The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks
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Charles Felton Pidgin >> The Further Adventures of Quincy Adams Sawyer and Mason\'s Corner Folks
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"Considering the attractions presented, I think they do," replied
Quincy, banteringly.
She resumed her story.
"There was a man in the case, young, handsome, and wealthy. Just such
a man as she should have married. They had planned an elopement to
Europe. Not together. She was to go to Liverpool, he was to follow
later to Paris, and there meet her. Quite ingenious, wasn't it? Our
agent at Liverpool was called to locate her and prevent her inamorata
from communicating with her, at the same time using his influence to
induce her to return to Boston without meeting her lover. His powers
of persuasion, I mean our agent's, must have been great, for she
consented.
"A month later she attended a reception next door to the house from
which she disappeared, and silenced the tongue of scandal by saying
that she had been hastily summoned to the bedside of a sick friend,
her chum at Wellesley, and had returned home only the day previous.
Her last statement was true. Good detective work by a good detective,
and a great, big white lie fooled her friends and acquaintances, but
if I were her husband she would not lack attention or admiration in
the future, and I would furnish it."
"When I get married, I will bear your admonition in mind."
"I have another admonition. If you meet Mr. Cass when you go down, be
nice to him. Why, when you know him, he is a treasure. I can bear his
inquisitiveness, for it shields me from others. This is my sanctuary,
and Mr. Cass protects me from the literary wolves--the reporters. He
thinks I am a writer because I have so many books, and, to him, an
author is next to an angel. Was he rude to you? You must forgive him,
for he is my Saint George who protects me from the Dragon."
Quincy was mollified to a certain extent. "Do I look like a Dragon?
If I am one, history came near being reversed, for at one time your
Saint George's hold on life was frail."
Late in the afternoon of the next day Quincy made another call on
Mary. He had telephoned and learned that she was in her room. Mr.
Cass was temporarily absent from his desk and Quincy went at once to
the elevator.
"I axed Mr. Cass about his tongue," said the elevator man.
"Was it better?" asked Quincy.
"He said I was labourin' under a misapprihinsion. What's that?"
"He meant that it was improving," said Quincy, as he hurried from the
elevator.
"How did you get home last night?" was Mary's salutation as he
entered.
"I groped my way down two flights of stairs in the dark. When I
opened the front door by the upper handle as Mr. Cass had kindly
instructed me to do, I found that gentleman on the steps. 'Quite
late,' said he. 'Not for me,' said I. At that moment my auto drew up
at the curb."
"A narrow escape from a Cass-trophe," exclaimed Miss Dana. "Pardon
the pun, but sometimes he is insufferably loquacious."
Quincy smiled grimly. "He wasn't through with me. He followed me. 'My
employer.' he began, 'is very tenacious on several points, and one of
them is the acceleration of matrimonial preliminaries, commonly
called courting, in the house which he owns and successfully conducts
with my humble assistance. Will you allow me to ask you a question?'
"Alexander had opened the auto door, and I stood with one foot on the
step."
Quincy was silent for a moment. Miss Dana's curiosity was excited.
"What did he ask you to do?"
"His question was--'are you going to marry Miss Dana?'"
"Preposterous!" cried Miss Dana. "I shall leave the 'Cawthorne' to-
morrow. What answer did you give to so impertinent a question?"
"I said, not to-night. Not until to-morrow. Then I jumped in, slammed
the door, and off we went leaving Mr. Cass fully informed as to my
intentions."
Mary thought, under the circumstances, that a change of subjects was
necessary.
"I am working on the Harrison case. I don't believe he poisoned his
wife. I think the law killed an innocent man."
"Another Robert Wood affair? Have you seen your little namesake, Mary
Wood?"
"Yes. I am going to spend to-morrow in the laboratory making toxic
analyses."
"I've been very busy to-day."
"Not working?"
"No, getting ready to. I've bought out an established business."
"You said you disliked business."
"Not this kind. You were right about Isburn. He didn't mean what he
said about giving you a half-interest in the agency."
"I'm not disappointed. I didn't think he did. Why should he pay me
for returning what I took from him as a professional joke?"
"Well I fixed it up with him, and he will sail for Europe with his
niece as soon as we can take charge."
"We? Why, what _do_ you mean, Mr. Sawyer?"
"I mean that I've engaged to pay Mr. Isburn one hundred thousand
dollars for his agency, a one-half interest to become mine and the
other half to be transferred to my wife as soon as I am married,
which will be soon."
"Then you will be my employer," and Mary's blue eyes were opened as
wide as they could be.
"Within a week, I shall be Mr. Isburn. I shall not use my own name."
His manner changed instantly.
"This morning I met an old college friend. He was doing the
historical points of old Boston with his father and his father's
friend, a Rev. Mr. Dysart of Yonkers, New York."
Miss Dana started, and exclaimed, involuntarily, "Mr. Dysart--not Mr.
Octavius Dysart?"
"Yes, that was the name. Why, do you know him? I'll be honest, I know
you do."
"My mother was born in Yonkers, and Mr. Dysart was the clergyman who
officiated at my father's wedding. He used to call on us whenever he
came to Boston. But how did he know that you knew me?"
"He said he was going to Fernborough to see your father, and I
availed myself of the opportunity to mention my acquaintance with
you. He wished you could come and see him."
"Where is he? Of course I will go."
"He is staying with Mr. Larned, my college mate's father, who lives
in Jamaica Plain, but he will not be there until this evening. He's
attending a religious conference this afternoon and goes to
Fernborough early to-morrow."
"Then I can't see him."
"Why not? I'm going out this evening--small party invited--entirely
informal--half my auto is at your service."
"Will you get me back to the hotel before the doors are closed? I
shall pack up to-morrow."
"I promise," said Quincy. "I will come for you at seven sharp."
Punctually at seven, a closed auto stopped before the "Cawthorne" and
Quincy alighted. Mary stepped from the elevator, wearing a new spring
costume and a marvellous aggregation of flowers upon her hat, walked
to the door without looking at Mr. Cass, and before he could frame
one of his employer's tenacious points and follow her, she had been
handed into the auto and whirled swiftly away.
"Is Alexander driving?" she asked. "No. He's asleep--up too late last
night. We have a strange _chauffeur_. I selected him for that
reason."
"Why, what do you mean?"
"I didn't wish anybody to know where we had gone."
"Why not, pray?"
"I mean, what we'd gone for."
"Nonsense. Why, a friendly call--what more?"
"Are your gloves on?"
"No, I didn't have time. I'll put them on now."
"No hurry--plenty of time. You are agitated. Allow me to feel your
pulse."
"You are funny to-night, Quincy."
"Not funny--just happy."
Quincy took forcible possession of her half-resisting hand and
slipped a diamond solitaire on the proper finger.
"Why, what are you doing? Isn't it a beauty? Is this the great Sawyer
diamond? Whose is it?"
"It's yours. It is an engagement ring. It's the first step towards
keeping my promise to Mr. Cass, and he's tenacious, you know. I told
you all about it when I called this afternoon. So, please don't say
'this is so sudden.'"
"Are you crazy, Quincy?"
"No, sane. Delightfully so. I told Mr. Cass I couldn't marry you
until to-day. I got the license this noon."
They were passing through a dimly-lighted street, but, occasionally,
the street lamps threw flashes across two earnest faces. She
endeavoured to remove the ring.
"Mary," said Quincy, "if you allow the ring to remain, I shall be a
very happy man, dear,--for I love you. I have loved you ever since
the day that I thrashed Bob Wood, and when I lay exhausted, you
looked down at me with those beautiful blue eyes and said 'all for
me!' I am all for you,--are you for me?"
He put his arm about her and drew her towards him; their lips met. A
bright light shone in the auto windows--but they were sitting erect--
they even looked primly.
"It is a long ride," she ventured.
"Too short," he replied, "and yet, I wish we were there."
Again she spoke: "This is a most unprecedented affair. Can it be
real, or are we actors?"
"We are detectives, and they always do unexpected and unprecedented
things."
"What will your father say--you a multimillionaire and I a poor girl
who works for a living?"
"My mother was poor and blind when my father married her."
"Yes, I know; but she wrote a book and became famous."
"You're a 'wonder' now, and you will become famous."
"What will your friends say?"
"If they wish to remain my friends they will either say nothing, or
congratulate me. How shall we be married--in church? I'll spend a
hundred thousand on our wedding, if you say so."
"No. As little publicity as possible. Use the money to help those
poor creatures who are sick with the disease called crime; that is
the symptom. The cause is often bad environment, and the poverty
which prevents improvement."
"What a philosopher you are. That simple ceremony suits me exactly,
Mary. What a sweet name you have. Why not have Mr. Dysart perform the
ceremony? We'll be married with a ring."
Mary laughed: "Where will you get yours?"
"Detectives are always prepared for emergencies. I bought them this
noon, after I procured the license. They seemed to go together."
"Well, Quincy, I think you are the most presumptuous mortal in
existence. How dared you do such a thing--so many things, I mean?"
"Was not the prize worth even more of an endeavour? I have always
thought _Young Lochinvar_ was a model lover. But here we are."
The Rev. Mr. Dysart received them with pleasant words of welcome, and
reminiscences of life in Yonkers, and memories of Mary's mother, held
Cupid in abeyance for an hour. Quincy passed the license to the
clergyman who read it and looked up inquiringly.
"It's all right, isn't it?" Quincy asked.
"Why yes,--but--I never supposed--why, of course--but when?"
"Now, at once," said Quincy. "We must be home by eleven, for they
lock the doors."
The simple ceremony was soon over.
"Can you give Mrs. Sawyer a certificate, Mr. Dysart?"
"Fortunately, yes. I bought some to-day, for I needed them."
He went into an adjoining room to fill it out.
"Mary, my darling, I am a rich man--richer than I deserve to be, for
I have created nothing--but I would give every dollar of my fortune
rather than lose you. Does your wedding ring fit? Mine is all right."
"It ought to be--you had a chance to try yours on."
"I am a designing villain, Mary. While you were telling that story
last night, you will remember that I walked about the room. One of
your rings was on the mantelpiece and I tried it on."
When the clergyman handed Mrs. Sawyer the certificate, Quincy passed
him his fee.
"You've made a mistake, Mr. Sawyer. This is a hundred dollar bill."
"It ought to be a thousand. I'll send you a check for the difference
to-morrow--for yourself, or your church, as you prefer."
As they descended the steps, the clergyman raised his hands.
"I wish you both long life and prosperity, and may Heaven's blessing
fall upon you."
"Back to the 'Cawthorne,'" said Quincy, as he pressed a small roll of
paper into the _chauffeur's_ hand--which roll of paper a friendly
street light showed to be a five dollar bill.
"What will that horrid Mr. Cass say?"
"I'll fix him," replied Quincy. "Just await developments, patiently,
my dear."
It was a quarter of eleven when they reached the hotel. Mr. Cass was
at his desk, the light turned down in anticipation of the closing
hour.
"The certificate, darling," Quincy whispered.
"Please turn up the light, Mr. Cass, and read that."
Mr. Cass adjusted his _pince-nez_. Quincy was relentless. His turn
had come.
"Is that in proper form, Mr. Cass? I know your rules are strict, and
that your employer holds you to them tenaciously," and there was a
strong accent on the last word.
"Would your reverend employer object to your harbouring a newly-
married couple for one night? Show him your wedding ring, Mrs.
Sawyer. We must satisfy his moral scruples."
Mr. Cass regarded them attentively. Then he said, slowly: "I
anticipated such a result, but wasn't it rather sudden?"
"We shall lose the elevator," cried Mary. "It shuts down at eleven."
"Shall we go on a tour?" asked Quincy the next morning.
"I can't leave the Harrison case. I must follow a clue this morning."
"Where shall we live, Mary? In grandfather's house on Beacon Street,
or shall I build a new one? I'll make it a palace, if you say so."
"Well, I sha'n't say so--but let's live anywhere but here."
"We'll bid Mr. Cass a long farewell--but I admire his tenacity. He's
a sort of moral bull-dog. I might use him in my business."
"Our business, Quincy."
"That's so--we are partners professionally, and lovers ever."
As she disengaged herself from his embrace, Mary exclaimed: "I've
planned a model honeymoon for us, Quincy. You must go over the
Harrison case with me. I'm sure _we_ can prove that he was an
innocent man, and--"
"We'll find the real criminal, Mary, and bring him to justice."
"It will be a long and tedious investigation. I may have to visit
every drug store in the city."
"That's easy. I'll buy you a touring car--I will act as _chauffeur_--"
"Why a touring car--why not a runabout just for two?"
"As you say, my dear. Your word is law--or the next thing to it. By
the way, Mary, we must live on Beacon Street."
"Why, must?"
"Because Mr. Strout has bought a house on Commonwealth Avenue, and we
must keep the line drawn sharp between the old families and the _nou-
veaux riches!_"
THE END.
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