Out of a Labyrinth

by Lawrence L. Lynch

  CHAPTER XXXIX.

  "LOUISE BARNARD'S FRIENDSHIP."

  When she has finished her story there is a long silence, then she says,with a suddenness that would have been surprising in any other womanthan the one before me:

  "You say you have arrested Arch Brookhouse for the shooting of Dr.Bethel. Tell me, is it true that Dr. Bethel is out of danger?"

  "He is still in a condition to need close attention and careful medicalaid; with these, we think, he will recover."

  "I am very glad to know that," she says, earnestly.

  "Miss Lowenstein, I have some reason for thinking that you know who isimplicated in that grave-robbing business."

  "I do know," she answers, frankly, "but not from them. The Brookhouses,father and sons, believed Dr. Bethel to be a detective, and to becandid, so did I. You know 'the wicked flee when no man pursueth.' Theyconstrued his reticence into mystery. They fancied that his clear,searching eye was looking into all their secrets. I knew they wereplotting against him, but I had told Arch Brookhouse that they shouldnot harm him. When I went down to the cottage with Louise Barnard, Ifelt sure that it was _their_ work, the grave-robbing.

  "Tom Briggs was there, the fiercest of the rioters. Tom had worked aboutmy stable for a year or more, and I thought that I knew how to managehim. I contrived to get a word with him. Did you observe it?"

  "Yes, I observed it."

  "I told him to come to The Hill that evening, and he came. Then I madehim tell me the whole story.

  "Arch Brookhouse had planned the thing, and given it to Briggs toexecute. There were none of the regular members of the gang here to helphim at that work, so he went, under instructions, of course, to Simmonsand Saunders, two dissolute, worthless fellows, and told them that Dr.Bethel had offered him thirty dollars to get the little girl's body, andoffered to share with them.

  "Those three did the work. Briggs buried the clothing and hid the tools.Then, when the raid began, Briggs told his two assistants that, in orderto avoid suspicion, they must join the hue and cry against Dr. Bethel,and so, as you are aware, they did."

  This information is valuable to me. I am anxious to be away, to meetSimmons and Saunders. I open my lips to make a request, when she againasks a sudden question.

  "Will you tell me where and how you arrested the Brookhouse gang? I amanxious to know."

  "I will tell you, but first will you please answer one more question?"

  She nods and I proceed.

  "I have told you that Arch Brookhouse is charged with attemptedabduction; I might say Louis Brookhouse stands under the same charge. Doyou know anything about the matter?"

  "I? No."

  "Did you ever know Miss Amy Holmes?"

  "Never," she replies, emphatically. "Whom did they attempt to abduct?"

  "Three young girls; three innocent country girls."

  "Good heavens!" she exclaims, her eyes flashing fiercely, "that is adeed, compared with which horse-thieving is honorable!"

  I give her a brief outline of the Groveland affair, or series ofaffairs, so far as I am able, before having heard Carnes' story. Andthen I tell her how the horse-thieves were hunted down.

  "So," she says, wearily, "by this time I am known all over Trafton asthe accomplice of horse-thieves."

  "Not so, Miss Lowenstein. The entire truth is known to Carnes andBrown, the two detectives I have mentioned, to Jim Long, and to Mr.Warren. The vigilants knew that the horses had been concealed nearTrafton, but, owing to the manner in which the arrests were made, theydo not know where. I suppose you are aware what it now becomes my dutyto do?"

  "Assuredly," with constrained voice and manner. "You came here to arrestme. I submit."

  "Wait. From first to last it has been my desire to deal with you asgently as possible. Now that I have heard your story, I am still moreinclined to stand your friend. The three men in Trafton who know yourcomplicity in this business, are acting under my advice. For thepresent, you may remain here, if you will give me your promise not toattempt an escape."

  "I shall not try to escape; I would be foolish to do so, after learninghow skillfully you can hunt down criminals."

  "Thanks for the compliment, and the promise implied. If you will giveyour testimony against the gang, telling in court the story you havetold me, you shall not stand before these people without a champion."

  "I don't like to do it. It seems cowardly."

  "Why? Do you think they would spare you were the positions reversed?"

  "No, certainly not; but--" turning her eyes toward the foliage without,and speaking wistfully, "I wish I knew how another woman would view myposition. I never had the friendship of a woman who knew me as I am. Iwish I knew how such a woman as Louise Barnard would advise me."

  "I wish I knew how such a woman as Louise Barnard wouldadvise me."--page 438.]

  Scarcely knowing how to reply to this speech, I pass it by and hasten tofinish my own.

  Will she remain in her own house until I see her again, which may notbe until to-morrow? And will she permit me to leave Gerry Brown here,for form's sake?

  Jim Long would hardly question my movements and motives, but Mr. Warren,who is the fourth party in our confidence, might. So, for hisgratification, I will leave Gerry Brown at the Hill.

  She consents readily enough, and I go out to fetch Gerry.

  "Miss Lowenstein, this is my friend, Gerry Brown, who has passed thenight in your barn and in very bad company. Will you take pity on himand give him some breakfast?" I say, as we appear before her.

  She examines Gerry's handsome face attentively, and then says:

  "If your late companions were bad, Mr. Brown, you will not find yourpresent company much better. You do look tired. I will give you somebreakfast, and then you can lock me up."

  "I'll eat the breakfast with relish," replies Gerry, gallantly; "but asfor locking you up, excuse me. I've been told that you would feed me andlet me lie down somewhere to sleep; and I've been ordered to stay hereuntil to-morrow. It looks to me as if I were your prisoner, and such Iprefer to consider myself."

  I leave them to settle the question of keeper and prisoner as best theycan, and go out to Jim.

  He is smoking placidly, with Arch Brookhouse, in a fit of the sulks,sitting on an overturned peck measure near by, and Dimber Joe asleep ona bundle of hay in a corner.

  We arouse Dimber and casting off the fetters from their feet, set themmarching toward the town jail, where their brethren in iniquity arealready housed.

  Trafton is in a state of feverish excitement. As we approach the jailwith our prisoners the air is rent with jeers and hisses for them, and"three cheers for the detective," presumably for me.

  I might feel flattered and gratified at their friendly enthusiasm, but,unfortunately for my pride, I have had an opportunity to learn howeasily Trafton is excited to admiration and to anger, so I bear myhonors meekly, and hide my blushing face, for a time, behind the wallsof the jail.

  All the vigilants are heroes this morning, and proud and happy is thecitizen who can adorn his breakfast table with one of the band. Thehungry fellows, nothing loath, are borne away one by one in triumph, andJim and I, who cling together tenaciously, are wrangled over by JusticeSummers and Mr. Harris, and, finally, led off by the latter.

  We are not bored with questions at the parsonage, but good, motherlyMrs. Harris piles up our plates, and looks on, beaming with delight tosee her good things disappearing down our hungry throats.

  We have scarcely finished our meal, when a quick, light step crossesthe hall, and Louise Barnard enters. She has heard the clanging bellsand witnessed the excitement, but, as yet, scarcely comprehends thecause.

  "Mamma is so anxious," she says, deprecatingly, to Mr. Harris, "that Iran in to ask you about it, before going down to see Carl--Dr. Bethel."

  While she is speaking, a new thought enters my head, and I say to myselfinstantly, "here is a new test for Christianity," thinking the while ofthat friendless girl at this moment a paroled prisoner.


  "Miss Barnard," I say, hastily, "it will give me pleasure to tell youall about this excitement, or the cause of it."

  "If I understand aright, you are the cause, sir," she replies,smilingly. "How horribly you have deceived us all!"

  "But," interposes Mr. Harris, "this is asking too much, sir. You havebeen vigorously at work all night, and now--"

  "Never mind that," I interrupt. "Men in my profession are bred to thesethings. I am in just the mood for story telling."

  They seat themselves near me. Jim, a little less interested than therest, occupying a place in the background. Charlie Harris is away at hisoffice. I have just the audience I desire.

  I begin by describing very briefly my hunt for the Trafton outlaws. Irelate, as rapidly as possible, the manner in which they were captured,skipping details as much as I can, until I arrive at the point where Iturn from the Trafton jail to go to The Hill.

  Then I describe my interview with the counterfeiter's daughter minutely,word for word as nearly as I can. I dwell on her look, her tone, hermanner, I repeat her words: "I wish I knew how another woman would viewmy position. I wish I knew how such a woman as Louise Barnard wouldadvise me." I omit nothing; I am trying to win a friend for AdeleLowenstein, and I tell her story as well as I can.

  When I have finished, there is profound silence for a full moment, andthen Jim Long says:

  "I know something concerning this matter. And I am satisfied that thegirl has told no more and no less than the truth."

  I take out a pocket-book containing papers, and select one from amongthem.

  "This," I say, as I open it, "is a letter from the Chief of our force.He is a stern old criminal-hunter. I will read you what _he_ says inregard to the girl we have known as Adele Manvers, the heiress. Here itis."

  And I read:

  In regard to Adele Lowenstein, I send you the papers and copied reports, as you request; but let me say to you, deal with her as mercifully as possible. There should be much good in a girl who would go to prison for two long years, rather than utter one word disloyal to her counterfeiter father. Those who knew her best, prior to that affair, consider her a victim rather than a sinner. Time may have hardened her nature, but, if there are any extenuating circumstances, consider how she became what she is, and temper justice with mercy.

  "There," I say, as I fold away the letter, "that's a whole sermon,coming from our usually unsympathetic Chief. Mr. Harris, I wish youwould preach another of the same sort to the Traftonites."

  Still the silence continues. Mr. Harris looks serious and somewhatuneasy. Mrs. Harris furtively wipes away a tear with the corner of herapron. Louise Barnard sits moveless for a time, then rises, and drawsher light Summer scarf about her shoulders with a resolute gesture.

  "I am going to see Adele," she says, turning toward the door.

  Mr. Harris rises hastily. He is a model of theological conservatism.

  "But, Louise,--ah, don't be hasty, I beg. Really, it is not wise."

  "Yes, it is," she retorts. "It is wise, and it is right. I have eatenher bread; I have called myself her friend; I shall not abandon hernow."

  "Neither shall I!" cries Mrs. Harris, bounding up with sudden energy."I'll go with you, Louise."

  "But, my dear," expostulates Mr. Harris, "if you really insist, I willgo first; then, perhaps--"

  "No, you won't go first," retorts his better half. "You don't know whatthat poor girl needs. You'd begin at once to administer death-bedconsolation. That will do for 'Squire Brookhouse, but not for afriendless, unhappy girl. Take your foot off my dress, Mr. Harris; I'mgoing for my bonnet!"

  She conquers, of course, gets her bonnet, and ties it on energetically.

  During the process, I turn to Jim.

  "Long," I say, "we have yet one task to perform. Dr. Denham is on dutyat the cottage, and fretting and fuming, no doubt, to know the meaningof all this storm in Trafton. Bethel, too, may be anxious--"

  "Now, hear him!" interrupts our hostess, indignantly. "Just hear thatman! As if you were not both tired to death already. You two are to stayright here; one in the parlor bed, and one in Charlie's room; and you'reto sleep until dinner, which I'll be sure to have late. Mr. Harris canrun down to the cottage and tell all the news. It will keep him fromgoing where he is not wanted."

  Mr. Harris warmly seconds this plan. Jim and I are indeed weary, andMrs. Harris is an absolute monarch. So we submit, and I lay my tiredhead on her fat pillows, feeling that everything is as it should be.