The Duke in the Suburbs. Wallace Edgar
him that "plump and plain" was ludicrously descriptive of himself, but she forbore. Instead she plunged him into a state of embarrassed incoherence by demanding coolly —
"Do I understand, Hal, that you have been proposing to me?"
She cut short his explanations with a smile.
"Please don't wound my vanity by telling me this is only a tentative offer – anyway I'll put your mind at rest. Under no circumstances could I marry you: there are thousands of reasons for that decision, but the main one is, that I do not love you, and I cannot imagine anything short of a miracle that would make me love you."
She left him speechless.
The greater part of the next day he sulked in the garden, but towards the evening he grew cheerful. After all, a woman's No was not necessarily final.
He got most of his ideas from the comic papers.
Only for an instant had he entertained the suspicion that there might be Another Man, but this he dismissed as ridiculous. Alicia's refusal was very natural. She had been piqued by the fact that he had not been able to make her a definite offer. He resolved to bide his time, and come to his father on the crest of that prosperous wave which was to hand the Denver Silver Streak Mine into the lap of his astute progenitor. Then he would speak out boldly, trusting to the generosity of his father. Constructing these pleasant dreams, he found himself discussing the coming concert with Alicia, and the girl pleasantly relieved that her refusal had had so little effect upon his spirits, was a little sorry she had been so severe.
They were talking over the songs Alicia was to sing, when there was the sound of a carriage stopping outside the door, followed by an important rat-tat.
"Whoever can it be?" wondered Alicia.
She had not to wait in suspense for very long. In a few seconds the servant announced —
"Sir Harry Tanneur and Mr. Slewer."
Part II
THE DUKE DEPARTS
Years ago I discovered that truth was indeed stranger than fiction – that curious and amazing things happened daily that caused one to say, "If I had read this in a book I should have said that it was impossible." Following upon this discovery, I have observed that all the best chroniclers, exercise unusual caution in dealing with unexpected situations, carefully and laboriously laying solid foundations on which to build their literary coincidences. Fortunately Sir Harry saves me the trouble, for his first words explained his presence.
"Ah, Alicia," he pecked at her, "let me introduce our good friend Slewer – just arrived from the United States of America with a letter of introduction from the gentleman in charge of my affairs in Denver."
Alicia regarded the new arrival with polite interest.
Mr. Bill Slewer, in a ready-made suit of clothing that fitted him badly, in a soft grey shirt and a ready-made tie, shuffled uneasily under the scrutiny.
He was a tall man, with shoulders a trifle bowed and long arms that hung awkwardly. But it was his face that fascinated the girl. Scarred and seamed and furrowed till it seemed askew, what held her, were his eyes. They were pale blue and large, and in the setting of his mahogany skin he looked for all the world like one sightless. Two white discs that shifted here and there when she spoke, but which never once looked toward her.
"Mr. Slewer," Sir Harry went on, with an air of quiet triumph, "can serve you, Alicia."
"Me?" The girl's eyes opened in astonishment.
Sir Harry nodded and chuckled.
"I don't think you are likely to be annoyed with your neighbour after to-day," he said, "eh, Mr. Slewer?"
Mr. Slewer, seated on the edge of a settee, twisting his hat awkwardly by the brim and staring at a gilt clock on the mantelpiece, shifted something he had in his mouth from one cheek to the other, and said huskily and laconically —
"Naw."
"This gentleman" – Sir Harry waved his hand like a showman indicating his prize exhibit – "has been most disgracefully treated by – er – the Duke."
Alicia regarded Mr. Slewer with renewed interest and an unaccountable feeling of irritation.
"The Duke in fact," the magnate went on impressively, "fled from America to avoid the – er – just retribution that awaited him. Fled in a most cowardly fashion, eh, Mr. Slewer?"
"Yep," said the other, fingering his long yellow moustache.
"Mr. Slewer came to Denver knowing this – er – duke has property or," corrected Sir Harry carefully, "thinks he has property there, and found him gone. As I have large interests in the mining industry in that city, it was only natural that Mr. Slewer should be directed to me as being likely to know the whereabouts of – this chartered libertine."
There was a grain of truth in this story, for the astute lawyer, who was Sir Harry's agent in Denver city, had most excellent reason for wishing to know the Duke's present address. The coming of Big Bill Slewer, ripe for murder and with the hatred he had accumulated during his five years' imprisonment, played splendidly into his hands.
The girl had risen at Sir Harry's last words, and stood with a perplexed frown facing her uncle.
"Chartered libertine?" She was used to Sir Harry's hackneyed figures of speech and usually attached no importance to them.
"What has he done to this man?"
Sir Harry glanced at Mr. Slewer and that worthy gentleman shifted awkwardly. He did not immediately reply, then —
"This Jukey," he said, "went an' run away wid me wife."
She took a step backward.
"Ran away with your wife?" she repeated.
"Sure," said Mr. Slewer.
"You see?" said Sir Harry enjoying the sensation.
The girl nodded slowly.
"I see," she replied simply.
"I'm going to fix up Mr. Slewer for the night," said Sir Harry, "and to-morrow I will confront him with his victim."
Young Mr. Tanneur, an interested and silent listener, had an inspiration, "I say, governor," he blurted, "I've got a ripping idea!"
His father smiled.
"Trust you, Hal," he said admiringly.
"There's a soirée or concert to-morrow night," said the ingenious Hal, "this fellow is going to sing, why not wait till then? I can get you a couple of seats in the first row – it would be awful fun to see his face when he spots Mr. Slewer."
"Oh no!" protested the girl.
"Why not?" demanded Sir Harry? "I think it is an excellent idea."
"But – "
"Please don't interfere, Alicia," said the knight testily, "we are doing all this for your sake: there will be no fuss. As soon as the man sees this poor fellow he will skip and there will be no bother or disturbance – isn't that so, Mr. Slewer?"
"Yep," said the untruthful Bill, who had followed the conversation with interest. Such a finale was in harmony with his tastes. He wanted an audience for the act he contemplated. His ideas about the English law were of the haziest, but he did not doubt his ability to escape the consequence of his vengeance.
One question the girl put to him before his departure.
She found a surprising difficulty in putting it into words.
"Where – where is the wom – your wife now, Mr. Slewer?" she asked in a low voice.
This well-nigh proved the undoing of Mr. Slewer, whose inventive faculty was not the strongest part of his intellectual equipment. He was standing on the doorstep when she put the question, and she saw him wriggle a little in his embarrassment.
"She," he hesitated, "oh, I guess he's got her with him all right, all right." Then he remembered that this could not be so without her knowledge, and he hastened to add, "or else he's put her down and out."
"Killed