She might believe that.
At any rate he must tell her something that would quiet her until after the Fourth — make her stay up there until at least he could perfect some plan — bring himself to the place where he could do one thing or the other.
One thing or the other.
Without pausing to plan anything more than just this at this time, he hurried to the nearest telephone where he was least likely to be overheard.
And, getting her once more, began one of those long and evasive and, in this instance, ingratiating explanations which eventually, after he had insisted that he had actually been sick — confined to his room with a fever and hence not able to get to a telephone — and because, as he now said, he had finally decided that it would be best if he were to make some explanation to his uncle, so that he might return some time in the future, if necessary — he, by using the most pleading, if not actually affectionate, tones and asking her to consider what a state he had been in, too, was able not only to make her believe that there was some excuse for his delay and silence, but also to introduce the plan that he now had in mind; which was if only she could wait until the sixth, then assuredly, without fail as to any particular, he would meet her at any place she would choose to come — Homer, Fonda, Lycurgus, Little Falls — only since they were trying to keep everything so secret, he would suggest that she come to Fonda on the morning of the sixth in order to make the noon train for Utica.
There they could spend the night since they could not very well discuss and decide on their plans over the telephone, now, and then they could act upon whatever they had decided.
Besides he could tell her better then just how he thought they ought to do.
He had an idea — a little trip maybe, somewhere before they got married or after, just as she wished, but — something nice anyhow —(his voice grew husky and his knees and hands shook slightly as he said this, only Roberta could not detect the sudden perturbation within him). But she must not ask him now.
He could not tell her over the phone.
But as sure as anything, at noon on the sixth, he would be on the station platform at Fonda.
All she had to do after seeing him was to buy her ticket to Utica and get in one coach, and he would buy his separately and get in another — the one just ahead or behind hers.
On the way down, if she didn’t see him at the station beforehand, he would pass through her car for a drink so that she could see that he was there — no more than that — but she mustn’t speak to him.
Then once in Utica, she should check her bag and he would follow her out to the nearest quiet corner. After that he would go and get her bag, and then they could go to some little hotel and he would take care of all the rest.
But she must do this.
Would she have that much faith in him?
If so, he would call her up on the third — the very next day — and on the morning of the sixth — sure, so that both he and she would know that everything was all right — that she was starting and that he would be there.
What was that?
Her trunk?
The little one?
Sure. If she needed it, certainly bring it.
Only, if he were she, he would not trouble to try to bring too much now, because once she was settled somewhere, it would be easy enough to send for anything else that she really needed.
As Clyde stood at the telephone in a small outlying drug store and talked — the lonely proprietor buried in a silly romance among his pots and phials at the back — it seemed as though the Giant Efrit that had previously materialized in the silent halls of his brain, was once more here at his elbow — that he himself, cold and numb and fearsome, was being talked through — not actually talking himself.
Go to the lake which you visited with Sondra!
Get travel folders of the region there from either the Lycurgus House here or the depot.
Go to the south end of it and from there walk south, afterwards.
Pick a boat that will upset easily — one with a round bottom, such as those you have seen here at Crum Lake and up there.
Buy a new and different hat and leave that on the water — one that cannot be traced to you.
You might even tear the lining out of it so that it cannot be traced.
Pack all of your things in your trunk here, but leave it, so that swiftly, in the event that anything goes wrong, you can return here and get it and depart.
And take only such things with you as will make it seem as though you were going for an outing to Twelfth Lake — not away, so that should you be sought at Twelfth Lake, it will look as though you had gone only there, not elsewhere.
Tell her that you intend to marry her, but AFTER you return from this outing, not before.
And if necessary strike a light blow, so as to stun her — no more — so that falling in the water, she will drown the more easily.
Do not fear!
Do not be weak!
Walk through the woods by night, not by day — so that when seen again you will be in Three Mile Bay or Sharon — and can say that you came from Racquette or Long Lake south, or from Lycurgus north.
Use a false name and alter your handwriting as much as possible.
Assume that you will be successful.
And whisper, whisper — let your language be soft, your tone tender, loving, even.
It must be, if you are to win her to your will now.
So the Efrit of his own darker self. ? Chapter 46
A nd then at noon on Tuesday, July sixth, the station platform of the railroad running from Fonda to Utica, with Roberta stepping down from the train which came south from Biltz to await Clyde, for the train that was to take them to Utica was not due for another half hour.
And fifteen minutes later Clyde himself coming from a side street and approaching the station from the south, from which position Roberta could not see him but from where, after turning the west corner of the depot and stationing himself behind a pile of crates, he could see her.
How thin and pale indeed!
By contrast with Sondra, how illy-dressed in the blue traveling suit and small brown hat with which she had equipped herself for this occasion — the promise of a restricted and difficult life as contrasted with that offered by Sondra.
And she was thinking of compelling him to give up Sondra in order to marry her, and from which union he might never be able to extricate himself until such time as would make Sondra and all she represented a mere recollection.
The difference between the attitudes of these two girls — Sondra with everything offering all — asking nothing of him; Roberta, with nothing, asking all.
A feeling of dark and bitter resentment swept over him and he could not help but feel sympathetic toward that unknown man at Pass Lake and secretly wish that he had been successful.
Perhaps he, too, had been confronted by a situation just like this.
And perhaps he had done right, too, after all, and that was why it had not been found out.
His nerves twitched.