CHAPTER XXVI
Miss Austin remained but a few moments in the studio. She wasembarrassed and angry, and Rush was not the sole object of her wrath:she anathematised herself not only for permitting her literaryenthusiasm to carry her to the point of attempting coercion and runningthe risk of being called bad names by an expert in crime, but forspeaking out impulsively in the first place and throwing her cards onthe table. It had been her intention to cultivate the wretch'sacquaintance and lead him on with excessive subtlety; but he had provedimpervious to her maidenly hints that she would like to know him better;equally so to her boyish invitation to come over some evening and meet anumber of the newspaper girls who were all fighting for his client.Fifteen minutes alone with him in the quiet streets of Elsinore at nightwas an opportunity that might never come again, and she had surrenderedto impulse.
She was now more deeply convinced than ever that he had killed DavidBalfame, but although she had no intention of denouncing him even if shefound her proofs in the course of persistent sleuthing, she thought itwise to "keep him guessing," as the uneasiness of mind caused by thisconstant pressure from without might eventually drive him to her forcounsel and aid. Like all healthy young American writers of fiction, shewas an incurable optimist, and as yet untempered in the least by thepractical experiences of a New York reporter.
After a few moments' desultory conversation, she announced that she"must run," and as Alys opened the door, Miss Austin turned to thelawyer, who had risen and stood by the stove.
"Good night, Mr. Rush," she said sweetly. "So glad you are defendingpoor Mrs. Balfame, but you know I never did believe she did it, and Ihave good reason to hope that we shall all know the truth in about afortnight."
Rush bowed politely, as she did not offer her hand. "You would save memuch trouble and Mrs. Balfame much expense. I wish you all good luck."
Her brows met and her dark grey eyes turned black, but she swung on herheel and marched out with her head in the air. Rush remained behind, asit was evident the two girls wanted a last mysterious word together.
Alys returned in a few moments, and with a swift step. Her face wasradiant. She too held her head high, but as if she lifted her face todrink in some magic elixir of the night. This was the first time she hadseen Rush since he had immersed himself in the case, and now he had cometo her unasked, and as naturally as in the old days when weary with workand the sordid revelations of the courts. Her mercurial spirits, whichhad hung low in the scale for weeks, had gone up with a rush that filledher with a reckless unreasoning happiness. Perhaps intimacy with Mrs.Balfame had disillusioned him in little ways. Perhaps he had discoveredthe truth for himself and despised her for a cold-blooded liar where hemight have forgiven her honest admission of the actual crime. It wouldbe just like his exaggerated idealism. There never was any love thatcould not be killed by transgression of some pet prejudice, someviolation of secret fastidiousness. At all events, he was here and withevery appearance of spending a long evening. What did the rest matter?
He was still standing as she entered, staring at a water colour of a bitof the woods west of Elsinore. The trees were stately and old, theshadows green and shot with the gold of some stray beam of the sundancing down through that heavy canopy with Puckish triumph. A rockybrook crossed the glade, and behind was a subtle suggestion of theuninterrupted forest, deserted and absolutely still. Rush had recognisedthe spot.
"My village, Rennselaerville, is on the other side," he said, turning aboyish face to Alys. "I have been fourteen again for a few moments. Lastsummer I only got a day off now and again to loaf in those woods. I wishI had been with you when you painted this."
She unhooked the picture and handed it to him. "Please let me give it toyou. I'd like so much if you would hang it in one of your rooms,--saybehind your desk,--so that when you are tired or puzzled you can wheelabout and lose yourself for a moment. I am sure it wouldn't be a badsubstitute for the real thing."
She spoke with a shy eagerness and an entire absence of coquetry. He putout both hands for the picture.
"I should think it wouldn't. It is just like you to think of it. IndeedI will accept it." And he remembered how many cases he had forgottenunder her kindly tact, both in this cool green studio and that otherroom of woodland shades in the cottage. He was wondering if he had notbeen a conceited ass and misconstrued an increasing warmth of friendshipin this fine impulsive creature, when he remembered Miss Austin'sinsinuations and sat down abruptly, recalled to the object of his visit.
Alys had invited him to smoke but had not produced her box of Russiancigarettes. Miss Austin, who was determined to keep her nerves in orderand her efficiency at high-water mark, did not smoke, and Rush had hisprejudices. While he puffed away at his cigar and stretched his longlegs out to the fire, she leaned back against a mass of pillows on thedivan and congratulated herself that she had put on a charmingprimrose-yellow gown in honour of her Aunt Dissosway and two otherguests entertained by her mother at supper. It was rhythmical in itsharmony with the olives of the room and of her own rare colouring.
Rush, who had been studying his picture, looked up and smiled at theother picture on the divan. In the soft lamplight Alys' smooth dark hairlooked as olive as her eyes, and there was a faint stain of pink on theivory of her cheeks. Beneath the lace that covered her slender bust wasa delicate note of ribbons and fine lawn, and the little feet in pointedbronze slippers showed through transparent stockings. More by instinctthan calculated effect Alys on such occasions managed to create an auraof fastidious and dainty femininity while stopping short of invitation.
Rush scowled as his mind leaped to the substantial and sensibly cladfeet of his beautiful client, and to a pile of stout unribbonedunderwear that had been brought into the jail sitting-room one day whenhe awaited her tardy appearance. For the first time he wondered if suchthings really counted in human happiness--not so much, perhaps, for theartistic delight in them that a plain man like himself might be able tofeel as for all that they stood: the elusive but auspicious signal.
He shook himself angrily and sat up.
"Your young friend thinks I murdered Balfame," he announced.
Alys started under this frontal attack, but smiled ironically. "I knewshe had conceived some such nonsensical theory, mainly because shewanted to have it so. Sarah intends to be a novelist."
"So she did me the honour to confide. She even promised me all theimmunity that lay within her jurisdiction if I would reward her with afull confession."
"Really, she is too absurd. Don't let it worry you. You have nothing tofear."
"I'm not so sure."
Alys sat up as rigidly as if armoured like Mrs. Battle. "What do youmean?" she breathed.
"Miss Austin has arrived at the conclusion that I am in love with Mrs.Balfame. She is an outsider with no data whatever to work on; it isreasonable to suppose that sooner or later our good fellow citizens willwork round to the same theory."
"That is just the one theory they never will conceive or accept. Theyknow better. That sort of thing never was in Mrs. Balfame's line. Thewomen know that if she doesn't exactly hate men, she has a quiet butprofound contempt for them. I wish you could have seen them--herparticular crowd--at Mrs. Battle's the day of the arrest. Just to drawthem out, I suggested that some man who was in love with her might havefired the shot. They nearly annihilated me. Mrs. Balfame, guilty of thecrime of murder or not, is fairly screwed on her pedestal so far as thewomen are concerned. As for the men, such a theory will never occur tothem for the simple reason that not one has ever been attracted by her;she's the very last woman they would expect any man to commit murderfor."
Rush, wondering if these observations were dictated by venom or a mereregard for facts, shot a veiled glance at the divan; Miss Crumley's softcarefully de-Americanised voice had not sharpened, but her face was verymobile for all its reserve. She was looking almost aggressivelyimpersonal and had sunk back against the high pillows in a limp indolentline. Facts, of course!
&
nbsp; "It is very like a political campaign," said he. "Nobody is quite sanein this town just now, and the wildest conclusions are bound to bejumped at. It is not only embryo novelists that have romanticimaginations. Just reflect that I am Mrs. Balfame's counsel, that I amstill a young man and unmarried, and that she is a beautiful woman andlooks many years younger than her age. There you are."
Alys made an abrupt change of position which in one less graceful wouldhave suggested a wriggle. However, her voice remained impersonal. "Butthis community, including her friends, believe that she did it. Theywant her to get off, but they have settled the question in their ownminds and are not looking around for any one else."
"Cummack and several of the other men are, besides Balfame's oldpolitical pals--and his enemies, for that matter. Old Dutch, who is farshrewder than his son, is by no means certain of Mrs. Balfame's guiltand has put a detective on the job--against her acquittal, having nodesire to see suspicion pointing at his house again. He is just the oldsentimentalist to settle on me."
He saw the pink fade out of her cheeks, leaving her face like coldivory, but she answered steadily: "You have your alibi. You went toBrooklyn that evening to keep an appointment."
"I don't mind telling you that although I went to Brooklyn that night Idid not see the man I was after. I went on the spur of the moment, morebecause I wanted to get out of Elsinore than anything else; I didn'thave time to telephone before catching the train, but when I left it inBrooklyn, I telephoned and found that he had gone to New York. I gave noname; it was a matter of no importance. Then as there was no one else Icared to talk to I took the next train back, and as my head ached and Ifelt as nervous as a cat--from overwork and other things--tramped forhours until I met Dr. Anna out by the marsh and she drove me in--"
"Dr. Anna?"
"Yes, and I have reason to believe she thinks I shot Balfame, but shewould never denounce any one if she could help it."
"Oh, you are all wrong. She believes--like everybody else--that Mrs.Balfame did it. My Aunt Dissosway is superintendent out there and hasbeen listening to her delirious mutterings; she's never mentioned you. Idrove out there for the second time on Sunday. I haven't told Mother,as she is one of the few that believe Mrs. Balfame innocent--but whenDr. Anna is coherent at all, that is the impression my auntgets--but--Oh--of course she's only guessing like everybody else. Shecouldn't know--she was out at the Houston farm--"
Rush was sitting up very straight.
"Has any one been permitted to see her?"
"Of course not."
"Not that it would matter. Delirious people all have insane fancies. ButI don't believe she had any such idea before she came down, and besidesit is not true. Mrs. Balfame is innocent."
"Of course as her lawyer you must persuade yourself that she is."
"If I had not believed in her, I would not have taken the case, great asmy desire would be to help her. I am no good at pleading against myconvictions; I'd fail with the jury. If I had believed her guilty, Ishould have got her the best counsel possible and helped him all Icould."
Alys had a curious sense of physical paralysis, or of spiritualdissociation from her body, she made no attempt to decide which; butthat the cause was an intense nervous excitement she was well aware. Asshe stared at him with dilated eyes, he was suddenly convinced that MissAustin was right in assuming that Alys had some secret and importantknowledge bearing upon the crime. Was her reticence due to the commonElsinore loyalty? If so, why her reserve with him who would have partedwith his life rather than with any facts that still further wouldincriminate Mrs. Balfame.
Then in a flash he understood, for his keen faculties were on edge,concentrated to one point, and as sensitive as magnets. He recalled hishigh estimate of this girl during the weeks of their intimacy, and theinstinctive doubts that had assailed him in his rooms on the night ofthe murder. And as he realised the fierce battle that was raging in thatpassionate but disciplined soul, he knew that she loved him, and hescorned himself for attributing her former tentative advances tocalculation or that compound of nerves and imagination which so manywomen call love. She had given him her heart, and it had betrayed her.But while the knowledge gave him an unexpected thrill, he ruthlesslydetermined to try and to test her to the utmost.
He stood up and walked about the room for a moment, and then halteddirectly in front of her.
"Do you know anything?" he asked abruptly.
"About what? Do you think I suspect you?"
"No, I don't. I mean Mrs. Balfame."
"I told you we all believe she did it. We can't help ourselves."
"I don't understand the attitude of any of you women who were herfriends, her intimates. You--they, rather--have let her lead thiscommunity for years, believed her to be little short of perfection. Andnow with one accord they accept her guilt as a matter of course."
"I think they came to with a sort of shock and realised they never hadunderstood her at all. She had them hypnotised. I think she's one ofthose Occidentals with terrible latent powers for whom new laws willhave to be made when they awake to consciousness of them and begin todevelop them with the power and skill of the Orientals--"
"Beg pardon, but let's keep to the present."
"Well, I mean it rather excites them to be able to believe, not so muchthat she did it, as that she was capable of it, that while uniformlysweet and serene, she had those terrible secreted depths. She remindsone of Lucrezia Borgia, or Catherine de Medici--"
"Why poisoners? You don't mean to say they take any stock in that storyof the poisoned lemonade?"
And before Alys could collect her startled faculties she had stammered:"Oh, of course, not. They laugh at that. Balfame was shot--what's theuse of--the water in the vial no doubt was put there to rinse it, andDr. Anna absently put it back in place. I merely mentioned the names ofthe first wicked women that occurred to me. Somehow Mrs. Balfamesuggests that historic tribe to our friends. No doubt this crime intheir midst has irritated what little imagination they have."
Her chest was rising under quick heartbeats, stirring the soft nest ofribbon and lawn under the lace of her gown, a part of the picture thathe did not appreciate until later; at the moment he was observing herdilated eyes, the strained muscles of her nostrils and mouth. He foundhimself interested in feminine psychology for the first time in hislife; and as he hated a liar above all transgressors, he wondered why heinconsistently delighted in not being able to comprehend this complexlittle creature, and at the same time hoped, his own breathing almost asirregular as hers, that she would continue to lie. But he pushed on. Hehad a dim sense that far more tremendous issues were at stake thanfurther proof of his client's guilt, and deep in his soul was an ache tofeel reassured that staggering old ideals might yet be reinforced withvitality.
"Have you told Jim Broderick that Dr. Anna accuses Mrs. Balfame?"
"Of course not. He would be climbing the porch the first dark night."
"Have you been tempted to tell him?"
She shrank farther back and looked up at him under lowered lids."Tempted? What--why should I? Well, I haven't told him, or any one. Thatis all that matters."
"Exactly. I only meant, of course, that I have a reprehensible masculinedisbelief in the ability of a woman to keep a secret. I might have knownyou would be the exception, as you are to so many rules. And I meanthat. But Broderick is an old friend of yours and preternaturally keenon the case."
"Oh!"
"You haven't told me why you in particular believe so firmly in myclient's guilt. You are the last person to be influenced by either theravings of a typhoid patient--hallucinations, generally--or any of thesentimental and romantic theories of these half-baked women that spendtheir leisure taking on flesh, playing bridge, and running over to NewYork. If you believe Mrs. Balfame is guilty you must have some fairlygood reason--perhaps proof."
She could not guess that he was trying her; she imagined his insistencedue to apprehension, a desire to know the worst. The hour she haddreaded and desi
red had come--and she had almost let its opportunitiesescape! These last weeks in New York filled with work and noveldistraction had repoised her, unconsciously. She had begun to doubt,some time since, if she would be able to violate her old standards whenthe test came; but not for a moment had she ceased with all theconcentrated forces of her being to long for his desertion of Mrs.Balfame. And if she had rejoiced sometimes that she was incapable of ademoralising act, she had at others been equally disgusted with herfailure in inexorable purpose. She told herself that the big brains wereruthless, able to hold down and out of sight one side of the characterthey governed while giving the hidden forces for evil full play; neverin wantonness, of course, but in sternly calculated necessity. She had asuspicion that this was just the form of greatness Mrs. Balfamepossessed, and it increased her disesteem of self and inspired her witha second form of jealousy.
The bitter tides were welling to the surface once more. She askedabruptly: "Is Sarah Austin's theory true? Are you in love with Mrs.Balfame?"
"What has that to do with it?"
"It has its bearings."
"I don't think I should be expected to answer that question. I can saythis, however: that as long as she is my client and in jail, I shallhave no time to think of personal matters--of love, above all. My job isto get her off, and it occupies about sixteen hours out of thetwenty-four. I oughtn't to be here, but relief--distraction--isimperative, now and again--"
"It would be too delightful if you would come here when you wantedboth." Her tones were polite without being eager, but she found itimpossible to smile.
"Yes, I will; but I shall ignore the subject we are discussing--restdoesn't lie precisely that way! For that reason we'll finish up now. Whydo you believe Mrs. Balfame guilty?"
"If I could prove to you that she was, would you throw over the case?"
He hesitated and regarded her fixedly for a moment through narrowedlids. "Yes," he said finally. "I would get one of the men whose firm Iexpect to join the first of the year to take the case."
She sat erect once more and twisted her hands together, but tried tosmile impersonally as she returned his gaze. "Would you then have timeto love her?"
Again he hesitated, although he was beginning to hate himself; he feltas if he had some beautiful wild thing of his woods in a trap, but animperious inner necessity urged him on. "Probably not. Now will you tellme?"
"Now?"
She slipped to the floor and confronted him, holding her small head veryhigh. No doubt the upward movement was unconscious in its expression,but he thought her very lovely and proud as she stood there, and for thefirst time he took note of the subtlety in that delicate mobile face.
"I really know nothing," she said lightly. "It is just this: if you orany other innocent person were in danger, I should feel called upon tounravel certain clues. Naturally I should make no move otherwise. Mrs.Balfame is an old friend of ours--and then--well, our local pride may beabsurd, but there it is. We must watch Jim Broderick. He has discoveredthe intimacy between Dr. Anna and Mrs. Balfame, and also--what all knowhere--that they were alone together during those last morning hoursfollowing the murder. I'll warn my aunt. He really couldn't get ather--not now, at all events; what he is after, of course, is not so muchcorroboration, but a new and sensational story to keep the case going.And, of course, as it was the press that ran Mrs. Balfame to earth, astatement from a woman of Dr. Anna's standing justifying it would be animmense triumph."
She had moved over to a table against the farther wall, and she struck amatch and applied it to the wick of an alcohol lamp. "I am going to makeyou a cup of tea. It will rest without overstimulating you, and you mustgo right from here to bed. I'm sorry Mother doesn't keep whisky in thehouse--"
"I don't drink when I'm on a case. That's one advantage I generally haveover the other side. It will be delightful to drink tea with you oncemore, although I'm free to say that outside of this house I never dranka cup of tea in my life."
The atmosphere was as agreeably light as if ponderable clouds hadsuddenly rolled out of the room. Two young people drew up to a smallertable and drank several cups of tea that had stood three minutes,nibbled excellent biscuit, and talked about the War.
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