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THE “GENIUS” III

to date to make it a really successful seaside proposition according to the original outlines, and that it would be years before it could possibly yield an adequate return. If Eugene had put much money in it, he had probably lost it or tied it up in a most unsatisfactory way. Well, it served him right for trifling with things he knew nothing about.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Eugene abstractedly. “I’m all right. I’m just a little run down physically. I’ll come round.”

“You’d better take a month or so off and brace up, if you’re not in shape.”

“Oh, not at all! Not now, anyhow.”

It occurred to Eugene that he might use the time to advantage a little later and that he would claim it.

They proceeded to business, but Colfax noticed that Eugene’s eyes were specially hollow and weary and that he was noticeably restless. He wondered whether he might be going to break down physically.

Suzanne had drifted along peacefully enough considering the nature of the feeling between her and her mother at this time. After a few days of desultory discussion, however, along the lines now so familiar, she began to see that her mother had no intention of terminating their stay at the time agreed upon, particularly since their return to New York meant, so far as Suzanne was concerned, her immediate departure to Witla. Mrs. Dale began at first to plead for additional delay, and later that Suzanne should agree not to go to New York but to Lenox for a season. It was cold up here already now, though there were still spells of bright warm summery or autumn weather between ten and four in the day, and sometimes in the evening. The nights usually were cold. Mrs. Dale would

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gladly have welcomed a compromise, for it was terribly lonely, just herself and Suzanne – after the gaieties of New York. Four days before the time of her proposed departure, Mrs. Dale was still obdurate or parleying in a diplomatic way, and Suzanne, disgusted, made the threat which caused Mrs. Dale to wire distractedly to Eugene. Later, she composed the following, which she gave to Gabrielle:

“Dear Eugene –

If you love me, come and get me. I have told mama that if she did not keep her word to return with me to New York by the fifteenth, I would write to you and she is still obstinate. I am at the Cathcart Lodge, While-a-Way, eighteen miles north of Three Rivers, here in Canada. Anyone can show you. I will be here when you come. Do not try to write to me as I am afraid I should not get it. But I will be at the Lodge.

“With love, “Suzanne.”

Eugene had never before received a love appeal, nor indeed any such appeal from any woman in his life.

This letter reached him thirty-six hours after the telegram arrived, and set him to planning at once. The hour had struck. He must act. Perhaps this old world was now behind him forever. Could he really get Suzanne, if he went to Canada to find her? How was she surrounded? He thrilled with delight when he realized that it was Suzanne who was calling him and that he was going to find her. “If you love me, come and get me.”

Would he? Watch!

He called for his car, telephoned his valet to pack his bag and bring it to the Grand Central Station, first ascertaining for

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himself the time of departure, asked to talk to Angela, who had gone to Myrtle’s apartment in upper Seventh Avenue, ready at last to confess her woes to Eugene’s sister. Her condition did not appeal to Eugene in this situation. The inevitable result, which he thought of frequently, was still far away. He notified Colfax that he was going to take a few days rest, went to the bank where he had over four thousand dollars on deposit, and drew it all. He then went to a ticket office and purchased a one-way ticket, uncertain where his actions would take him once he saw Suzanne. He tried once more to get Angela, intending boldly to tell her that he was going to seek Suzanne, and to tell her not to worry, that he would communicate with her, but she had not returned. Curiously, through all this, he was intensely sorry for her, and wondered how she would take it, if he did not return. How would the child be arranged for? He felt he must go. Angela was heartsick, he knew that, and frightened. Still he could not resist this call. He could not resist anything in connection with this love affair. He was like a man possessed of a devil or wandering in a dream. He knew that his whole career was at stake, but it did not make any difference. He must get her. The whole world could go hang if he could only obtain her – her, the beautiful, the perfect!

At five-thirty the train departed, and then he sat as it rolled northward speculating on what he was to do when he got there. If Three Rivers were much of a place, he could probably hire an automobile. He could leave it some distance from the lodge and then see if he could not approach unobserved and signal Suzanne. If she were about, she would no doubt be on the lookout. At a sign she would run to him. They would hurry to the automobile. The pursuit might quickly follow, but he

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would arrange it so that his pursuers would not know which railroad station he was going to. Quebec was the nearest big city, he found by studying the map, though he might return to Montreal and New York or Buffalo, if he chose to go west he would see how the train ran.

It is curious what vagaries the human mind is subject to, under conditions of this kind. Up to the time of Eugene’s arrival in Three Rivers and after, he had no plan of campaign, or of future conduct beyond that of obtaining Suzanne. He did not know that he would return to New York – he did not know that he would not. If Suzanne wished, and it were best, and they could, they would go to England from Montreal, or France. If necessary, they could go to Portland and sail. Mrs. Dale, on the evidence that he had Suzanne and that of her own free will and volition, might yield and say nothing, in which case he could return to New York and resume his position. This courageous stand on his part if he had only followed it might have solved the whole problem quickly. It might have been the sword that would have cut the Gordian Knot. On the train was a heavy black-bearded man, which was always good luck to him. At Three Rivers, when he dismounted from the train, he found a horseshoe, which was also a lucky sign. He did not stop to think what he would do if he really lost his position and had to live on the sum he had with him. He was really not thinking logically. He was dreaming. He fancied that he would get Suzanne and have his salary, and that somehow things would be much as they were. Of such is the logic of dreams.

When he arrived at Three Rivers, of course the conditions were not what he anticipated. It is true that at times, after a long continued period of dry weather, the roads were passable

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for automobiles, at least as far as While-a-Way, but the weather had not recently been entirely dry. There had been a short period of cold rain and the roads were practically impassable, save for horses and carryalls. There was a carryall which went as far as St. Jacques, four miles from While-a-Way, where the driver told him he could get a horse, if he wanted one. The owner of this hack line had a stable there.

This was gratifying to him, and he decided to make arrangements for two horses at St. Jacques, which he would take to within a reasonable distance of the lodge and tie in some spot where they would not be seen. Then he could consider the situation and signal Suzanne; if she were there on the lookout. How dramatic the end would be! How happy they would be flying together! Judge then his astonishment on reaching St. Jacques to find Mrs. Dale waiting for him. Word had been telephoned by her faithful representative, the station agent at Three Rivers, that a man of Eugene’s description had arrived and departed for While-a-Way. Before this a telegram had come from New York from Kinroy to the effect that Eugene had gone somewhere. His daily habits since Mrs. Dale had gone away had been under observation. Kinroy, on his return, had called at the United Magazines Corporation and asked if Eugene was in the city. Heretofore he had been reported in. When on this day he was reported as having gone, Kinroy called up Angela to inquire. She also stated that he had left the city. He then wired his mother and she, calculating the time of his arrival, and hearing from the station agent of his taking the carryall, had gone down to meet him. She had decided to fight every inch of the way with all the strategy at her command. She did not want to kill him – had not really the courage to do

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that – but she still hoped to dissuade him. She had not been able to bring herself to resort to guards and detectives as yet. He could not be as hard as he looked and acted. Suzanne was bedeviling him by her support and communications. She had not been able to govern there, she saw. Her only hope was to talk him out of it, or into an additional delay. If necessary, they would all go back to New York together and she would appeal to Colfax and Winfield. She hoped they would persuade him to reason. Anyhow, she would never leave Suzanne for one moment until this thing had been settled in her favor, or brutally against her.

When Eugene appeared she greeted him with her old social smile and called to him affably: “Come, get in.”

He looked at her grimly and obeyed, but changed his manner when he saw that she was really kindly in her tone and greeted her sociably.

“How have you been?” he asked. “Oh, quite well, thank you!” “And how is Suzanne?”

“All right, I fancy. She isn’t here, you know.”

“Where is she?” asked Eugene, his face a study in defeat. “She went with some friends to visit Quebec for ten days.

Then she is going from there to New York. I don’t expect to see her here any more.”

Eugene choked with a sense of repugnance to her airy taradiddles. He did not believe what she was saying – saw at once that she was fencing with him.

“That’s a lie,” he said roughly, “and it’s out of the whole cloth! She’s here, and you know it. Anyhow, I am going to see for myself.”

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“How polite you are!” she laughed diplomatically. “That isn’t the way you usually talk. Anyhow, she isn’t here. You’ll find that out, if you insist. I wouldn’t advise you to insist, for I’ve sent for counsel since I heard you were coming, and you will find detectives as well as guards waiting to receive you. She isn’t here, though, even at that, and you might just as well turn round and go back. I will drive you over to Three Rivers, if you wish. Why not be reasonable, now, and avoid a scene? She isn’t here. You couldn’t have her if she were. The people I have employed will prevent that. If you make trouble, you will simply be arrested and then the newspapers will have it. Why not be reasonable now, Mr. Witla, and go on back? You have everything to lose. There is a train through Three Rivers from Quebec for New York at eleven tonight. We can make it. Don’t you want to do that? I will agree, if you come to your senses now, and cause me no trouble here, to bring Suzanne back to New York within a month. I won’t let you have her unless you get a divorce and straighten things out with your wife, but if you can do that within six months, or a year, and she still wants you, you can have her. I will promise in writing to withdraw all objection, and see that her full share of her property comes to her uncontested. I will help you and her socially all I can. You know I am not without influence.”

“I want to see her first,” replied Eugene grimly and disbelievingly.

“I won’t say that I will forget everything,” went on Mrs. Dale, ignoring his interpolated remark. “I can’t – but I will pretend to. You can have the use of my country place at Lenox. I will buy out the lease at Morristown, or the New York House, and you can live in either place. I will set aside a sum

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of money for your wife, if you wish. That may help you obtain your release. Surely you do not want to take her under the illegal condition which you propose, when you can have her outright in this brilliant manner by waiting a little while. She says she does not want to get married, but that is silly talk, based on nothing except erratic reading. She does, or she will, the moment she comes to think about it seriously. Why not help her? Why not go back now and let me bring her to New York a little later and then we will talk this all over. I shall be very glad to have you in my family. You are a brilliant man. I have always liked you. Why not be reasonable? Come now and let’s drive over to Three Rivers and you take the train back to New York, will you?”

While Mrs. Dale had been talking, Eugene had been surveying her calmly. What a clever talker she was! How she could lie! He did not believe her. He did not believe one word that she said. She was fighting to keep him from Suzanne, why he could readily understand. Suzanne was somewhere, here, he fancied, though, as in the case of her recent trip to Albany, she might have been spirited away.

“Absurd!” said Eugene easily, defiantly, indifferently. “I’ll not do anything of the sort. In the first place, I don’t believe you. If you are so anxious to be nice to me, let me see her, and then you can say all this in front of her. I’ve come up here to see her, and I’m going to. She’s here. I know she is. You needn’t lie. You needn’t talk. I know she’s here. Now I’m going to see her, if I have to stay here a month and search.”

Mrs. Dale stirred nervously. She knew that Eugene was desperate. She knew that Suzanne had written to him. Talk

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might be useless. Strategy might not avail, but she could not help using it.

“Listen to me,” she said excitedly. “I tell you Suzanne is not here. She’s gone. There are guards up there – lots of them. They know who you are. They have your description. They have orders to kill you, if you try to break in. Kinroy is there. He is desperate. I have been having a struggle to prevent his killing you already. The place is watched. We are watched at this moment. Won’t you be reasonable? You can’t see her. She’s gone. Why make all this fuss? Why take your life in your hands?”

“Don’t talk,” said Eugene. “You’re lying. I can see it in your face. Besides, my life is nothing. I am not afraid. Why talk? She’s here. I’m going to see her.”

He stared before him and Mrs. Dale ruminated as to what she was to do. There were no guards or detectives, as she said. Kinroy was not there. Suzanne was not away. This was all palaver, as Eugene suspected, for she was too anxious to avoid publicity to give any grounds for it, before she was absolutely driven.

It was a rather halcyon evening after some days of exceeding chill. A bright moon was coming up in the east, already discernible in the twilight, but which later would shine brilliantly. It was not cold but really pleasantly warm, and the rough road along which they were driving was richly odorous. Eugene was not unconscious of its beauty, but depressed by the possibility of Suzanne’s absence.

“Oh, do be generous,” pleaded Mrs. Dale, who feared that once they saw each other, reason would disappear. Suzanne would demand, as she had been continually demanding, to be taken back to New York. Eugene with or without Suzanne’s

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consent or plea, would ignore her overtures of compromise and there would be immediate departure or defiant union here. She thought she would kill them if need be, but in the face of Eugene’s defiant persistence on one side, and Suzanne’s on the other, her courage was failing. She was frightened by the daring of this man. “I will keep my word,” she observed distractedly. “Honestly she isn’t here. She’s in Quebec, I tell you. Wait a month. I will bring her back then. We will arrange things together. Why can’t you be generous?”

“I could be,” said Eugene, who was considering all the brilliant prospects which her proposal involved and being moved by them, “but I can’t believe you. You’re not telling me the truth. You didn’t tell the truth to Suzanne when you took her from New York. That was a trick, and this is another. I know she isn’t away. She’s right up there in the lodge, wherever it is. You take me to her and then we will talk this thing out together. By the way, where are you going?”

Mrs. Dale had turned into a bypath or half-formed road closely lined with small trees and looking as though it might be a woodchoppers’ path.

“To the lodge.”

“I don’t believe it,” replied Eugene, who was intensely suspicious. “This isn’t a main road to any such place as that.”

“I tell you it is.”

Mrs. Dale was nearing the precincts of the lodge and wanted more time to talk and plead.

“Well,” said Eugene, “you can go this way if you want to. I’m going to get out and walk. You can’t throw me off by driving me around in some general way. I’m going to stay here a week, a month, two months, if necessary, but I’m not going

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