The Avalanche by Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton (ink book reader txt) 📖

Heavy Square Towers; Its Arched Gateways Leading

Into Courtyards With Fountains Or Sunken Pools, The Red Brown Of The

Stucco Which Looked Like Stone And Was Not. To-Night It Was Blazing With

Lights Of Every Color.

 

So Were The Ancient Oaks, Which Were Old When The Alhambra Was Built,

The Shrubberies, The Vast Rose Garden. The Surface Of The Pool In The

Sunken Garden Reflected The Green Or Red Masses Of Light That Shot Up

Every Few Moments From The Four Corners Of The Terrace Surrounding It.

On The Lawn Just Above And To The Right Of The House, A Platform Had

Been Built For Dancing; It Was Enclosed On Three Sides With An Arbor Of

Many Alcoves, Lined With Flowers, Soft Lights Concealed In Depending

Clusters Of Oranges.

 

And Everywhere There Were People Dressed In Costumes, Gorgeous,

Picturesque, Impressive, Historic, Or Recklessly Invented, But Suggesting

Every Era When Dress Counted At All. They Danced On The Great Platform To

The Strains Of The Invisible Band, Strolled Along The Terraces Above The

Sunken Garden, Wandered Through The Groves And "Grounds," Or Sat In The

Windows Of The Great House Or In Its Courts. All Wore The Little Black

Satin Mask Prescribed By Mrs. Thornton, And Created An Illusion That

Transported The Imagination Far From California. Ruyler Had A Whimsical

Sense Of Being On Another Star Where The Favored Of The Different Periods

Of Earth Had Foregathered For The Night.

 

But There Was Nothing Ghostly In The Shrill Chatter As Incessant As The

Twitter Of The Agitated Birds, Who Found Their Night Snatched From Them

And Hardly Knew Whether To Scold Or Join In The Chorus.

 

Ruyler Had Always Protested Against The High-Pitched Din Made By Even Six

American Women When Gathered Together, And To The Infernal Racket At Any

Large Entertainment; But To-Night He Sighed, Forgetting His Apprehensions

For The Moment.

 

He Had Exquisite Memories Of These Lovely Grounds; He And Helene Had

Spent Several Days With Mrs. Thornton During Their Engagement, And She

Had Lent Them The House For Their Honeymoon; He Would Have Liked To

Wander Through The Pleasant Spaces With His Wife To-Night And Make Love

To Her, Instead Of Spying On Her In The Company Of A Detective.

 

For That, He Was Forced To Conclude, Was What He Had Been Brought For.

Spaulding Had Mentioned Her Name Casually, When Telling Him That He Must

Be On Hand To Nab The "Party" Who Was At The Bottom Of The Whole Trouble;

But Spaulding Hardly Could Have Watched The Person Who Was Blackmailing

Without Including Her In His Surveillance. He Wished Now That He Had Left

That Part Of The Mystery To Take Care Of Itself, Trusting To His

Mother-In-Law's Departure To Relieve The Situation. No Doubt She Would

Have Told Him The Truth Herself Rather Than Leave Her Daughter To The

Mercy Of The Men Who Knew Her Secret.

 

But He Was Still Far From Suspecting The Worst Of The Truth.

 

There Were A Number Of Men In Fancy Dominoes; He And Spaulding Crossed

The Lawn In Front Of The House Unchallenged And, Passing Under The

Frowning Archway, Entered The First Of The Courts.

 

The Oblong Sunken Pool Was Banked With Myrtle, And Above, As Well As In

The Great Inner Court With The Fountain, There Were Narrow Arcaded

Windows With Fluttering Silken Curtains. Mrs. Thornton Had Too Satiric A

Sense Of Humor To Have Had The Famous Arabesques Of The Alhambra

Reproduced Any More Than The Massive Coats-Of-Arms Above The Arches, But

The Walls Were Delicately Colored, The Delicate Columns Looked Like Old

Ivory, And The Greatest Of The Local Architects Had Been Entirely

Successful In Combining The Massiveness Of The Warrior Stronghold With

The Airy Lightness And Spaciousness Of The Pleasure House.

 

The Bedrooms, Ruyler Told Spaulding, Were All As Modern As They Were

Luxurious, And The Library, Living-Rooms, And Dining-Room, Were In The

Best American Style. Fordy Had Rebelled At Too Much "Spanish Atmosphere,"

His Blood Being Straight Anglo-Saxon, And Mrs. Thornton Always Knew When

To Yield. Nevertheless, Flora Thornton Had Built The Proper Setting For

Her Barbaric Beauty, And, Possibly, Spirit.

 

People Were Sitting About The Courts On Piles Of Colored Silken Cushions,

Those That Had Got Themselves Up In Eastern Costumes Having Drifted

Naturally To The Suitable Surroundings; For, After All, The Moors Had

Been Mohammedans.

 

"Don't Let's Hang Round Here," Said The Detective, "And Don't Stand

Holding Yourself Like A Ramrod--Like That Gent Out There With The Ruff

That Must Be Taking The Skin Off His Chin. I Kinder Thought I'd Like To

See The Whole Show, But We'd Best Go Now And Wait For Our Little Turn."

 

He Led The Way Round The Building To The Rear Of The Southwest Tower.

There Was A Little Grove Of Jasmine Trees Just Beneath It, That Made The

Air Overpoweringly Sweet, But There Were No Lights On This Side, As The

Garages, Stables, Vegetable Gardens, And Servants' Quarters Would Have

Destroyed The Picture.

 

Spaulding Glanced About Sharply, But There Was Not Even A Strolling

Couple, And Even The Moon Was Shining On The Other Side Of The Heavy Mass

Of Buildings.

 

"Now, Listen," He Said. "You See This Window?"--He Indicated One Directly

Over Their Heads. "At Exactly One O'clock, When Everybody Is Flocking To

The Supper Tables On The Terraces, I Expect Some One To Lean Out Of That

Window And Talk To Some One Who Will Be Waiting Just Below. There May Be

No Talk, But I Think There Will Be, And I Want You To Listen To Every

Word Of It Without So Much As Drawing A Long Breath, No Matter What Is

Said, Until I Grab Your Elbow--Like This--Then I Want You To Put Up Your

Hand In A Hurry While I'm Also Attendin' To Business.

 

"That's All I'll Say Now. But By The Time A Few Words Have Been Said,

Later, I Guess You'll Be On.

 

"Now, We Must Resign Ourselves To A Long Wait Without A Smoke And To

Keeping Perfectly Still. I Dared Not Risk Comin' Any Later For Fear The

Others Might Be Beforehand, Too."

 

Ruyler Ground His Teeth. He Felt Ridiculous And Humiliated. It Was No

Compensation That He Was Holding Up The Wall Of A Stucco Moorish Palace

And That Some Three Hundred Masked People In Fancy Dress Were Within

Earshot... Or Did The Way He Was Togged Out Make Him Feel All The More

Absurd? The Whole Thing Was Beastly Un-American....

 

But, Was It, After All? If He And Helene Had Been Here Together To-Night,

Not Married And Harrowed, But Engaged And Quick With Romance, Would He

Have Thought It Absurd To Conspire And Maneuver To Separate Her From The

Crowd And Snatch A Few Moments Of Heavenly Solitude? Would He Have

Despised Himself For Suffering Torments If She Flouted Him Or For Wanting

To Murder Any Man Who Balked Him?

 

Love, And All The Passions, Creative And Destructive, It Engendered, All

The Sentiments And Follies And Crimes, To Say Nothing Of Ambition And

Greed And The Lust To Kill In War--These Were Instincts And Traits That

Appeared In Mankind Generation After Generation, In Every Corner

Civilized And Savage Of The Globe. The World Changed Somewhat In Form

During Its Progress, But Never In Substance.

 

And Mystery And Intrigue Were Equally A Part Of Life, As Indigenous To

The Twentieth Century As To Those Days Long Entombed In History When The

Troops Of Ferdinand And Isabella Sat Down On The Plain Before Grenada.

 

Plot And Melodrama Were In Every Life; In Some So Briefly As Hardly To Be

Recognized, In Others--In That Of Certain Men And Women In The Public

Eye, For Instance--They Were Almost In The Nature Of A Continuous

Performance.

 

In These Days Men Took A Bath Morning And Evening, Ate Daintily, Had A

Refined Vocabulary To Use On Demand, Dressed In Tweeds Instead Of Velvet.

There Were Longer Intervals Between The Old Style Of Warfare When Men

Were Always Plugging One Another Full Of Holes In The Name Of Religion Or

Disputed Territory, Merely To Amuse Themselves With A Tryout Of Right

Against Might, Or To Gratify The Insane Ambition Of Some Upstart Like

Napoleon. To-Day The Business World Was The Battlefield, And It Was His

Capital A Man Was Always Healing, His Poor Brain That Collapsed Nightly

After The Strain And Nervous Worry Of The Day.

 

It Suddenly Felt Quite Normal To Be Here Flattened Against A Wall Waiting

For Some Impossible Denouement.

 

Nevertheless, He Was Sick With Apprehension.

 

Would It Merely Be The Prelude To Another Drama? Was His Life To Be A

Series Of Unwritten Plays, Of Which He Was Both The Hero And The

Bewildered Spectator? Or Would It Bring Him Calm, The Terrible Calm Of

Stagnation, Of An Inner Life Finished, Sealed, Buried?

 

It Was Inevitable In These Romantic Surroundings And Conditions That He

Should Revert To His Almost Forgotten Jealousy. Suppose Spaulding Had

Stumbled Upon Something.... But He Had Been Asked For No Such

Evidence.... It Would Be A Damnable Liberty.... It Might Be Inextricably

Woven With The Business In Hand.... There Were Other Men Besides Doremus

Whom Helene Saw Constantly.... Spaulding May Have Seen His Chance To Nip

The Thing In The Bud, And Had Taken The Risk....

 

He Felt The Detective's Lips At His Ear: "Hear Anything? Move A Little

So's You Can Look Up."

 

Ruyler Heard His Wife's Voice Above Him, Then Aileen Lawton's. He Parted

The Branches And Saw The Two Girls Lean Over The Low Sill Of The

Casement. Both Had Removed Their Masks, But Their Faces Were Only Dimly

Revealed. Their Voices, However, Were Distinct Enough, And His Wife's Was

Dull And Flat.

 

"Oh, I Can't," She Said. "I Can't."

 

"Well, You'll Just Jolly Well Have To. You've Got It, Haven't You?"

 

"Oh, Yes, I've Got It!"

 

"Well, He'll Never Suspect You."

 

"I Shall Tell Him."

 

"Tell Him? You Little Fool. And Give Us All Away?"

 

"I'd Mention No Other Names."

 

"As If He Wouldn't Probe Until He Found Out. Don't You Know Price Ruyler

Yet? My Father Said Once He'd Have Made A Great District Attorney. What's

The Use Of Telling Him Later, For That Matter? Why Not Now?"

 

"I Haven't The Courage Yet. I Might Have One Day--At Just The Right

Moment. I Never Thought I Was A Coward."

 

"You're Just A Kid. That's What's The Matter. We Ought To Have Left You

Out. I Told Polly That--"

 

"You Couldn't! Oh, Don't You See You Couldn't. That's The Terrible Part

Of It! Left Me Out? I'd Have Found My Way In."

 

"I'm Not So Sure. You Were Interested In Heaps Of Things, And In Love,

And All That--"

 

"Oh, I'd Like To Excuse Myself By Blaming It On Being Bored, And Tired Of

Trying To Amuse Myself Doing Nothing Worth While, But It's Bad Blood,

That's What It Is, Bad Blood, And You Know It, If None Of The Others Do."

 

"Oh, I'm Not One Of Your Heredity Fiends. When Did Your Mother Tell You?"

 

"Only The Other Day."

 

"Well, She Ought To Have Told You Long Ago. I Believe You'd Have Kept Out

If You'd Known."

 

"Wouldn't I? But Of Course She Hated To Tell The Truth To Me--"

 

"Well, If I'd Known That You Didn't Know I'd Have Told You, All Right. I

Wormed It Out Of Dad Soon After You Arrived, And At First I Thought It

Was A Good Joke On Society, To Say Nothing Of Price Ruyler, With His Air

Of God Having Created Heaven First, Maybe, But New York Just After. Then

I Got Fond Of You And I Wouldn't Have Told For The World. But I Would

Have Put You On Your Guard If I'd Known."

 

"Oh, It Doesn't Matter. Even If Price Doesn't Find Out About This, If He

Learns The Other--Who My Father Was, And That Awful Men Have Recognized

My Mother--I Suppose He'll Hate Me, And In Time I'll Go Back To Rouen--"

 

"Now, You Don't Think As Ill As That Of Him, Do You? He Makes Me So Mad

Sometimes I Could Spit In His Face, But If He's One Thing He's True Blue.

He's The Straight Masculine Type With A Streak Of Old Romance That Would

Make Him Love A Woman The More, The Sorrier He Was For Her, And The

Weaker She Was--I Mean So Long As She Was Young. After This, Just Get To

Work On Your Character, Kid. When You're Thirty Maybe He Won't Feel That

It's His Whole Duty To Protect You. You'll Never Be Hard And Seasoned

Like Me, Nor Able To Take Care Of Yourself. I Like Danger, And

Excitement, And Uncertainty, And Mystery, And Intrigue, And Lying, And

Wriggling Out Of Tight Places. I'd Have Gone Mad In This Hole Long Ago,

If I Hadn't, For I Don't Care For Sport. But You Were Intended To Develop

Into What Is Called A 'Fine Woman,' Surrounded By The Right Sort Of Man

Meanwhile. And Price Ruyler Is The Right Sort. I'll Say That Much For

Him. He'd Have Driven Me To Drink, But He's Just Your Sort--"

 

"And What Am I Doing?