The conversation was about nothing in particular—one of those empty, purposeless exchanges of banal thought and speech characteristic of such an occasion.
At two-thirty Frank looked at his watch and walked out of the church to the end of the road. There was no sign of the girl. At two-forty-five he crossed to a providential tobacconist and telephoned to the Savoy and was told that the lady had left half an hour before.
“She ought to be here very soon,” he said to the priest. He was a little impatient, a little nervous, and terribly anxious.
As the church clock struck three, the rector turned to him.
“I am afraid I cannot marry you today, Mr. Merrill,” he said.
Frank was very pale.
“Why not?” he asked quickly. “Miss Nuttall has probably been detained by the traffic or a burst tire. She will be here very shortly.”
The minister shook his head and hung up his white surplice in the cupboard.
“The law of the land, my dear Mr. Merrill,” he said, “does not allow weddings after three in the afternoon. You can come along tomorrow morning any time after eight.”
There was a tap at the door, and Frank swung round. It was not the girl, but a telegraph boy. He snatched the buff envelope from the lad’s hand and tore it open. It read simply:
The wedding cannot take place.
It was unsigned.
At two-fifteen that afternoon May had passed through the vestibule of the hotel, and her foot was on the step of the taxicab when a hand fell upon her arm, and she turned in alarm to meet the searching eyes of Jasper Cole.
“Where are you off to in such a hurry, May?”
She flushed and drew her arm away with a decisive gesture.
“I have nothing to say to you, Jasper,” she said coldly. “After your horrible charge against Frank, I never want to speak to you again.”
He winced a little, then smiled.
“At least you can be civil to an old friend,” he said good-humoredly, “and tell me where you are off to in such a hurry.”
Should she tell him? A moment’s indecision, and then she spoke.
“I am going to marry Frank Merrill,” she said.
He nodded.
“I thought as much. In that case, I am coming down to the church to make a scene.”
He said this with a smile on his lips; but there was no mistaking the resolution which showed in the thrust of his square jaw.
“What do you mean?” she said. “Don’t be absurd, Jasper. My mind is made up.”
“I mean,” he said quietly, “that I have Mr. Minute’s power of attorney to act for him, and Mr. Minute happens to be your legal guardian. You are, in point of fact, my dear May, more or less of a ward, and you cannot marry before you are twenty-one without your guardian’s consent.”
“I shall be twenty-one next week,” she said defiantly.
“Then,” smiled the other, “wait till next week before you marry. There is no very pressing hurry.”
“You forced this situation upon me,” said the girl hotly, “and I think it is very horrid of you. I am going to marry Frank today.”
“Under those circumstances, I must come down and forbid the marriage; and when our parson asks if there is any just cause I shall step forward to the rails, gayly flourishing the power of attorney, and not even the most hardened parson could continue in the face of that legal instrument. It is a mandamus, a caveat, and all sorts of horrific things.”
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“Because I have no desire that you shall marry a man who is certainly a forger, and possibly a murderer,” said Jasper Cole calmly.
“I won’t listen to you!” she cried, and stepped into the waiting taxicab.
Without a word, Jasper followed her.
“You can’t turn me out,” he said, “and I know where you are going, anyway, because you were giving directions to the driver when I stood behind you. You had better let me go with you. I like the suburbs.”
She turned and faced him swiftly.
“And Silvers Rents?” she asked.
He went a shade paler.
“What do you know about Silvers Rents?” he demanded, recovering himself with an effort.
She did not reply.
The taxicab was halfway to its destination before the girl spoke again:
“Are you serious when you say you will forbid the marriage?”
“Quite serious,” he replied; “so much so that I shall bring in a policeman to witness my act.”
The girl was nearly in tears.
“It is monstrous of you! Uncle wouldn’t—”
“Had you not better see your uncle?” he asked.
Something told her that he would keep his word. She had a horror of scenes, and, worst of all, she feared the meeting of the two men under these circumstances. Suddenly she leaned forward and tapped the window, and the taxi slowed down.
“Tell him to go back and call at the nearest telegraph office. I want to send a wire.”
“If it is to Mr. Frank Merrill,” said Jasper smoothly, “you may save yourself the trouble. I have already wired.”
Frank came back to London in a pardonable fury. He drove straight to the hotel, only to learn that the girl had left again with her uncle. He looked at his watch. He had still some work to do at the bank, though he had little appetite for work.
Yet it was to the bank he went. He threw a glance over the counter to the table and the chair where he had sat for so long and at which he was destined never to sit again, for as he was passing behind the counter Mr. Brandon met him.
“Your uncle wishes to see you, Mr. Merrill,” he said gravely.
Frank hesitated, then walked into the office, closing the door behind him, and he noticed that Mr. Brandon did not attempt to follow.
John Minute sat in the one easy chair and looked up heavily as Frank entered.
“Sit down, Frank,” he said. “I have a lot of things to ask you.”
“And I’ve one or two things to ask you, uncle,” said Frank calmly.
“If it is
