In the cottage Val’s place in the affair was explained to old Peter Pomeroy, and the man who had returned to the world nodded with gratitude at him, charmingly grateful for Val’s assistance to his daughter. Pomeroy also explained, in brief, his own movements. He had been released from the asylum and had come East instantly, his first visit being to Virginia to see whether or not the money was still there.
He came at night—that’s when his train landed him—and discovered that his daughter was down here, and Teck, and that things were happening. It was he whom Val had seen in the lightning, and it was he who had cut Val loose. It was his sibilant whisper of warning Val had heard down the stairs. The young man had seemed to be on the friendly side, but he was unfamiliar with the developments, and he did not wish to take the chance of disclosing himself until he knew exactly what was occurring down here, in his supposed absence.
He wished to discover just what it was Teck was attempting to do—this he discovered, of course. He would have disclosed himself to his daughter, but had no chance that night. Germinal, the negro, had come out on the road and he had accosted him, intending to have him call Jessica out, in secret. But Germinal had nearly died of fright, thinking him a ghost, and had made off at top speed.
Peter Pomeroy had by now a pretty fair idea of what was going on; he decided that the only thing to do was to arrest Teck and his gang—to do it suddenly, unexpectedly, so as to give them no chance to escape. That was how he happened to appear so conveniently at the very spot where he was needed, ably assisted by four officers from Newport News.
He extended a pressing invitation to Val to stay at the cottage with them for a few days; which invitation was seconded by Jessica. Not that any such invitation to Val needed to be pressing.
•••••
It was several days later that Val had a conversation with his man Eddie.
“Eddie,” he said, “what do you think of marriage?”
Eddie looked at him slowly. “I’ve heard it very highly spoken of, sir,” he replied.
“I know, Eddie, but as an institution⸺”
“I think marriage is a very good thing—for the unmarried, sir,” came back Eddie respectfully.
“You’ll get yours some day—they always do,” declared Val, gazing at his man in indecision as to just how to receive his last remark. “I was just trying to tell you,” Val went on, “about Miss Pomeroy and—er—I was just saying—I mean that I⸺”
“I congratulate you, sir,” said Eddie, calmly. “I hope you and Miss Pomeroy will be happy.” He dismissed the matter finally, as though it were of little consequence. “Your shaving water’s ready, sir⸺”
“Go to the devil, you cold-blooded, hard-boiled egg!” Val flung at him in exasperation.
“Yes, sir,” said Eddie, “Thank you, sir.”
The End