“And Heinrich mistook her for me.” Julie’s eyes glowed. “The hand of God! But, monsieur, why did you advise that I stay away from mademoiselle, and take me to that dreadful house?”
“Because, Julie, you were hysterical, and I feared if interviewed, you might make some statement in all good faith which would do Miss Kathleen irreparable injury. I also believed that your absence would serve to divert suspicion until I had a chance to find the real criminal; I met you before the inquest, and did not realize that your disappearance could be used to militate against Miss Kathleen. As for Mrs. Robinson”—he laughed slightly—“she keeps a private sanitarium, but just now has no patients. You were perfectly safe there, and I had Connor detail an operative to see that Heinrich did not torment you.”
“What will become of Baron von Fincke?”
“Chief Connor and the State Department will handle his case. Connor told me he found the Baron’s next door neighbor—a man named Frank Lutz.…”
“Mercy, his wife’s a member of the Sisters in Unity!” ejaculated Miss Kiametia.
“Lutz has a complete wireless transmitting station,” went on Miller. “He was stunned by his arrest, and attempted suicide; Connor believes he can induce him to tell the locations of the other relay stations. Lutz had the wireless antennae strung along the ceilings in the upper corridors of his house. He declares they have just perfected a method to overcome static interference.”
“And what about Heinrich?” asked Julie anxiously. “Will he escape?”
“No, he will undoubtedly pay the penalty of his crime; Mitchell took him in charge. Coroner Penfield was here a short time ago,” added Miller, turning to Miss Kiametia. “He assisted us to take Mrs. Whitney to her bedroom; I left Rosa, the cook, there.”
“Thank you,” murmured Kathleen.
“I think I had better go upstairs and see to everything,” and the spinster rose.
“Just a minute,” Miller hesitated. “I felt that another and more determined attempt would be made to get Mr. Whitney’s invention, Kathleen, and so suggested to him that he trust me with the drawings and specifications.”
“Did he?”
“Yes, and I took them over and deposited them In the care of Chief Connor.”
“A capital idea,” exclaimed Foster.
“Then father’s inventions are quite safe?” asked Kathleen.
“Yes. One is a camera for taking a map of the country from an airship; the other, still more marvelous—glass armor.”
“Glass what!” chorused his listeners.
“Armor. A suit woven from a combination of mica and glass which Mauser bullets cannot penetrate.”
“Good Lord!” Foster tugged at his hair until it stood upright.
“We can discuss the inventions at another time,” announced the spinster, recovering from her astonishment. “I’ll be upstairs, Kathleen, if you want me.”
“Wait, I’m coming,” but Foster turned on the threshold of the door, his curiosity mastering him. “There’s just one question, Miss Kathleen; if you knew Karl von Mueller in Germany and, as you thought, met him here using the name of Charles Miller, why did you not at once conclude he was a German spy?”
“Because a year ago a school friend in Germany wrote me that Karl had disappeared after a duel, and she believed he was living in America under an assumed name,” replied Kathleen, rising hurriedly. “Under those circumstances I thought it natural that he should have anglicized his name. Won’t you stop—?”
“No, thanks,” hastily. “I must see Kiametia. Good-night,” and he disappeared into the hall. Miss Kiametia was talking to a white-capped nurse, who continued on her way upstairs on Foster’s approach.
“Winslow has regained consciousness,” announced Miss Kiametia, “and is sleeping naturally at last.”
“I am delighted to hear it.” Foster’s tired face lighted with pleasure. “Shall I tell Kathleen?”
“No, not just yet; good news will keep, and I think she is entitled to the happiness of being with the man she loves.”
“Do you never crave for that happiness, Kiametia?” and there was a wistful tenderness in his voice which made the spinster blink suspiciously. Suddenly she slipped her hand in his.
“Suppose I say yes, for a change,” she whispered, burying her head on his shoulder, and with a thankful heart Foster held her close as he whispered tender, soothing words in her ear.
Neither Kathleen nor Miller cared to break the silence which prevailed after Foster’s departure. Julie had slipped away at the same time. The pause became embarrassing, and in desperation Miller broke it.
“Kathleen, can you ever forgive me?” standing tall and straight before her. “I acted what seems now a contemptible part—but I had to know whom you were protecting, whom you suspected of killing Spencer—I thought—forgive me—your father guilty. Until you said last night that you were shielding me, I had no idea of such a possibility; then I jumped to the conclusion that you had seen me in this house on Tuesday night, and imagined you were the person creeping up to the attic. Then, then—God help me!—came the idea that German gold had corrupted you, also. I put you to a severe test; but I wanted my doubts that you might be in German pay absolutely refuted. Even when I threatened, you stood firm.” He drew in his breath sharply. “You will never know how I admired you and hated myself.”
She answered with a question. “How did you know of my friendship with your cousin, Karl?”
“We have always been confidentially intimate. In a moment of remorse he wrote me about you, telling me of your elopement, and stating that he took you to a village removed from a railroad for the wedding, and there found the priest too ill in bed to perform the ceremony; he confessed that he got drunk, lost his head, and—and—suggested that you dispense with the marriage ceremony.”
Kathleen crimsoned to the roots of her hair. “Did he tell you that I indignantly refused, escaped from him, and started out to walk to the nearest railroad station. There I met John Hargraves, told him of my elopement, then accompanied him to the hotel in the next town where his cousin was stopping and spent the night with her, returning next day under her escort to the school. She explained to the principal that I had been visiting her, and smoothed over what promised to be a scandal.”
“Yes, Karl wrote me of that also, but he did you the tardy justice of never mentioning your full name. When I met you at Chevy Chase I realized suddenly that you had mistaken me for him and—” Miller hesitated for a brief second—“I followed the game. Kathleen,” his hitherto clear voice faltered, “I followed it to my own undoing. Each time that you repulsed me, you inspired me—first, with admiration; then, all unbidden, came love—love, so faithful and unswerving that not even the toils of treachery and false witness which threatened to envelope you, could alter it.” He hesitated again, his face white and strained. “Tell me frankly, Kathleen, did you accept me on Tuesday only because you thought me Karl?”
“No.” Kathleen’s face was rosy with color and her eyes shone with a new radiance. Eagerly Miller clasped her hands and, bending his head, kissed them. “Whatever schoolgirl affection I cherished for Karl was long since dead before I met you. To you alone I gave my heart.”
“My love, my love,” he murmured softly. “May God aid me to atone to you for the sorrow of the past!” and looking up into his eyes, as his arms stole round her, Kathleen read there that the glory of life was hers at last.
A Note on the Author
Natalie Sumner Lincoln (1881–1935) was an American novelist born in Washington, D.C. She was a prolific writer and is most remembered for her mystery and crime novels.
Discover books by Natalie Sumner Lincoln published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/Natalie Sumner Lincoln
I Spy
The Cat’s Paw
The Moving Finger
This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader
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Copyright © 1916 Natalie Sumner Lincoln
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eISBN: 9781448213276
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I Spy Page 21
