Part 2 (1/2)
Briggs had placed their bags in the car, and Deering had a moment in which to observe the chauffeur, who stood erect and touched his cap.
Hood's protege proved to be a tall, dark, well-knit young fellow dressed in a well-fitting chauffeur's costume.
”It's a good night for a run,” Deering suggested, eying the man in the light from the door.
”Fine, sir.”
”I hope the people in the house took good care of you.”
”Very good, sir.”
There was nothing in Ca.s.sowary's voice or manner to indicate that he was the possessor of the fortune to which Hood had referred so lightly.
Deering's hastily formed impressions of Hood's chauffeur were wholly agreeable and satisfying.
Hood, lingering in the hall, could be heard warning Briggs against the further acc.u.mulation of fat. He recommended a new system of reducing, and gave the flushed and stuttering butler the name of a New York specialist in dietetics whom he advised him to consult without delay.
The chauffeur's lips twitched and, catching Deering's eye, he winked.
Deering tapped his forehead. Ca.s.sowary shook his head.
”Don't you believe it!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed with spirit.
At this moment Hood appeared on the steps, banging his recovered stick noisily as he descended.
”The Barton Arms, Ca.s.sowary,” he ordered, and they set off at a lively clip.
III
On the steps of the Barton Arms an hour later Hood and Deering ran into two men who were just leaving the inn. Hood greeted them heartily as old acquaintances and remained talking to them while Deering went to ask for rooms.
”The suspicions of those fellows always tickle me,” he remarked as he joined Deering at the desk, where he scrawled ”R. Hood, Sherwoodville,”
on the register. ”Detectives--rather good as the breed goes, but not men of true vision. Now and then I've been able to give them a useful hint--the slightest, mind you, and only where I could divert suspicion from some of my friends in the underworld. I always try to be of a.s.sistance to predatory genius; there are clever crooks and stupid ones; the kind who stoop to vulgar gun-work when their own stupidity gets them into a tight pinch don't appeal to me. My artistic sensibilities are affronted by clumsy work.”
”Perhaps--” Deering suggested with a hasty glance at the door--”maybe they're looking for me!”
”Bless you, no,” Hood replied as they followed a boy with their bags; ”nothing so intelligent as that. On the contrary”--he paused at the landing and laid his hand impressively on Deering's arm--”on the contrary, they're looking for _me_!”
He went on with a chuckle and a shake of the head, as though the thought of being pursued by detectives gave him the keenest pleasure. When he reached their rooms he sat down and struck his knee sharply and chuckled again. Deering turned frowningly for an explanation of his mirth.
”Oh, don't bother about those chaps! I repeat, that they are looking for me, but”--he knit his fingers behind his head and grinned--”they don't _know_ it!”
”Don't know you are you!” exclaimed Deering.
”You never said a truer word! More than that, they're not likely to!
There are things, son, I--Hood, the frankest of mortals--can't tell even you! I, Hood, the inexplicable; Hood, the prince of tramps, the connoisseur in all the arts--even I must have my secrets; but in time, my dear boy, in time you shall know everything! But there's work before us!
The long arm of coincidence beckons us. We shall test for ourselves all the claptrap of the highest-priced novelists.”
Deering walked to the window and stared out at the landscape, then strode toward Hood angrily.
”I don't like this!” he wailed despairingly. ”You promised to help me find those stolen bonds, and now you're talking like a lunatic again. If I can't find the bonds, I've got to find Rans...o...b.. and get back that first two hundred thousand I gave him. I can't stand this--detectives waiting for us wherever we stop, and you babbling rot--rot--” Words failed him; he clinched his hands and glared.