CHAPTER XIX. AT THE TABLE NEXT
McKnight and Hotchkiss were sauntering slowly down the road as I caughtup with them. As usual, the little man was busy with some abstrusemental problem.
"The idea is this," he was saying, his brows knitted in thought, "ifa left-handed man, standing in the position of the man in the picture,should jump from a car, would he be likely to sprain his right ankle?When a right-handed man prepares for a leap of that kind, my theoryis that he would hold on with his right hand, and alight at the propertime, on his right foot. Of course--"
"I imagine, although I don't know," interrupted McKnight, "that a maneither ambidextrous or one-armed, jumping from the Washington Flier,would be more likely to land on his head."
"Anyhow," I interposed, "what difference does it make whether Sullivanused one hand or the other? One pair of handcuffs will put both handsout of commission."
As usual when one of his pet theories was attacked, Hotchkiss lookedaggrieved.
"My dear sir," he expostulated, "don't you understand what bearing thishas on the case? How was the murdered man lying when he was found?"
"On his back," I said promptly, "head toward the engine."
"Very well," he retorted, "and what then? Your heart lies under yourfifth intercostal space, and to reach it a right-handed blow would havestruck either down or directly in.
"But, gentleman, the point of entrance for the stiletto was below theheart, striking up! As Harrington lay with his head toward the engine, aperson in the aisle must have used the left hand."
McKnight's eyes sought mine and he winked at me solemnly as Iunostentatiously transferred the hat I was carrying to my right hand.Long training has largely counterbalanced heredity in my case, but Istill pitch ball, play tennis and carve with my left hand. But Hotchkisswas too busy with his theories to notice me.
We were only just in time for our train back to Baltimore, but McKnighttook advantage of a second's delay to shake the station agent warmly bythe hand.
"I want to express my admiration for you," he said beamingly. "Abilityof your order is thrown away here. You should have been a citypoliceman, my friend."
The agent looked a trifle uncertain.
"The young lady was the one who told me to keep still," he said.
McKnight glanced at me, gave the agent's hand a final shake, and climbedon board. But I knew perfectly that he had guessed the reason for mydelay.
He was very silent on the way home. Hotchkiss, too, had little to say.He was reading over his notes intently, stopping now and then to make apenciled addition. Just before we left the train Richey turned to me. "Isuppose it was the key to the door that she tied to the gate?"
"Probably. I did not ask her."
"Curious, her locking that fellow in," he reflected. "You may depend onit, there was a good reason for it all. And I wish you wouldn't be sosuspicious of motives, Rich," I said warmly.
"Only yesterday you were the suspicious one," he retorted, and we lapsedinto strained silence.
It was late when we got to Washington. One of Mrs. Klopton's smalltyrannies was exacting punctuality at meals, and, like several otherthings, I respected it. There are always some concessions that should bemade in return for faithful service.
So, as my dinner hour of seven was long past, McKnight and I went to alittle restaurant down town where they have a very decent way of fixingchicken a la King. Hotchkiss had departed, economically bent, for asmall hotel where he lived on the American plan.
"I want to think some things over," he said in response to my invitationto dinner, "and, anyhow, there's no use dining out when I pay the same,dinner or no dinner, where I am stopping."
The day had been hot, and the first floor dining-room was sultry inspite of the palms and fans which attempted to simulate the verdure andbreezes of the country.
It was crowded, too, with a typical summer night crowd, and, aftersitting for a few minutes in a sweltering corner, we got up and wentto the smaller dining-room up-stairs. Here it was not so warm, and wesettled ourselves comfortably by a window.
Over in a corner half a dozen boys on their way back to school wereragging a perspiring waiter, a proceeding so exactly to McKnight's tastethat he insisted on going over to join them. But their table was full,and somehow that kind of fun had lost its point for me.
Not far from us a very stout, middle-aged man, apoplectic with the heat,was elephantinely jolly for the benefit of a bored-looking girl acrossthe table from him, and at the next table a newspaper woman ate alone,the last edition propped against the water-bottle before her, her hat,for coolness, on the corner of the table. It was a motley Bohemiancrowd.
I looked over the room casually, while McKnight ordered the meal. Thenmy attention was attracted to the table next to ours. Two people weresitting there, so deep in conversation that they did not notice us. Thewoman's face was hidden under her hat, as she traced the pattern of thecloth mechanically with her fork. But the man's features stood out clearin the light of the candles on the table. It was Bronson!
"He shows the strain, doesn't he?" McKnight said, holding up the winelist as if he read from it. "Who's the woman?"
"Search me," I replied, in the same way.
When the chicken came, I still found myself gazing now and then at theabstracted couple near me. Evidently the subject of conversation wasunpleasant. Bronson was eating little, the woman not at all. Finally hegot up, pushed his chair back noisily, thrust a bill at the waiter andstalked out.
The woman sat still for a moment; then, with an apparent resolution tomake the best of it, she began slowly to eat the meal before her.
But the quarrel had taken away her appetite, for the mixture in ourchafing-dish was hardly ready to serve before she pushed her chair backa little and looked around the room.
I caught my first glimpse of her face then, and I confess it startledme. It was the tall, stately woman of the Ontario, the woman I hadlast seen cowering beside the road, rolling pebbles in her hand, bloodstreaming from a cut over her eye. I could see the scar now, a littleaffair, about an inch long, gleaming red through its layers of powder.
And then, quite unexpectedly, she turned and looked directly at me.After a minute's uncertainty, she bowed, letting her eyes rest on minewith a calmly insolent stare. She glanced at McKnight for a moment, thenback to me. When she looked away again I breathed easier.
"Who is it?" asked McKnight under his breath.
"Ontario." I formed it with my lips rather than said it. McKnight'seyebrows went up and he looked with increased interest at theblack-gowned figure.
I ate little after that. The situation was rather bad for me, I began tosee. Here was a woman who could, if she wished, and had any motive forso doing, put me in jail under a capital charge. A word from her to thepolice, and polite surveillance would become active interference.
Then, too, she could say that she had seen me, just after the wreck,with a young woman from the murdered man's car, and thus probably bringAlison West into the case.
It is not surprising, then, that I ate little. The woman across seemedin no hurry to go. She loitered over a demi-tasse, and that finished,sat with her elbow on the table, her chin in her hand, looking darkly atthe changing groups in the room.
The fun at the table where the college boys sat began to grow a littlenoisy; the fat man, now a purplish shade, ambled away behind his slimcompanion; the newspaper woman pinned on her business-like hat andstalked out. Still the woman at the next table waited.
It was a relief when the meal was over. We got our hats and were aboutto leave the room, when a waiter touched me on the arm.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but the lady at the table near thewindow, the lady in black, sir, would like to speak to you."
I looked down between the rows of tables to where the woman sat alone,her chin still resting on her hand, her black eyes still insolentlystaring, this time at me.
"I'll have to go," I said to McKnight hurriedly. "She knows all aboutthat affa
ir and she'd be a bad enemy."
"I don't like her lamps," McKnight observed, after a glance at her."Better jolly her a little. Good-by."
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