Coming Through the Rye (15 page)

Romayne looked at her a moment with sorrow in her eyes and then walked silently up to her own room and knelt beside her bed. There was only One in all the universe that could offer her sympathy now, and that was God Almighty. All others seemed to have failed.

T
he sea was calm as a mirror of silver, and the moon shone down with almost the brilliance of high noon as the great ship slid evenly along over the glassy surface.

It seemed like a fairy world to the girl who sat on the deck beside her father watching the rippled pathway of jeweled light from the ship toward the moon. It was as if that pathway of scintillating gems out there on the water led to her own future that lay awaiting her, the future that had lain so long behind the rosy curtains of her imagination, and to which now she seemed to be fast traveling.

Isabel Worrell had not been abroad since she was quite a small child. She had been kept in school, and in summer camps, and well out of the way of the social activities of her happy, attractive mother, who did not believe in being hampered with children until they were old enough to make a debut in the world and take care of themselves. It was, therefore, not with jaded appetite of the modern young society girl who has traveled the globe several times before she is out of her teens that Isabel came to the trip that had dropped down into her scheme of living so unexpectedly but the day before, and she was fully prepared to enjoy every moment of it. Her only regret was for the house party that had been so unceremoniously broken in upon—her first house party where she would have had all the responsibility and everything just as she wanted it; for her mother was away in the mountains with a party of friends, and she had been promised full sway, with only an ancient cousin, who didn't count, for chaperone.

But what were parties compared with a trip to Europe with her indulgent father, who of late had not seemed to care how much money he spent upon her and was willing to gratify her every whim. She only felt sorry for one girl, that sweet Romayne Ransom, who was so shy and had been so pleased at the invitation. She had a fancy that Romayne and she were destined to be great friends. When she came back home, she would send for her and have her stay with her for several weeks. She was just the kind of girl who would be likely to fit in with all her plans and be willing to take the background when she wanted her to. Besides, she had grown very fond of her during their last term of school together. Romayne was awfully handy when it came near examination time; she always knew just what to study up and what subjects would be likely to come up in the questions. And Romayne really had a lovely disposition. It was a shame she didn't get the word in time and had all that journey for nothing. Isabel wondered whether, after all, she had really written that note to Romayne when she wrote the others, or had she only promised herself she would write it? She distinctly remembered trying to call her up and failing, and then starting upstairs to write the note, but she wasn't sure it had ever been written. Well, never mind. The water was a sheet of silver, the gemmed pathway to her vague sweet future was flecked with gold, and the night was perfect. There was music in the cabin, floating out in the most enticing strains, and there were dozens of interesting-looking young people aboard. Presently, when Daddy had his smoke, she would go inside and dance, and then perhaps she and—someone else—who would it be?—would come out for a walk on deck. Why worry about poor little Romayne Ransom? There would be time enough to make it up to her after she returned in the fall. What if she hadn't written the letter?

Her father's secretary came across the deck briskly, as he always came when he approached his chief with a bit of business. How tiresome! Now Daddy would begin another cigar, and she would have to wait until that was finished, for it wouldn't do to go in alone this first night on board.

Several young men and girls strolled by, and she watched them eagerly, impatient to be of their number and begin her good times. The jeweled pathway on the water had lost its charm. Her head was turned toward the music and the lights and the moving figures.

But the low tones of the men beside her went steadily on, and somehow the words drifted to her ears and caught her attention, for the wind was just right for her to hear everything they said.

“And what about Ransom?” her father was asking. That was what attracted her attention first. Ransom was not a common name.

“Did they get him? I'm afraid he's not a man who knows how to act quickly in an emergency. He's too elegant! He feels his own importance. I felt that from the first.”

“Ransom had a stroke of apoplexy!” announced the young secretary in a dry, hard tone that was used to dealing out facts that were in themselves nothing to him.

“You don't say!” said the elder man, startled. “Did he die?”

“Judge Freeman thought not. His last message was that the man was still alive but unconscious. Had not rallied at all.”

“Well, if he dies, we're safe. Dead men can't tell any tales,” said Mr. Worrell speculatively. “If he lives, I'm not so sure of him under pressure. His aristocratic ego couldn't endure humiliation, and he'd be very likely to blab, I'm afraid. It's best if he dies. A lot will die with him, and things will straighten out a great deal sooner. What of that rat of a son? It was all his fault anyhow, getting mixed up with that gang, and letting us in for a lot of suspicion. That murder was a most unfortunate thing for our plans—”

Isabel sat listening and trying to piece things together. What could it all mean? Was it Mr. Ransom, Romayne's father, about whom they were talking? That handsome man with the elegant bearing and the silvery-white hair? She had seen him but once, but had admired him greatly. He seemed to her like a fine old portrait of a southern gentleman. She had been greatly impressed by him, and by his smile and his courtly ways. And what was this about a murder? And, why,
how heartless
they were! Saying it was best if the man died! Poor Romayne! But then, of course, it must be somebody else. It couldn't be Romayne's father who was stricken. She would ask as soon as they were through with their business talk.

So Isabel sat watching the silver sea and turning impatient eyes toward the sounds of music and wishing her father would hurry.

The secretary went away at last, and Isabel turned to her father with questions.

“Who were you talking about, Daddy? You said ‘Ransom.' That wasn't Romayne's father, was it?”

“Romayne? Who is Romayne?” asked her father, a trifle annoyed, she thought.

“Why, Romayne is that lovely new friend of mine that I met last winter at school—the girl you said you thought was so charming, the one that didn't get the word about the house party and was at lunch with us yesterday.”

“Oh, why, to be sure! Was her name Ransom? I hadn't connected the two.”

“Why yes, Daddy, you told her you knew her father! How tiresome you are sometimes with your old business! Who is her father, and was it he you were talking about? He's a splendid-looking man, with white hair and gold glasses with a chain.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Worrell, “I'm afraid it's the same man. Why, yes, we were talking about him. He's been stricken with apoplexy, Parker tells me. There's just been a message from Judge Freeman. It's very sad, of course. I'm sorry for your little friend. It will go hard with her, I'm afraid. You must write her a letter of sympathy.”

“Oh, how terrible!” said Isabel in a shocked voice. “But, Daddy, what did you have to do with Mr. Ransom? I heard you say it would be a good thing for you if he died. What on earth could you have meant?”

“You shouldn't try to get in on business talks,” said the father shortly. “You wouldn't understand, of course. Mr. Ransom has had an under position with a company in which I am interested. He is too much of a gentleman to be a very good businessman, and I'm afraid he has bungled things badly. He has a son, too, who is a bad egg, I'm afraid. He has made a mess of things and got us misrepresented. I was utterly against taking either of them on, but it seems Judge Freeman was an old friend of the mother, who is dead, and he would have it.”

“But I can't understand why it would be better for any man to be dead.”

“Well, you wouldn't, of course, child! You haven't any head for business.”

“But I want to understand, Daddy.”

“Well, you see, it's this way. There are some people in town who think they have been divinely appointed to stick their noses into other people's business, and they have been nosing around and trying to make it appear that we are illegal in our dealings.”

“You're not, of course, Daddy?”

“Of course not!” said the father in a vexed tone.

“Then why did you say it would be best for Mr. Ransom to die?”

“Well, because he knows too much about our affairs and might say something unwise. I have discovered that he hasn't much tact or diplomacy. Besides, these cranks that are making us trouble have a lot of antiquated notions and are determined to put us back in the Dark Ages and hamper our rights, and I don't feel that this man is at all fitted to cope with the matter. It is to our advantage to have him out of the way just now.”

“But
Daddy
! To wish a man
dead
just
for that
! Oh Daddy! Suppose it was you! Suppose it was my daddy instead of Romayne's! How awful it would be. Is just business worth a man's
dying
?”

“Good heavens! Isabel, what's come over you? Of course I didn't mean that except in joke. Come, you're getting morbid. Do let business alone. I have enough trouble just now without having to explain it all to a child. Little girls were made to have a good time and not pry into matters that don't concern them. It's my business to earn the money for you to spend, and yours to have a good time spending it, not to worry about the details of how it's made. Come, let's go in and see what's going on. That music sounds good, and there are plenty of nice young people for you to frolic with. You can go and send some flowers to your friend Romayne by wireless if you want to, and then
forget her
! You can't bear the troubles of the world. Run along in and dance now and have a good time!”

Isabel arose only half convinced and went with her father, solacing herself by giving earnest directions about the wireless message to the florist, and presently was in the midst of a happy chattering group, her feet fluttering to be off to the music, forgetful of everything else but the joy of living.

Outside the jeweled pathway of the moon on the silver summer sea, and far away her friend suffering and sorrowing, but Isabel had forgotten it all and was doing what she called “living.”

A few miles farther up the coast on a white-winged yacht whose appointments were perfect, and whose company most select, Judge Freeman was seated in a luxurious cabin discussing with three other partners the situation as it had been reported in several successive wireless messages received since they had left New York.

“If the man died, of course, we sha'n't have any immediate necessity for worry, as I see it,” said a large, flabby man whom they called Steinmetz. “The papers were all destroyed at the time the new company was formed. Our names are not connected with the affair in any way. And with Ransom dead, that lets us out completely.”

“You forget the son,” said Judge Freeman significantly.

“I didn't know that he was a factor in the matter,” frowned the flabby man. “I thought the man Ransom was sworn to absolute secrecy. I thought you were so sure you could trust him.”

“Yes, but the son was taken into the matter, you know,” put in a little wiry fellow named Dodd, who seemed to be a sort of henchman or mentor. He kept notes on all that was said and put each man in mind of any point that seemed to be forgotten as the argument progressed. It seemed to be his function in the group, for which he was probably well paid.

“When?” glared Steinmetz. “Why wasn't I told?” He glared at Judge Freeman.

“He was taken in because we found he was onto some things already, and, being much too bright to put anything over on, we decided to put him under such strong obligation that we could use him also,” answered the cool voice of the judge, looking at the other man with a keen little eye of hate. One could easily see that here were two who would have injured one another if they had not been partners in crime and had to stick together. The judge was the keeper and cooler man of the two.

“Well, then, why isn't he safe? Isn't he still under obligation? What was the obligation?”

“A big running salary and a chance to make his own pile on the side,” rumbled Freeman, still eyeing the other contemptuously.

“Well, then, why isn't he safe?” snapped Steinmetz.

Another well-fed member with the name of Goldsmidt spoke up.

“Because he was fool enough to play around with a crowd that stole an automobile and got mixed up in a murder. It's what I said in the first place. We got too many in on this. Now he's got himself arrested, and there's bound to be a lot of questions.”