The Red Seal [46]
was brusque. "When do you expect Mr. Kent?"
"In about twenty minutes, Colonel." Sylvester glanced at the wall clock. "Won't you sit down?"
McIntyre took the chair and planted it by the window. Never a very patient man, he waited for Kent with increasing irritation, and at the end of half an hour his temper was uppermost. "Give me something to write with," he demanded of Sylvester. Accepting the clerk's fountain pen without thanks, he walked over to the center table and, drawing out his leather wallet, took from it a visiting card and, stooping over, wrote
You have but thirty-six hours remaining. McIntyre.
"See that Mr. Kent gets this card," he directed. "No, don't put it there," irascibly, as the clerk laid the card on top of a pile of letters. "Take it into Mr. Kent's office and put it on his desk."
There was that about Colonel McIntyre which inspired complete obedience to his wishes, and Sylvester followed his directions without further question.
As the clerk stepped into Kent's office McIntyre saw a woman sitting by the empty desk. She turned her head on hearing footsteps and their glances met. A faint exclamation broke from her.
"Margaret!" McIntyre strode past Sylvester. "What are you doing here?"
Mrs. Brewster's ready laugh hid all sign of embarrassment. "Must you know?" she asked archly. "That is hardly fair to Barbara."
"So Barbara sent you here with a message!" Mrs. Brewster treated his remark as a statement and not a question, and briskly changed the subject.
"I can't wait any longer," she pouted. "Please tell Mr. Kent that I am sorry not to have seen him."
"I will, madam." Sylvester placed McIntyre's card in the center of Kent's desk and flew to open the door for Mrs. Brewster.
As the widow stepped into the corridor she brushed by an over-dressed woman, whose cheap finery gave clear indication of her tastes. Hardly noticing another's presence she turned and took McIntyre's arm and they strolled off together, her soft laugh floating back to where Mrs. Sylvester stood talking to her husband.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
Harry Kent rang the doorbell at the McIntyre residence for the fifth time, and wondered what had become of the faithful Grimes; the butler was usually the soul of promptness, and to keep a caller waiting on the doorstep would, in his category, rank as the height of impropriety. As Kent again raised his hand toward the bell, the door swung open suddenly and Barbara beckoned to him to come inside.
"The bell is out of order," she explained. "I saw you from the window. Hurry, and Grimes won't know that you are here," and she darted ahead of him into the reception room. Kent followed more slowly; he was hurt that she had had no other greeting for him.
"Babs, aren't you glad to see me?" he asked wistfully.
For an instant her eyes were lighted by her old sunny smile.
"You know I am," she whispered softly. As his arms closed around her and their lips met in a tender kiss she added fervently, "Oh, Harry, why didn't you make me marry you in the happy bygone days?"
"I asked you often enough," he declared.
"Will you go with me to Rockville at once?" Her face changed and she drew back from him. "No," she said. "It is selfish of me to think of my own happiness now."
"How about mine?" demanded Kent with warmth. "If you won't consider yourself, consider me."
"I do." She looked out of the window to conceal sudden blinding tears. There was a hint of hidden tragedy in her lovely face which went to Kent's heart.
"Sweetheart," his voice was very tender, "is there nothing I can do for you?"
"Nothing," she shook her head drearily. "This family must 'dree its weir.'
Kent studied her in silence; that she was in deadly earnest he recognized, she was no hysterical fool or given to sentimental twaddle.
"You came to me on Wednesday to ask my aid in solving Jimmie Turnbull's death," he said. "I have learned certain facts -"
Barbara sprang to her feet. "Wait,"
"In about twenty minutes, Colonel." Sylvester glanced at the wall clock. "Won't you sit down?"
McIntyre took the chair and planted it by the window. Never a very patient man, he waited for Kent with increasing irritation, and at the end of half an hour his temper was uppermost. "Give me something to write with," he demanded of Sylvester. Accepting the clerk's fountain pen without thanks, he walked over to the center table and, drawing out his leather wallet, took from it a visiting card and, stooping over, wrote
You have but thirty-six hours remaining. McIntyre.
"See that Mr. Kent gets this card," he directed. "No, don't put it there," irascibly, as the clerk laid the card on top of a pile of letters. "Take it into Mr. Kent's office and put it on his desk."
There was that about Colonel McIntyre which inspired complete obedience to his wishes, and Sylvester followed his directions without further question.
As the clerk stepped into Kent's office McIntyre saw a woman sitting by the empty desk. She turned her head on hearing footsteps and their glances met. A faint exclamation broke from her.
"Margaret!" McIntyre strode past Sylvester. "What are you doing here?"
Mrs. Brewster's ready laugh hid all sign of embarrassment. "Must you know?" she asked archly. "That is hardly fair to Barbara."
"So Barbara sent you here with a message!" Mrs. Brewster treated his remark as a statement and not a question, and briskly changed the subject.
"I can't wait any longer," she pouted. "Please tell Mr. Kent that I am sorry not to have seen him."
"I will, madam." Sylvester placed McIntyre's card in the center of Kent's desk and flew to open the door for Mrs. Brewster.
As the widow stepped into the corridor she brushed by an over-dressed woman, whose cheap finery gave clear indication of her tastes. Hardly noticing another's presence she turned and took McIntyre's arm and they strolled off together, her soft laugh floating back to where Mrs. Sylvester stood talking to her husband.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FACE AT THE WINDOW
Harry Kent rang the doorbell at the McIntyre residence for the fifth time, and wondered what had become of the faithful Grimes; the butler was usually the soul of promptness, and to keep a caller waiting on the doorstep would, in his category, rank as the height of impropriety. As Kent again raised his hand toward the bell, the door swung open suddenly and Barbara beckoned to him to come inside.
"The bell is out of order," she explained. "I saw you from the window. Hurry, and Grimes won't know that you are here," and she darted ahead of him into the reception room. Kent followed more slowly; he was hurt that she had had no other greeting for him.
"Babs, aren't you glad to see me?" he asked wistfully.
For an instant her eyes were lighted by her old sunny smile.
"You know I am," she whispered softly. As his arms closed around her and their lips met in a tender kiss she added fervently, "Oh, Harry, why didn't you make me marry you in the happy bygone days?"
"I asked you often enough," he declared.
"Will you go with me to Rockville at once?" Her face changed and she drew back from him. "No," she said. "It is selfish of me to think of my own happiness now."
"How about mine?" demanded Kent with warmth. "If you won't consider yourself, consider me."
"I do." She looked out of the window to conceal sudden blinding tears. There was a hint of hidden tragedy in her lovely face which went to Kent's heart.
"Sweetheart," his voice was very tender, "is there nothing I can do for you?"
"Nothing," she shook her head drearily. "This family must 'dree its weir.'
Kent studied her in silence; that she was in deadly earnest he recognized, she was no hysterical fool or given to sentimental twaddle.
"You came to me on Wednesday to ask my aid in solving Jimmie Turnbull's death," he said. "I have learned certain facts -"
Barbara sprang to her feet. "Wait,"