CHAPTER XVIII. A NEW WORLD
Hotchkiss jotted down the bits of telegram and rose.
"Well," he said, "we've done something. We've found where the murdererleft the train, we know what day he went to Baltimore, and, mostimportant of all, we have a motive for the crime."
"It seems the irony of fate," said McKnight, getting up, "that aman should kill another man for certain papers he is supposed to becarrying, find he hasn't got them after all, decide to throw suspicionon another man by changing berths and getting out, bag and baggage, andthen, by the merest fluke of chance, take with him, in the valise hechanged for his own, the very notes he was after. It was a bit of luckfor him."
"Then why," put in Hotchkiss doubtfully, "why did he collapse when heheard of the wreck? And what about the telephone message the stationagent sent? You remember they tried to countermand it, and with someexcitement."
"We will ask him those questions when we get him," McKnight said. Wewere on the unrailed front porch by that time, and Hotchkiss had putaway his notebook. The mother of the twins followed us to the steps.
"Dear me," she exclaimed volubly, "and to think I was forgetting to tellyou! I put the young man to bed with a spice poultice on his ankle: mymother always was a firm believer in spice poultices. It's wonderfulwhat they will do in croup! And then I took the children and went downto see the wreck. It was Sunday, and the mister had gone to church;hasn't missed a day since he took the pledge nine years ago. And on theway I met two people, a man and a woman. They looked half dead, so Isent them right here for breakfast and some soap and water. I always saysoap is better than liquor after a shock."
Hotchkiss was listening absently: McKnight was whistling under hisbreath, staring down across the field to where a break in the woodsshowed a half dozen telegraph poles, the line of the railroad.
"It must have been twelve o'clock when we got back; I wanted thechildren to see everything, because it isn't likely they'll ever seeanother wreck like that. Rows of--"
"About twelve o'clock," I broke in, "and what then?"
"The young man up-stairs was awake," she went on, "and hammering at hisdoor like all possessed. And it was locked on the outside!" She pausedto enjoy her sensation.
"I would like to see that lock," Hotchkiss said promptly, but for somereason the woman demurred.
"I will bring the key down," she said and disappeared. When she returnedshe held out an ordinary door key of the cheapest variety.
"We had to break the lock," she volunteered, "and the key didn't turn upfor two days. Then one of the twins found the turkey gobbler trying toswallow it. It has been washed since," she hastened to assure Hotchkiss,who showed an inclination to drop it.
"You don't think he locked the door himself and threw the key out of thewindow?" the little man asked.
"The windows are covered with mosquito netting, nailed on. The misterblamed it on the children, and it might have been Obadiah. He's thequiet kind, and you never know what he's about."
"He's about to strangle, isn't he," McKnight remarked lazily, "or isthat Obadiah?"
Mrs. Carter picked the boy up and inverted him, talking amiably all thetime. "He's always doing it," she said, giving him a shake. "Whenever wemiss anything we look to see if Obadiah's black in the face." She gavehim another shake, and the quarter I had given him shot out as if blownfrom a gun. Then we prepared to go back to the station.
From where I stood I could look into the cheery farm kitchen, whereAlison West and I had eaten our al fresco breakfast. I looked at thetable with mixed emotions, and then, gradually, the meaning of somethingon it penetrated my mind. Still in its papers, evidently just opened,was a hat box, and protruding over the edge of the box was a streamer ofvivid green ribbon.
On the plea that I wished to ask Mrs. Carter a few more questions, I letthe others go on. I watched them down the flagstone walk; saw McKnightstop and examine the gate-posts and saw, too, the quick glance he threwback at the house. Then I turned to Mrs. Carter.
"I would like to speak to the young lady up-stairs," I said.
She threw up her hands with a quick gesture of surrender. "I've done allI could," she exclaimed. "She won't like it very well, but--she's in theroom over the parlor."
I went eagerly up the ladder-like stairs, to the rag-carpeted hall. Twodoors were open, showing interiors of four poster beds and high bureaus.The door of the room over the parlor was almost closed. I hesitatedin the hallway: after all, what right had I to intrude on her? But shesettled my difficulty by throwing open the door and facing me.
"I--I beg your pardon, Miss West," I stammered. "It has just occurredto me that I am unpardonably rude. I saw the hat down-stairs and I--Iguessed--"
"The hat!" she said. "I might have known. Does Richey know I am here?"
"I don't think so." I turned to go down the stairs again. Then I halted."The fact is," I said, in an attempt at justification, "I'm in rathera mess these days, and I'm apt to do irresponsible things. It is notimpossible that I shall be arrested, in a day or so, for the murder ofSimon Harrington."
She drew her breath in sharply. "Murder!" she echoed. "Then they havefound you after all!"
"I don't regard it as anything more than--er--inconvenient," I lied."They can't convict me, you know. Almost all the witnesses are dead."
She was not deceived for a moment. She came over to me and stood, bothhands on the rail of the stair. "I know just how grave it is," she saidquietly. "My grandfather will not leave one stone unturned, and he canbe terrible--terrible. But"--she looked directly into my eyes as I stoodbelow her on the stairs--"the time may come--soon--when I can help you.I'm afraid I shall not want to; I'm a dreadful coward, Mr. Blakeley.But--I will." She tried to smile.
"I wish you would let me help you," I said unsteadily. "Let us make it abargain: each help the other!"
The girl shook her head with a sad little smile. "I am only as unhappyas I deserve to be," she said. And when I protested and took a steptoward her she retreated, with her hands out before her.
"Why don't you ask me all the questions you are thinking?" she demanded,with a catch in her voice. "Oh, I know them. Or are you afraid to ask?"
I looked at her, at the lines around her eyes, at the drawn look abouther mouth. Then I held out my hand. "Afraid!" I said, as she gave mehers. "There is nothing in God's green earth I am afraid of, save oftrouble for you. To ask questions would be to imply a lack of faith. Iask you nothing. Some day, perhaps, you will come to me yourself and letme help you."
The next moment I was out in the golden sunshine: the birds were singingcarols of joy: I walked dizzily through rainbow-colored clouds, past thetwins, cherubs now, swinging on the gate. It was a new world into whichI stepped from the Carter farm-house that morning, for--I had kissedher!
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