CHAPTER XXIV. HIS WIFE'S FATHER
I jumped up and seized the fire tongs. The cat's wail had rousedHotchkiss, who was wide-awake at once. He took in my offensive attitude,the tongs, the direction of my gaze, and needed nothing more. As hepicked up the candle and darted out into the hall, I followed him. Hemade directly for the staircase, and part way up he turned off to theright through a small door. We were on the gallery itself; below us thefire gleamed cheerfully, the cat was not in sight. There was no signof my ghostly visitant, but as we stood there the Bokhara rug, withoutwarning, slid over the railing and fell to the floor below.
"Man or woman?" Hotchkiss inquired in his most professional tone.
"Neither--that is, I don't know. I didn't notice anything but the eyes,"I muttered. "They were looking a hole in me. If you'd seen that cat youwould realize my state of mind. That was a traditional graveyard yowl."
"I don't think you saw anything at all," he lied cheerfully. "You dozedoff, and the rest is the natural result of a meal on a buffet car."
Nevertheless, he examined the Bokhara carefully when we went down,and when I finally went to sleep he was reading the only book insight--Elwell on Bridge. The first rays of daylight were coming mistilyinto the room when he roused me. He had his finger on his lips, and hewhispered sibilantly while I tried to draw on my distorted boots.
"I think we have him," he said triumphantly. "I've been looking aroundsome, and I can tell you this much. Just before we came in through thewindow last night, another man came. Only--he did not drop, as youdid. He swung over to the stair railing, and then down. The rail isscratched. He was long enough ahead of us to go into the dining-roomand get a decanter out of the sideboard. He poured out the liquor intoa glass, left the decanter there, and took the whisky into the libraryacross the hall. Then--he broke into a desk, using a paper knife for ajimmy."
"Good Lord, Hotchkiss," I exclaimed; "why, it may have been Sullivanhimself! Confound your theories--he's getting farther away everyminute."
"It was Sullivan," Hotchkiss returned imperturbably. "And he has notgone. His boots are by the library fire."
"He probably had a dozen pairs where he could get them," I scoffed. "Andwhile you and I sat and slept, the very man we want to get our hands onleered at us over that railing."
"Softly, softly, my friend," Hotchkiss said, as I stamped into my othershoe. "I did not say he was gone. Don't jump at conclusions. It isfatal to reasoning. As a matter of fact, he didn't relish a night on themountains any more than we did. After he had unintentionally frightenedyou almost into paralysis, what would my gentleman naturally do? Go outin the storm again? Not if I know the Alice-sit-by-the-fire type. Hewent up-stairs, well up near the roof, locked himself in and went tobed."
"And he is there now?"
"He is there now."
We had no weapons. I am aware that the traditional hero is always armed,and that Hotchkiss as the low comedian should have had a revolver thatmissed fire. As a fact, we had nothing of the sort. Hotchkiss carriedthe fire tongs, but my sense of humor was too strong for me; I declinedthe poker.
"All we want is a little peaceable conversation with him," I demurred."We can't brain him first and converse with him afterward. And anyhow,while I can't put my finger on the place, I think your theory is weak.If he wouldn't run a hundred miles through fire and water to get awayfrom us, then he is not the man we want."
Hotchkiss, however, was certain. He had found the room and listenedoutside the door to the sleeper's heavy breathing, and so we climbedpast luxurious suites, revealed in the deepening daylight, past longvistas of hall and boudoir. And we were both badly winded when we gotthere. It was a tower room, reached by narrow stairs, and well above theroof level. Hotchkiss was glowing.
"It is partly good luck, but not all," he panted in a whisper. "If wehad persisted in the search last night, he would have taken alarm andfled. Now--we have him. Are you ready?"
He gave a mighty rap at the door with the fire tongs, and stoodexpectant. Certainly he was right; some one moved within.
"Hello! Hello there!" Hotchkiss bawled. "You might as well come out. Wewon't hurt you, if you'll come peaceably."
"Tell him we represent the law," I prompted. "That's the customarything, you know."
But at that moment a bullet came squarely through the door and flatteneditself with a sharp pst against the wall of the tower staircase. Weducked unanimously, dropped back out of range, and Hotchkiss retaliatedwith a spirited bang at the door with the tongs. This brought anotherbullet. It was a ridiculous situation. Under the circumstances, nodoubt, we should have retired, at least until we had armed ourselves,but Hotchkiss had no end of fighting spirit, and as for me, my blood wasup.
"Break the lock," I suggested, and Hotchkiss, standing at the side, outof range, retaliated for every bullet by a smashing blow with the tongs.The shots ceased after a half dozen, and the door was giving, slowly.One of us on each side of the door, we were ready for almost any kindof desperate resistance. As it swung open Hotchkiss poised the tongs; Istood, bent forward, my arm drawn back for a blow.
Nothing happened.
There was not a sound. Finally, at the risk of losing an eye which Ijustly value, I peered around and into the room. There was no desperadothere: only a fresh-faced, trembling-lipped servant, sitting on the edgeof her bed, with a quilt around her shoulders and the empty revolver ather feet.
We were victorious, but no conquered army ever beat such a retreatas ours down the tower stairs and into the refuge of the living-room.There, with the door closed, sprawled on the divan, I went from onespasm of mirth into another, becoming sane at intervals, and sufferingrelapse again every time I saw Hotchkiss' disgruntled countenance. Hewas pacing the room, the tongs still in his hand, his mouth pursedwith irritation. Finally he stopped in front of me and compelled myattention.
"When you have finished cackling," he said with dignity, "I wish tojustify my position. Do you think the--er--young woman up-stairs puta pair of number eight boots to dry in the library last night? Do youthink she poured the whisky out of that decanter?"
"They have been known to do it," I put in, but his eye silenced me.
"Moreover, if she had been the person who peered at you over thegallery railing last night, don't you suppose, with her--er--belligerentdisposition, she could have filled you as full of lead as a windowweight?"
"I do," I assented. "It wasn't Alice-sit-by-the-fire. I grant you that.Then who was it?"
Hotchkiss felt certain that it had been Sullivan, but I was not so sure.Why would he have crawled like a thief into his own house? If he hadcrossed the park, as seemed probable, when we did, he had not made anyattempt to use the knocker. I gave it up finally, and made an effort toconciliate the young woman in the tower.
We had heard no sound since our spectacular entrance into her room. Iwas distinctly uncomfortable as, alone this time, I climbed to the towerstaircase. Reasoning from before, she would probably throw a chair atme. I stopped at the foot of the staircase and called.
"Hello up there," I said, in as debonair a manner as I could summon."Good morning. Wie geht es bei ihen?"
No reply.
"Bon jour, mademoiselle," I tried again. This time there was a movementof some sort from above, but nothing fell on me.
"I--we want to apologize for rousing you so--er--unexpectedly thismorning," I went on. "The fact is, we wanted to talk to you, andyou--you were hard to waken. We are travelers, lost in your mountains,and we crave a breakfast and an audience."
She came to the door then. I could feel that she was investigating thetop of my head from above. "Is Mr. Sullivan with you?" she asked. It wasthe first word from her, and she was not sure of her voice.
"No. We are alone. If you will come down and look at us you will findus two perfectly harmless people, whose horse--curses on him--departedwithout leave last night and left us at your gate."
She relaxed somewhat then and came down a step or two. "I was afraid Ihad killed somebody," she s
aid. "The housekeeper left yesterday, and theother maids went with her."
When she saw that I was comparatively young and lacked the earmarks ofthe highwayman, she was greatly relieved. She was inclined to fight shyof Hotchkiss, however, for some reason. She gave us a breakfast of asort, for there was little in the house, and afterward we telephoned tothe town for a vehicle. While Hotchkiss examined scratches and replacedthe Bokhara rug, I engaged Jennie in conversation.
"Can you tell me," I asked, "who is managing the estate since Mrs.Curtis was killed?"
"No one," she returned shortly.
"Has--any member of the family been here since the accident?"
"No, sir. There was only the two, and some think Mr. Sullivan was killedas well as his sister."
"You don't?"
"No," with conviction.
"Why?"
She wheeled on me with quick suspicion.
"Are you a detective?" she demanded.
"No."
"You told him to say you represented the law."
"I am a lawyer. Some of them misrepresent the law, but I--"
She broke in impatiently.
"A sheriff's officer?"
"No. Look here, Jennie; I am all that I should be. You'll have tobelieve that. And I'm in a bad position through no fault of my own. Iwant you to answer some questions. If you will help me, I will do what Ican for you. Do you live near here?"
Her chin quivered. It was the first sign of weakness she had shown.
"My home is in Pittsburg," she said, "and I haven't enough money toget there. They hadn't paid any wages for two months. They didn't payanybody."
"Very well," I returned. "I'll send you back to Pittsburg, Pullmanincluded, if you will tell me some things I want to know."
She agreed eagerly. Outside the window Hotchkiss was bending over,examining footprints in the drive.
"Now," I began, "there has been a Miss West staying here?"
"Yes."
"Mr. Sullivan was attentive to her?"
"Yes. She was the granddaughter of a wealthy man in Pittsburg. My aunthas been in his family for twenty years. Mrs. Curtis wanted her brotherto marry Miss West."
"Do you think he did marry her?" I could not keep the excitement out ofmy voice.
"No. There were reasons"--she stopped abruptly.
"Do you know anything of the family? Are they--were they New Yorkers?"
"They came from somewhere in the south. I have heard Mrs. Curtis say hermother was a Cuban. I don't know much about them, but Mr. Sullivan hada wicked temper, though he didn't look it. Folks say big, light-hairedpeople are easy going, but I don't believe it, sir."
"How long was Miss West here?"
"Two weeks."
I hesitated about further questioning. Critical as my position was, Icould not pry deeper into Alison West's affairs. If she had got into thehands of adventurers, as Sullivan and his sister appeared to have been,she was safely away from them again. But something of the situationin the car Ontario was forming itself in my mind: the incident at thefarmhouse lacked only motive to be complete. Was Sullivan, after all, arascal or a criminal? Was the murderer Sullivan or Mrs. Conway? The ladyor the tiger again.
Jennie was speaking.
"I hope Miss West was not hurt?" she asked. "We liked her, all of us.She was not like Mrs. Curtis."
I wanted to say that she was not like anybody in the world.Instead--"She escaped with some bruises," I said.
She glanced at my arm. "You were on the train?"
"Yes."
She waited for more questions, but none coming, she went to the door.Then she closed it softly and came back.
"Mrs. Curtis is dead? You are sure of it?" she asked.
"She was killed instantly, I believe. The body was not recovered. But Ihave reasons for believing that Mr. Sullivan is living."
"I knew it," she said. "I--I think he was here the night before last.That is why I went to the tower room. I believe he would kill me ifhe could." As nearly as her round and comely face could expressit, Jennie's expression was tragic at that moment. I made a quickresolution, and acted on it at once.
"You are not entirely frank with me, Jennie," I protested. "And I amgoing to tell you more than I have. We are talking at cross purposes."
"I was on the wrecked train, in the same car with Mrs. Curtis, Miss Westand Mr. Sullivan. During the night there was a crime committed in thatcar and Mr. Sullivan disappeared. But he left behind him a chain ofcircumstantial evidence that involved me completely, so that I may, atany time, be arrested."
Apparently she did not comprehend for a moment. Then, as if the meaningof my words had just dawned on her, she looked up and gasped:
"You mean--Mr. Sullivan committed the crime himself?"
"I think he did."
"What was it?"
"It was murder," I said deliberately.
Her hands clenched involuntarily, and she shrank back. "A woman?" Shecould scarcely form her words.
"No, a man; a Mr. Simon Harrington, of Pittsburg."
Her effort to retain her self-control was pitiful. Then she broke downand cried, her head on the back of a tall chair.
"It was my fault," she said wretchedly, "my fault, I should not havesent them the word."
After a few minutes she grew quiet. She seemed to hesitate oversomething, and finally determined to say it.
"You will understand better, sir, when I say that I was raised in theHarrington family. Mr. Harrington was Mr. Sullivan's wife's father!"
The Man in Lower Ten Page 24
