Part 4 (1/2)

”Pretty close call,” Kenwick told him. ”A fellow in a car bowled me over as I was crossing the street. He went right on, but I doubt if I'll be able to for a while.”

”Well, what do you know about that?” the drug clerk challenged, as he helped his visitor into a chair behind the prescription-desk. ”Say, this is gettin' to be one of the worst towns on the coast for auto accidents.

Didn't get his number, I suppose?”

”No. And I'm just a stranger pa.s.sing through here. I don't know many people.”

”Hard luck.” It was evident that the trio were disappointed in the meagerness of his story. One of them stooped and was probing the swollen leg with skilful fingers. Kenwick winced.

”You've got a bad sprain there all right,” the doctor told him. ”It's swollen a good deal, too, for being so recent. Have you walked far?”

”Yes, rather.” Kenwick watched in silence while the physician bound up the injured member in a stout bandage. In spite of his best efforts one sharp moan escaped him.

”Your nerves are badly shaken, I can see that,” the doctor decided. ”Fix him up a little bromide, Gregson.”

Kenwick took the gla.s.s, furious to note that it trembled in his hand.

The druggist attempted to joke him back to normal poise. ”A little more of a jolt and you'd have had to pa.s.s him up to Gifford, Doc. Gifford, here,” he went on by way of introduction, ”is s.h.i.+pping a body north to-night on the twelve-thirty. Bein' two of you, he might have got the railroad to give your folks a special rate if you're goin' his way.”

The patient evinced mild interest. ”San Francisco?” he inquired. The undertaker nodded.

”That's the train I hoped to make,” Kenwick sighed. ”But my money seems to have been jolted out of me and----” He went carefully through his pockets as he spoke. And then Gifford came over and stood beside him.

”If you don't mind,” he began, ”I'd like to know your name.”

Kenwick's reply was glibly rea.s.suring. ”Kenneth Rogers.”

”Oh! You that young Rogers that's been visiting for a few days at the Paddington place, 'Utopia'?” It was the doctor who asked this question.

Kenwick nodded warily.

The physician extended his hand. ”I'm Markham. Had an engagement to play golf with you out at the country club this afternoon. Awfully sorry you couldn't make it but I got the message all right from your sister that you were having trouble with your car out near Hillside Inn and you couldn't get away.”

As Kenwick wrung his hand with easy cordiality there flashed before his mental vision the picture of the wayfarer in goggles. Could a malign fate have trapped him into taking the name of that visitor to Mont-Mer, or any visitor, who might some day arise and challenge him? He had got to get out of this place before the net that the G.o.ds were weaving about him should bind him hand and foot.

”Say, listen.” Gifford forced himself to the front again, speaking with a mixture of eagerness and hesitation. ”If you're goin' up to the city to-night, I wonder if----You see, it's like this. I've got a big masonic funeral on here for Thursday morning. It'll be a h.e.l.l of a rush for me to get back in time if I have to make this trip. But I promised a little woman that I'd see personally to this s.h.i.+pment; send a responsible party or go myself. I haven't got a soul to send, but if you----.”

Kenwick shook his head. ”I won't be able to leave now until to-morrow.

I'll have to wait and get some money.”

Gifford waved aside the objection. ”Your expenses will be paid, of course, as mine would have been. I'll advance you the funds. And you don't have to _do_ a thing, you know. Wellman's man will meet the train at the other end. Wait and see the casket in his hands and then you're through.”

He watched the other man eagerly. For a moment Kenwick didn't trust himself to meet his gaze. He hoped that he was not betraying in his face the jubilant conviction that his guardian angel had suddenly returned from a vacation and had renewed an interest in him. In order not to appear too eagerly acquiescent he asked casually: ”Who is the fellow?

Or who was he?”

”Man by the name of Marstan. He wasn't known around here. His wife had to come down from the city to identify him.” He glanced at his watch.

”There's just about time to make the train now. I've got my car outside.

It's luck, your stumbling in here like this. Sheer luck.”

”Luck is too mild a word for it,” Kenwick a.s.sured himself as he crawled into his Pullman a few moments later. ”It's providence, old boy. That's what it is.”