drawn to cash presented at the bank; and the teller had confessed to the directors that he would never have paid over the money to any one except the old man's son.
Burgeman senior, alone with his servants on the largest estate in Arden, ordered one of the nurses to wheel him to the border of his own private lake a place where breezes blew if there were any about and leave him there alone until Fitzpatrick, his lawyer, came from town.
Now that Arden had become a definitely unavoidable goal, she was more loath to reach it than she had been on any of the seven days since the beginning of her quest. However the quest ended whether she found Billy Burgeman or not, or whether there was any need now of finding him this much she knew: for her the road ended at Arden. What lay beyond she neither tried nor cared to prophesy.
"How did ye know?" "Sure, who but an Irishman would have had his wits and his heart working at the same time?" And with a laugh Patsy left him and went inside. Her eye ran systematically down the rows of seats. Billy Burgeman was not there. She passed through to the next car, and a second, and a third. Still there was no back she could identify as belonging to the man she was pursuing.
Patsy said nothing while he replenished her plate and helped himself to another sandwich. At last she asked, casually, "Did the two of you ever have a disagreement over Marjorie Schuyler?" "He asked me once just what I thought of her, and I told him. We never discussed her again." "No?" Inwardly Patsy was tabulating why Billy Burgeman had not gone to his friend when Marjorie Schuyler failed him.
She clung to it as the one tangible thing left to her out of all the happenings and memories of her quest. The tinker had disappeared as completely as if the earth had swallowed him, leaving behind no reason for his going, no hope of his coming again; Billy Burgeman was still but a flimsy promise; and Joseph had outstripped them both, passing beyond her farthest vision.
In fact, he had been so much concerned over it afterward that he had called up the Burgeman office, and had been much relieved to have the assurance of the secretary that the check was certified and perfectly correct. Not a second thought would have been given to the matter had not the secretary's resignation been made public the next day the day Billy Burgeman disappeared.
"It was the best, the very best I've ever seen you or any one else play it. For the first time Rosalind seemed a real girl." But it was the voice of Gregory Jessup that carried above the others: "Have you heard, Miss O'Connell? Burgeman died last night, and Billy was with him. He's come home." "Faith! then there's some virtue in signs, after all." A hush fell on the group.
Gregory Jessup had curled up unceremoniously at her feet, balancing a caviar sandwich, a Camembert cheese, and a bottle of ale with extraordinary dexterity. "I was thinking about Billy Burgeman." He cast a furtive look toward the others beyond them.
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