Her husband--her husband, of all people--had been living next door to her all summer. No doubt she knew he was there when she took the place. Perhaps they had met by mutual agreement. Why, this was appalling! It might mean anything. And yet Seth did not look triumphant or even happy. Bennie D. resolved to show no signs of perturbation or doubt, but first to find out, if he could, the truth, and then to act accordingly.
"Mr. Bascom--" he began. The lightkeeper, greatly alarmed, interrupted him.
"Hush!" he whispered. "Don't say that. That ain't my name--down here."
"Indeed? What is your name?"
"Down here they call me Seth Atkins."
Bennie D. looked puzzled. Then his expression changed. He was relieved. When he 'phoned to the Lights--using the depot 'phone-- the station agent had seemed to consider his calling a woman over the lighthouse wire great fun. The lightkeeper, so the agent said, was named Atkins, and was a savage woman-hater. He would not see a woman, much less speak to one; it was a standing joke in the neighborhood, Seth's hatred of females. That seemed to prove that Emeline and her husband were not reconciled and living together, at least. Possibly their being neighbors was merely a coincidence. If so, he might not have come too late. When he next addressed his companion it was in a different tone and without the "Mister."
"Bascom--or--er--Atkins," he said sharply, "I hoped--I sincerely hoped that you and I might not meet during my short stay here; but, as we have met, I think it best that we should understand each other. Suppose we walk over to that clump of trees on the other side of the track. We shall be alone there, and I can say what is necessary. I don't wish--even when I remember your behavior toward my sister--to humiliate you in the town where you may be trying to lead a better life. Come."
He led the way, and Seth, yielding as of old to this man's almost hypnotic command over him and still bewildered by the unexpected meeting, followed like a whipped dog. Under the shelter of the trees they paused.
"Now then," said Bennie D., "perhaps you'll tell me what you mean by decoying my sister down here in my absence, when I was not present to protect her. What do you mean by it?"
Seth stared at him uncomprehendingly. "Decoyin' her?" he repeated.
"I never decoyed her. I've been here ever since I left--left you and her that night. I never asked her to come. I didn't know she was comin'. And she didn't know I was here until--until a month or so ago. I--"
Bennie D. held up a hand. He was delighted by this piece of news, but he did not show it.
"That will do," he said. "I understand all that. But since then-- since then? What do you mean by trying to influence her as you have? Answer me!"
The lightkeeper rubbed his forehead.
"I ain't tried to influence her," he declared. "She and me have scarcely seen each other. Nobody knows that we was married, not even Miss Graham nor the young feller that's--that's my helper at the lights. You must know that. She must have wrote you. What are you talkin' about?"
She had not written; he had received no letters from her during the two years, but again the wily "genius" was equal to the occasion.
He looked wise and nodded.
"Of course," he said importantly. "Of course. Certainly."
He hesitated, not knowing exactly what his next move should be. And Seth, having had time to collect, in a measure, his scattered wits, began to do some thinking on his own account.
"Say," he said suddenly, "if you knew all this aforehand, what are you askin' these questions for?"
"That," Bennie D.'s gesture was one of lofty disdain, "is my business."
"I want to know! Well, then, maybe I've got some business of my own. Who made my business your business? Hey?"
"The welfare of my sister--"
"Never you mind your sister. You're talkin' with me now. And you ain't got me penned up in a house, neither. By jiminy crimps!" His anger boiled over, and, to the inventor's eyes, he began to look alarmingly alive. "By jiminy crimps!" repeated Seth, "I've been prayin' all these years to meet you somewheres alone, and now I've a good mind to--to--"
His big fist closed. Bennie D. stepped backward out of reach.
"Bascom--" he cried, "don't--"
"Don't you call me that!"
"Bascom--" The inventor was thoroughly frightened, and his voice rose almost to a shout.
The lightkeeper's wrath vanished at the sound of the name. If any native of Eastboro, if the depot master on the other side of the track, should hear him addressed as "Bascom," the fat would be in the fire for good and all. The secret he had so jealously guarded would be out, and all the miserable story would, sooner or later, be known.
"Don't call me Bascom," he begged. Er--please don't."
Bennie D.'s courage returned. Yet he realized that if a trump card was to be played it must be then. This man was dangerous, and, somehow or other, his guns must be spiked. A brilliant idea occurred to him. Exactly how much of the truth Seth knew he was not sure, but he took the risk.
"Very well then--Atkins," he said contemptuously. "I am not used to aliases--not having dealt with persons finding it necessary to employ them--and I forget. But before this disagreeable interview is ended I wish you to understand thoroughly why I am here. I am here to protect my sister and to remove her from your persecution.
I am here to assist her in procuring a divorce."
"A divorce! A DIVORCE! Good heavens above!"
"Yes, sir," triumphantly, "a divorce from the man she was trapped into marrying and who deserted her. You did desert her, you can't deny that. So long as she remains your wife, even in name, she is liable to persecution from you. She understands this. She and I are to see a lawyer at once. That is why I am here."
Seth was completely overwhelmed. A divorce! A case for the papers to print, and all of Ostable county to read!
"I--I--I--" he stammered, and then added weakly, "I don't believe it. She wouldn't . . . There ain't no lawyer here."
Then we shall seek the one nearest here. Emeline understands. I
'phoned her this morning."
