THE BLUE LIGHTS
A hasty examination of the sailing list showed her the astonishingtruth. Richard was not on board.
THE
BLUE LIGHTS
BY
ARNOLD FREDERICKS
AUTHOR OF
THE IVORY SNUFF BOX, Etc.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
WILL GREFÉ
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1915, by
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
THE BLUE LIGHTS
CHAPTER I
THE big, mud-spattered touring car, whichfor the past hour had been plowing itsway steadily northward from the city ofWashington, hesitated for a moment before thegateway which marked the end of the well keptdrive, then swept on to the house.
A man, stoutly built, keen of eye, showing hastein his every movement, sprang from the machineand ascended the veranda steps.
"Does Richard Duvall live here?" he inquired,curtly, of the smiling old colored woman whocame to the door.
"'Deed he do, suh. Does you want to seehim?"
"Yes. At once, please. Tell him it is mostimportant. My name is Hodgman."
The servant eyed him with cool disfavor. "Set[4]down, suh," she remarked stiffly. "I'll tell himyou is here."
The caller watched her, as she disappearedinto the house, then cast himself impatiently intoa chair and lit a cigar.
He paid no attention to the attempts of twoclumsy collie puppies to attract his favorablenotice, but contented himself with making a quicksurvey of the wide comfortable veranda, with itsbig roomy chairs, the wicker table, bearing agreat jar of red peonies, the smooth green lawns,swept by the late afternoon sun.
"Fine old place," he muttered to himself."Wonder if I can persuade him to go?"
As the car which had brought Mr. Hodgmanon his hasty trip from Washington dashed up tothe front of the house, Grace Duvall, lookingvery charming in a blue linen dress, was just approachingit from the rear.
She held a pair of shears in her hand, and herapron was filled to overflowing with hundred-leafroses. "Dick—oh, Dick!" she called, as she camedown the long avenue of syringas and lilacs whichled to the house. "The sweet peas are nearlyready to bloom."
Richard Duvall, looking as simply pastoral asthough he had never tracked an international[5]crook to cover, raised his head from the flowerbed, in which he had been carefully setting outcircle after circle of geranium plants.
"Are they?" he laughed. "That's good. Nowall we need is a few good hot days." He gatheredup his trowel and rake, and started towardthe barn.
Grace put her arm through her husband's andtogether they strolled across the springy greenturf, their faces smiling and happy. The honeymoonshowed no signs of waning.<