But upon Winnie, as her husband saw to his dismay, the words produced an instant and appalling effect.She fairly radiated excitement and delight.How her husband had succeeded in capturing the social prize of Scarboro she could not imagine, but, for doing so, she flashed toward him a glance of deep and grateful devotion.
Then she beamed upon the stranger."Won't Mr.Van Warden stay to dinner?" she asked.
Her husband emitted a howl."He will NOT!" he cried."He's not that kind of a Van Warden.He's a plumber.He's the man that fixes the telephone!"He seized the visitor by the sleeve of the long motor-coat and dragged him down the steps.Reluctantly, almost resistingly, the visitor stumbled after him, casting backward amazed glances at the beautiful lady.Fred thrust him into the seat beside the chauffeur.Pointing at the golf-cap and automobile goggles which the stranger was stupidly twisting in his hands, Fred whispered fiercely:
"Put those on! Cover your face! Don't speak! The man knows what to do."With eager eyes and parted lips James the chauffeur was waiting for the signal.Fred nodded sharply, and the chauffeur stooped to throw in the clutch.But the car did not start.From the hedge beside the driveway, directly in front of the wheels, something on all fours threw itself upon the gravel; something in a suit of purple-gray; something torn and bleeding, smeared with sweat and dirt; something that cringed and crawled, that tried to rise and sank back upon its knees, lifting to the glare of the head-lights the white face and white hair of a very old, old man.The kneeling figure sobbed; the sobs rising from far down in the pit of the stomach, wrenching the body like waves of nausea.The man stretched his arms toward them.From long disuse his voice cracked and broke.
"I'm done!" he sobbed."I can't go no farther! I give myself up!"Above the awful silence that held the four young people, the prison siren shrieked in one long, mocking howl of triumph.
It was the stranger who was the first to act.Pushing past Fred, and slipping from his own shoulders the long motor-coat, he flung it over the suit of purple-gray.The goggles he clapped upon the old man's frightened eyes, the golf-cap he pulled down over the white hair.With one arm he lifted the convict, and with the other dragged and pushed him into the seat beside the chauffeur.Into the hands of the chauffeur he thrust the roll of bills.
"Get him away!" he ordered."It's only twelve miles to the Connecticut line.As soon as you're across, buy him clothes and a ticket to Boston.Go through White Plains to Greenwich--and then you're safe!"As though suddenly remembering the presence of the owner of the car, he swung upon Fred."Am I right?" he demanded.
"Of course!" roared Fred.He flung his arm at the chauffeur as though throwing him into space.
"Get-to-hell-out-of-here!" he shouted.
The chauffeur, by profession a criminal, but by birth a human being, chuckled savagely and this time threw in the clutch.With a grinding of gravel the racing-car leaped into the night, its ruby rear lamp winking in farewell, its tiny siren answering the great siren of the prison in jeering notes of joy and victory.
Fred had supposed that at the last moment the younger convict proposed to leap to the running-board, but instead the stranger remained motionless.
Fred shouted impotently after the flying car.In dismay he seized the stranger by the arm.
"But you?" he demanded."How are you going to get away?"The stranger turned appealingly to where upon the upper step stood Winnie Keep.
"I don't want to get away," he said."I was hoping, maybe, you'd let me stay to dinner."A terrible and icy chill crept down the spine of Fred Keep.He moved so that the light from the hall fell full upon the face of the stranger.
"Will you kindly tell me," Fred demanded, "who the devil you are?"The stranger exclaimed peevishly."I've BEEN telling you all evening," he protested."I'm Harry Van Warden!"Gridley, the ancient butler, appeared in the open door.
"Dinner is served, madam," he said.
The stranger gave an exclamation of pleasure."Hello, Gridley!"he cried."Will you please tell Mr.Keep who I am? Tell him, if he'll ask me to dinner, I won't steal the spoons."Upon the face of Gridley appeared a smile it never had been the privilege of Fred Keep to behold.The butler beamed upon the stranger fondly, proudly, by the right of long acquaintanceship, with the affection of an old friend.Still beaming, he bowed to Keep.
"If Mr.Harry--Mr.Van Warden," he said, "is to stay to dinner, might I suggest, sir, he is very partial to the Paul Vibert, '84."Fred Keep gazed stupidly from his butler to the stranger and then at his wife.She was again radiantly beautiful and smilingly happy.
Gridley coughed tentatively."Shall I open a bottle, sir?" he asked.
Hopelessly Fred tossed his arms heavenward.
"Open a case!" he roared.
At ten o'clock, when they were still at table and reaching a state of such mutual appreciation that soon they would be calling each other by their first names, Gridley brought in a written message he had taken from the telephone.It was a long-distance call from Yonkers, sent by James, the faithful chauffeur.
Fred read it aloud.
"I got that party the articles he needed," it read, "and saw him safe on a train to Boston.On the way back I got arrested for speeding the car on the way down.Please send money.I am in a cell in Yonkers."
