The Dark Star

Until he had met Rue Carew he had taken measures to fight the

statutory charges, hoping to involve Venem and escape alimony. Then he

met Ruhannah, and became willing to pay for his freedom. And he was

still swamped in the vile bog of charges and countercharges, not yet

free from it, not yet on solid ground, when the eternal gambler in him

suggested to him that he take the chance of marrying this young girl

before he was legally free to do so.

Why on earth did he want to take such a chance? He had only a few

months to wait. He had never before really cared for any woman. He

loved her--as he understood love--as much as he was capable of loving.

If in all the world there was anything sacred to him, it was his

sentiment regarding Rue Carew. Yet, he was tempted to take the chance.

Even she could not escape his ruling passion; at the last analysis,

even she represented to him a gambler's chance. But in Brandes there

was another streak. He wanted to take the chance that he could marry

her before he had a right to, and get away with it. But his nerve

failed. And, at the last moment, he had hedged, engaging Parson

Smawley to play the lead instead of an ordained clergyman.

All these things he now thought of as he stood undecided, worried, in

the telephone booth behind the bar at the Gayfield House. Twice Stull

had spoken, and had been bidden to wait and to hold the wire.

Finally, shaking off the premonition of coming trouble, Brandes called

again: "Ben?"

"Yes, I'm listening."

"I'll stay in Paris if there's trouble."

"And throw Stein down?"

"What else is there to do?"

"Well, you can wait, can't you? You don't seem to be able to do that

any more, but you better learn."

"All right. What next?"

"Make a quick getaway. Now!"

"Yes, I'm going at once. Keep me posted, Ben. Be good!"

He hung up and went out to the wide, tree-shaded street where Ruhannah

sat in the runabout awaiting him, and the new chauffeur stood by the

car.

He took off his straw hat, pulled a cap and goggles from his pocket.

His man placed the straw hat in the boot.

"Get what you wanted, Rue?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Been waiting long?"

"I--don't think so."

"All right," he said cheerily, climbing in beside her. "I'm sorry I

kept you waiting. Had a business matter to settle. Hungry?"

Rue, very still and colourless, said no, with a mechanical smile. The

chauffeur climbed to the rumble.

"I'll jam her through," nodded Brandes as the car moved swiftly

westward. "We'll lunch in Albany on time."

Half a mile, and they passed Neeland's Mills, where old Dick Neeland

stood in his boat out on the pond and cast a glittering lure for

pickerel.