A Maiden in Distress

ANNA ALICE CHAPIN

T was a really beautiful July afternoon, and Guy Meredith simply bubbled with high spirits and with the milk of human kindness. He was twenty-five, heart-whole, and healthily good-looking; and he was trying out his new motor car. Could any combination of conditions on earth be more entirely satisfying? He was, in fact, supremely contented with himself, with the car, with the weather, with the world in which he so joyously lived. There not a single fly in his ointment, no rift within the sound lute of his being; if any of his dolls were stuffed with sawdust he did not know it.

If he had not been a constitutional optimist, he would have from the very hopefulness of his circumstances. One of the most disillusioning facts of life is that fate never makes us completely happy except as a prelude to a cataclysm; but such a notion would have seemed to Guy morbid and ungrateful—rank heresy to the unanalytical joy in life which thumped so cheerfully in his hardy veins.

The car, he decided, was a peach. It was a pity that he hadn't asked some other chap along. He felt no end of a hog to be having such a tiptop, corking time all by his lonesome. He had leisure to feel passing spasms of compassion for all the other people he met, because they hadn't his A-1, gilt-edged, superlative automobile—pleasant compassion, largely composed of boyish arrogance. But he would really have liked to share his pleasure; so far he was sincere

He looked hopefully along the high-road for some one he knew; but, of course, there wasn't any one. Why should there be? Most of his pals owned cars of sorts, or horses; and, this was not a beaten way that led to any country club; but a rustic, though well-kept byroad, with which he was quite unfamiliar.

Though he was close to the New York suburbs. it was still real country. It was a pretty road, winding along through sunny fields and sudden, dark-green patches of woodland, past sleepy old farmhouses and occasional garden-inclosed country The summer heat lay not too heavily on the pleasant, fertile land; the song of birds penetrated even the voice of his own motor; the warm smell of grass mounted to him through the fumes of the gasoline.

He fell to thinking of the girl he had seen at the garage while he was waiting for his car to be gotten ready. She was—of course!—different from the usual run of feminine creatures; daintier, yet subtly more daring. She had darting brown eyes with gold in them, and her hair was the same alluring mixture of shadow and sunshine. Her rose-colored automobile veil brought out the warm color of her lips.

They had chatted for a full minute with the frankness of healthy-minded young well-bred, people, and she had recommended this road to him as being  “good going,” as well as pretty and romantic. She had left the garage before he did; and he had noticed that she knew how to run a machine like an old hand. A girl taking out a big Winton like that, all alone! The sporting quality of it appealed to him. He wished that he knew her name.

Further than this, he wished vaguely that he could have an adventure; not necessarily a sentimental one, or, if sentimental, only incidentally so. He wanted to be a knight-errant; the job looked easy, and always earned lots of credit. He thought of rescues from burning buildings, runaway horses, cruel relatives. A maiden in distress! That was it, a maiden in distress! There was something very taking in the idea of a maiden in distress.

The maidens he knew were mostly very well looked out for, thank you! Keen, sensible, happy young girls—they'd be a jolly sight more likely to get him out of a scrape than he them!

This depressed him. He slowed down the machine to the better accompany his subdued mood, while he ruminated, after the manner of healthy and fortunate lads in moments of introspection, upon his own monumental uselessness! A hulk! A hearty hulk! Six feet two of blooming carcass, eating its head off! His metaphors struck even his own uncritical sense. What was he good for? Football, and spending money. Oh, Lord! And running a car. Say, it was a pippin of a car, and no mistake!

The spell of humility was broken. He chuckled, and played with his new toy for quite half an hour, happily trying speed after speed. Then he whistled: “My Girl's a High-born Lady!” and looked about him.

He was running slowly, the indicator at about twenty. He had been experimenting with that odd, sensatory illusion which arises from a big shift in speed. To go from fifty miles an hour to thirty-five is to be convinced that you are crawling at a footpace. To drop from sixty to twenty is to experience the momentary delusion that you have stopped entirely.

The road now led almost entirely through woods; wonderfully clean, orderly woods at which he marveled. Then he recalled indifferently that there was a very rich chap who lived somewhere up this way who had a famous deer park. What was his name? Lenyard? Ledyard?

His attention was suddenly arrested by a faint hail from the roadside. He brought the machine to an unceremonious standstill, and stared bewildered in the direction of the voice.

There on a bank of purple asters and Queen Annes sat the mysterious Girl of the Garage. Her motor coat was dusty, her rose-colored veil was limp; there was a slight smudge on her pretty nose, and she was crying very softly and attractively. From time to time she rubbed her face with a squashed-up, little handkerchief and sobbed pathetically.

Guy was out of his car in a moment. Talk about maidens in distress! Well, I ask you!

“Oh, I say,” he gasped, “you mustn't do that. You—you'll make yourself sick, you know!”

He remembered dimly a formula of his stormy childhood, when he had been wont to weep with temper.

The girl looked at him with all the gold washed out of her brown eyes.

“They've gone!” she wailed. “He's taken them! He's taken every one!”

“Who's taken them? Taken what?”

Guy mechanically handed her his own handkerchief, with which she began to rub her face once more, crushing the other into the pocket of her motor coat.

“If”—she choked—"if you've a single atom of pluck, you'll help me get them back!”

The onslaught was so sudden and fierce that Guy jumped.

“Rather!” he said promptly. “I don't know what you want, but we'll get it sure!”

The girl stopped crying, and regarded him appraisingly. Apparently she liked his merry gray eyes and clean, lean young face, for she nodded, as though with lugubrious satisfaction.

“Is that a fast car?' she demanded irrelevantly.

“Well, pretty fast,” said Guy, with assumed nonchalance. “I've only taken her at seventy-two so far, but I think she'll go faster.”

The brown eyes lit up faintly.

“Fine for you!” she exclaimed, as though involuntarily. “It will beat mine!”

“Your car?”

“Yes.”

She got up onto her feet with his help. Guy looked about him.

“Where is it, by the way?”

“He took it, too—the brute!” said the girl savagely.

Guy shook his head despairingly.

“See here,” he said politely but firmly. “I'm only too—too honored to be allowed to help you in any way can, you know; but, really, you'll have to tell me what it is all about. That's only playing the game, you know.”

“You won't take a risk with your eyes shut!” she said scornfully. 'You don't trust me!”

The words jarred on Guy. He colored uncomfortably as he said:

“I don't know what you want me to do; that's all.”

“A man held me up just now,” she said, “and stole a jewel case full of the most valuable unset rubies in America.”

Guy gasped, but a thrill ran through his veins. He had been hankering for an adventure. Was ever an adventure so exciting, so extraordinary as this? He stammered incoherent questions, but the girl cut in upon them.

“Let's start,” she said. “I can tell you as we go. He has only ten minutes' start. We can overtake him in that car in no time.”

Almost without his own volition, Guy found himself helping her into the machine, and beginning to crank up. In a moment they were under way, but now he had found his voice and his reasoning faculty.

“But don't you think that we'd better stop somewhere and telephone ahead to a station house?” he suggested. “We are almost in city limits, you know. Anyway, this isn't a matter for us to handle. It needs the police.”

“You're afraid!” she flashed at him, again hitting the wrong note.

“I'm exceedingly afraid that you will lose your jewels,” he said stiffly. “How on earth did you come to carry them about with you alone, anyway?”

“I was taking them up here to my uncle,” she began volubly. “I went down into town and got them out of the safe for him. He wanted to show them to some collector who was coming to dinner.”

“Then your uncle lives around here somewhere?”

“Yes. He is Mr.” She hesitated. “Mr. Ledyard.”

“Ledyard! The man who owns the deer park? Oh, then, Miss—Miss”

“Ledyard.”

“Miss Ledyard, the best thing for us to do is to go right to your uncle and tell him all about it. Where is the entrance to the grounds?”

He began to slow up, but she laid a quick hand on his arm.

“Oh, you don't understand!” she exclaimed. “He—he is away for the day; and, anyway, he would never—never forgive me for losing them! He values them so—so terribly! And he thinks it is dreadful of me to go about alone as I do, and”

“Well, it is!” said Guy encouragingly.

“Why should I be afraid of being alone?” she cried proudly. “I am armed!”

She produced a small, perfect revolver, mounted in silver and ivory.

“It doesn't seem to have helped you much this time,” remarked Guy dryly.

All the same, the sight of the little weapon gave him an odd feeling. He began to wonder whether he could handle this business alone without the aid of the police. Romance was tempting Guy Meredith. He could hear her insidious whisper in his ears.

He hardly noticed the rest of the girl's explanation and account of the holdup till he caught the words:

“And uncle has such a horror of publicity! Oh, think if I lost his rubies and gave the thing into the hands of the police and the papers—I really think that he would never speak to me again! Oh, Mr.”

“My name's Guy Meredith!”

“Dear Mr. Meredith, won't you help me?”

She clasped her hands and leaned toward him. She was just a shade more empressée than his girl friends usually were; but, then, she was overwrought, of course, from her terrible experience.

Besides, it is easy for five-and-twenty to forgive a pretty girl for being a bit overdemonstrative.

“All right,” said Guy, recklessly committing himself. “Give me that Gatling gun of yours, and we'll see what we can do without the strong arm of the law.”

She clapped her hands joyfully; and, with the little revolver in his coat pocket, Guy, too, felt a glow of exhilaration steal over him from head to foot.

There was no doubt about it; the adventure had begun!

They sighted a car ahead, and, without looking at her, Guy felt that his companion stiffened a trifle, as though bracing herself. Yes! It was a Winton—he saw that in another moment; but she touched his arm quickly and shook her head.

“That's not the right one!” she cried in his ear.

“But it's your car!”

“It isn't! It isn't!” she exclaimed violently. “Pass it. Please do as I say, and pass it!”

They snorted past at a rate of forty miles an hour; and Guy caught a glimpse of a white fox face half hidden by a turned-up collar. Turned up on a day like this!

“You're sure?” said Guy.

“Of course I'm sure!” She was frowning; a brighter color rose in her cheeks. “Don't you suppose there are other Wintons on this road?”

“Yes; but it's funny, just the same!”

On a straight bit he slowed down a shade, and turned to look back dubiously. To his surprise, the other car had put on speed, and was following them steadily about fifty yards in the rear.

“It's funny!” repeated Guy Meredith again.

But his cogitations were stopped abruptly by the girl's low cry.

“There!” she gasped. “At last! Oh, can't you hurry? Look at your speedometer; it's only at forty-five. There's a village just beyond—see the spire! We must catch him in that wooded stretch ahead.”

Forty-five—fifty. The needle wavered at fifty for a minute; then suddenly swept around to fifty-five—sixty.

“We can't keep it up on this road,” said Guy quietly. “Jove! The fellow's going it, too!”

She was leaning far forward, panting with excitement. There was a look he did not entirely admire in her eyes. He had seen it on the face of a woman he knew, on a deer hunt.

“Diana!” he said, half laughing; but the flame of her eyes reproached him for joking at such a moment as this.

Sixty-five miles an hour! And the race was over. Instinctively Guy sounded his motor horn, and the driver of the second Winton turned with a hasty backward glance.

“Why did you do that?” snapped the girl. “Giving him warning!”

“Well, I don't want to kill him. Steady! We'll jolt a little when we let up on this!”

The car ahead swerved out politely, and Guy's big machine swung in beside it at a miraculously slower gait. Breath for breath the two cars pounded along abreast.

The driver of this Winton was a thickset man with an iron-gray mustache; not the usual type of crook, obviously. The most suspicious thing about him was the surly, anxious way in which he eyed them.

“Hi!” he shouted. “D'you want to kick me into the ditch?”

“Maybe!” yelled back Guy cheerfully.

He was, in fact, maneuvering on a slant which badly crowded the other car. They were going gently now, and there was little danger; but it was uncomfortable for the Winton, and Guy could see that the thickset man was swearing heartily. In another second he had put on his brake, and was ten feet behind them, at a standstill. Guy promptly backed, swerved, and came to a stop himself.

“What in” began the Winton driver hotly; and at the same moment he saw the revolver in Guy's hand. “Oh, damn!” he said.

He made a tentative movement toward his own pocket, but thought better of it.

“I've been expecting this!” was his next remark.

He looked at the man and girl as though he could have flayed them both.

“That's lucky!” said Guy, in loud and cheerful accents.

The girl pressed closer to him, and he could feel her trembling slightly. He proceeded with easy confidence:

“Hand 'em over!”

“What?” snarled his victim.

“What? Lord, how much swag do you carry, anyhow? The rubies, my innocent old friend, if you please!”

“The rubies!” repeated the other, in a voice of anguish. Then he groaned, and shook his head as though accepting the inevitable. “I've been expecting this. Oh, damn!” he said again.

“Will you give 'em up?” demanded Guy impatiently.

“Give them up! Of course, you chuckle-headed, ape-faced, swindling blackguard! Of course I'll give 'em up! What d'you think I am? Bullet proof?”

“I guess,” said Guy to the girl, in a businesslike manner, “you'd better go and get 'em yourself. He won't cheat you, and I'll keep him covered.”

“You bet he won't cheat me!” said she, with astonishing vulgarity, and straightway clambered down and marched upon the enemy.

If he had any desire to demur, he apparently dismissed it after a glance at the knight-errant's firmly pointed hand. He appeared a sensible old fellow, in spite of his choleric temperament and unfortunate avocation. When with the most graceful self-possession she put out her hand and stood waiting, his lips moved, and it was evident that he was swearing, and again swearing, albeit inaudibly. But at last, with a heavy sigh, he produced a Russia leather case, and handed it over.

The next moment, as Guy momentarily relaxed his vigilance, he dexterously whipped out a revolver. But, before he could aim it, the young man's voice checked him sharply.

“Hi, there!” he said. “I'm still on the job. Easy with the self-defense business.”

The girl had returned to Guy's auto by this time, and now climbed in nimbly, but without flurry.

“All right,” she said sweetly. “We can leave him now, I think.”

“Well, I don't know,” mused Guy. “I think he'd better go and bury his gun first. Revered sir, will you kindly fire that plaything of yours over the fence?”

The plethoric gentleman for the third time said: “Damn! I've been expecting this!” and did as he was told.

“You must pitch a good ball,” Guy commented critically, pocketing his own weapon. “It's a horrible thing,” he proceeded, with severity, “to see a man of your age in this sort of position!”

“Rub it in, do!” said his adversary darkly. “I know I'm a pinhead. Rub it in well!”

“I'm ashamed of you,” said Guy. “I really am ashamed of you!” He suddenly noted that Miss Ledyard's face was buried in her hands, and that her shoulders were shaking. “I know you've been through a lot,” he said to her soothingly; “but you mustn't be hysterical!”

At this point, the first Winton suddenly rolled placidly around the corner, into the little glade. Guy had a confused sense of bewilderment. He had forgotten the thing. What on earth had it been doing all this time? Even as he queried, it halted. The fox-faced, pallid man leaned from the wheel, idly curious.

“Which of you's broken down?” he demanded.

“I have,” said the thickset man, looking suddenly hopeful. “These tramps have attacked me, sir!”

“What an outrage!” shrilled the girl.

“Attacked!” cried Guy. “Let him just go to the police station and say that!”

“Watch me!” shouted the irate gentleman. “Will you come, too, you”

He paused to think of a suitable epithet.

“An excellent idea,” said the new-comer.

Guy looked puzzled. Why on earth should the thief wish to go with him to the police station?

The girl in his motor clasped her hands.

“Oh, the publicity!” she sighed. “My poor uncle!”

“I think maybe you'd really better,” Guy advised her pleadingly. “You see it is pretty irregular what we've done, and”

“But you can't really think that that highwayman will really go with you to see the police!” she cried.

“He will if he starts with me,” said Guy, setting his youthful jaw. “I don't think he'll get away from me.”

“I bet you—I bet you my pistol,” said the young lady, with a gleam in her eye, “that you don't get the robber to the police station!”

“Take you!” said Guy. “Come on, you colossal old bluff! Climb into my car.”

“I won't! You'll kidnap me!” exclaimed the thickset man indignantly.

“Not I! I wouldn't have you for a gift. But I want your society badly.”

“I can't bear to have him in the car with me!” complained the girl, with a shudder.

Guy gave a shrug of despair. If that wasn't like a “maiden in distress!”

The man in the first Winton came unexpectedly to the rescue.

“I can give the lady a lift if she doesn't care to escort the crook,” he suggested civilly.

“Crook!” snarled the thickset man wildly.

That, in fact, was the final arrangement. The thickset man was obliged to abandon the Winton by the roadside and to get into Guy's car, while Miss Ledyard climbed up beside the fox-faced stranger.

“Good luck!” she called gayly to Guy. “Don't forget the bet!”

“She devil!” said the thief bitterly.

“How dare you!” cried Guy.

The two cars started forward. The next village, a suburban colony, was reached in five minutes, and Guy led the way to the local house of the law. At the door, he assisted his prisoner carefully out of the car, and kept a firm hand upon his arm while he looked about for the others. Clearly they had been delayed, for there was no sign of them.

Guy Meredith was not brilliant; and, though he was puzzled and a little troubled by this fresh development, he was not at all suspicious. So it was quite out of a blue sky that the bolt fell upon him, shattering in cataclysmic fashion his confidence, his self-esteem, and several other things.

It came so simply, too.

They were standing in front of the desk lieutenant, Guy very stern and watchful, the thickset man still purple with wrath.

“What charge?” said the lieutenant, and then gave a jump. “Why, hello, Mr. Ledyard!” said he warmly. “What have they been doing to you, sir?”

The station house swam before Guy's eyes. He pulled himself together in time to hear hurried orders flying about. Special officers were being fired out of the station like peas from a shooter. They were to catch those dangerous crooks or die in the attempt; and they must get back Mr. Ledvyard's stolen rubies or they'd all be fired from the force.

“They're old hands!” declared the lieutenant, with conviction. “Faith, it's many the good haul they've made—'specially among society folk. The girl does it fine, I've heard. This must have been a pretty careful plant, Mr. Ledyard.”

“They evidently knew what kind of car I had when I was going to get the jewels and all that,” said the thickset man. “But this is their accomplice. Make him talk—the low-down, rattle-boned, monkey-eyed jellyfish!”

Guy nodded his head and wiped his brow.

“I guess I'm all that, and then some,” he acquiesced wearily. “I suppose I'm under arrest, but I can explain. All damn fools can explain: First of all, will somebody kindly telephone Arnold Meredith—nine-two-four-three-six Plaza.”

They never got the rubies. But, strange to say, Mr. Ledyard forgave him after a long time. Guy, however, never forgave himself, and he vowed that never, never would he forgive the “maiden in distress,” who had so cruelly hoodwinked and made use of him.

But he put the dainty pistol rather carefully away—he could not have said why—and in the bottom of his incurably romantic heart he wondered if he should ever see the owner again. He thought he owed it to his self-respect to cry quits with that plucky, conscienceless, alluring “maiden in distress.”