The Vagrant Duke. Gibbs George
– though I'd given them leave to pot me if they could. But I think you're adequately protected now."
"Good," said McGuire. "Have a cigar. I'm glad you've come. I wanted to talk to you."
And when they had lighted their cigars, "It's about this very guard. I – I'm afraid you'll have to keep your men under cover at least in the daytime."
"Under cover?"
"Well, you see," went on McGuire in some hesitation, "my daughter (he called it darter) Peggy is motoring down from New York to-day. I don't want her, but she's coming. I couldn't stop her. She doesn't know anything about this – er – this guarding the house. And I don't want her to know. She mustn't know. She'd ask questions. I don't want questions asked. I'll get her away as soon as I can, but she mustn't be put into any danger."
"I see," said Peter examining the ash of his cigar. "You don't want her to know anything about the impending attempts upon your life and property."
"Yes, that's it," said McGuire impatiently. "I don't want her to find out. Er – she couldn't understand. You know women, Nichols. They talk too much." He paused "It's – er – necessary that none of her friends in New York or mine should know of – er – any danger that threatens me. And of course – er – any danger that threatens me would – in a way – threaten her. You see?"
"I think so."
"I've put all weapons under cover. I don't want her to see 'em. So when she comes – which may be at any moment – nothing must be said about the men outside and what they're there for. In the daytime they must be given something to do about the place – trimming the lawns, pruning trees or weeding the driveway. Pay 'em what they ask, but don't let any of 'em go away. You'll explain this to the new men. As for yourself – er – of course you're my new superintendent and forester."
McGuire got up and paced the floor slowly looking at Peter out of the tail of his eye.
"I like you, Nichols. We'll get along. You've got courage and intelligence – and of course anybody can see you're a gentleman. You'll keep on taking your meals in the house – "
"If you'd like me to go elsewhere – "
"No. I see no reason why Peggy shouldn't like you. I hope she will. But she's very headstrong, has been since a kid. I suppose I humor her a bit – who wouldn't? I lost my oldest girl and her boy with the 'flu.' Her husband's still in France. And Peggy's got a will of her own, Peg has," he finished in a kind of admiring abstraction. "Got a society bee in her bonnet. Wants to go with all the swells. I'm backin' her, Nichols. She'll do it too before she's through," he finished proudly.
"I haven't a doubt of it," said Peter soberly, though very much amused at his employer's ingenuousness. Here then, was the weak spot in the armor of this relentless millionaire – his daughter. The older one and her child were dead. That accounted for the toys in the cabin. Peggy sounded interesting' – if nothing else, for her vitality.
"I'd better see about this at once, then. If she should come – "
Peter rose and was about to leave the room when there was a sound of an automobile horn and the sudden roar of an exhaust outside. He followed McGuire to the window and saw a low red runabout containing a girl and a male companion emerging from the trees. A man in the road was holding up his hands in signal for the machine to stop and had barely time to leap aside to avoid being run down. The car roared up to the portico, the breathless man, who was Shad Wells, pursuing. Peter was glad that he had had the good sense not to shoot. He turned to his employer, prepared for either anger or dismay and found that McGuire was merely grinning and chuckling softly as though to himself.
"Just like her!" he muttered, "some kid, that!"
Meanwhile Shad Wells, making a bad race of it was only halfway up the drive, when at a signal and shout from McGuire, he stopped running, stared, spat and returned to his post.
There was a commotion downstairs, the shooting of bolts, the sounds of voices and presently the quick patter of feminine footsteps which McGuire, now completely oblivious of Peter, went to meet.
"Well, daughter!"
"Hello, Pop!"
Peter caught a glimpse of a face and straggling brown hair, quickly engulfed in McGuire's arms.
"What on earth – " began McGuire.
"Thought we'd give you a little touch of high life, Pop. It was so hot in town. And the hotel's full of a convention of rough necks. I brought Freddy with me and Mildred and Jack are in the other car. We thought the rest might do us good."
The voice was nasal and pitched high, as though she were trying to make herself audible in a crowd. Peter was ready to revise his estimate that her face was pretty, for to him no woman was more beautiful than her own voice.
"But you can't stay here, Peg," went on McGuire, "not more than over night – with all these people. I'm very busy – "
"H-m. We'll see about that. I never saw the woods look prettier. We came by Lakewood and Brown's Mills and – Why who – ?"
As she sidled into the room she suddenly espied Peter who was still standing by the window.
"Who – ? Why – Oh, yes, this is my new superintendent and forester. Meet my daughter, – Mr. Nichols."
Peter bowed and expressed pleasure. Miss McGuire swept him with a quick glance that took in his flannel shirt, corduroy breeches and rough boots, nodded pertly and turned away.
Peter smiled. Like Beth Cameron this girl was very particular in choosing her acquaintances.
"I nearly killed a guy in the driveway," she went on, "who was he, Pop?"
"Er – one of the gardeners, I've told them to keep people off the place."
"Well. I'd like to see him keep me off! I suppose he'll be trying to hold up Mildred and Jack – "
She walked to the window passing close beside Peter, paying as little attention to his presence as if he had been, an article of furniture.
"Can't you get this man to go down," she said indicating Peter, "and tell them it's all right?"
"Of course," said Peter politely. "I'll go at once. And I'd like to arrange to look over part of the estate with Wells, Mr. McGuire," he added.
"All right, Nichols," said the old man with a frown. And then significantly – "But remember what I've told you. Make careful arrangements before you go."
"Yes, sir."
Peter went down the stairs, amused at his dismissal. On the veranda he found a young man sitting on some suitcases smoking a cigarette. This was Freddy, of course. He afterwards learned that his last name was Mordaunt, that he was a part of Peggy's ambitions, and that he had been invalided home from a camp and discharged from the military service. As Freddy turned, Peter bowed politely and passed on. Having catalogued him by his clothing, Freddy like Peggy had turned away, smoking his cigarette.
Peter thought that some Americans were born with bad manners, some achieved bad manners, and others had bad manners thrust upon them. Impoliteness was nothing new to him, since he had been in America. It was indigenous. Personally, he didn't mind what sort of people he met, but he seemed to be aware that a new element had come to Black Rock which was to make disquietude for Jonathan K. McGuire and difficulty for himself. And yet too there was a modicum of safety, perhaps, in the presence of these new arrivals, for it had been clear from his employer's demeanor that the terrors of the night had passed with the coming of the day.
He commented on this to Shad Wells, who informed him that night was always the old man's bad time.
"Seems sort o' like he's skeered o' the dark. 'Tain't nateral. 'Fraid o' ghosts, they say," he laughed.
"Well," said Peter, "we've got our orders. And the thing he fears isn't a ghost. It's human."
"Sure?"
"Yes. And since he's more afraid after dark he has probably had his warning. But we're not to take any chances."
Having given his new orders to Jesse, who was to be in charge during their absence, they