At half-past nine I heard the sound of a horse driven furiously up the
drive. It came to a stop in front of the house, and immediately after
there were hurried steps on the veranda. Our nerves were not what they
should have been, and Gertrude, always apprehensive lately, was at the
door almost instantly. A moment later Louise had burst into the room
and stood there bareheaded and breathing hard!
"Where is Halsey?" she demanded. Above her plain black gown her eyes
looked big and somber, and the rapid drive had brought no color to her
face. I got up and drew forward a chair.
"He has not come back," I said quietly. "Sit down, child; you are not
strong enough for this kind of thing."
I don't think she even heard me.
"He has not come back?" she asked, looking from me to Gertrude. "Do you
know where he went? Where can I find him?"
"For Heaven's sake, Louise," Gertrude burst out, "tell us what is
wrong. Halsey is not here. He has gone to the station for Mr.
Jamieson. What has happened?"
"To the station, Gertrude? You are sure?"
"Yes," I said. "Listen. There is the whistle of the train now."
She relaxed a little at our matter-of-fact tone, and allowed herself to
sink into a chair.
"Perhaps I was wrong," she said heavily. "He--will be here in a few
moments if--everything is right."
We sat there, the three of us, without attempt at conversation. Both
Gertrude and I recognized the futility of asking Louise any questions:
her reticence was a part of a role she had assumed. Our ears were
strained for the first throb of the motor as it turned into the drive
and commenced the climb to the house. Ten minutes passed, fifteen,
twenty. I saw Louise's hands grow rigid as they clutched the arms of
her chair. I watched Gertrude's bright color slowly ebbing away, and
around my own heart I seemed to feel the grasp of a giant hand.
Twenty-five minutes, and then a sound. But it was not the chug of the
motor: it was the unmistakable rumble of the Casanova hack. Gertrude
drew aside the curtain and peered into the darkness.
"It's the hack, I am sure," she said, evidently relieved. "Something
has gone wrong with the car, and no wonder--the way Halsey went down
the hill."
It seemed a long time before the creaking vehicle came to a stop at the
door. Louise rose and stood watching, her hand to her throat. And
then Gertrude opened the door, admitting Mr. Jamieson and a stocky,
middle-aged man. Halsey was not with them. When the door had closed
and Louise realized that Halsey had not come, her expression changed.
From tense watchfulness to relief, and now again to absolute despair,
her face was an open page.