CHAPTER XXIV
FLINDERS
If Halsey had only taken me fully into his confidence, through thewhole affair, it would have been much simpler. If he had beenaltogether frank about Jack Bailey, and if the day after the fire hehad told me what he suspected, there would have been no harrowingperiod for all of us, with the boy in danger. But young people refuseto profit by the experience of their elders, and sometimes the eldersare the ones to suffer.
I was much used up the day after the fire, and Gertrude insisted on mygoing out. The machine was temporarily out of commission, and thecarriage horses had been sent to a farm for the summer. Gertrudefinally got a trap from the Casanova liveryman, and we went out. Justas we turned from the drive into the road we passed a woman. She hadput down a small valise, and stood inspecting the house and groundsminutely. I should hardly have noticed her, had it not been for thefact that she had been horribly disfigured by smallpox.
"Ugh!" Gertrude said, when we had passed, "what a face! I shall dreamof it to-night. Get up, Flinders."
"Flinders?" I asked. "Is that the horse's name?"
"It is." She flicked the horse's stubby mane with the whip. "Hedidn't look like a livery horse, and the liveryman said he had boughthim from the Armstrongs when they purchased a couple of motors and cutdown the stable. Nice Flinders--good old boy!"
Flinders was certainly not a common name for a horse, and yet theyoungster at Richfield had named his prancing, curly-haired littlehorse Flinders! It set me to thinking.
At my request Halsey had already sent word of the fire to the agentfrom whom we had secured the house. Also, he had called Mr. Jamiesonby telephone, and somewhat guardedly had told him of the previousnight's events. Mr. Jamieson promised to come out that night, and tobring another man with him. I did not consider it necessary to notifyMrs. Armstrong, in the village. No doubt she knew of the fire, and inview of my refusal to give up the house, an interview would probablyhave been unpleasant enough. But as we passed Doctor Walker's whiteand green house I thought of something.
"Stop here, Gertrude," I said. "I am going to get out."
"To see Louise?" she asked.
"No, I want to ask this young Walker something."
She was curious, I knew, but I did not wait to explain. I went up thewalk to the house, where a brass sign at the side announced the office,and went in. The reception-room was empty, but from theconsulting-room beyond came the sound of two voices, not very amicable.
"It is an outrageous figure," some one was storming. Then the doctor'squiet tone, evidently not arguing, merely stating something. But I hadnot time to listen to some person probably disputing his bill, so Icoughed. The voices ceased at once: a door closed somewhere, and thedoctor entered from the hall of the house. He looked sufficientlysurprised at seeing me.
"Good afternoon, Doctor," I said formally. "I shall not keep you fromyour patient. I wish merely to ask you a question."
"Won't you sit down?"
"It will not be necessary. Doctor, has any one come to you, eitherearly this morning or to-day, to have you treat a bullet wound?"
"Nothing so startling has happened to me," he said. "A bullet wound!Things must be lively at Sunnyside."
"I didn't say it was at Sunnyside. But as it happens, it was. If anysuch case comes to you, will it be too much trouble for you to let meknow?"
"I shall be only too happy," he said. "I understand you have had afire up there, too. A fire and shooting in one night is rather livelyfor a quiet place like that."
"It is as quiet as a boiler-shop," I replied, as I turned to go.
"And you are still going to stay?"
"Until I am burned out," I responded. And then on my way down thesteps, I turned around suddenly.
"Doctor," I asked at a venture, "have you ever heard of a child namedLucien Wallace?"
Clever as he was, his face changed and stiffened. He was on his guardagain in a moment.
"Lucien Wallace?" he repeated. "No, I think not. There are plenty ofWallaces around, but I don't know any Lucien."
I was as certain as possible that he did. People do not lie readily tome, and this man lied beyond a doubt. But there was nothing to begained now; his defenses were up, and I left, half irritated and whollybaffled.
Our reception was entirely different at Doctor Stewart's. Taken intothe bosom of the family at once, Flinders tied outside and nibbling thegrass at the roadside, Gertrude and I drank some home-made elderberrywine and told briefly of the fire. Of the more serious part of thenight's experience, of course, we said nothing. But when at last wehad left the family on the porch and the good doctor was untying oursteed, I asked him the same question I had put to Doctor Walker.
"Shot!" he said. "Bless my soul, no. Why, what have you been doing upat the big house, Miss Innes?"
"Some one tried to enter the house during the fire, and was shot andslightly injured," I said hastily. "Please don't mention it; we wishto make as little of it as possible."
There was one other possibility, and we tried that. At Casanovastation I saw the station master, and asked him if any trains leftCasanova between one o'clock and daylight. There was none until sixA.M. The next question required more diplomacy.
"Did you notice on the six-o'clock train any person--any man--wholimped a little?" I asked. "Please try to remember: we are trying totrace a man who was seen loitering around Sunnyside last night beforethe fire."
He was all attention in a moment.
"I was up there myself at the fire," he said volubly. "I'm a member ofthe volunteer company. First big fire we've had since the summer houseburned over to the club golf links. My wife was sayin' the other day,'Dave, you might as well 'a' saved the money in that there helmet andshirt.' And here last night they came in handy. Rang that bell sohard I hadn't time scarcely to get 'em on."
"And--did you see a man who limped?" Gertrude put in, as he stopped forbreath.
"Not at the train, ma'm," he said. "No such person got on here to-day.But I'll tell you where I did see a man that limped. I didn't waittill the fire company left; there's a fast freight goes through at fourforty-five, and I had to get down to the station. I seen there wasn'tmuch more to do anyhow at the fire--we'd got the flames undercontrol"--Gertrude looked at me and smiled--"so I started down thehill. There was folks here and there goin' home, and along by the pathto the Country Club I seen two men. One was a short fellow. He wassitting on a big rock, his back to me, and he had something white inhis hand, as if he was tying up his foot. After I'd gone on a piece Ilooked back, and he was hobbling on and--excuse me, miss--he wasswearing something sickening."
"Did they go toward the club?" Gertrude asked suddenly, leaning forward.
"No, miss. I think they came into the village. I didn't get a look attheir faces, but I know every chick and child in the place, andeverybody knows me. When they didn't shout at me--in my uniform, youknow--I took it they were strangers."
So all we had for our afternoon's work was this: some one had been shotby the bullet that went through the door; he had not left the village,and he had not called in a physician. Also, Doctor Walker knew whoLucien Wallace was, and his very denial made me confident that, in thatone direction at least, we were on the right track.
The thought that the detective would be there that night was the mostcheering thing of all, and I think even Gertrude was glad of it.Driving home that afternoon, I saw her in the clear sunlight for thefirst time in several days, and I was startled to see how ill shelooked. She was thin and colorless, and all her bright animation wasgone.
"Gertrude," I said, "I have been a very selfish old woman. You aregoing to leave this miserable house to-night. Annie Morton is going toScotland next week, and you shall go right with her."
To my surprise, she flushed painfully.
"I don't want to go, Aunt Ray," she said. "Don't make me leave now."
"You are losing your health and your good looks," I said decided
ly."You should have a change."
"I shan't stir a foot." She was equally decided. Then, more lightly:"Why, you and Liddy need me to arbitrate between you every day in theweek."
Perhaps I was growing suspicious of every one, but it seemed to me thatGertrude's gaiety was forced and artificial. I watched her covertlyduring the rest of the drive, and I did not like the two spots ofcrimson in her pale cheeks. But I said nothing more about sending herto Scotland: I knew she would not go.
The Circular Staircase Page 24
