CHAPTER XL.
THREE TIMES RUNNING.
Shagarach's office was a hive of industry the next time Emily Barlowcalled. Walter Riley, installed in Jacob's place, looked smartlyclerical, with a pen over one ear, docketing some papers, and Aronsonwas knitting his brows over a decision in the digest. But the lawyerhimself, she thought, did not appear to have profited greatly by hisfortnight's vacation. His cheek was worn and his manner betrayed anunusual aberration at times.
He had returned only the evening before. When she entered the parlor togreet him his mother found the padlock chain of the Persian poets tornthrough their edges, and her son face down on the carpet buried in avolume of Hafiz, with Sadi and Firdusi scattered near. She trembled, butshe did not disturb him.
"Our cause progresses," he said, in answer to Emily's query. "Importantlinks have been discovered since we last conferred."
The sweet girl lifted her eyebrows and waited.
"In the first place we shall put Harry Arnold on the stand. I havetraced him to the door of the study a moment before the fire was set."
Emily bit her lip just a trifle in disappointment, for her own cherishedtheory would only be embarrassed by the presence of Harry Arnold there.
"The other points?" she asked.
"You remember the peddler in the green cart, alluded to in EllenGreeley's letter, who carried messages to some person unknown?"
"Perfectly."
"Three witnesses stand ready to swear that a peddler in a green cartcried his wares through the roads of Woodlawn about the time of the fireand frequently stopped at the house of the Arnolds."
"That connects them legally," said Emily, still more discontented. "Howsoon do you expect a trial?"
"In less than two weeks. I am sorry you will have to shorten yourvacation."
"Oh, it is better over; the suspense is agony."
"The door, Walter," said Shagarach, as she passed out. Pretty soon hewent home to his own midday meal. Aronson was called away to look up atitle and left the Whistler in charge.
Walter had already caught just a little of his employer's decision ofmanner, which sat oddly on his rosy face, but was no more, after all,than a laudable aspiration toward manfulness. The lawyer had discoveredhis skill with the pencil and his mechanical interests, and had set himto work evenings copying the designs in a drawing manual. Meanwhile, hisgamesome impulses had quieted a good deal, and it was only when theoffice was empty, as now, that the old rich whistle was heard. Shagarachand Shagarach's suggestions seemed to consume that whole fund ofadolescent energy which formerly had overleaped all bounds in its searchfor an outlet.
He was just in the middle of a skylark solo, interrupted by bites at thecontents of his lunch-box, when a white-bearded old man entered. Atfirst Walter, hearing the limp on the stairs, took it for old Diebold,the pensioner, one of Shagarach's clients. The lunch-box vanished likemagic and there was a hasty brushing of crumbs and swallowing of ahalf-masticated mouthful before he turned the knob.
"Is Mr. Shagarach in?" asked the stranger, glancing around with a senileleer.
"Not now, sir, but I expect him soon," answered Walter. "He's gone todinner. Won't you be seated while you wait for him?"
"How long?" said the old man, mumbling his words, as if he weretoothless, and nodding at the boy over and over again.
"How long before he comes back? Oh, he never stays away long. He'll behere in five minutes, I guess."
The old man sat down feebly in the chair. Such a strange old man,thought Walter. His white beard almost covering his face and reachingdown on his bosom, and long white curls coming out from under his hat.He must be almost a hundred, said the boy to himself. Yet his eyesrolled around quickly and his skin wasn't wrinkled at the corners of theeyes, nor did he have those time-scored furrows in the neck thatsoldiers call saber cuts.
"Buy a pencil," he said to Walter, taking out a bunch from his pocket.
Walter shook his head in some disappointment. It was only a peddler,after all.
"Two for five," persisted the visitor.
Should he show him the door? Mr. Shagarach did not like to be troubledwith peddlers, but this one was so very old. Walter hesitated aboutdismissing him. Besides he had asked for the lawyer. Perhaps he had somebusiness, too.
Just then Shagarach's brisk step was heard in the entry, and the littleman came flying across the room to his desk in the inner office.
"That is Mr. Shagarach?" asked the gray-beard, jerking his thumb andleering again.
"Walter," said Shagarach. Walter jumped and was preceding the visitor inwhen a terrible snarl of rage caused him to turn. The white-bearded oldman seemed to have been transformed into a beast, glaring with his wildblue eyes and gritting his great teeth at Shagarach. He raised a bottlein his hand and hurled its contents at the lawyer. But Walter had caughthis arm and pulled it down with all the might in his bourgeoningmuscles. The liquor hissed where it fell, and several drops spattered onhis neck and bosom, causing him to shrink as if touched with a caustic.Still he tore at the old man's face, and covered the mouth of the bottlewith his palm so as to intercept the hot shower.
Shagarach had been looking down at some papers when he first heard thesound of the old man's breath forced between his teeth. As quick asthought he reached for the paper-weight and hurled it with all hisforce. It struck the stranger full in the forehead, cutting a raggedgash with its edge. Then the lawyer sprung from his chair, following uphis missile with the quickness of a cat. But just as he reached acrossWalter's body the boy fell back in his arms with a shriek of pain, thestranger's white beard coming away in his fingers.
"The oaf!" cried Shagarach, but the assailant was gone in a flash.
"Water! Water!" shrieked the office boy, writhing in his arms.
The lawyer glanced around. The wainscoting was charred where the liquorhad fallen. The boy's jacket was eaten away in holes. It was vitriolthat had been thrown.
"A quart of lime-water at the nearest apothecary's," he shouted toAronson, who had just come back. "And the first physician you can fetch.Don't lose a second."
Aronson was off like the wind, while Shagarach unbuttoned the boy's vestand tore away the saturated portions of his undergarments that wereclinging to his shriveled skin. Already great blisters rose under theaction of the acid.
"Will you telephone central 431, Inspector McCausland," he said to thetenant opposite who had been attracted in by the noise. "Ask him to callat once, and state that I have been attacked again."
It was the physician who arrived first, then Aronson. Walter's burnswere bathed profusely with the lime-water, and the blisters pricked openby the doctor's needle. After the first agony he bore the pain without agroan. His breast and palm would be scarred for life, but the only woundon the visible parts was a long, pear-shaped corrosion extending alongthe side of his neck. You may imagine how tenderly Shagarach nursed himand how excitedly Aronson ran to and fro fetching whatever was askedfor.
"It is time this should be stopped," said McCausland, entering. But hewas not alone. He held a great bloodhound in leash. "It was the samecustomer, I suppose? Can you give me any article belonging to the man? Ipicked up this in the doorway."
He held up a white wig.
"The false beard," cried Walter, holding it out from the stretcher onwhich they were bundling him.
"Better the blood drops," said Shagarach. "Search the stairs. He waswounded."
McCausland rushed out, his hound tugging strongly at the leash.
"Smell, Wolf, smell," they could hear him saying, and then a half-tripand a clatter down the stairs told that the dog had caught the scent andnearly pulled the inspector off his feet.
"I am glad it is no worse, Walter. The doctor will do all that skill canto soothe your pain. You have saved my life twice," said Shagarach,pressing the boy's hands, which were clasped over his bosom, where thelint lay on his burns. Gently the ambulance men carried him down thestairs, with never a cry from his brave lips tightened over the sound.
"I will call to-night, Walter. May you be better then," said the lawyer,giving the driver Mrs. Riley's address. The physician climbed into thespare seat and the wagon drove off with its suffering passenger.
"A cap, a coat button and a false beard," said Shagarach. "And still wegrope in the dark. Yet an anatomist will reconstruct a mastodon from afragment of his tooth!"
"Lost again," said McCausland, re-entering with his bloodhound, whichnosed about in corners of the room. The inspector sat down, puffing andlooked thoroughly disgusted.
"You lost the trail?"
"Never fear Wolf for that. Lie down, Wolf! No; the hound kept his trackthrough all the cross-scents of the city--something to boast of,that--there was blood dripping here and there, that I knew by hisyelping. By the way, you must have struck him hard."
"The paper-weight is heavy," said Shagarach, picking it up from underthe desk where it had rolled. As he did so the hound gave a roar and abound, and stood up to reach it with his forepaws.
"Down, Wolf! Lie down!" cried McCausland, sternly. "There is blood onthe edge. That may help us another time."
"Take it," said Shagarach. "But you lost the trail, you said."
"It vanished into the air. Wolf took us to the northern station, runningme off my feet all the way--through the waiting-room, up and down theplatform twice, inside track gate No. 5, and then--flatted fair andsquare. You know the random way he runs about when he's lost the scent?Our man had taken a train."
"The western express, 12:59," said Shagarach.
"How did you know?"
"I have had occasion to take the same train at track No. 5 on a visit toWoodlawn. Had he purchased a ticket?"
"No man with a cut on his face, or of our description."
"Then he has a trip ticket and lives there."
"Where?"
"At Woodlawn," said the lawyer. "Near Harry Arnold."
McCausland smiled incredulously.
"Is Woodlawn the only station between here and Albany?" he asked."However, I telegraphed along the route to have the runaway stopped."
"What time did you send the telegram?" asked Shagarach.
"At 1:19 by the station clock."
"Just a minute too late. The express reaches Woodlawn at 1:18. It is thefirst station."
"Heigho! Here's a to-do. What about Woodlawn?" asked a cheerful voice.It was Dr. Jonas Silsby, brown as a berry, with a broad-brimmed strawhat and a basketful of botanical specimens under one arm. The casualobserver would have taken him for an uncommonly good-looking farmer,bringing some choice greens to market.
The Incendiary: A Story of Mystery Page 40
