Transcriber's Notes: 1. Page scan source: https://books.google.com/books?id=ZK0RAAAAYAAJ&pg (Harvard College Library)
The Saintsbury Affair
As I came up, emptied a chatelaine purse upon Barney's tray. FRONTISPIECE. See page 23.
THE SAINTSBURY AFFAIR
By
ROMAN DOUBLEDAY
Author of "The Hemlock Avenue Mystery," "The Red House on Rowan Street," etc.
With Illustrations by J. V. McFall
BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY 1912
Copyright, 1911, 1912, By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved
Published, February, 1912
Electrotyped and Printed by THE COLONIAL PRESS C. B. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.
CONTENTS
Illustrations
The Saintsbury Affair
CHAPTER I
THE BEGINNING OF THE TANGLE
Let me see where the story begins. Perhaps I can date it from the telephone invitation to dinner which I received one Monday from my dear and kind friend Mrs. Whyte.
"And see that you are just as clever and agreeable as your naturally morose nature will permit," she said saucily. "I have a charming young lady here as my guest, and I want you to make a good impression."
"Another?" I gasped. "So soon?"
"I don't wonder that your voice is choked with surprise and gratitude," she retorted, and I could see with my mind's eye how her eyebrows went up. "You don't deserve it,--I'll admit that freely. But I am of a forgiving nature."
"You are so near to being an angel," I interrupted, "that it gives me genuine pleasure to suffer martyrdom at your behest. I welcome the opportunity to show you how devotedly I am your slave. Who is the young lady this time?"
"Miss Katherine Thurston. Now if you would only talk in that way to her,--"
"I won't," I said hastily. "At least, not until her hair is as white as yours is,--it can never be as lovely. But for your sake I will undertake to be as witty and amiable and generally delightful as I think it safe to be, having due regard for the young lady's peace of mind,--." I rang off just in time to escape the "You conceited puppy!" which I knew was panting to get on the wire. Mrs. Whyte's speech was at times that of an older generation.
So that was how I came to go to Mrs. Whyte's dinner that memorable Monday evening, and to meet Katherine Thurston.
But now that I come to look at it in this historical way, I see that I shall have to begin a little farther back, or you won't understand the significance of what took place that night.
I already had another engagement for that evening, but I thought I could fit the two appointments in, by getting away from Mrs. Whyte's by ten o'clock. Under the circumstances she would forgive an early departure. My other engagement was of a peculiar and unescapable nature. It had come about in this way.
There was a man in our town who had always interested me to an unusual degree, though my personal acquaintance with him was of the slightest. He was an architect, Kenneth Clyde by name, and he had done some of the best public buildings in the State. He had a wide circle of friends and acquaintances, and was related to half a dozen of the "Old families" of the town. (I am comparatively new myself. But I soon saw that Clyde belonged to the inner circle Of Saintsbury.) And yet, with all his professional success and his social privileges, there was something about the man that expressed an excessive humility. It was not diffidence or shyness,--he had all the self-possession that goes with good breeding. But he held himself back from claiming public credit or accepting any public place, though I knew that more than once it had been pressed upon him in a way that made it difficult for him to evade it. He persistently kept himself in the background, until his desire to remain inconspicuous almost became conspicuous in turn. He was the man, for instance, who did all the work connected with the organization of our Boat Club, but he refused to accept any Office. He was always ready to lend a hand with any public enterprise that needed pushing, but his name never figured on the committees that appeared in the newspapers. And yet, if physiognomy counts for anything, he was not born to take a back seat. He was approaching forty at this time, and in spite of his consistent modesty, he was one of the best known men in Saintsbury.
As I say, he had always interested me as a man out of the ordinary, and when he walked into my law office a few days before that telephone call from Mrs. Whyte, I was uncommonly pleased at the idea that he should have come to me for legal advice when he might have had anything he wanted from the older lawyers in town whom he had known all his life. I guessed at a glance that it was professional advice he wanted, from the curiously tense look that underlay his surface coolness.
