Рекс Стаут - The Last Drive and Other Stories

Canby was trying to find a means of escape, but none offered. In the rear was an impenetrable hedge; on either side he was sure to be seen. He had stayed too long, and now must stay longer.

The rustle of a quick movement came from the other side of the bush, and the young man’s voice:

“Nella! There, I can’t help it! Oh, I’ve wanted so to hold you in my arms — like this. Ah!” There was the sound of a kiss. “No — please, Nella! I love you, I worship you, I adore you! See, I don’t hurt you, do I?”

“No-o. No, you don’t hurt me, Mr. Linwood, but—”

“Ah, let me! Nella, you don’t know what you mean to me! I never thought — You’ve just bowled me over! Dearest, let me!”

More kisses. Canby groaned inwardly. To be out of this!

Nella’s voice came:

“Mr. Linwood, let me go — please.”

“No, I can’t! I won’t! You must promise me, Nella. Say you love me. I’ve begged you long enough.”

“Mr. Linwood... please! Mr. Canby wouldn’t like it.”

“To the devil with Canby! I want you, Nella, you don’t know how I want you. You’re a sorceress, a witch; you set me crazy! You’ve got to promise me; you’ve got to. I tell you I can’t think of anything, of anyone but you. On the train, all day long at the office — everywhere I think of nothing but you. I can’t even sleep — I swear I can’t! But I don’t need to tell you that; you know how I love you. Nella, please — tell me— No! Tell me—”

There was the sound of rustling garments, the scuffling feet on gravel, a little suppressed cry, and then rapid retreating footsteps; and Canby, peering round the corner of the bush, saw Nella’s form dimly disappearing down the path in the starlight. She had flown to the house.

Then from the other side of the bush sounded the footsteps of the man she had left. But not along the path; they approached instead on the grass. Was the young idiot actually coming to this very bench?

He was indeed. On the instant, his form appeared from behind the bush and he sat down on the opposite end of the bench without becoming aware of the other’s presence; he thrust his hands deep in his pockets, crossed his legs in front of him, and let his chin fall on his chest.

“Well, I’m dashed good!” came his voice.

Canby felt that the situation had reached its limit.

“Hello!” he said abruptly. His voice sounded queer.

Young Linwood jumped up as though there had been a pin under him.

“What the devil!” he exclaimed, wheeling.

“It’s I... Canby,” returned the other, retaining his grammar in spite of everything.

“Oh!” The young man caught sight of him. He stood for a moment in silent bewilderment. “But what are you doing? How do you happen—”

Canby explained. “I was here when you came up. I thought you’d go on by. You began to talk at once, and there was no escape. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Young Linwood looked at him a moment, then sat down again. “Couldn’t be helped; not your fault. It happens often, especially in novels. Doesn’t bother me any; I don’t give a hang if the whole world knows I love her.”

Canby was silent.

“You know, I do love her,” the young man resumed presently. “By Jove, I do; with all my heart. “You heard what I said. Well, every word of it is true. And she won’t give me any satisfaction. Most amazing girl I ever saw. She tantalizes me and sets me crazy. I can’t understand it. For two days, you remember, I didn’t come up here; I was trying to forget her. Duff Lewis and I took two girls down to Long Beach and, Lord, but I was sick of ’em! Couldn’t get my mind off of her one minute. I tell you, Canby, I’m hit hard.”

It was the first time he had ever called him “Canby” without the “Mister.” He had reached the estate of man!

“It’s her confounded stubbornness,” the young lover resumed presently, changing his tune a little. “She loves me — I know she does, only she won’t admit it. It’s enough to worry a man to death; because, of course, I’m not absolutely sure.”

He stopped suddenly and looked at Canby as though a new idea had just entered his head.

“By the way, I suppose I ought to consult you, sir; you’re her guardian. Have you any objections?”

“Objections to what?”

“To my marrying Miss Somi.”

“Why—” Canby hesitated. “Have you asked her?”

“Only about ten thousand times.”

“What does she say?”

“She says — she says — I don’t know what the devil she does say! I’ll swear I don’t know, sir. Confound it all, that’s what I’m beefing about! I can’t get her to say anything.”

“It’s just possible she hasn’t made up her mind,” Canby observed drily.

“Good Lord, how much time does she want? Why, all the other girls — but, of course, that’s different. I hadn’t asked them to marry me; so naturally they let me kiss them all I wanted. But I can’t believe— Has she said anything to you about me?”

“About you? No.”

“Not a word?”

“Well, she asked me the other evening if you liked scallops. I believe they were considered for dinner.”

“Did she really?” The young man’s face brightened, then as speedily fell. “But that’s nothing. I’m her guest; she’d do as much for a dog. But she’ll marry me, if I have to run off with her. I’d be capable of anything; that is, I mean, if you have no objections, sir.”

“None whatever, Tom.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What I mean to say is, you’re acceptable to me if you are to her,” Canby continued. “Go ahead and win her if you can. No doubt you’d be as good a husband as the next man. But permit me an observation: don’t you think your method is a little boisterous?”

“Boisterous?”

“Well, undignified; er — unreserved.”

“Oh! Yes, sir, perhaps; but you can’t make love like a clam, you know; you’ve got to move around a little. Besides, they like it.”

Canby grunted. “As you please. It’s the way of youth, I suppose.” He rose from the bench. “I’ll leave you to your rosy reflections. Good night.”

He went off toward the house, leaving the young man on the bench.

He went partly because he had heard enough of the youth’s chatter, but more on account of a decision that had formed itself in his mind as he listened. Evidently the youth had not yet conquered. It was an open field now and a fair one. He, Fred Canby, would buckle on his armor and enter the lists at once, and at once meant now.

He paced the length of the piazza. There was no one there. The elder Linwood, he knew, had gone up to bed some time before. He entered the house, went upstairs to Nella’s room and, seeing a light under the door, knocked on the panel.

Her voice came instantly:

“Who is it?”

“Canby.”

“Oh! Come in.”

He entered, closing the door behind him. She was reclining in a low fauteuil with an open book in her hand; about her hung the folds of the filmy white dressing-gown she had worn that other night two weeks before, and her dark hair, in two massive braids, dropped from her shoulders. The wonder of her was ever new to Canby, and he gazed at her a second in silence.

Then he began abruptly:

“I’ve just been talking with young Linwood.”

Nella sat up, closing the book.

“He tells me he wants to marry you. He says he has asked you to be his wife. You haven’t accepted him?”

Silence.

“Have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” she declared calmly.

“Have you decided to accept him?”

She seemed to hesitate.

“Decided? No,” she replied finally.

Canby breathed. “Then I may speak.” He moved forward a little. “You remember, Nella, two weeks ago you said you would marry me if I wanted you to. I refused to accept what I considered a sacrifice. I gave you my reasons then. I no longer hold myself bound by them. I ask you to marry me.”