Part 29 (2/2)
She rose when he did, but her face was averted and he could not see her eyes when he went on in a tone from which every emotion save that of mere friendly solicitude was carefully effaced: ”May I go up and jolly Wingfield a bit? He'll think it odd if I go without looking in at him.”
”If you should go without doing that for which you came,” she corrected, with the same impersonal note in her voice. ”Of course, you may see him: come with me.”
She led the way up the grand stair and left him at the door of a room in the wing which commanded a view of the sky-pitched backgrounding mountains. The door was ajar, and when he knocked and pushed it open he saw that the playwright was in bed, and that he was alone.
”By Jove, now!” said a weak voice from the pillows; ”this is neighbourly of you, Ballard. How the d.i.c.kens did you manage to hear of it?”
”Bad news travels fast,” said Ballard, drawing a chair to the bedside.
He did not mean to go into details if he could help it; and to get away from them he asked how the miracle of recovery was progressing.
”Oh, I'm all right now,” was the cheerful response--”coming alive at the rate of two nerves to the minute. And I wouldn't have missed it for the newest thousand-dollar bill that ever crackled in the palm of poverty.
What few thrills I can't put into a description of electrocution, after this, won't be worth mentioning.”
”They have left you alone?” queried Ballard, with a glance around the great room.
”Just this moment. The colonel and Miss Cauffrey and Miss Dosia were with me when the buzzer went off. Whoever sent you up pressed the b.u.t.ton down stairs. Neat, isn't it. How's Bromley? I hope you didn't come to tell us that his first day in camp knocked him out.”
”No; Bromley is all right. You are the sick man, now.”
Wingfield's white teeth gleamed in a rather haggard smile.
”I have looked over the edge, Ballard; that's the fact.”
”Tell me about it--if you can.”
”There isn't much to tell. We were all crowding around the electric furnace, taking turns at the coloured-gla.s.s protected peep-hole. The colonel had warned us about the wires, but the warning didn't cut any figure in my case.”
”You stumbled?”
The man in bed flung a swift glance across the room toward the corridor door which Ballard had left ajar.
”Go quietly and shut that door,” was his whispered command; and when Ballard had obeyed it: ”Now pull your chair closer and I'll answer your question: No, I didn't stumble. Somebody tripped me, and in falling I grabbed at one of the electrodes.”
”I was sure of it,” said Ballard, quietly. ”I knew that in all human probability you would be the next victim. That is why I persuaded Bromley to let me take his place in the motor-car. If the car hadn't broken down, I should have been here in time to warn you. I suppose it isn't necessary to ask who tripped you?”
The playwright rocked his head on the pillow.
”I'm afraid not, Ballard. The man who afterward saved my life--so they all say--was the one who stood nearest to me at the moment. The 'why' is what is tormenting me. I'm not the Arcadia Company, or its chief engineer, or anybody in particular in this game of 'heads I win, and tails you lose.'”
Ballard left his chair and walked slowly to the mountain-viewing window.
When he returned to the bedside, he said: ”I can help you to the 'why.'
What you said in my office to-day to three of us was overheard by a fourth--and the fourth was Manuel. An hour or so later he came up this way, on foot. Does that clear the horizon for you?”
”Perfectly,” was the whispered response, followed by a silence heavy with forecastings.
”Under the changed conditions, it was only fair to you to bring you your warning, and to take off the embargo on your leaving Castle 'Cadia. Of course, you'll get yourself recalled to New York at once?” said Ballard.
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