Chapter 3

Almost in front of the house stood a closed carriage with two fine
horses, but the coachman was looking up anxiously toward the next
building. The sound of the closing door drew the man’s attention, and,
catching Gordon’s eye, he made as if to jump down and throw open the
door of the carriage. Quick as a flash, Gordon saw he had been mistaken
for the man the carriage awaited, and he determined to make use of the
circumstance.

“Don’t get down,” he called to the man, taking chances. “It’s very late
already. I’ll open the door. Drive for all you’re worth.” He jumped
in and slammed the carriage door behind him, and in a second more the
horses were flying down the street. A glance from the back window
showed an excited group of his fellow-guests standing at the open door
of the mansion he had just left pointing toward his carriage and wildly
gesticulating. He surmised that his host was already at the telephone
calling for his own private detective.

Gordon could scarcely believe his senses that he had accomplished his
mission and flight so far, and yet he knew his situation was most
precarious. Where he was going he neither knew nor cared. When he was
sure he was far enough from the house he would call to the driver and
give him directions, but first he must make sure that the precious
paper was safely stowed away, in case he should be caught and searched.
They might be coming after him with motor-cycles in a minute or two.

Carefully rolling the paper into a tiny compass, he slipped it into
a hollow gold case which was among the things in the envelope the
chief had given him. There was a fine chain attached to the case, and
the whole looked innocently like a gold pencil. The chain he slipped
about his neck, dropping the case down inside his collar. That done he
breathed more freely. Only from his dead body should they take that
away. Then he hastily put on the false eyebrows, mustache, and goatee
which had been provided for his disguise, and pulling on a pair of
light gloves he felt more fit to evade detection.

He was just beginning to think what he should say to the driver about
taking him to the station, for it was important that he get out of the
city at once, when, glancing out of the window to see what part of
the city he was being taken through he became aware of an auto close
beside the carriage keeping pace with it, and two men stretching their
necks as if to look into the carriage window at him. He withdrew to the
shadow instantly so that they could not see him, but the one quick
glance he had made him sure that one of his pursuers was the short
thick-set man with the cruel jaw who had sat across from him at the
dinner-table a few minutes before. If this were so he had practically
no chance at all of escape, for what was a carriage against a swift
moving car and what was he against a whole city full of strangers and
enemies? If he attempted to drop from the carriage on the other side
and escape into the darkness he had but a chance of a thousand at not
being seen, and he could not hope to hide and get away in this unknown
part of the city. Yet he must take his chance somehow, for the carriage
must sooner or later get somewhere and he be obliged to face his
pursuers.

To make matters worse, just at the instant when he had decided to jump
at the next dark place and was measuring the distance with his eye, his
hand even being outstretched to grasp the door handle, a blustering,
boisterous motor-cycle burst into full bloom just where he intended
to jump, and the man who rode it was in uniform. He dodged back into
the darkness of the carriage again that he might not be seen, and
the motor-cycle came so near that its rider turned a white face and
looked in. He felt that his time had come, and his cause was lost. It
had not yet occurred to him that the men who were pursuing him would
hardly be likely to call in municipal aid in their search, lest their
own duplicity would be discovered. He reasoned that he was dealing
with desperate men who would stop at nothing to get back the original
cipher paper, and stop his mouth. He was well aware that only death
would be considered a sufficient silencer for him after what he had
seen at Mr. Holman’s dinner-table, for the evidence he could give would
involve the honor of every man who had sat there. He saw in a flash
that the two henchmen whom he was sure were even now riding in the car
on his right had been at the table for the purpose of silencing him
if he showed any signs of giving trouble. The wonder was that any of
them dared call in a stranger on a matter of such grave import which
meant ruin to them all if they were found out, but probably they had
reasoned that every man had his price and had intended to offer him a
share of the booty. It was likely that the chief had caused it to be
understood by them that he was the right kind of man for their purpose.
Yet, of course, they had taken precautions, and now they had him well
caught, an auto on one side, a motor-cycle on the other and no telling
how many more behind! He had been a fool to get into this carriage.
He might have known it would only trap him to his death. There seemed
absolutely no chance for escape now--yet he must fight to the last. He
put his hand on his revolver to make sure it was easy to get at, tried
to think whether it would not be better to chew up and swallow that
cipher message rather than to run the risk of its falling again into
the hands of the enemy; decided that he must carry it intact to his
chief if possible; and finally that he must make a dash for safety at
once, when just then the carriage turned briskly into a wide driveway,
and the attendant auto and motor-cycle dropped behind as if puzzled at
the move. The carriage stopped short and a bright light from an open
doorway was flung into his face. There seemed to be high stone walls on
one side and the lighted doorway on the other hand evidently led into
a great stone building. He could hear the puffing of the car and cycle
just behind. A wild notion that the carriage had been placed in front
of the house to trap him in case he tried to escape, and that he had
been brought to prison, flitted through his mind.

His hand was on his revolver as the coachman jumped down to fling open
the carriage door, for he intended to fight for his liberty to the last.

He glanced back through the carriage window, and the lights of the auto
glared in his face. The short, thick-set man was getting out of the
car, and the motor-cyclist had stood his machine up against the wall
and was coming toward the carriage. Escape was going to be practically
impossible. A wild thought of dashing out the opposite door of his
carriage, boldly seizing the motor-cycle and making off on it passed
through his mind, and then the door on his left was flung open and the
carriage was immediately surrounded by six excited men in evening dress
all talking at once. “Here you are at last!” they chorused.

“Where is the best man?” shouted some one from the doorway. “Hasn’t
he come either?” And as if in answer one of the men by the carriage
door wheeled and called excitedly: “Yes, he’s come! Tell him--tell
Jeff--tell him he’s come.” Then turning once more to Gordon he seized
him by the arm and cried: “Come on quickly! There isn’t a minute to
wait. The organist is fairly frantic. Everybody has been just as
nervous as could be. We couldn’t very well go on without you--you know.
But don’t let that worry you. It’s all right now you’ve come. Forget
it, old man, and hustle.” Dimly Gordon perceived above the sound of
subdued hubbub that an organ was playing, and even as he listened it
burst into the joyous notes of the wedding march. It dawned upon him
that this was not a prison to which he had come but a church--not a
court-room but a wedding, and horror of horrors! they took him for the
best man. His disguise had been his undoing. How was he to get out of
this scrape? And with his pursuers just behind!

“Let me explain----” he began, and wondered what he could explain.

“There’s no time for explanations now, man. I tell you the organ has
begun the march. We’re expected to be marching down that middle aisle
this very minute and Jeff is waiting for us in the chapel. I sent the
signal to the bride and another to the organist the minute we sighted
you. Come on! Everybody knows your boat was late in coming in. You
don’t need to explain a thing till afterwards.”

At that moment one of the ushers moved aside and the short, thick-set
man stepped between, the light shining full upon his face, and Gordon
knew him positively for the man who had sat opposite him at the table a
few minutes before. He was peering eagerly into the carriage door and
Gordon saw his only escape was into the church. With his heart pounding
like a trip hammer he yielded himself to the six ushers, who swept the
little pursuer aside as if he had been a fly and literally bore Gordon
up the steps and into the church door.

A burst of music filled his senses, and dazzling lights, glimpses
of flowers, palms and beautiful garments bewildered him. His one
thought was for escape from his pursuers. Would they follow him into
the church and drag him out in the presence of all these people, or
would they be thrown off the track for a little while and give him
opportunity yet to get away? He looked around wildly for a place of
exit but he was in the hands of the insistent ushers. One of them
chattered to him in a low, growling whisper, such as men use on solemn
occasions:

“It must have been rough on you being anxious like this about getting
here, but never mind now. It’ll go all right. Come on. Here’s our
cue and there stands Jefferson over there. You and he go in with the
minister, you know. The groom and the best man, you understand, they’ll
tell you when. Jeff has the ring all right, so you won’t need to bother
about that. There’s absolutely nothing for you to do but stand where
you’re put and go out when the rest do. You needn’t feel a bit nervous.”

Was it possible that these crazy people didn’t recognize their mistake
even yet here in the bright light? Couldn’t they see his mustache was
stuck on and one eyebrow was crooked? Didn’t they know their best man
well enough to recognize his voice? Surely, surely, some one would
discover the mistake soon--that man Jeff over there who was eyeing him
so intently. He would be sure to know this was not his friend. Yet
every minute that they continued to think so was a distinct gain for
Gordon, puzzling his pursuers and giving himself time to think and plan
and study his strange surroundings.

And now they were drawing him forward and a turn of his head gave him
a vision of the stubbed head of the thick-set man peering in at the
chapel door and watching him eagerly. He must fool him if possible.

“But I don’t know anything about the arrangements,” faltered Gordon,
reflecting that the best man might not be very well known to the ushers
and perhaps he resembled him. It was not the first time he had been
taken for another man--and with his present make-up and all, perhaps it
was natural. Could he possibly hope to bluff it out for a few minutes
until the ceremony was over and then escape? It would of course be the
best way imaginable to throw that impudent little man in the doorway
off his track. If the real best man would only stay away long enough
it would not be a difficult part to play. The original man might turn
up after he was gone and create a pleasant little mystery, but nobody
would be injured thereby. All this passed through his mind while the
usher kept up his sepulchral whisper:

“Why, there are just the usual arrangements, you know--nothing new.
You and Jeff go in after the ushers have reached the back of the church
and opened the door. Then you just stand there till Celia and her uncle
come up the aisle. Then follows the ceremony--very brief. Celia had
all that repeating after the minister cut out on account of not being
able to rehearse. It’s to be just the simplest service, not the usual
lengthy affair. Don’t worry, you’ll be all right, old man. Hurry!
They’re calling you. Leave your hat right here. Now I must go. Keep
cool. It’ll soon be over.”

The breathless usher hurried through the door and settled into a sort
of exalted hobble to the time of the wonderful Lohengrin music. Gordon
turned, thinking even yet to make a possible escape, but the eagle-eye
of his pursuer was upon him and the man Jefferson was by his side:

“Here we are!” he said, eagerly grabbing Gordon’s hat and coat and
dumping them on a chair. “I’ll look after everything. Just come along.
It’s time we went in. The doctor is motioning for us. Awfully glad to
see you at last. Too bad you had to rush so. How many years is it since
I saw you? Ten! You’ve changed some, but you’re looking fine and dandy.
No need to worry about anything. It’ll soon be over and the knot tied.”

Mechanically Gordon fell into place beside the man Jefferson, who was
a pleasant-faced youth, well-groomed and handsome. Looking furtively
at his finely-cut, happy features, Gordon wondered if he would feel
as glad as this youth seemed to be, when he walked down the aisle to
meet his bride. How, by the way, would he feel if he were going to be
married now,--going into the face of this great company of well-dressed
people to meet Miss Julia Bentley and be joined to her for life?
Instinctively his soul shrank within him at the thought.

But now the door was wide open, the organ pealing its best, and he
suddenly became aware of many eyes, and of wondering how long his
eyebrows would withstand the perspiration that was trickling softly
down his forehead. His mustache--ridiculous appendage! why had he not
removed it?--was it awry? Dared he put up his hand to see? His gloves!
Would anyone notice that they were not as strictly fresh as a best
man’s gloves should be? Then he took his first step to the music, and
it was like being pulled from a delicious morning nap and plunged into
a tub of icy water.

He walked with feet that suddenly weighed like lead, across a church
that looked to be miles in width, in the face of swarms of curious
eyes. He tried to reflect that these people were all strangers to him,
that they were not looking at him, anyway, but at the bridegroom by
his side, and that it mattered very little what he did, so long as he
kept still and braved it out, if only the real best man didn’t turn up
until he was well out of the church. Then he could vanish in the dark,
and go by some back way to a car or a taxicab and so to the station.
The thought of the paper inside the gold pencil-case filled him with
a sort of elation. If only he could get out of this dreadful church,
he would probably get away safely. Perhaps even the incident of the
wedding might prove to be his protection, for they would never seek him
in a crowded church at a fashionable wedding.

The man by his side managed him admirably, giving him a whispered
hint, a shove, or a push now and then, and getting him into the proper
position. It seemed as if the best man had to occupy the most trying
spot in all the church, but as they put him there, of course it was
right. He glanced furtively over the faces near the front, and they all
looked quite satisfied, as if everything were going as it should, so he
settled down to his fate, his white, strained face partly hidden by the
abundant display of mustache and eyebrow. People whispered softly how
handsome he looked, and some suggested that he was not so stout as when
they had last seen him, ten years before. His stay in a foreign land
must have done him good. One woman went so far as to tell her daughter
that he was far more distinguished-looking than she had ever thought he
could become, but it was wonderful what a stay in a foreign land would
do to improve a person.

The music stole onward; and slowly, gracefully, like the opening of
buds into flowers, the bridal party inched along up the middle aisle
until at last the bride in all the mystery of her white veil arrived,
and all the maidens in their flowers and many colored gauzes were
suitably disposed about her.

The feeble old man on whose arm the bride had leaned as she came up
the aisle dropped out of the procession, melting into one of the front
seats, and Gordon found himself standing beside the bride. He felt sure
there must be something wrong about it, and looked at his young guide
with an attempt to change places with him, but the man named Jefferson
held him in place with a warning eye. “You’re all right. Just stay
where you are,” he whispered softly, and Gordon stayed, reflecting on
the strange fashions of weddings, and wondering why he had never before
taken notice of just how a wedding party came in and stood and got out
again. If he was only out of this how glad he would be. It seemed one
had to be a pretty all-around man to be a member of the Secret Service.

The organ had hushed its voice to a sort of exultant sobbing, filled
with dreams of flowers and joys, and hints of sorrow; and the minister
in a voice both impressive and musical began the ceremony. Gordon stood
doggedly and wondered if that really was one eyebrow coming down over
his eye, or only a drop of perspiration.

Another full second passed, and he decided that if he ever got out
of this situation alive he would never, no, never, no, _never_, get
married himself.

During the next second that crawled by he became supremely conscious
of the creature in white by his side. A desire possessed him to look
at her and see if she were like Julia Bentley. It was like a nightmare
haunting his dreams that she _was_ Julia Bentley somehow transported
to New York and being married to him willy-nilly. He could not shake
it off, and the other eyebrow began to feel shaky. He was sure it was
sailing down over his eye. If he only dared press its adhesive lining a
little tighter to his flesh!

Some time during the situation there came a prayer, interminable to his
excited imagination, as all the other ceremonies.

Under cover of the hush and the supposedly bowed heads, Gordon turned
desperately toward the bride. He must see her and drive this phantasm
from his brain. He turned, half expecting to see Julia’s tall,
handsome form, though telling himself he was a fool, and wondering why
he so dreaded the idea. Then his gaze was held fascinated.

She was a little creature, slender and young and very beautiful,
with a beauty which a deathly pallor only enhanced. Her face was
delicately cut, and set in a frame of fine dark hair, the whole made
most exquisite by the mist of white tulle that breathed itself about
her like real mist over a flower. But the lovely head drooped, the
coral lips had a look of unutterable sadness, and the long lashes swept
over white cheeks. He could not take his eyes from her now that he had
looked. How lovely, and how fitting for the delightful youth by his
side! Now that he thought of it she was like him, only smaller and more
delicate, of course. A sudden fierce, ridiculous feeling of envy filled
Gordon’s heart. Why couldn’t he have known and loved a girl like that?
Why had Julia Bentley been forever in his pathway as the girl laid out
for his choice?

He looked at her with such intensity that a couple of dear old sisters
who listened to the prayer with their eyes wide open, whispered one to
the other: “Just see him look at her! How he must love her! Wasn’t it
beautiful that he should come right from the steamer to the church and
never see her till now, for the first time in ten long years. It’s so
romantic!”

“Yes,” whispered the other; “and I believe it’ll last. He looks at her
that way. Only I do dislike that way of arranging the hair on his face.
But then it’s foreign I suppose. He’ll probably get over it if they
stay in this country.”

A severe old lady in the seat in front turned a reprimanding chin
toward them and they subsided. Still Gordon continued to gaze.

Then the bride became aware of his look, raised her eyes, and--they
were full of tears!

They gave him one reproachful glance that shot through his soul like a
sword, and her lashes drooped again. By some mysterious control over
the law of gravity, the tears remained unshed, and the man’s gaze was
turned aside; but that look had done its mighty work.

All the experiences of the day rushed over him and seemed to culminate
in that one look. It was as if the reproach of all things had come upon
him. The hurt in the white dog’s eyes had touched him, the perfect
courage in the appeal of the child’s eyes had called forth his deepest
sympathy, but the tears of this exquisite woman wrung his heart. He saw
now that the appeal of the dog and the child had been the opening wedge
for the look of a woman, which tore self from him and flung it at her
feet for her to walk upon; and when the prayer was ended he found that
he was trembling.

He looked vindictively at the innocent youth beside him, as the soft
rustle of the audience and the little breath of relief from the
bridal party betokened the next stage in the ceremony. What had this
innocent-looking youth done to cause tears in those lovely eyes? Was
she marrying him against her will? He was only a boy, anyway. What
right had he to suppose he could care for a delicate creature like
that? He was making her cry already, and he seemed to be utterly
unconscious of it. What could be the matter? Gordon felt a desire to
kick him.

Then it occurred to him that inadvertently _he_ might have been the
cause of her tears; he, supposedly the best man, who had been late, and
held up the wedding no knowing how long. Of course it wasn’t really
his fault; but by proxy it was, for he now was masquerading as that
unlucky best man, and she was very likely reproaching him for what she
supposed was his stupidity. He had heard that women cried sometimes
from vexation, disappointment or excitement.

Yet in his heart of hearts he could not set those tears, that look,
down to so trivial a cause. They had reached his very soul, and he
felt there was something deeper there than mere vexation. There had
been bitter reproach for a deep wrong done. The glance had told him
that. All the manhood in him rose to defend her against whoever had
hurt her. He longed to get one more look into her eyes to make quite
sure; and then, if there was still appeal there, his soul must answer
it.

For the moment his commission, his ridiculous situation, the real peril
to his life and trust, were forgotten.

The man Jefferson had produced a ring and was nudging him. It appeared
that the best man had some part to play with that ring. He dimly
remembered somewhere hearing that the best man must hand the ring to
the bridegroom at the proper moment, but it was absurd for them to go
through the farce of doing that when the bridegroom already held the
golden circlet in his fingers! Why did he not step up like a man and
put it upon the outstretched hand; that little white hand just in front
of him there, so timidly held out with its glove fingers tucked back,
like a dove crept out from its covert unwillingly?

But that Jefferson-man still held out the ring stupidly to him, and
evidently expected him to take it. Silly youth! There was nothing for
it but to take it and hand it back, of course. He must do as he was
told and hasten that awful ceremony to its interminable close. He took
the ring and held it out, but the young man did not take it again.
Instead he whispered, “Put it on her finger!”

Gordon frowned. Could he be hearing aright? Why didn’t the fellow put
the ring on his own bride? If he were being married, he would knock any
man down that dared to put his wife’s wedding ring on for him. Could
that be the silly custom now, to have the best man put the bride’s ring
on? How unutterably out of place! But he must not make a scene, of
course.

The little timid hand, so slender and white, came a shade nearer as if
to help, and the ring finger separated itself from the others.

He looked at the smooth circlet. It seemed too tiny for any woman’s
finger. Then, reverently, he slipped it on, with a strange,
inexpressible longing to touch the little hand. While he was thinking
himself all kinds of a fool, and was enjoying one of his intermittent
visions of Julia Bentley’s expressive countenance interpolated on the
present scene, a strange thing happened.

There had been some low murmurs and motions which he had not noticed
because he thought his part of this very uncomfortable affair was
about concluded, when, lo and behold, the minister and the young man
by his side both began fumbling for his hand, and among them they
managed to bring it into position and place in its astonished grasp the
little timid hand that he had just crowned with its ring.

As his fingers closed over the bride’s hand, there was such reverence,
such tenderness in his touch that the girl’s eyes were raised once more
to his face, this time with the conquered tears in retreat, but all the
pain and appeal still there. He looked and involuntarily he pressed her
hand the closer, as if to promise aforetime whatever she would ask.
Then, with her hand in his, and with the realization that they two
were detached as it were from the rest of the wedding party, standing
in a little centre of their own, his senses came back to him, and he
perceived as in a flash of understanding that it was _they_ who were
being married!

There had been some terrible, unexplainable mistake, and he was
stupidly standing in another man’s place, taking life vows upon
himself! The thing had passed from an adventure of little moment into a
matter of a life-tragedy, two life-tragedies perhaps! What should he do?

With the question came the words, “I pronounce you husband and wife,”
and “let no man put asunder.”