The Darrow Enigma | Page 6

Half a dozen lines - the
epitaph of a dead, though unburied, life!"
My companion paused there, but I found myself unable to reply. He
had spoken with such intensity, such dramatic fervour, that I was
completely swept away by his eloquence; so much so, indeed, that it

did not even occur to me to ask myself why he should have burst out in
this peculiar strain. I have given you the incident in order that you may
see the strange moods into which Maitland occasionally relapsed - at
least, at that time. After a quick glance at me he continued, in a quieter
vein: "All of us men of science have felt something, however little, of
this, and I believe, as a class, scientists transcend all other men in their
respect for absolute truth." He cast another one of his searching glances
at me, and said quickly: "This is precisely why I am going to confide in
you and rely upon your assistance in a matter, the successful
termination of which would please me as much as the discovery of an
absolute standard of measurement."
He then made the confession which I have already given you, and
ended by asking me to secure him an introduction to Miss Darrow. I
cheerfully promised to bring this about at the first opportunity. He
asked me if I thought, on account of his having met her so frequently,
she would be likely to think it was all a "put up job."
"I do not know," I replied. "Miss Darrow is a singularly close observer.
On the whole I think you had better reach her through her father. Do
you play croquet?" He replied that he was considered something of an
expert in that line. That, then, was surely the best way. John Darrow
was known in the neighbourhood as a "crank" on the subject of croquet.
He had spent many hundreds of dollars on his grounds. His wickets
were fastened to hard pine planks, and these were then carefully buried
two feet deep. The surface of the ground, he was wont to descant, must
be of a particular sort of gravel, sifted just so, and rolled to a nicety.
The balls must be of hard rubber, and have just one-eighth inch
clearance in passing through the wickets, with the exception of the two
wires forming the "cage," where it was imperative that this clearance
should be reduced to one-sixteenth of an inch - but I need not state
more to show how he came to be considered a "crank" upon the
subject.
It was easy enough to bring Maitland and Darrow together. "My friend
is himself much interested in the game; he heard of your superb ground;
may he be permitted to examine it closely?" Darrow was all attention.

He would be delighted to show it. Suppose they make a practical test of
it by playing a game. This they did and Maitland played superbly, but
he was hardly a match for the old gentleman, who sought to palliate his
defeat by saying: "You play an excellent game, sir; but I am a trifle too
much for you on my own ground. Now, if you can spare the time, I
should like to witness a game between you and my daughter; I think
you will be pretty evenly matched."
If he could spare the time! I laughed outright at the idea. Why, with the
prospect of meeting Gwen Darrow before him, an absolute unit of
measure, with a snail's pace, would have made good its escape from
him. As it is a trick of poor humanity to refuse when offered the very
thing one has been madly scheming to obtain, I hastened to accept
Darrow's invitation for my friend, and to assure him on my own
responsibility, that time was just then hanging heavily on Maitland's
hands. Well, the game was played, but Maitland was so unnerved by
the girl's presence that he played execrably, so poorly, indeed, that the
always polite Darrow remarked: "You must charge your easy victory,
Gwen, to your opponent's gallantry, not to his lack of skill, for I assure
you he gave me a much harder rub." The young lady cast a quick
glance at Maitland, which said so plainly that she preferred a fair field
and no favour that he hastened to say: "Your father puts too high an
estimate upon my play. I did my best to win, but - but I was a little
nervous; I see, however, that you would have defeated me though I had
been in my best form." Gwen gave him one of those short, searching
looks, so peculiarly her own, which seem to read, with mathematical
certainty, one's innermost thoughts, - and the poor fellow blushed to the
tips of his