The Incendiary: A Story of Mystery

by William Augustine Leahy

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  TURNPIKE TOLL.

  "So to-morrow is the day of the trial, Miss Barlow?"

  Mrs. Riley was pinning the bandage on Walter's neck, while Emilybuttoned his jacket. She and the quondam Whistler had become fastfriends, especially since the day of the struggle in Shagarach's office,and now that his burns were healing and he was able to get out they hadarranged a Sunday afternoon excursion to Hemlock grove, with some vaguehope of visiting the site of the demolished hut, if Walter's strengthcould carry him so far. There would be no lack of guides, for the spothad already become locally famous.

  "Yes," answered Emily, "the talesmen have been sifted down to twelve atlast."

  "May the good Lord put mercy in their hearts," prayed Mrs. Riley.

  "I wish it was a jury of ladies," said Walter.

  "Why, ladies are never selected for the jury," cried his mother.

  "Jurywomen is a word not yet included in the dictionaries," smiledEmily.

  "But they are all so kind," said Walter simply, but in such a way thathis mother and Emily might each take half of the compliment. The brightslum boy was already losing all trace of his plebeian associations, asthe innate aristocracy of his nature asserted itself. How luckily he wasplaced, if he could have foreseen. To begin at the lower-most round ofthe ladder, but with the unconquerable instinct in him to climb; and soat last, on the topmost round, to have the whole of life for aretrospect.

  Mrs. Riley bade them a proud good-by and watched them from her windowboarding the car. The down-town ride on a Sunday is always curious, forthe desertion of the usually crowded streets gives them a foreignappearance. Emily was commenting on this when Walter called herattention to something in the sky.

  "Look, it's a man," he said, pointing almost vertically upward.

  "Where?" she asked, leaning forward.

  "On the top of the Amory building. He is calling for help."

  The Amory building was the tallest structure in the city, the tenants inthe sixteenth story enjoying a view that swept in the entire harbor andflattened the men walking in the avenues below to the dimensions ofcrawling flies.

  "We can change cars here, Walter. Let us get off and see."

  From the sidewalk Emily could distinguish the minute figure of a manleaning over the parapet around the roof, and shouting through his handsto attract attention.

  "Perhaps it is on fire," she said in alarm, framing the thought that layuppermost in her mind.

  "I think he wants to get down," suggested Walter, although not a wordof the man's vociferations could be heard.

  "Let us speak to the policeman," said Emily, just as a large hat camesailing down on Walter's head. It crossed her mind that the broad brimhad a familiar look. The patrolman followed her index finger with hisglance and presently there was a knot of passers-by doing likewise. Thenthe knot grew to a crowd, and the crowd to a multitude. Meanwhile theofficer had hunted up the janitor of the building and both enteredthrough the great carved doors. About five minutes later they came down,with a heavily laden, portly gentleman, who seemed taken aback when thecrowd hurrahed him.

  "Dr. Silsby!" cried Emily. He looked about in surprise.

  "Miss Barlow," he said, shaking his head, "here's a to-do. I supposeyou'll go right over and tell that Rob."

  "Tell him what?"

  "Tell him I got lost in the heart of the city I was born in," grumbledthe botanist so that she could hardly help laughing. "Well, what are yousniggling at?" he shouted at the crowd, who fell back a little at this.

  "And were you lost up there?"

  "Haven't had a bite to eat since yesterday noon. Made a call on thatninny, Hodgkins, about his confounded will. Judge is going to decideagainst him and we'll have our academia after all."

  "Good! Good!" cried Emily, clapping her hands.

  "Office on the sixteenth floor. Ninny was out. Took my specimens up tothe roof. Got worked up. Scribbled notes for my new lecture on----"

  "I know. Rob told me. On the beneficent activity of the great hornedowl. How interesting!"

  Dr. Silsby glared.

  "Janitor missed me. Didn't notice the time. Locked out. Slept four hoursall night, and now I'm hoarse from bawling ten. What's the matter withSleepy Hollow? Are they all in bed?"

  "Why, this is Sunday morning," explained Emily, repressing hermerriment.

  "They ought to have ladders up there, so a man could climb down,"grumbled Dr. Silsby.

  Walter thought this a somewhat unreasonable demand.

  "You might have descended by the mail chute," said Emily, laughingoutright, "and then the postman would have collected you just beforebreakfast."

  The learned doctor made no reply, so they left him shuffling away insearch of a restaurant.

  "I do hope Judge Dunder will allow the will," she said; and it took thewhole ride to explain the why of this hope to her eager auditor.

  At Woodlawn they were directed to Hemlock grove and wandered among itsdark trees, peace-breathing in themselves, but haunted for them by thevague pervasive shadow of a tragedy. The hut was too far for Walter'sstrength, so they turned off at an angle, following a footpath whichthey knew would lead to some road. Once or twice they heard a murmur ofvoices, seeming to come from the left. It was very deep and indistinctand not unlike the mooing of a cow. But her bell would have tinkled ifit had really been a stray tenant of the milk-shed.

  "What is it, Walter?" asked Emily. It had sounded again, this time morehumanly and close to their ears. They had been moving toward itunawares.

  Walter only clutched her arm in answer.

  "Look!" he said, and she saw his eyes white with distension of the lids."It is the oaf."

  Through a parting in the boughs Emily saw the sight. There was a littlecemetery near by, unpretending but neat with scattered headstones. Inthe midst of it, kneeling with his forehead bared and his eyesup-lifted, was the human monster who had woven himself into their lifeso terribly. What was he doing? Should she run? Her first impulse was tofly, but a fascination held her. The oaf's face was averted and theywere screened from his gaze.

  Looked at now, the creature's countenance was less repulsive than shehad thought. Emily had only seen it convulsed with murderous passion,and those who had described it to her had beheld it under similarcircumstances. Yet at best it was horribly misshapen.

  "Is he crying?" asked Walter. Strange to say, the oaf seemed to beshedding tears and the quick sympathy went out from Emily's bosom, inspite of the past.

  "Hark!"

  Emily pulled Walter back, as he leaned forward too eagerly to catch whathe was saying.

  The oaf moaned in a guttural tone that swelled to its close, crescendo.Then he threw himself on the mound before which he knelt.

  It was a grave. No headstone covered it. The mourners of the dead whohouse there were either forgetful or poor. But strange little bunches ofwithered wild flowers were strewn upon it. And a heap of fresher flowerslay at one side. What was the monster doing?

  With his fingers he scooped out hollows in the earth, then lifted thecut daisies and buttercups he had brought, with many a late violet andhoneysuckle, and laid their stalks one by one in the cavities. Holdingthem in place, he propped them up with the loosened earth, till allalong the narrow mound there was a bloom of red and yellow and blue.Then the oaf rose and looked down upon his work, with a childishpleasure.

  "Does he think they will grow that way?" asked Walter, but Emily put herfinger on her lips. The oaf began muttering in a low, indistinct murmur,like one soothing a child.

  Suddenly he drew his soiled hands across his brow. The streaks of earthadded to his hideousness and his expression had changed. Some newcurrent of thought was in his mind. He ground his teeth, as Walter hadseen him in Shagarach's office, and roared with fists clenched at someinvisible adversary.

  "Run, run," called Walter, dragging Emily with him along the littlefootpath--on, on. They could hear their own footsteps echoed behind,but the roars did not appear to be gaining on th
em.

  "Faster! Faster!" urged Emily, as Walter weakened. The briers scratchedher dress, the boughs brushed in her face, but what were these to themonster behind them? She dared not turn, lest his fierce eyes should beglaring into hers and his grimy hands clutch at her flying hair.

  "I cannot keep up," cried Walter breathing hard, when they had covered aquarter of a mile.

  "Oh, Walter, try!" cried Emily, dragging him in her turn.

  "I cannot. I can only walk. He is not behind us," he added. Emily slowedup and peeped around timidly. The expected image did not confront her.The woods had a less lonely look here, but they were perfectly still.

  "Have we escaped him?" she said, all flushed and out of breath. Withoutthe wings of fear, she could not have run a third of the distance.

  Walter held his breath to listen before he answered. There was not astir in the woods save the sighing of the leaves.

  "Let us walk on fast," he said, and Emily was glad to moderate her pace.But they had not proceeded twenty steps, when again she started off,dragging Walter by the hand. This time the sound was on their right. Theoaf had crossed the path and was tearing through the woods. With theadvantage of the smooth path they might outstrip him and get to theroad, where succor could be had.

  "Oh, I cannot go farther," cried Emily, fainting. "Leave me, Walter, andbring help as soon as you can." The elastic sinews of the boy hadrecovered their strength and he was now the fresher of the two.

  "Only a little farther, Miss Barlow. I can see the road through thetrees."

  The pursuer seemed to have slowed his own pace to a walk. Once theycaught a glimpse of his form. He was not aiming at them straight butslantingly toward the road, as if he would head them off. At present hewas almost abreast and gaining.

  "There is the road and a cottage," said Walter, but the pursuer wasahead of them now, running swiftly. They could see him leap the wallonly ten paces off, just as they emerged from the footpath. Bewilderedand spent, Emily turned the wrong way and ran straight into the arms ofMr. Arthur Kennedy Foxhall.

  "Turnpike toll!" exclaimed the manikin, deliriously prolonging theaccidental embrace, while Emily strove to tear herself away in a flurryof amazement, horror and disgust.

  "Let her alone!" cried Walter, clutching at Kennedy's neck. But themanikin took no account of the boy, merely cuffing him over the ears,and endeavoring to force a kiss upon Emily.

  "Forgive me, Emily--Miss Barlow," he said at last, while she stoodflaming like a rose with indignation. "Forgive me if I press my suit tooardently----"

  But he was not afforded an opportunity to continue his amorous speech.Walter Riley possessed a spirit which rose against cuffing. Weak andweary as he was, he drew off after a moment's survey, to get the importof the conversation, and sent the manikin spinning with a blow thatbrought blood drops from his nose. Kennedy felt the trickling organ inmomentary confusion, but before his idol he could not show the whitefeather.

  Whack! Whack! He brought his cane--bulldog end for a handle--down on theboy's shoulder, neck and head--bursting the bandages over his stillacutely tender burns. Walter clinched, but Kennedy threw him off andcontinued his caning. Even Emily's intercession only brought her a smartrap over the fingers with which she tried to grasp his weapon.

  "You brute!" she exclaimed, and threw herself between Kennedy and theboy. But help from another quarter was at hand. A tall, lithe formvaulted a neighboring wall and the swish of a horsewhip cut the air. Itmust have cut something else, for Kennedy hopped and turned, andpresently was capering with as much agility as if the ground were redhotiron. Emily could hear the repeated swishes and the manikin'ssupplications, but she did not look up. She was stroking Walter'sforehead. The boy had fainted in her arms.

  "It's me, Harry. It's Kennedy. Don't you know me?"

  This cry caused her to turn.

  "It's a coward. Run."

  Emily had heard the voice only once before, in that eventful ride toHillsborough; but she would have known Harry Arnold instantly from hisphotograph. How broad-chested he was! How superb! Yet there wassomething feverish in his excitement now. He came toward her, raisinghis hat.

  "I have to apologize for a slight acquaintance with that blackguard,which led me to refuse at first to credit his conduct. Otherwise I mighthave been of assistance earlier."

  "Slight acquaintance? You owe me twelve hundred and by George you'll payit," snarled Kennedy, moving away. Harry never turned.

  "The boy has fainted. He must come up to the house."

  The "cottage" in view, then, was the Arnold house. A carriage stood infront of the terrace at the head of the gravel drive which led up fromthe turnpike. Harry had probably just arrived home from an afternoonspin through the suburbs.

  "Thank you, Mr. Arnold----" Emily stopped, but the mischief was out.Harry had lifted the unconscious boy tenderly in his strong arms and wascarrying him up the drive. He turned and smiled, showing his beautifulteeth, but, seeing Emily's confusion, did not speak the words that wereon his lips. Inside the house he called for Indigo.

  "Some wine," he ordered.

  "And a little sweet oil, if you have it," added Emily; for the neckbandage had been torn away and the vitriol burn was bleeding from one ofKennedy's blows.

  "This is Walter Riley," said Emily, at last recovering from herembarrassment, "Mr. Shagarach's clerk, who was assaulted about ten daysago."

  She studied Harry's face as she bathed the tender part with the sweetoil and poor, sick-eyed Walter revived under the wine. But there was noexpression other than one of surprise crossed with sympathy.

  "And yourself, may I ask?"

  "I am Miss Barlow."

  Harry's astonishment reached a climax at this, but he was too well bredto display it.

  "I am delighted to have you for my guest, Miss Barlow. It is unfortunatethat my mother is not at home. We have both admired your efforts inbehalf of Rob. And Miss March was just speaking of you."

  By the time that Walter was ready to go home, Emily had fixed withfeminine absoluteness her opinion about Harry's innocence.

  But then she was under a heavy debt to Harry. He had rid her once forall of the impertinences of Mr. Arthur Kennedy Foxhall.