CHAPTER XXI
DISTURBING NEWS
He walked home swiftly through the early night, his brain seethingwith tumultuous thoughts. The revelations of the day were staggering;the whole universe seemed to have turned topsy-turvy since thatdevastating hour at Burton's Inn. Somehow he was not able to confinehis thoughts to Hetty Castleton alone. She seemed to sink into thebackground, despite the absolution he had been so ready, so eagerto grant her on hearing the story from Sara's lips. Not that hisresolve to search her out and claim her in spite of everything waslikely to weaken, but that the absorbing figure of Sara Wrandallstood out most clearly in his reflections.
What an amazing creature she was! He could not drive her out of histhoughts, even when he tried to concentrate them on the one personwho was dearest to him of all in all the world, his warm-hearted,adorable Hetty. Strange contrasts suggested themselves to him as hestrode along, head bent and shoulders hunched. He could not helpcontrasting the two women. He loved Hetty; he would always love her,of that he was positive. She was Sara's superior in every respect,infinitely so, he argued. And yet there was something in Sara thatcould crowd this adored one, this perfect one out of his thoughtsfor the time being. He found it difficult to concentrate his thoughtson Hetty Castleton.
How white and ill Sara had looked when she said good-night to himat the door! The memory of her dark, mysterious eyes haunted him;he could see them in the night about him. They had been full ofpain; there were torrents of tears behind them. They had glistenedas if burnished by the fires of fever.
Even as he wrote his long, triumphant letter to Hetty Castleton,the picture of Sara Wrandall encroached upon his mental vision. Hecould not drive it out. He thought of her as she had appeared tohim early in the spring; through all the varying stages of theirgrowing intimacy; through the interesting days when he vainly triedto translate her matchless beauty by means of wretched pigments;up to this present hour in which she was revealed, and yet notrevealed, to him. Her vivid face was always before him, betweenhis eyes and the thin white paper on which he scribbled so eagerly.Her feverish eyes were looking into his; she was reading what hewrote before it appeared on the surface of the sheet!
His letter to Hetty was a triumph of skill and diplomacy, achievedafter many attempts. He found it hard not to say too much, andquite as difficult not to say too little. He spent hours over thisall-important missive. At last it was finished. He read and re-readit, searching for the slightest flaw: a fatal word or suggestion thatmight create in her mind the slightest doubt as to his sincerity.She was sure to read this letter a great many times, and alwayswith the view to finding something between the lines: such as pity,resignation, an enforced conception of loyalty, or even faith! Hemeant that she should find nothing there but love. It was full oftenderness, full of hope, full of promise. He was coming to herwith a steadfast, enduring love in his heart, he wanted her nowmore than ever before.
There was no mention of Challis Wrandall, and but once was Sara'sname used. There was nothing in the letter that could have betrayedtheir joint secret to the most acute outsider, and yet she wouldunderstand that he had wrung everything from Sara's lips. Her secretwas his.
He decided that it would not be safe to anticipate the letter by acablegram. It was not likely that any message he could send wouldhave the desired effect. Instead of reassuring her, in all probabilityit would create fresh alarm.
Sleep did not come to him until after three o'clock. At two he gotup and deliberately added a postscript to the letter he had written.It was in the nature of a poignant plea for Sara Wrandall. Even ashe penned the lines, he shuddered at the thought of what she hadplanned to do to Hetty Castleton. Staring hard at the black windowbefore him, the pen still in his hand, he allowed his thoughtsto dwell so intimately on the subject of his well-meant postcriptthat her ashen face with its burning eyes seemed to take shape inthe night beyond. It was a long time before he could get rid ofthe illusion. Afterwards he tried to conjure up Hetty's face andto drive out the likeness of the other woman, and found that hecould not recall a single feature in the face of the girl he loved!
When he reached Southlook in the morning, he found that nearly allof the doors and windows were boarded up. Wagons were standing inthe stable-yard, laden with trunks and crates. Servants withoutlivery were scurrying about the halls. There was an air of finalityabout their movements. The place was being desolated.
"Yes, sir," said Watson, in reply to his question, "we ARE in arush. Mrs. Wrandall expects to close the 'ouse this evening, sir.We all go up this afternoon. I suppose you know, sir, we 'avetaken a new apartment in town."
"No!" exclaimed Booth.
"Yes, sir, we 'ave, sir. They've been decorating it for the pawsttwo weeks. Seems like she didn't care for the old one we 'ad. Asa matter of fact, I didn't care much for it, either. She's takenone of them hexpensive ones looking out over the Park, sir. Youknow we used to look out over Madison Avenue, sir, and God knows itwasn't hinspirin'. Yes, sir, we go up this afternoon. Mrs. Wrandallwill be down in a second, thank you, sir."
Booth actually was startled by her appearance when she entered theroom a few minutes later. She looked positively ill.
"My dear Sara," he cried anxiously, "this is too bad. You are makingyourself ill. Come, come, this won't do."
"I shall be all right in a day or two," she said, with a weary littlegesture. "I have been nervous. The strain was too great, Brandon.This is the reaction, the relaxation you might say."
"Your hand is hot, your eyes look feverish. You'd better see yourdoctor as soon as you get to town. An ounce of prevention, youknow."
"Well," she said, with a searching look into his eyes, "have youwritten to her?"
"Yes. Posted it at seven o'clock this morning."
"I trust you did not go so far as to--well, to volunteer a word inmy behalf. You were not to do that, you know."
He looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I did take your name in vain,"he equivocated. "You are a--a wonderful woman, Sara," he went on,moved to the remark by a curious influence that he could not haveexplained any more than he could have accounted for the sudden gushof emotion that took possession of him.
She ignored the tribute. "You will persuade her to come to New Yorkwith you?"
"For your sake, Sara, if she won't come for mine."
"She knows the cage is open," was her way of dismissing the subject."I am glad you came over. I have a letter from Leslie. It came thismorning. You may be interested in what he has to say of Hetty--andof yourself." She smiled faintly. "He is determined that you shallnot be without a friend while he is alive."
"Les isn't such a rotter, Sara. He's spoiled, but he is hardly tobe blamed for that."
"I will read his letter to you," she said, and there was no littlesignificance in the way she put it. She held the letter in herhand, but he had failed to notice it before. Now he saw that itwas a crumpled ball of paper. He was obliged to wait for a minuteor two while she restored it to a readable condition. "He was inLondon when this was written," she explained, turning to the windowfor light. She glanced swiftly over the first page until she foundthe place where she meant to begin. "'I suppose Hetty Castleton haswritten that we met in Lucerne two weeks ago,'" she read. "'Curiouscoincidence in connexion with it, too. I was with her father, Col.Braid Castleton, when we came upon her most unexpectedly. I ranacross him in Paris just before the aviation meet, and got to knowhim rather well. He's a fine chap, don't you think? I confess I wassomewhat surprised to learn that he didn't know she'd left America.He explained it quite naturally, however. He'd been ill in thenorth of Ireland and must have missed her letters. Hetty was onthe point of leaving for Italy. We didn't see much of her. But,by Jove, Sara, I am more completely gone on her than ever. She isadorable. Now that I've met her father, who had the beastly misfortuneto miss old Murgatroyd's funeral, I can readily see wherein thesaying "blood will tell" applies to her. He is a prince. He cameover to London with me the day after we left Hetty in Lucerne, andI had him i
n to meet mother and Vivian at Clarridge's. They likehim immensely. He set us straight on a good many points concerningthe Glynn and Castleton families. Of course, I knew they were amongthe best over here, but I didn't know how fine they were until weprevailed on him to talk a little about himself. You will be gladto hear that he is coming over with us on the Mauretania. She sailsthe 27th. We'll be on the water by the time you get this letter.It had been our intention to sail last week, but the Colonel hadto go to Ireland for a few days to settle some beastly squabblesamong the tenants. Next year he wants me to come over for theshooting. He isn't going back to India for two years, you may beinterested to hear. Two years' leave. Lots of influence, believe me!We've been expecting him back in London since day before yesterday.I dare say he found matters worse than he suspected and hasbeen delayed. He has been negotiating for the sale of some of hisproperty in Belfast--factory sites, I believe. He is particularlyanxious to close the deal before he leaves England. Had to lift amortgage on the property, however, before he could think of makingthe sale. I staked him to four thousand pounds, to tide him over.Of course, he is eager to make the sale. 'Gad, I almost had to beghim to take the money. Terribly proud and haughty, as the butlerwould say. He said he wouldn't sleep well until he has returned thefilthy lucre. We are looking for him back any hour now. But if heshouldn't get here by Friday, we will sail without him. He said hewould follow by the next boat, in case anything happened that hedidn't catch the Mauretania.'"
Sara interrupted herself to offer an ironic observation: "If Hettydid not despise her father so heartily, I should advise you to lookfarther for a father-in-law, Brandon. The Colonel is a bad lot.Estates in the north of Ireland! Poor Leslie!" She laughed softly.
"He'll not show up, eh?"
"Not a bit of it," she said. "He may be charged to profit and lossin Leslie's books. This part of the letter will interest you,"she went on, as if all that had gone before was of no importanceto him. "'I hear interesting news concerning you, my dear girl.My heartiest congratulations if it is all true. Brandy is one ina million. I have hoped all along to have him as a full-fledgedbrother-in-law, but I'm satisfied to have him as a sort ofstep-brother-in-law, if that's the way you'd put it. Father writesthat every one is talking about it, and saying what a fine thingit is. He has a feeling of delicacy about approaching you in thematter, and I fancy it's just as well until everything is settled. Iwish you'd let me make a suggestion, however. Wouldn't it be wiseto let us all get together and talk over the business end of thegame? Brandy's a fine chap, a corker, in fact, but the question is:has he got it in him to take Challis's place in the firm? You'vegot to consider the future as well as the present, my dear. Weall do. With his artistic temperament he might play hob with yourinterests, and ours too, for that matter. Wouldn't it be wise forme to sound him a bit before we take him into the firm? Forgiveme for suggesting this, but, as you know, your interests are mine,and I'm terribly keen about seeing you get the best of everything.By the way, wasn't he a bit gone on Hetty? Passing fancy, of course,and not deep enough to hurt anybody. Good old Brandy!'"
"There is more, Brandon, but it's of no consequence," she said,tossing the letter upon the table. "You see how the land lays."
Booth was pale with annoyance. "By Jove, Sara, what an insufferableass he is!"
"The shoe pinches?"
"Oh, it's such perfect rot! I'm sorry on your account. Have youever heard of such gall?"
"Oh, he is merely acting as the family spokesman. I can see themnow in solemn conclave. They think it their indisputable right toselect a husband for me, to pass upon him, to accept or declinehim as they see fit, to say whether he is a proper man to hang uphis hat and coat in the offices of Wrandall & Co."
"Do you mean to say--"
"Let's not talk about it, Brandon. It is too silly."
They fell to discussing her plans for the immediate future, althoughthe minds of both were at work with something else.
"Now that I have served my purpose, I suppose you will not care tosee so much of me," she said, as he prepared to take leave of her.
"Served your purpose? What do you mean?"
"I should have put it differently. You have been most assiduous inyour efforts to force the secret from me. It has been accomplished.Now do you understand?"
"That isn't fair, Sara," he protested. "If you'll let me cometo see you, in spite of what the gossips and Mr. Redmond Wrandallpredict, you may be sure I will be as much in evidence as ever. Isuppose I have been a bit of a nuisance, hanging on as I have."
"I admire your perseverance. More than that, I admire your couragein accepting the situation as you have. I only hope you may winher over to your way of thinking, Brandon. Good-bye."
"I shall go up to town to-morrow, kit and bag. When shall I seeyou? We have a great deal left to talk about before I sail."
"Come when you like."
"You really want me to come?"
"Certainly."
He studied her pale, tired face for a moment, and then shook hishead. "You must take care of yourself," he said. "You are unstrung.Get a good rest and--and forget certain things if you can. Everythingwill come out all right in the end."
"It depends on what one is willing to accept as the end," she said.
The next morning she received an expected visitor at her apartment.Expecting him, she made a desperate effort to appear as strong andunconcerned as she had been on the occasion of a former meeting.There was little in her appearance to suggest worry, illnessor alarm when she entered the rather unsettled little library andconfronted the redoubtable Mr. Smith.
The detective had dropped her a line earlier in the week askingfor an audience at the earliest possible moment.
"You are worried, madam," he said, after he had carefully closedthe door leading to the hall, "and so am I."
"What do you want now?" she demanded. "You have received your money.There is nothing else that we--"
"Beg pardon, Mrs. Wrandall, but there is something else. I'm notafter more money, as you may suspect. The size of the matter is,I'm here to put you wise to what's going on without your knowinganything about it. Right or wrong, I'm still interested in thiscase of yours. Understand me, I haven't lifted a finger since thatday in the country. I've quit cold, just as I said I would. Thetrouble is, other people are still nosing around."
"Sit down, Mr. Smith. Now, tell me what you are here for."
Smith followed her example and sat down, drawing a chair quiteclose to hers. He lowered his voice.
"Well, I've got next to something I think you ought to know. Maybeold man Wrandall is back of it, but I don't think he is. You see,so far as outsiders are concerned, that reward still stands. Amurder's a murder and that's all there is to it. There are men inthis business who are going to hunt for that woman until they gether. See what I mean?"
"Please go on. I suppose some one else suspects me, and may have tobe bought off," she said so significantly that he turned a brightred.
"Now don't think that of me, Mrs. Wrandall. I am not in on this,I swear. You paid me of your own free will and I laid down on thejob. I don't deny that I expected you to do it. I'm not what you'dcall a model of virtue and integrity. I served time in the pen agood many years ago. They say it takes a thief to catch a thief.That's not true. A detective has to be dead honest or the thiefcatches him. I think most of the men in my business are honest.They have to be. You may not agree with me, but I thought I wasdoing the square thing by you last summer. I had a theory and Iwas honest in believing it was the right one. I thought you'd payme to drop the matter. I'm now dead sure I was wrong in suspectingyou for a minute. I'm no fool. I--"
Sara interrupted him.
"Will you be good enough to come to the point, Mr. Smith?" she saidcoldly.
"Well," he said, leaning forward and speaking very deliberately,"I've come here to tell you that the police haven't quit on thejob. They're about to make a worse mistake than I made."
She felt herself turn pale. It required
a great effort of the willto suppress the start that might have betrayed her to the keen-eyedobserver.
"That would be impossible, Mr. Smith," she said, shaking her headand smiling.
"They've been watching that Ashtley girl you sent out West justafter the--er--thing happened. The show-girl, you'll remember."
He must have observed the swift look of relief that leaped intoher eyes.
"What arrant stupidity," she cried, unable to choose her words."Why, that unhappy girl is dying a slow and awful death. Surely theycan't be hounding her now. Her innocence was clearly established atthe time. That is why I felt it to be my duty to help her. She wentout to her old home, to die or to get well. They must be fools."
"I'm just telling you, Mrs. Wrandall, that's all. Maybe you cancall 'em off, if you know for a certainty that she's innocent."There was something accusing in his manner.
She became very cautious. "My opinion was formed upon the girl'sstory, and by what the police said after investigating it thoroughly."
"It's a way the police have, madam. They were not satisfied atthe time. They simply gave her the rope, that's all. All this timethey've had men watching her, day by day, out there in Montana.They say they've got new evidence, a lot of it."
"It is perfectly ridiculous," she cried, very much distressed. "Andit must be stopped. I shall see the authorities at once."
"You may be too late. I heard last night that she is to be re-arrestedout there and put through a fierce examination. They believe she'sweakening and will confess if they go after her hard enough."
"Confess? How can she confess when she knows she is innocent?" shesaid sharply.
"You don't know much about the third degree, Mrs. Wrandall. I'veknown innocent people to confess under the bullying--"
"It must be stopped! Do you hear me? This: thing cannot go on."She began to pace the floor in her agitation. "Yes, I have heardof those third degree atrocities. You are right, they may brow-beatthe poor, sick thing into a confession. Does she know they havebeen watching her?"
"Sure. That's part of the game. They make it a point to get on thenerves. Something is bound to give, sooner or later. They've gother scared to death. She knows they're simply waiting for a chanceto catch her unawares and trip her up. I tell you, it's a fearfulstrain. Strong men go down under it time and again. What must itbe to this half-dead girl, who hasn't much to be proud of in lifeat the very best?"
"Tell me what to do," she cried, sitting down again, her eyessuddenly filling with tears.
"I don't know, ma'am. You see, if we had a grain of proof to workon, we might be able to turn 'em back, but there's the rub. We can'tsay they're wrong without having something up our sleeves to showthat we are right. See what I mean?"
"But I tell you she is innocent!"
"Can you swear to that, Mrs. Wrandall?"
"I--I believe I can," she said, and then experienced a sharp senseof dismay. What possessed her to say it? "That is, I could stakemy--"
"All that won't count for anything, if they get a signed confessionout of her. Now we both know she is innocent. I'm willing to dowhat I can to help you. Turn about is fair play. If you want tosend me out there, I'll try to spike their guns. Maybe I can getthere in time to put fresh heart in the girl. She's safe if shedoesn't go to pieces and say something she oughtn't to say."
"Oh, this is dreadful," she cried, harassed beyond words.
"It sure is. You see, the police work on the theory that someone's just got to be guilty of that crime. If it ain't the girlout yonder, then who is it? They know her private history. She saidenough when she was in custody last year to show that she mighthave had a pretty good reason for going after your husband--beggingyour pardon. You remember she said he'd given her the go-by notmore than two days before he was killed. They'd been good friendsup to then. All of a sudden he chucks her, without ceremony. Sheadmits she was sore about it. She says she would have done himdirt if she had had the chance. Well, that's against her. She didprove an alibi, as you remember, but they're easy to frame up ifnecessary. I don't think she was clever enough to do the job andget away as slick as the real one did. She was a booze-fighter inthose days. They always mess things up. A mighty smooth party didthat job. Some one with a good deal more at stake than that poor,reckless girl who didn't care much what became of her. But thetrouble is here: they've got her half crazy with fear. First thingwe know, she'll go clear off her head and BELIEVE she did it.Then the law will be satisfied. She's so far gone, I hear, thatshe won't live to be brought to trial, of course. There's someconsolation in that."
"Consolation!" cried Sara bitterly. "She is bad, as bad as a womancan be, I know, but I can't feel anything but pity for her now."
"I guess your husband made her what she was," said Smith deliberately."I don't suppose you ever dreamed what was going on."
She regarded him with a fixed stare. "You are mistaken, Mr. Smith,"she said, and it was his turn to stare. "Come back this eveningat six. I must consult Mr. Carroll. We will decide what action totake."
"I'd advise you to be quick about it, Mrs. Wrandall. Something'sbound to happen soon. The time is ripe. I know for a positive factthat they're expecting news from out there every day. It'd be a God'sblessing if the poor wretch could die before they get a chance ather."
She started. "A God's blessing," she repeated dully.
"Pretty hard lines, though," he mused, fumbling with his hat nearthe door. "Even death wouldn't clear her of the suspicion. Prettytough to be branded a murderess, no matter whether you're in thegrave or out of it. I'll be back at six."
She stood perfectly still, and, although her lips were parted,she allowed him to go without a word in, response to his sombredeclaration.
Half an hour later Mr. Carroll was on his way to her apartment,vastly perturbed by the call that had come to him over the telephone.
While waiting for him to appear, Sara Wrandall deliberately setherself to the task of concocting a likely and plausible excusefor intervention in behalf of the wretched show-girl. She preparedherself for his argument that the police might be right after all,and that it would be the better part of wisdom to shift the burdento their shoulders. She knew she would be called upon to discountsome very sensible advice from the faithful old lawyer. Her reasonswould have to be good ones, not mere whims. He was not likely tobe moved by sentimentality. Moreover, he had once expressed doubtas to the girl's innocence.
It did not once occur to her that it was Mr. Carroll's business torespect the secrets of his clients.
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