Ramshackle House（原文阅读）

     著书立意乃赠花于人之举，然万卷书亦由人力而为，非尽善尽美处还盼见谅 ！

                     —— 华辀远岑

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Chapter XI

It was a justly aggrieved father that Pen found awaiting her in the dining-room.

Half-past eight! he said. "Where on earth have you been!"

Pen was quiet and starry-eyed with happiness. It didn't matter much to her what she said. But she rather wished to avoid a scene. She juggled with the truth a little.

Mr. Delehanty wanted me to help him with the search.

Delehanty! ... Wanted you! he said amazed. It was too much for him.

And Mr. Riever, Pen added as an afterthought.

The magic name mollified him a little. "Hum! Ha! ... Well, if Riever knew ... What suddenly started you off on this tack?"

I want this business over with!

I confess I fail to understand you! he said severely ... "What help could you give them anyway?"

I know the place so well!

Do you mean to say you have been searching the woods ... with all these strangers about?

I had only to raise my voice to bring a dozen to my aid ... Besides, Mr. Riever lent me a revolver.

Oh! ... Well you might have taken your father into your confidence ... Did you find anything?

No.

A more perspicacious man might have remarked the little catch of joy with which she said it, but never Pendleton. "The supper is cold," he said fretfully. "Aunt Maria's gone home."

Never mind, said Pen. Out of the riches in her breast she could spare affection for him, the dear, trying child! She kissed his bald spot. "I'll make a cup of tea for myself."

I got the mail this afternoon, he grumbled. "There's a letter for you."

Eh? said Pen sharply.

On your plate. I never saw the handwriting before.

Pen glided swiftly around the table. "I never saw it either," she said. Which was perfectly true. A scrawling, half-formed hand. The post-mark "New York" told her all that she needed to know.

She thrust it carelessly in her belt and went out into the kitchen. Pendleton looked affronted. He was terribly curious. Pen lit the oil stove and put the kettle on. Then she read her letter.

Dear Miss: I'm not much at writing. Please excuse mistakes. Well Miss Broome I guess you were right, all right. Everything bears out what you said. I and the fellows have made a good beginning, but we haven't cinched it yet by a good deal. Of course in a job like this you got to be absolutely bomb-proof before you put yourself under fire. I guess you get me. Just at present we're stalled for the lack of coin. I've raised every nickel I could amongst the fellows and it's all gone flooey. And not a job stirring. We got to have five hundred quick. A thousand would be better. Bring it up yourself. We got to have somebody to stop at a certain swell joint. None of us was able to get by with it. For God's sake get the money, if you have to purloin your old man's sock. Everything depends on your turning up with it the next day or so. No need for me to sign this.

A few minutes later Pendleton entered the kitchen to find Pen leaning against the table in a brown study, the open letter in her hand. The kettle was boiling unheeded.

Who's your letter from? he asked.

Oh ... that! said Pen with a laugh. She was obliged to extemporize quickly. "Such an odd thing! Do you remember the little foundling that used to work for the Snellings on the Island? Something has led the child to write to me."

Let's see, he said, holding out his hand.

I can't, Dad. The poor little thing is telling me her troubles.

Humph! snorted Pendleton, and passed on out of doors.

Pen carried her supper into the dining-room. She sat, abstractedly stirring her cup, and munching a sandwich, while the same phrase ran around and around in her head. "Got to have five hundred, a thousand would be better!" Blanche might almost as well have asked her for a million, she thought sighing. Bye and bye Pendleton having finished his chores, came in again.

Sit down a minute, Dad, she said. "I want to talk to you."

Anticipating something unpleasant, he dropped into a chair grumbling.

This business has about finished me up, said Pen. "I must get away for awhile."

You're looking particularly well to me, he said.

She refused to be drawn off.

I don't know what to make of you, he went on crossly. "A while ago you were all for helping in the search."

I hoped to end it, said Pen. "But I was unsuccessful."

Pendleton scowled sulkily at the table. "You know what I want you to do," he muttered.

That can wait, said Pen cautiously.

You may not get the chance, later.

I don't know that I have the chance now.

Oh, let's talk plainly! Pendleton burst out, but still not meeting her eye. "This is no time for false delicacy. Anybody could see that Riever wants you. He's given me to understand in the broadest way that you have only to say the word. Even after the extraordinary way you have acted. You still have a chance. What makes you hold back? You've got to marry somebody. Men are all much the same. Marriage is no bed of roses at the best! ... Am I not your father? Would I be advising you to anything that wasn't for your good? It's a wonderful chance! a wonderful chance, I tell you! ... And you talk about going away!" The little man was almost ready to weep.

Pen schooled herself to patience. "If Mr. Riever is really in earnest my going away will not make any difference ... It's said to be a very good move," she added slyly.

Not where a man like Riever is concerned! cried Pendleton. "He's accustomed to be courted, to be deferred to. He'd never get over such an affront. He'd pull up anchor and sail away never to return!"

Pen thought: "Ah, if he would!"

What was in that letter you got? demanded Pendleton. "Has that got anything to do with it?"

Pen was startled. She saw, however, that it was merely a hit in the dark. He had no real suspicion. The best way was to ignore his question as unworthy of being answered. "Won't you give me the money?" she said.

Where am I going to get it.

Pen was significantly silent.

A while ago you would not touch that money with a poker! he burst out.

It is not easy to ask for it, she murmured.

How much do you want?

Five hundred dollars! said Pen with her heart in her mouth.

Five hundred dollars! he stormed. "Five hundred dollars! Why you could go to your Cousin Laura Lee's and back for twenty!"

Wherever I went I would need clothes, said Pen.

I offered you money for clothes, and you scorned it!

I'm sorry now. I have thought better of it.

Oh, you have, have you? Well, permit me to remind you that the clothes were to wear here, and not to go away in! He started out of the room blustering noisily to cover his retreat. "Five hundred dollars! To ruin your chances! Never heard of such folly! Never speak to me of this again! Five hundred dollars!"

He kept on talking right up-stairs. Pen remained sitting at the table looking at her empty hands.

She sat thinking and thinking; stirring the tea which had long ago turned cold. The only possible way she had of raising money was through the sale of her sheep. She had considered that once before. Her father would try to prevent her of course, but she might drive them up the Neck road at night and put them on the steamboat from one of the Bay wharves. But Delehanty's men were watching the road at a dozen points.

In her perplexity Pen felt a great longing to consult with Don. Two heads were better than one, she told herself. Perhaps the truth was she just wanted to be with him. She was thankful she had made an arrangement to communicate. In the ordinary course he could hardly expect a letter from her until the next day, but thinking of his boyish eagerness it seemed quite possible that he might come back that night on the chance of hearing from her. At any rate it was worth trying.

She got a scrap of paper and a pencil, and wrote four lines:

I must see you. I'll put on an old dress and a sun-bonnet and walk on the beach near the lighthouse at eleven. If you don't get this to-night I'll come to-morrow night.

Pen put this into the agreed place, and returned to the house, wondering how she would put in the hour and a half that remained before eleven. She determined to watch to see whether he came for the note. So she went up-stairs rather noisily, and came down again very quietly, carrying with her what she needed for her disguise.

She took up her position on a chair in the dark kitchen, placed against the wall in such a way that she could look obliquely through the window in the direction of her chicken coop. The moon was not up yet, and it was pitch dark under the tree. She could see nothing, but she was sure no one could visit the spot without her being aware of it.

And after all she dozed. She had had little enough sleep of late, and now that the most pressing weight was lifted from her breast, the night laid a finger on her eyelids without her being aware of it. The katydids, the crickets, the distant murmur of the waves on the Bay shore gradually undermined wakefulness. Her head swayed against the wall.

She awakened, scarcely knowing she had slept. Somebody was outside. She was electrically conscious of it, though for a moment she could hear nothing. Then a soft, masculine chuckle came out of the dark. There was more than one evidently, for men do not as a rule chuckle when alone. A voice whispered.

Doggone, if it ain't a coop, fellas! What say to a nice fat pullet for breakfast?

It suddenly came to her this was Don's voice, with his exaggerated Maryland drawl. Her heart beat fast.

Another voice answered: "Watch yourself, Jones. Those damn birds 'll raise the dead if you lay hand to them!"

On'y one squawk before I get her neck wrung, laughed Don. "I got the lay of the land. That white-washed fence yonder marks the garden. Run down the rows to the next fence and you're safe!"

A silence followed. Pen, straining her ears heard, or imagined that she heard the latch softly raised, the door opened, and the little pan softly moved inside. Then Don's voice again:

By Golly! It's empty!

The words were spoken in the conventional tones of disappointment but Pen and none but Pen could hear the thrilling little lift in his voice. She was assured that the note was tight clasped in his hands. The voices moved away.

Pen cautiously consulted her watch. It was half-past ten. She must start at once in order to keep her appointment, for she must take a roundabout and difficult way. Pendleton's snores were resounding through the house, and in the back hall where the light could not betray her out-of-doors, she lit a little lamp and arrayed herself. She had a black cotton servant's dress that had been designed to fit a more ample figure than hers. She put it on and stuffed it out with old cotton until her own shape was altered beyond recognition. Drawing her hair straight back from her face, she twisted it into a tight knot behind, and pulled the sunbonnet over her head. For the dark it was a sufficiently effective disguise.

It was still very dark out of doors. Slipping out of the back door, she made her way to the old paddock behind the house grounds, and gaining the road from here, climbed a fence on the other side and struck across the little triangular field for the woods. It was the way she had gone once before to meet Don. Forcing her way through the undergrowth she gained her own path and so reached the little temple. From this point she struck out a line that would bring her out on the Bay shore. The sound of the waves guided her. When she had gone a little way she began to catch glimpses of the Broome's Point light between the tree trunks, and that gave her an exact course.

But this part of the woods was densely grown up, and it was hard, slow going. She had to feel her way through the tangle, and the thorns scratched her hands and tore her dress. She put her foot into unsuspected holes and came down heavily. It was only a couple of hundred yards, but she could progress but a foot at a time. It seemed as if an age passed before she slid down the steep bank and gained the sand. From around the point she heard six bells sounded melodiously aboard the Alexandra, and broke into a run. The tide was falling, and there was firm hard footing along the water's edge.

The lighthouse stood on its spidery stilts only a hundred feet or so off the beach. As she came close Pen could make out old Weems Locket the keeper, standing on the little gallery that encircled his octagonal house, with a companion. She slowed down. The two were leaning on the rail looking out across the Bay, smoking cigars. Even if they had looked in her direction they could scarcely have seen her, for her black dress was lost against the bushes that bordered the sand. There was a fresh breeze off the water that swallowed sounds. The first narrow edge of a smoky, orange moon was rising out of the Bay.

Pen breathed more freely after rounding the point. The old wharf was now about a quarter of a mile in front of her. The natives were camped on the beach on both sides of the wharf, and as she approached Pen could see the fires burning low in front of the tents, but no figures stirring. On board the Alexandra lights still shone from the deckhouse windows.

Pen, not daring to go close to the tents, came to a stand about a furlong off. There was no sign of Don. But presently she heard somebody coming from the other direction, the way she had herself come, someone softly whistling a tune. Thinking she must have passed him somehow, she turned eagerly. On this side of the point the rising moon was hidden behind the intervening high ground. A figure emerged out of the murk and Pen instantly perceived that it was not Don. It was too late to escape then.

A skirt! exclaimed a rough, young voice, surprised. "What are you doing out so late, sister?" He spread out his arms to bar her way.

Let me by! murmured Pen.

Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Let's have a squint at you.

He lit a match with his thumb-nail. Quick as thought Pen blew out the flame. The young fellow laughed. Pen tried to dart by him. He flung out an arm and gathered her in. She struggled in silent desperation.

Young and souple as willow, I swear, laughed the man. "What you got so much clothes on for? ... Gee! you smell as sweet as honeysuck'!"

Pen beat his face with her clenched fists. He simply lowered his head laughing, and clung to her. She had a sickening feeling of helplessness, and she dared not call for help. It was all over in half a minute. She heard running footsteps from the direction of the camp, and felt herself suddenly released.

The newcomer was Don. "What's this?" he cried with an oath that startled Pen—and charmed her.

Hell, I didn't know it was your propitty, Jones, the other man said sullenly.

Damn you...!

Pen apprehended a blow about to be given, and as in a flash, the ghastly consequences of a fight there, were revealed to her. She flung her arms around Don, and clung to him without speaking. He understood. He conquered his rage with a groan.

Well ... get out! he said thickly.

The other man melted away into the dark.

Pen and Don clung to each other. Of the two the man was the more shaken. Moments passed before he could speak. Then:

Oh my girl! my girl!

It is nothing, Pen said. "I am not made of glass."

My fault because I was late, he groaned. "I couldn't get rid of those fellows I was with."

I am safe, Pen said. "Forget about it. I have something to tell you. There is little time."

They started to walk slowly away from the direction of the camp. Pen repeated Blanche Paglar's letter to him word for word. It arrested his attention, and he quieted down. When they found themselves drawing too near the lighthouse, they turned and came slowly back, Don straining Pen against his side.

When she had described her problem, Don said instantly: "There's just one thing to do. You must give me up to Riever and collect the reward."

Pen's breast contracted sharply. She bitterly blamed herself. Why had she not foreseen that this was what he would say. She couldn't answer.

How about it? he asked.

I couldn't! she murmured.

But if it's the best thing to do?

I simply couldn't!

Listen, dearest, we must think this thing clean through to the end. These people in New York seem to have started something. Well, that being so, this seems to me as good an opportunity as any, for me to come out and put up my fight.

I must find out first how much they've learned.

She says it is not complete. But they've started something. They seem to be on the level with us. We must back them up before the trail grows cold.

I could find another way of raising the money.

I'd rather use Riever's money, he said dryly. "I've got to stand trial anyhow. It will take a whole lot of money, and I don't see any other way of raising it. There'd be a sort of poetic justice in making Riever pay the expenses of my trial. But we must act quickly. He's bound to find out that you and I are working together. Then he'd never pay you the reward."

How could I bring myself to do such a thing!

Wait a minute! Suppose we do nothing, what will happen? Oh, I'm in no particular danger now. In a few days they'll get sick of this search and give it up. I can see signs of it coming. Well, I can go back to the Eastern shore with the fellows I'm chumming with and get clean away. I've a new identity all established. But what then? What sort of a life would I have? I'd be a sort of wandering Jew without a friend in the world, except you, and I wouldn't dare communicate with you. I'd be one of the miserable floaters that have to do the dirtiest work for the least pay. God! when you are really on the outs of things you're up against it! You're at the bottom of a pit with smooth walls!

Wherever you were I would be, she whispered.

I wouldn't take you! he said simply. "Not that! Not unless we could hold our heads up."

How could I do it? murmured poor Pen. "How could I make my lips shape the words?"

But if it was I you were doing it for, dearest...?

Slowly pacing up and down cheek to cheek, they endlessly and lovingly disputed the question without being able to come to a conclusion. In their deep preoccupation they became careless. The slab-sided moon rose over the high bank, and shone upon them full, and they gave no heed.

The edge of the beach was bordered with the brittle woody bushes that the natives call water-weed. Pen and Don had paused in their pacing, and were standing looking into each other's faces with their clasped hands between them. Suddenly from behind a clump of bushes immediately alongside them rose the figure of a man. He was silhouetted against the moon with a significant raised arm.

Hands up, Counsell! I got you covered!

Don acted like a lightning flash. With a thrust out of his arms he sent Pen reeling backwards. She fell in the sand. At the same instant Don dived low through the bushes and caught the other man around the legs. He measured his length in the sand. It was so quick that he did not even fire. The pistol flew out of his hand. Pen following a blind instinct, scrambled on hands and knees and secured it.

Don had flung himself on the other man, and they were struggling furiously and silently in the sand. Don kept on top. When Pen's eyes were able to distinguish between them, she saw that Don was planted on the other man's chest, holding one of his arms down with one hand, and pressing his other hand over the man's mouth. With his free hand the man struck ineffectually up at Don's body, or tried in vain to pull away the hand that covered his mouth. His legs were thrashing wildly.

Something to gag him with, panted Don.

Pen tore off her sun-bonnet and rolling it up with the strings out handed it over. She sat on the man's right arm, when Don was obliged to release it. Somehow Don managed to force the twisted roll of cotton between his teeth, and with Pen's aid, passed the strings under his head and tied the gag with the knots in front. Sepulchral groans issued from beneath it.

Something to tie his hands and feet! whispered Don.

Pen, anticipating it, already had her apron off. She managed to tear off the band, which with the strings attached, made a useful lashing. Between the two of them they got the struggling man turned over, and finally got his wrists tied behind him. With the rest of the apron they bound his ankles together. Don rolled his coat around the man's head to stifle his groans, and they stood up and looked anxiously up and down the beach. They were about half way between the lighthouse and the tents. Nothing stirred in either direction.

Don looked down at the helpless figure. "Who do you suppose it is?" he asked.

Keesing, one of the detectives, said Pen. "I recognized his voice. He must have followed me down here ... But I don't see how he could."

Don shook his head. "More likely Pardoe—the man you ran into here, told him something and he came snooping around just on a chance. I gave myself away with my own talk."

They were silent for a moment. Both were thinking of the same thing.

Don said: "Well ... I guess the die is cast for us now."

Pen clasped her hands. "Oh, Don!"

You've got to march me out on board the yacht quick and give me up.

Oh, Don!

This fellow will soon wriggle loose. Then the fat will be in the fire. You must see there's no other way.

She nodded despairingly.

Come on, said Don. "... I guess Riever won't mind being roused up for such a purpose," he added grimly. "Bring the fellow's gun with you."

They set off down the beach.

This man will tell Riever that I didn't intend to bring you in, said Pen.

We'll have to cook up some yarn ... Tell Riever you were bringing me in when this fellow Keesing tried to horn in on the reward.

There was no sound of waking life about the tents. On the beach in front, all sorts and sizes of skiffs were drawn up. They chose the first one that had oars lying in it. The falling tide had left it high and dry, and it required a strenuous effort on Don's part to launch it. At the scraping of the bottom on the sand, a voice issued out of the nearest tent:

Who's that?

A lean and disheveled shadow appeared in the tent opening.

It's Jones, said Don lightly. "Just want to take a lady for a little row."

Oh all right, Jones. Go as far as you like.

I'm popular with the gang, murmured Don dryly.

He only had three hundred yards to row to the yacht. It was one thing to decide resolutely to give himself up, and another thing to put it into practice. He took half a dozen strokes energetically, and then loafed at the oars, gazing hungrily at Pen.

Pen suddenly conscious of the absurd figure she must be making, put up her hands and unpinning her hair, shook it about her shoulders. Don drew in his oars, and creeping aft caught up the dark tide and pressed it to his lips.

Oh, why do you do that now? he groaned. "You are so beautiful that way?"

Pen caught his head against her breast. "How can I? How can I? How can I?" she murmured.

Don with a sigh went back to his oars.

Pen with a twist or two, put up her hair in more becoming fashion. She began to pull out the various lengths of cotton with which she had stuffed out her bodice, and dropped them overboard. Don, the irrepressible, began to laugh shakily. Pen gasped, and laughed too. They looked at each other and laughed softly until they felt weak.

Is that all? asked Don at last.

Pen fishing around inside her dress nodded.

Well, I'm relieved, he said.

Oh, but it's dreadful to laugh now, Pen murmured remorsefully.

It's the only thing to do, said Don simply.

He was sober enough when they touched the side of the yacht. He made the skiff's painter fast to the grating at the foot of the ladder, and stepping out, drew Pen up beside him.

Kiss me, he whispered. "Maybe it'll be the last...!"

A murmur of pain was forced from Pen's breast.

I mean for a good while, he hastily added.

They clung together. His face was wet from hers.

The sound of a footfall on the deck overhead caused them to draw apart quickly.

Take the gun in your hand, Don whispered.

They went up the ladder, Don in advance. On the deck an astonished watchman faced them.

What do you want? he demanded.

I am Miss Broome, said Pen. "I want to see Mr. Riever."

He's turned in, Miss.

In order to avoid frightening him unduly, Pen kept the pistol hidden in a fold of her skirt. "He must be awakened," she said. "It is important."

The watchman, like everybody else on board the yacht, had gathered from watching his master that Pen was a person to be propitiated. "I'll tell him," he said, and disappeared within the deckhouse.

Pen and Don left alone on deck, leaned over the rail and pressing their shoulders together, gazed down at the black water etched with phosphorescence where the little waves lapped against the vessel's side and rolled back again.

I love you, Don whispered. "Whatever happens, you have made life to me worth living."

Pen caught her breath. "Ah, don't speak," she murmured. "Or I sha'n't ... be able to go through with it."

They groped for each other's hands.

They had not to wait long. They saw Riever coming through the lighted deck saloon before he could see them. The watchman accompanied him, and another man, a sort of valet-bodyguard. Riever was wearing a gorgeous orange and blue flowered dressing-gown. His face looked puffier than by day, but his thin hair was carefully brushed. He had an expression of oddly strained eagerness.

As they came through the door, one of the men turned a switch and the deck was flooded with light. Riever's sharpened gaze flew first to Pen's face, and from Pen to Don. For a fraction of a second he did not recognize him, but Don grinned, and said coolly:

Hello, Ernest!

Then he knew. His face became convulsed. "Counsell!" he cried in a high strained voice. He whirled on the watchman. "Blow your whistle! Rouse the ship!"

The shrill, wailing sound pierced the night.

Half beside himself Riever cried to Don: "You fox! I've run you to earth at last!"

You didn't, said Don, smiling at him steadily.

Well, you're caught! You've seen the last of the sun. You're done for!

Doors opened and slammed throughout the yacht. Feet came running. Among the first to arrive was the skipper from his quarters up forward, struggling into his coat as he ran. Pen looked on at it all, strangely detached. She felt as if she were watching the actors in the scene, including herself, from some point outside her body.

To each new arrival Riever cried: "We've got Counsell!" It was almost a scream. "There he is! Secure him! Put him in the strong room forward of the staterooms. Have an armed guard at the door day and night. If he resists put him in irons!"

The skipper and another clapped hands on Don's shoulders.

Don said: "Take your hands off me, and I'll go with you quietly."

Surrounded by his creatures, Riever, his face swollen and flaming, walked up close to Don and all but spat on him. He had lost all control of himself. He had forgotten Pen's presence. "You grinning blackguard!" he cried. "Grin while you can! You won't be grinning when they lead you out to the chair! And I'll be there to see it!"

Pen turned away her face. She could not be angry at the little man; he was beneath it. She was sickened with disgust. As for Don, he merely drew down the corners of his lips aggravatingly, and drawled:

Be yourself! Be yourself, Ernest! You're all wet!

A titter was heard on the outside of the circle.

Take him away! Riever cried furiously.

Most of the men accompanied the skipper and his prisoner along the deck to the forward companionway. A steward or two was left hanging about the after deck, and a pretty, frightened stewardess, clutching a pink kimono about her.

Get away! Get away—all of you! yelled Riever waving his arms.

When they were left alone on deck Riever went to Pen where she stood on the same spot in the same position, the pistol hanging limply down. He said thickly:

My darling! Now I know you're mine!

A sharp little cry escaped Pen. She had overlooked this possibility. Instinctively her hands went up between them. She did not point the gun at him, but its mere presence in her hand was sufficient to bring him to a stand. She backed slowly to the rail. When she hit against it, she glanced down over her shoulder at the dark water with a curious lightening of the horror in her face.

That glance overboard was not lost on Riever. He looked at her, scowling and pulling at his lip. Lest he should hear what would be intolerable to his self-love, he made haste to furnish reasons for her conduct.

Of course ... you're all upset! he muttered. "It's natural after such a strain ... I understand..."

Pen was suddenly overcome by weakness. The gun clattered to the deck. She staggered to the nearest deck-chair and sank into it.

Riever called sharply: "Carter!"

The pink-clad stewardess appeared miraculously in the cabin doorway.

Miss Broome is faint, said Riever. "Get smelling-salts!"

Pen wanted to keep the girl out on deck. "Wait!" she said weakly. "I'm not going to faint. I want nothing ... I only want to go home."

Riever bent over her. She closed her eyes to avoid seeing him. "Of course that's what you want," he murmured. "I'll take you just as quick as I can dress."

Pen did not protest, because by this time she had regained sufficient self-possession to realize that, until this man had fulfilled his promise to her, she must not rebuff him too much, though she did indeed almost faint with horror at his nearness.

As he left the deck he ordered the girl to stay with Pen. The girl came sidling towards her with an emotion in her face that she could not control. Her eyes were both hard and soft on Pen. In that look Pen saw as clearly as if it had been written on the girl that she was Riever's mistress, but at that moment the discovery caused her no feeling.

Can I get you anything, Miss? the girl asked in a purring tone.

No thank you, said Pen. "You needn't wait."

She retreated to the deck saloon, where she stood hovering in the doorway, stealing glances at Pen that were diffident, wistful and sneering.

Riever came back fully dressed, and attended by various servitors. The speed-boat was brought around to the gangway ladder, and Pen handed in. She had picked up the gun and concealed it within her dress.

That skiff belongs to one of the men in the tents, she said pointing.

A sailor was told off to row it ashore.

They landed on the old wharf, and Riever led her up the hill. To Pen's relief they were followed a hundred feet or so behind, by a body-guard. Riever had his hand under her elbow. She would not allow herself to object to that, though her flesh crawled at his touch.

You feel better now? he murmured.

She nodded.

Tell me how it came about.

She had her story ready for him. She cut it as cunningly to the pattern of truth as she could. "I searched to-day in all the places I knew of, but I found no trace of him. On my way home along the road this evening I saw him returning amongst the other searchers. It seems he joined the searchers some days ago. That's why you couldn't find him."

What devilish cunning! cried Riever.

It was growing dark, Pen went on. "He dropped behind the men he was with, and we had some talk. We couldn't say much there amongst all those people—I wasn't going to let them know, so I made an appointment with him to meet me on the beach at eleven, when I supposed everything would have quieted down. He suspected nothing."

Oh, he thinks he's irresistible! sneered Riever. "... It was dangerous. You should have arranged to have men concealed there."

I wanted to deliver him up to you myself as I said I would.

You are wonderful! murmured Riever.

I went armed, said Pen. "And I forced him to come with me. That's all."

Riever carried her hand to his lips. "You are a woman in a thousand!" he cried. "I never heard of such pluck!"

Pen pulled her hand away. "Please! Please!" she murmured. "I can't stand it! ... Not to-night!"

He eagerly snatched at the little promise she held out. "Ah, I won't press you," he said amorously. "I know how you must be feeling. Tender-hearted woman and all that. Cuts you all up to have to give up a man to justice. But believe me, he's a bad one through and through. You've done a service to all decent people. You'll soon see that yourself."

Pen sighed with relief, that he had so ready an explanation of her agitation. "There's something else I must tell you," she went on. "As I was bringing Counsell along the beach a man interfered between us. I think it was one of the detectives. I suppose he wanted to share in the reward. Anyhow the two men fought on the beach. I let them fight it out. I helped Counsell because he was my prisoner. And he got the best of the other man and tied him up. I suppose he's lying there yet. Half way between the wharf and the lighthouse. As soon as it was over I forced Counsell to come along with me just the same as before."

Riever laughed loudly. "What a woman you are!" he cried. "You've earned that reward ten times over! Don't you worry. Nobody else shall touch a cent of it!"

That clear-eyed little familiar inside Pen whispered to her: "This is all very well, but as soon as he has time to think it over, he'll begin to see the holes in your story. You must get the money out of him to-night if you can."

But how could she bring herself to speak of it?

They lingered at the door of the big house. The body-guard was waiting off in the drive with his back discreetly turned. Riever took enormous encouragement from the fact that Pen did not try to hurry away from him.

What are your plans? she murmured.

We'll weigh anchor early to-morrow, Riever said, "and steam to Annapolis where I will obtain the necessary extradition papers. Then I'll have Counsell sent North by train. Before nightfall to-morrow he'll be lodged safe in the Tombs."

The Tombs?

The New York City prison.

Pen blushed crimson in the dark but doggedly forced herself to bring out the words: "But ... how about ... what you promised me..."

Riever laughed. It had an unpleasant ring, though he probably meant it good-naturedly enough. "What a funny girl you are! Anxious about your thirty pieces of silver, eh? Don't worry! I'll see you in the morning before I go."

Pen was obliged to let it go at that, though it was with a sickening anxiety.

Riever's voice thickened again. "You've quieted down now," he murmured. "You're not going to let me go like this..."

Pen's hands went up again, but he caught her roughly to him. He could not reach her face. He pressed a burning kiss on her neck. Pen tore herself away, and ran shudderingly to her room.

Chapter XII

Next morning Pen was late, for her, in getting down-stairs, and her father was before her. He had already been out-of-doors and had heard the startling news. He was pale with excitement, and his expression presented a comical mixture of elation and outraged parental authority.

What is this? he cried. "Counsell is caught? And caught by you!"

That pleases you, doesn't it? said Pen, in a quiet way very aggravating to an excited man.

Pleases me? he cried. "My daughter starting out at night on such an errand! Wandering around the woods with a gun! Pleases me!" He ended on a more human note. "You might have told me when you came in, instead of letting me learn it from strangers!"

I was all in, said Pen simply. "I couldn't face the added excitement even of telling you."

Um! Humph! Ha! he snorted. "What will become of your reputation?"

Mr. Riever didn't seemed to think it had suffered, Pen murmured slyly.

Ha! ... Well, of course he wouldn't say so! ... I sha'n't be able to sleep quietly for thinking what might have happened!

Pen saw that the indignant parent only wanted to put himself on record, and that underneath the man was delighted. She went ahead and gave him his breakfast. He ate it in a charming humor.

Afterwards she went about her household chores waiting for Riever, sick with anxiety. Suppose he didn't come? Suppose even then, the yacht was getting ready to sail? She couldn't go out to see. She simply could not humiliate her pride to the extent of going down to the wharf to look for her money.

After all Riever did come, and early, too. It still lacked a few minutes of nine. But he met Pendleton outside, who brought him in, and the two men were closeted in the front drawing-room for awhile. Pen felt by instinct that this interview boded her no good. Afterwards her father came to her in the kitchen saying:

Mr. Riever wants to say good-by to you.

He avoided Pen's eye as he said it, and there were complacent little lines about the corners of his mouth. "Riever has given him more money!" Pen thought with sinking heart.

Pendleton did not accompany her back to the drawing-room. Riever was waiting for her, carefully dressed in his admirable, square-cut yachting suit. He was brisk, and inclined to be effusive, signs in Pen's eyes that he was secretly uneasy. But perhaps that was natural. His eyes were as devoid of expression as an animal's; she could not guess of what he was thinking; his words came merely from his lips.

How are you? he asked solicitously. "Ah, pale, I see! Not much sleep perhaps? Well thank God! this nasty business is about over."

Pen did not feel that this required any answer. She waited.

I said I'd come to see you before I set sail this morning, Riever went on briskly—and then came to a somewhat lame pause.

Pen waited in an anxiety that was like a physical pain for him to produce a check-book or a bundle of notes. But he made no such move. There was an awkward silence. Finally he said as if at random:

By the way do you know what became of Keesing's revolver? He's making a fuss about it.

I haven't it, said Pen coolly.

He said you took it from him, Riever said with a light laugh—but his eyes were tormented.

He is mistaken, said Pen. "When he fell it flew out of his hand. I don't know what became of it."

He said you carried it away in your hand.

That was the pistol you gave me in the morning ... You saw it, she added, feeling pretty sure that Riever had been in no condition to distinguish one pistol from another.

Why of course! he said. "It's absurd." But there was no real conviction in his tones.

If you'll wait a moment I'll get it for you, said Pen.

Please don't bother, he said. "Keep it as a souvenir."

There was another silence. Pen saw that he dared not accuse her openly. The matter had to be threshed out to a conclusion, so she grasped her nettle firmly.

What else did Mr. Keesing tell you? she asked scornfully.

Riever's attempt to carry it off lightly was painful to see. "Oh, I don't take any stock in it," he said with his laugh.

But I ought to know, shouldn't I?

Riever laughed excessively. "Said you had no intention of giving him up until he surprised you together. Said you were just walking up and down the beach talking." His eyes were darting ugly, pained glances at her.

Pen laughed too. "In the full moonlight!" she exclaimed. She was secretly relieved. If Keesing had overheard their talk he would of course have repeated it.

I told you there was nothing in it, said Riever.

If I was ... friendly with him, do you think I'm the sort of person to give him up? demanded Pen.

Certainly not ... But Keesing said after he had recognized Counsell, there was nothing else for you to do.

If I'd wanted to save the other man I could have shot Keesing, said Pen boldly.

Riever stared. "Well ... I believe you are capable of it," he muttered. That at least was honest.

Pen followed up her advantage quickly. "Obviously a crude attempt to get the reward for himself," she said.

That's what I thought ... But Keesing clearly understood that there was nothing in it for him, anyway. He didn't bring the man in.

Then it was just spite, said Pen.

No doubt, said Riever.

Pen's heart sank. She was making no progress whatever. He would agree with everything she said, and act according to his own secret motives. She was determined to drag these out into the light.

Well, what are you going to do about it? she asked bluntly.

Why, nothing! he said with an air of surprise.

I mean about the money, said Pen firmly.

He averted his head. "What do you want so much money for?" he muttered.

What does anybody want money for? said Pen. "Thousands of things!"

He came towards her eagerly. "Tell me what they are," he stuttered. "Anything ... anything money will buy! You have only to name it!"

I can't take gifts from you, said Pen coldly. "I've earned this money, haven't I? You promised it."

I don't go back on my promises, he muttered.

Well then?

But just at the moment I haven't it by me.

Pen thought: "It's all over!" And tasted despair.

He went on more glibly: "One's money gets all tied up you know. And I've been under heavy expenses. Of course I can arrange it when I get back to town. I'll bring it to you myself. Just as soon as I can get this ugly business off my hands. It won't take long. Popular opinion demands that the man be tried speedily. And I can set certain influences at work. I fancy the trial will be brief. In six weeks you can expect to see me back again.... And under much happier circumstances I trust. I'm afraid at present you have certain doubts of me. Almost a dislike. This has been such a beastly business! When I come back my whole aim will be to remove your doubts. To show you what I really am. And what you mean to me. Thank God! time is on my side!"

Pen kept her eyes down to hide the thought she was sure must be speaking through them: "If you came back here under such circumstances I should kill you!"

Her stillness frightened him. He began to hedge. "But what am I saying? You don't have to wait for your money till I come back. It is a matter I can arrange with my bankers. You may expect a check within a week."

Pen was not deceived of course. She foresaw the silky, apologetic letter she would receive at the end of a week—without any check. She was silent.

Riever's instinct warned him against making any loverly demonstration at such a moment. "Good-by," he said.

Pen's generous, open nature imperiously demanded that she avow her true feelings, and crush him like the worm he was. It cost her a frightful, silent struggle to keep it in. She kept saying to herself mechanically: "We haven't convicted him yet. I must go on deceiving him!"

Without raising her eyes, she offered him her hand. He carried it lightly to his lips, and quickly left the room.

But how he got out, or what she herself did during the next half hour, Pen could never have told clearly. When she came back to the realization of things it was to find herself kneeling at one of the windows in her room listening to the clank of the yacht's anchor chain. The sound seemed to be striking on her bare heart. She saw the mud-hook slowly rise out of the water, and the yacht's screws set up a churning astern. The graceful vessel began to move. She came about in a wide circle and swept out of Pen's range of vision behind the trees. As she passed the lighthouse she saluted with three blasts of her melodious whistle, and the lighthouse bell tolled in answer.

Somewhere in the bowels of that vessel, in darkness perhaps, and manacled, sat the bright-haired Don, grinning derisively at misfortune. He was depending on her; keeping himself up no doubt with the assurance that she had secured the money to save him ... Pen's head dropped on her arms.

Upon the departure of the yacht, the crowd at Broome's Point quickly broke up. Slow-moving ox-carts started up the Neck road, and noisy motor-boats put off up the river and across the Bay. Before it was midday the old unbroken peace had descended on the remote estate, and all that had happened in between seemed like a dream. As of old, the fish-hawks plunged for their wriggling prey, buzzards circled high in the blue, hens clucked contentedly at the kitchen door, and the turkeys set up a sudden gobbling in the fields.

Pen could not long give herself up to despair. She must act if she wished to save her sanity. With a tormented face she went about the house in a whirl of activity. Black Aunt Maria's eyes rolled askance at her mistress. Pendleton remained down on the beach seeing the boats off. Pen suspected he was purposely keeping out of her way.

When he came in to dinner he was affecting an air of busy abstraction. When Pen addressed him he would reply, gently:

Don't interrupt me, my dear, I have an idea just taking shape in my mind.

This was an old dodge of his, when he wished to escape something unpleasant. Pen smiled to herself without mirth, and quietly bided her time.

When he was finished eating he attempted to slide out of the room, but Pen was on the watch for that.

One moment, father.

Another time, my dear. I must get this down on paper before it escapes me.

Pen put herself determinedly between him and the door. "Sorry," she said. "But I have some rights as well as your ideas."

Only an ignorant person sneers at ideas, he said loftily.

Pen refused to be drawn aside. She began mildly: "Now that this business is over, I hope there's no objection to my going away for a little while."

His eyes narrowed and hardened as a weak and stubborn man's must. "Why should you go away now?" he demanded. "The trouble is over. This is the best place to rest."

Just the same I must go, said Pen. "Will you give me the money?"

I'll take you for a visit to Cousin Laura Lee at Frederick, he said. "The trip will do us both good."

I must have more of a change than that, said Pen patiently. "I need six hundred dollars."

Preposterous! he cried. "You know I have no such sum to fritter away!"

I have worked for you six years, said Pen wistfully. "A hundred dollars a year does not seem much!"

Oh, if you're going to measure your duty towards me in dollars and cents!

But I'm not! I...

That's enough. I am your father. I am the best judge of what is right for you.

Pen was too sore at heart to be very patient. "You got more money from Mr. Riever this morning," she said at a venture.

There was a significant exchange of glances, startled on his part, quietly assured on hers. He saw that it was useless to deny it.

Well, if I did, he said with dignity, "you may be sure it wasn't a gift. I gave a fair return for it ... Anyway, that's my capital. I can't spend it."

Did you undertake to keep me here for him? Pen asked quietly.

By the way he puffed out his cheeks and wagged his head she saw that she had guessed somewhere near the truth. She was unspeakably saddened. Her father! What was the use?

Meanwhile he was noisy in his aggrieved protestations. "How can you say such a thing! Am I not your father? You must know that every act of mine is solely directed by a concern for your good. My life is devoted to that end."

Pen struggled on, though she was convinced of the hopelessness of it. "I grant that," she said. "Willingly! But you might be mistaken ..."

Never! he cried, without any notion of his absurdity.

Well, we mustn't quarrel, said Pen. "I appeal to your affection for me. I seldom ask you for anything. I am not one of the flighty kind. You must see that I am in deadly earnest. I must go away! If I were kept here I should go out of my mind!"

But cupidity had for the moment overcome his natural affections—as it has a way of doing. "Pooh! you're talking like a flighty girl now," he said loftily. "Permit me to be the judge of what is best for you."

Oh, all right, said Pen with a sudden change of tone. "Let's say no more about it."

Pendleton was a little astonished by his victory, for his case was bad. "Well, that's my own girl!" he said, approaching her full of fine, fatherly approval.

Pen cast an odd, cold glance at him and passed out into the pantry. Pendleton went up-stairs feeling acutely uncomfortable.

During the afternoon they pursued the usual routine. Pen's first act was to let Doug out of the barn. The good dog was wild with delight. Pendleton went for the mail.

When he came into the house for supper, his eyes sought Pen's face with a furtive anxiety. All was serene there, and his spirits rose mightily. In all these years Pendleton had learned little about his daughter's nature. He persisted in believing what he wished to believe. During the meal he was affable and discursive. Pen listened with a sufficient smile, and was as attentive as ever to his wants.

They spent their usual quiet evening under the dining-room lamp, Pen with her mending, Pendleton with his newspaper. An instinct of caution warned him not to read aloud any of the comment on the Counsell case. The news of the grand dénouement had not reached Baltimore in time for that morning's paper. They retired early, Pen offering her cheek for the usual good-night kiss.

As soon as the sounds of Pendleton's snores began to issue through the transom over his door, Pen came out of her room again. She was dressed in hat and suit, and carried a small valise. She also had a note addressed to Aunt Maria, giving certain directions for breakfast. As Aunt Maria could not read, Pen knew that it would be brought to Pendleton's attention early.

She slipped out of the house by the back door. Doug in his kennel whined with pleasure. She unfastened him with an admonition to silence. Doug was too experienced a dog to waste much energy in unnecessary noise. Pen walked swiftly back through the paddock, and through the stable yard gate to the road. Doug ran ahead with his tail high. It was a fair night with a pale sky, and dim stars.

She was too early. She loafed along the road. At the gate to the distant field where the sheep were pastured, she leaned her elbows on the bars waiting for the moon, while Doug pursued his canine investigations far and near. He had all the lost time of his imprisonment to make up. Finally when the silver rim appeared, Pen let down the bars and whistled for him.

Fetch them out, sir! she said. Doug knew his business thoroughly.

Half an hour later the huddled little flock was striking into the woods, with Pen at its heels and Doug, all intent now upon his charges. Pen paused to let them drink their fill in the little stream that flowed across the road. They plodded on through clogging sand and around mudholes that never dried up from one year's end to another. There was no regular beat to the thudding little hoofs, for those in the van were always hanging back, and those in the rear running to catch up. They passed along in little gusts of sound, like nervous fingers drumming on a window pane. Pen was choked with dust. "What will I look like in the morning?" she thought.

Little owls mourned far off, this way and that, and occasionally the bark of a fox brought Doug to a stand with raised ruff and murmured growl. Through openings in the branches, stray shafts of moonlight fell on the backs of the sheep making them look like little gray ghosts creeping along with bowed shoulders. There was a place miles deep in the woods where they passed a squatter's shack close beside the road. The nervous patter of hoofs brought a figure to the open door. In a curiously tense pose he watched them pass; transfixed; without a sound.

It was ten miles through the woods to the fork in the road where you took the right-hand-turn down to the wharf at Hungerford's Run, three miles further. Endless it seemed to Pen, the way the road twisted aimlessly first off in one direction, then back in the other. It was level for the most part except for once or twice when it precipitated them into a gully with a branch over which Pen had to jump. In spite of scurrying hoofs their net progress was slow. Dawn had broken before they came out on the open road. Pen dreading curious eyes urged them on as fast as she could.

She had one encounter. A farmer early at the plow, turned his team at the end of his furrow, just as Pen with her convoy passed in the road below. His jaw dropped; he all but rubbed his eyes at the strange spectacle of a modishly-dressed (to him) young lady covered with dust, driving a flock of sheep miles from anywhere. Pen did not know him, but he, by a process of elimination guessed who she must be. His face expressed a sort of agony of curiosity until the obvious explanation occurred to him, when it cleared.

Driving your sheep to the steamboat? he said.

Yes, said Pen, blushing, and looking straight ahead.

He clambered over the fence, and slid down the bank to her side. "I just put up my clover last week," he said in friendly fashion. "Next field on the left. Drive 'em in and let 'em crop awhile. You got plenty time."

Pen thanked him. He walked beside her, glancing at her from the corners of his eyes. He opened a gate for her, and the grateful sheep scattered inside to their breakfast.

You come far? he ventured.

Pen nodded.

Come through the woods at night alone!

I had my dog.

Well it's more than I would have done. Why didn't you ride a hoss?

I'm going up on the boat, said Pen. "Had no way of getting the horse back. The dog can find his own way of course."

Well, you're a good plucky young lady, I'll say ... You'll find a good spring down at the foot of the slope, yonder. How about some breakfast, I'll be going home to mine, directly.

I brought it with me, thank you, said Pen, indicating the valise.

With many a backward look he returned to his horses, and Pen was free to wash at the spring, and brush her clothes.

Arriving at the dilapidated wharf a mile or so farther, she had to run a gauntlet of curious stares. Everybody wished to help her, and the sheep were quickly penned and tagged. Pen could see in the men's eyes what a storm of gossip would break loose once her back was turned, but she cared little about that.

The steamboat on her up trip was due at eight o'clock. Pen's chief anxiety was lest it should be delayed long enough to allow her father to reach Hungerford's Run on horseback. Pendleton had no right to stop her of course, and nothing he might say could shake her determination; but she shuddered at the idea of washing the family linen there on the beach before strangers.

However the Princess Anne arrived before her father, and the sheep were driven aboard. Pen put her arms around the good dog's neck, careless of who might witness her emotion.

I can't take you! I can't take you! she murmured. "Do not blame me for it!"

They had to lock Doug in the little warehouse before she could go aboard. Pen listened to him flinging himself against the door, and heard his sharp, anguished barks, feeling like a traitress.

The steamboat proceeded on her leisurely course from wharf to wharf up the bay.

Chapter XIII

The Criminal Court Building in New York City is a huge square block of yellow brick with an incongruous cornice and grandiose trimmings. It is of the Tammany period. Among architectural aberrations, architects give it a leading place. It was run up on the site of an old pond, and was no sooner up than it threatened to fall down again. There was a great scare at the time, but that has long ago been forgotten. The monument still stands, secure in its ugliness.

It is one of the busiest places in the city. It knows no long vacations during the heated term. Day in and day out the mills of justice grind feverishly without ever quite catching up with the grist that is offered. Judges from quieter jurisdictions up state have continually to be imported to relieve the overworked metropolitan incumbents.

Within the building there is a vast enclosed court surrounded by wide, cement-paved galleries tier above tier. Every day during court hours these galleries are thronged with what is surely the most diverse collections of humanity ever brought together under a roof; witnesses principally, or friends of the accused. Every walk of life is represented; every stratum of society. But among the countless types four are repeated over and over; wary-eyed initiates of the underworld, weeping women, shabby insinuating lawyers looking for business, and detectives with eyes as wary as the gunmen, but better fed men and full of a conscious rectitude. Dozens of little dramas are going on simultaneously.

On a certain stifling morning in mid-summer, amongst the dozens of court-rooms the interest of the building was focused in General Sessions, Part One, where the case of the People versus Counsell was being tried under Stockman, J. A murder trial. Common as they are in that building a murder trial never quite loses its zest, and this, owing to the prominence of the persons concerned, was a celebrated case. Every morning a great crowd struggled to get into the courtroom, though the evidence was not of a sensational nature. There was no woman in the case. It was a foregone conclusion too; one of those cases which had been tried out in the newspapers before being brought into court, and a verdict of guilty rendered. Nobody had a good word for the defendant except the morbid women who stormed the court-room doors, and who secured a majority of the seats inside, simply because they were more persistent than the men. These women always sympathize with the prisoner, particularly if, as in this case, he happens to be young and comely.

As a result of the furore in the newspapers many days had been taken up in the effort to secure an impartial jury. But once the taking of evidence began the proceedings moved swiftly enough. Only two days had been required by the prosecutor to present his case. Hackett, the particular star of the district-attorney's office, handled it. He had scarcely been obliged to exert himself; everything was going his way. In three days more the defendant's direct testimony was all in. Counsell was his own principal witness. He had told a straightforward story on the stand, and a ruthless cross-examination had failed to shake it. Unfortunately for him he had no witnesses to support his story. Proof of it rested with the dead man. There had been no witnesses to the final scene between them. The trial had now reached the stage of rebuttal testimony offered by the People.

When Court adjourned for the noon recess, Corveth of Defendant's counsel made his way out of the building with a heavy air of dejection. He was a young man, the same age as the prisoner, an old friend it was said, and he had full charge of Counsell's case. He had put up a strenuous fight for his friend, but not perhaps a brilliant one. He was a first-rate lawyer, but he lacked the art of certain famous pleaders who, when they have a bad case, set out to charm and dazzle judge and jury with moving if irrelevant eloquence. Corveth was in deadly earnest. He passionately believed in his client's innocence, but he had scarcely succeeded in proving it. And he had often irritated the Bench by his dogged fight on points of law which took up time without apparently getting anywhere. Even now it was a mistake of tactics for Corveth so clearly to betray his discouragement to the inquisitive observers in the galleries.

Two hours later when he returned, the man's whole bearing had changed. Dejection had given place to an air of excitement so great that it was impossible to tell whether it was a pleasurable excitement or the reverse. His pale skin seemed to gleam with excitement; his clothing was a little disarranged; the man looked slightly stunned.

He was escorting a heavily veiled woman, a young woman judging from her figure and carriage, and they were followed by such an oddly-assorted group as you could only find walking together in that building. Witnesses obviously. It included two other women, one a flashy, pretty little thing, with hard, assured eyes, the other a domestic servant apparently. The men ranged all the way from a highly prosperous gentleman, a banker possibly, down to a couple of taxi-drivers and a farm laborer. The word went around the galleries like wildfire that there was something up in the Counsell case, and a new crowd pressed to the doors of the courtroom. It was too late to get in. Corveth left his witnesses outside where they remained guarded by a couple of young men from his office against the questions of the curious.

Within the court-room Corveth was seen to enter into an excited, whispered discussion with the defendant. Corveth was the excited one. Counsell appeared to be trying to soothe him. Their talk was interrupted by the entrance of the Judge.

When the proceedings were opened Corveth rose and in a voice that trembled oddly said: "If it please your Honor since we adjourned important new evidence has been offered to me."

The judge stared and bit his lip in irritation. There were so many cases on his calendar! Were they all to be dragged out past all reason by the lawyers! This of course was merely the grand stand play of a lawyer with a bad case. To do him justice, his Honor controlled his irritation before he spoke.

Mr. Corveth, I trust you have taken thought of what you are saying. You have had every opportunity to present your case.

Twelve new witnesses have just been brought to me, sir, whose existence I never suspected.

Twelve! How could that be? You have been studying this case for weeks. In what manner were new witnesses brought to you at this late date?

They were brought to me by a person interested in this case, who has been conducting an investigation unknown to me.

And you say their evidence is important?

Of the utmost importance, sir. It throws an entirely new light on the case.

In his irritation the overworked judge was understood to mutter: "I doubt it!"

Corveth flushed crimson, but held his tongue.

Observing the flush, his Honor went on more mildly, but still with bitterness: "Understand, Mr. Corveth, it is not your word that I doubt, but only your estimate of the importance of this evidence. A long experience on the bench has taught me that matters which appear of overwhelming importance to opposing counsel, have a way of shrinking sadly when they are brought out on the stand."

A titter went around the court-room. The gavel rapped viciously.

Should this evidence not be admitted sir, it may put the State to the expense of a new trial.

The Assistant District Attorney was on his feet. "I object. Surely it is grossly improper for Counsel to make such statements in the hearing of the jury."

It is only his opinion, said the judge wearily. "It will not appear in the record." To Corveth he said: "Well, what do you want me to do?"

To give me time to hear these persons' stories, sir. An adjournment until to-morrow morning.

The judge said nothing, but his face was set hard against it.

Or if Mr. Hackett is willing to go on with his evidence in rebuttal, I only ask for leave to re-open my case to-morrow. I can sit up all night.

Mr. Hackett smiled rather pityingly. "With all respect to Counsel," he said, "I don't see that anything is to be gained by going on if Mr. Corveth is going to introduce an entirely new element."

I agree with you, said the judge. He appeared to have made up his mind. "Mr. Corveth," he went on, "you realize of course that if I give you this time the District-Attorney is entitled to a similar indulgence. Where would we end? These gentlemen on the jury have already been detained from their homes and their businesses for many days. I owe them the greatest consideration. I must have some further assurance of the importance of your evidence before I can consent to any delay. You say this story has just been told you by somebody. Is he present?"

It is a woman, your Honor. She is present.

The court-room pricked up its ears.

Then why not put her on the stand?

It would be useless, your Honor. She could give little or no direct testimony as to what occurred. She has collected the testimony and brought me the witnesses.

They are here, too? Then put your principal witness on the stand. I will give you as much latitude as I can in questioning him. And if anything important transpires I will grant the adjournment you ask for.

I thank your Honor. Unfortunately, as I understand it, none of these witnesses can tell a complete story of what happened. Each one can only add a link or two to the chain. You could scarcely judge from the testimony of any one of them how important their evidence would be taken collectively.

His Honor sighed for patience, and bit his lip.

But if I might offer a suggestion, sir...?

Well?

Could you not request the jury to retire and hear this lady's story in your chambers? You could then decide in a few minutes whether or not it warranted an adjournment.

His Honor tapped his desk reflectively with a pencil.

The Assistant-District-Attorney was protesting. "Your Honor, whatever may come of this matter, an impression is being created here highly prejudicial to the case of the people..."

Corveth interrupted him: "I should be quite willing to have Mr. Hackett present while this lady is telling her story, so that he may have the fullest opportunity to meet the evidence she has to offer."

This more than anything Corveth had said, inclined the judge to believe that he really had something up his sleeve. Moreover it was a generous offer. The judicial face thawed a little on defendant's counsel. It then turned to the jury.

Gentlemen of the jury I will ask you to retire for a few minutes to give me the opportunity of deciding whether this evidence is material to the case.

The jury filed out in one direction, and his honor went the other, his silken robe billowing behind him. The court-room buzzed with an excited whispering: "What do you suppose is up?"

Corveth brought the veiled woman to the Judge's room through another door. "Chambers" was simply a smallish room with a ceiling so lofty that it gave the effect of a room stood up on the wrong end. A wide flat-topped desk filled a great part of the floor space. His Honor, brought down from the eminence of his dais was revealed as a smallish man with a wise, humane face, much harassed as the result of over-work. In the little room he looked much more human.

He waved the lady to a chair at his right hand. Hackett, with a cynical expression, lounged in a chair by the window. Corveth was too nervous to sit. As the lady seated herself she threw back her veil.

Miss Broome! exclaimed the judge in surprise. "You have already testified in this case!" He looked reproachfully at Corveth. Corveth signed to him to wait.

Did you not tell all you know? Judge Stockman demanded.

Pen slowly shook her head.

How do you reconcile that with your conscience?

I answered all the questions, she said softly. "Mr. Corveth could not ask me about these other matters, because he knew nothing of them."

But you are acting in the defendant's interest, I assume. Surely his Counsel had a right to know what was going on.

It was not from any lack of confidence in him, Pen said, with a warm glance at Corveth. "It would have been fatal to us if the least whisper of what we were doing had got about before we had complete proof. We tried our best to obtain a postponement of the trial. When that was denied it was very difficult to know what to do. Mr. Counsell decided, and I agreed with him, that we must go ahead and keep everything hidden. We did not tell Mr. Corveth because he is too honest to play a part. If he had known what we knew, our enemies would have read it in his face in the court-room. If we have acted wrongly I hope you will remember that we had a powerful and unscrupulous enemy."

His Honor did not appear much impressed, though it was not hidden that he approved of Pen's exterior. "And do you think you have complete proof now?" he asked with an indulgent smile.

I obtained it only yesterday, sir.

Well, tell me what you expect to prove.

Pen looked rather helpless. "Mr. Corveth said I must be brief ... There is so much to tell... I scarcely know where to begin..."

Corveth prompted her. "Tell Judge Stockman what witnesses you have brought me and what you expect to prove by each one."

Pen nodded. "The first witness will be a young woman named Blanche Paglar. She will testify that up to the day that Collis Dongan was shot she was friends with ... I mean lived with..." She hesitated, blushing.

Corveth helped her out with the legal euphemism.

Yes, she was the common-law-wife of a young man known as Spike Talley. She will testify that Talley told her at this time that he had undertaken a job for a rich man, whose name he never told her, and that he was to get ten thousand dollars for it.

What! exclaimed Judge Stockman. "What sort of job?"

Talley was what is called a gangster or a gunman, said Pen. "When they say 'a job' they mean a killing, a murder."

Good Heavens! exclaimed the Judge. "Do you mean to say you have had to associate with such people?"

They were kind to me, said Pen simply.

Go on.

She will testify that Spike Talley's duties in connection with his 'job' necessitated his putting on dress clothes every evening and going to a certain fashionable hotel to dine. He never told her the name of the hotel, but on one occasion he brought her a menu-card with the name torn off. That card will be identified as one from the Hotel Warrington.

Ha! exclaimed his Honor as the connection began to show.

Talley also told her that his 'boss' gave him a drink of whiskey every time he went to his house. He described to her how it stood on the sideboard in a handsome, square, cut-glass bottle, and how he was always invited to help himself.

The importance of this will appear later, murmured Corveth.

Pen went on: "Blanche will testify that Spike Talley left her for the last time on the afternoon of May 27th, the day of the murder. Some days later she reported his disappearance to the police. They could find no trace of him, if indeed they ever looked. Blanche never connected his disappearance with the death of Collis Dongan, because the newspapers made out from the beginning that it was certain Mr. Counsell had committed that crime."

His Honor was now thoroughly interested in Pen's story. Even Assistant-District-Attorney Hackett had lost a good deal of his scornful air. The judge said:

But if this Talley has disappeared can you prove anything?

You'll see, sir... The next witness is a taxi-driver who was a friend of Spike Talley's. He will testify that at this time Talley came to his garage every evening and engaged the witness to drive him up to the Hotel Warrington. I could prove by waiters in the hotel that Talley dined there every evening—they have identified his photograph, but Mr. Corveth says it will hardly be necessary, because the next witness, Mr. Slaughter, would carry more weight. Mr. Slaughter is a gentleman of means and position who resides at the Warrington. He will tell how he became acquainted with Talley through seeing him dine at the next table. Talley was a young man of much charm of manner. Mr. Slaughter never suspected what he was. The two became quite friendly, and on a number of occasions after dinner, Mr. Slaughter invited Talley up to his apartment which was on the same floor as Mr. Dongan's and Mr. Counsell's. Mr. Slaughter will further testify how on one occasion he discovered Talley ... what would you say ... flirting with the hotel maid on that floor, and remonstrated with him. Talley passed it off with a laugh. Talley visited him for the last time on the night of the murder.

The next witness will be the maid, Mary Crehan. She will tell how Talley 'made up to her' as she says, and how on one occasion he took her to a moving picture theater. It appears from what she recollects of their conversation that Talley was pumping her for information as to the lay-out of Mr. Dongan's apartment, and Mr. Counsell's, and information as to the habits of the two men. But he did this so adroitly that the girl never thought of connecting him later with the shooting. She will testify how one evening after having talked with Talley in the corridor, she missed her keys. It never entered her head that the fashionably-dressed young gentleman had anything to do with it. She found them the next night in the cupboard on that floor where she was accustomed to leave them upon going off duty. The bunch consisted of half a dozen master keys which would admit her to any apartment on that floor. The next witness is a locksmith, an acquaintance of Talley's, who will identify the maid's keys as the same bunch brought to him by Talley to be duplicated. He did duplicate them, and handed both sets to Talley, This was about ten days before the murder.

The next witness is another taxi-driver who had no acquaintance with Talley, but is prepared to identify his photograph as that of a man who engaged him outside the Hotel Warrington about midnight on May 27th.

Midnight? interrupted Judge Stockman. "That was after the murder. Can't you connect this Talley directly with the deed?"

No, sir. He was too clever ... Besides that was not my principal object. I was looking for proof against his employer.

Oh, do you know him too?

Pen nodded.

Go ahead.

This taxi-cab driver could not at first remember the address to which he had driven Talley, but he gave us the locality, and when we drove with him through the streets of that neighborhood he unhesitatingly picked out the house.

How could he do that?

Well, it was a peculiar looking house; different from any other in the neighborhood, from any other in town probably. It is in Thirty-Ninth street, East of Lexington.

Go on.

He stalled his engine and had to get out of his car to start it. Thus he saw Talley admitted to the house, and had a glimpse of the man who admitted him. Out of a number of photographs handed him he picked out one which he is ready to swear is that of the man who admitted Talley.

He could have got but the briefest of glances.

But it is of a striking-looking man, your Honor.

What next?

Pen said slowly: "Talley was never seen alive after that."

What! exclaimed Judge Stockman, "you charge a second murder! ... Go on."

For many days we could get no further, Pen said. "Finally one of Talley's friends volunteered to break into that house to look for evidence."

But this is burglary!

The witness, known as Babe Riordan, is prepared to waive immunity when he goes on the stand. If a charge is laid against him he will stand his trial.

Did he find anything in the house?

He found the square, cut-glass whiskey bottle on the sideboard. It had been emptied, but we took it to a chemist, our next witness, who is prepared to testify that it contained well defined traces of cyanide.

His Honor frowned. "Dubious evidence!" he said. "Even suppose a jury were inclined to believe the chemist, how would they know but that the last witness, a self-confessed burglar, remember, did not put the poison in the bottle himself?"

There is more evidence, said Pen. "It appears that according to the law a druggist may not sell such poisons without a doctor's prescription. A search was conducted through the various drug-stores in the neighborhood, and several prescriptions for cyanide traced back. One was traced to the man who occupies that house on Thirty-Ninth street."

The man identified by the second taxi-driver as he who admitted Talley to the house?

Yes, sir.

Ah then, you're getting closer to it. Who is this man?

Pen hesitated. "Mr. Corveth told me that his name should not be mentioned at this trial."

His Honor looked a little nonplussed. "... Er ... well perhaps not ... perhaps not! Have you more evidence against him?"

We can show that three days before the murder he drew ten thousand dollars in cash from the bank.

Ah, the price named by the first witness. But what good will that do you if it is your contention that he murdered his tool instead of paying him?

Because we can show that the day after the murder he re-deposited the amount in another bank.

Ah! Anything else?

Our next task of course was to try to prove what had become of Talley's body. This took us many more days.

You engaged detectives to help you?

No, sir. I hadn't money enough. But all of Spike Talley's friends helped me. They proved themselves as good detectives as professionals.

But they are only making out their friend to be a murderer!

They seem not to mind that. According to their code he was simply doing his job. Instead of getting his pay for it he was murdered. They wish to avenge him by helping to convict his murderer. I might say that if it was not for me they would probably choose a more direct way of avenging him, but I have persuaded them that it would be a much more terrible punishment to bring the murderer into court.

His Honor wagged his head. "You have been keeping strange company, young lady!"

I had no choice, sir.

I suppose you know that these gunmen, gangsters, burglars and so on are not very credible witnesses.

They are not my principal witnesses, sir. I rely chiefly on Mr. Slaughter, the different professional men, the servants, the second taxi-driver, all of whom are obviously disinterested.

Where did you get so much information about what constitutes evidence and so on.

We had legal advice, sir. Not from Mr. Corveth, but from another lawyer, who once defended Spike Talley.

Go on.

We had the house on Thirty-Ninth street searched from top to bottom without discovering any clues as to what became of the body. It was not until we went to Mr. ... to the rich man's country place, that we began to make progress. We learned there, that two days after the murder, that was Sunday, the owner brought a barrel up from the city in the back of his automobile. He informed his servants that it contained a new poison with which he intended to spray his fruit trees—I should explain that he is an extensive raiser of fruit, and under his supervision the barrel was put in a little shed in one of the orchards where the spraying apparatus, the poisons and so on were kept.

Can't you establish a connection between the barrel and the house on Thirty-Ninth street?

To a certain extent, yes. When we learned of the barrel some of us went back to the Thirty-Ninth street neighborhood to investigate. We have a grocer who will testify that he sold such an empty barrel to the man in question, who was particular to see that he got a perfectly fitting head to the barrel. He told the grocer he wanted to ship some china up to his country place. He carried the barrel away in his car.

Did the grocer know the man who bought the barrel?

No, sir. But he can identify the man. And describe the car.

Well, assuming that the barrel contained a body when it arrived at the country place, what became of it after that?

We have one of the rich man's laborers to testify to that. On the following day, Monday, this man was ordered to assist his master in one of the orchards. The day is fixed in the man's mind because it was Decoration Day and he was disappointed of getting a holiday. I should tell you that the rich man personally supervised his orchards and often worked in them himself, so that his actions on this day excited no particular remark among his servants. He ordered the laborer to gather up all the piles of twigs and branches which had been pruned in that particular orchard during the winter, and make one great pile to be burned. He pointed out a spot of waste ground at a little distance from the trees where the fire was to be made. He then went away. He returned to the orchard when the work was done. He then had a small can of coal oil. His laborer ventured to remonstrate with him on the danger of making so great a fire, but his master curtly replied that he knew what he was about. He sent the laborer on an errand to a distant part of the estate, saying that he would remain to watch the fire. The laborer after his rebuke, with a natural hope perhaps that the fire would get beyond his master, concealed himself behind some shrubbery at a little distance and watched.

He saw his master go to the spraying house, bring out the barrel (he will testify that there was no other barrel of that sort in the house) and roll it down the orchard to the great heap of branches. He saw him place it in the center of the pile, pour coal oil all around, and set it afire. When the flames sprang up, the master began to look about him suspiciously, and the laborer fearing discovery, hastened away and saw no more. He told what he had seen to his mates, but it does not appear that any of them suspected that a crime had occurred. All their master's actions appeared to them so arbitrary and eccentric they never tried to explain them. As one of them said, 'You never knew what the boss was going to do next!'

Have you anything more? asked the judge.

Yes, sir. I will be the next witness. I will tell how the laborer took me to the spot where the fire had been, and how I searched it. Several weeks had passed, and the rains had leached out the ashes, but the place had not been disturbed by a rake or cultivator.

How do you know?

In the center where the heat had been greatest there was nothing but washed out ashes, but all around the edge were the unconsumed ends of twigs and branches looking as if they had been arranged in an exact circle with all the charred ends pointing to the center. I searched every square inch of the spot while the laborer watched me.

Where was the master of the place?

Oh, I took care to inform myself beforehand that he was not going to be there at that time.

And you found...?

Some little burned lumps of bone, but it was impossible to say of what. A little lump of gold that might have been a finger ring—Talley wore such a ring, but it had melted into a shapeless lump. A piece of scorched fabric barely recognizable as part of the brim of a man's silk hat. Finally, in a slight depression where water had gathered, part of a jawbone in which six teeth were still fairly intact.

The Judge shook his head frowning. "Scarcely conclusive! Scarcely conclusive!"

There is one more witness, sir, said Pen. "Considerable dental work had been done on the teeth, and the fillings were still intact. One of the teeth it appeared was false, and it had been fastened to its fellows on either side in an ingenious fashion."

Ha!

Talley it appeared was vain of his personal appearance, and employed a first-class dentist. The dentist is prepared to go on the stand and swear from the work on the teeth that this is a part of Talley's jaw.

From memory?

No, sir. He is a modern dentist. He will offer his record in evidence, which includes diagrams of the man's mouth, showing the work he did on it from time to time.

Judge Talley forgetting judicial calm jumped up. "Ha! then you have a case!" he cried. "Eh, Mr. Hackett?"

If it can be proved to the satisfaction of a jury, said the Assistant-District-Attorney sourly.

Judge Stockman paced slowly up and down. "This is extraordinary .... extraordinary!" he murmured. He came to a stand in front of Pen. "Miss Broome, has this man been in court?"

No, sir. But his representatives are always there. I don't doubt but he receives hourly reports of the proceedings.

I think you had better tell me the name of the man you accuse. Not with any idea of injecting it into this case, but simply that precautions may be taken against his escape. The police should be notified.

Pen looked at Corveth, who nodded.

It is Ernest Riever, she said.

The effect on the two men was electrical. Hackett jumped to his feet, and supported himself with a hand on the back of his chair.

Impossible! he cried.

Judge Stockman in his amazement was staring at Pen almost clownishly. "Riever...!" he stammered. "Riever! ... Have you thought of what you are saying!"

A little flame of indignation was lighted in Pen's cheeks. "If he did it, does it make any difference who he is?"

Certainly not! Certainly not! ... But Riever! ... We must be very sure! This would cause the greatest sensation of our time!

Best to proceed very slowly, sir! said Hackett, pale with agitation.

I have nothing to do with it! said Judge Stockman with undisguised relief. "My duty is simply to try Counsell. The rest is up to the District-Attorney."

No motive has been established, said Hackett.

True! True! The Judge turned almost accusingly to Pen. "What possible reason could Riever have had?"

Corveth answered for her. "I take it, it is not necessary to go into Riever's motives in this trial. But we are prepared to show a motive just the same. Do you remember the Riever divorce case three years ago?"

Dimly.

It was a counter-suit. Mrs. Riever won. Riever's case rested principally on a letter that he produced in court. It had been written by Mrs. Riever to some unnamed man. We can show that it had been written to Counsell, and that Riever knew it had.

The judge stared. "Then your contention is that Riever had this inoffensive man Dongan killed merely so that he could get back at Counsell?"

There is more evidence on that point besides what Miss Broome has brought out here. I don't need to point out to you how nearly Riever succeeded in his object.

Good God! exclaimed Judge Stockman,

That would be something new in criminal jurisprudence, sneered Hackett.

But not entirely unprecedented, corrected the breathless judge. "There was the famous Anstey case so often quoted when I was a young lawyer. And of more recent years the cases of the People vs. Reichardt and the People vs. Bowley ... But good God! ... Riever...!"

The little judge seemed to have been brought to a complete stand. He stared ahead of him muttering: "Ernest Riever! ... Good God! ... What a sensation will be caused...!"

Corveth said: "That is all Miss Broome had to tell you, sir."

It brought the judge to himself with a start. "To be sure! To be sure!" he said, and cleared his throat. He looked his age. "I will adjourn court until to-morrow morning. Mr. Hackett, you will get in touch with the police I suppose. If I were you, I would not take more than one man into my confidence, say Inspector Durdan of the detective bureau."

Hackett bowed in acquiescence.

Gentlemen, let us return to the court-room.

Chapter XIV

From the New York Courier, July 27th, 192—

At 3.40 this afternoon Ernest Riever was found dead in a house he occasionally occupied at — East 39th street, this city. He had shot himself through the head.

The sensational developments in the Counsell case during the past two days were brought to a still more sensational conclusion this afternoon when Ernest Riever was discovered to have killed himself. Ever since yesterday morning it has been an open secret around town that Riever was the unnamed millionaire so often referred to in the new evidence brought forward in Counsell's defense. It now appears that Riever has been under the surveillance of the police for three days, and this afternoon detective officers were sent to the above address to arrest him. Their ringing at the door elicited no response, and as the men who had been detailed to trail Riever insisted that he was in the house, an entrance was forced.

Mr. Riever was discovered lying in his dining-room with an automatic pistol in his hand. There was nobody else in the house. He had held the pistol under his chin pointing upward. There was smoke in the room, and the body was warm, indicating that the deed was done as the officers rang the bell. Death was instantaneous. So ends one of the strangest stories that has ever come to light in our courts.

Mr. Riever's self-inflicted death renders the acquittal of Counsell merely a matter of form. It is said that the District-Attorney will now make no effort to refute the testimony tending to show that Collis Dongan was shot by an agent acting under Riever's instructions. The jury is expected to bring in a verdict without leaving their seats.

Chapter XV

Don't drive so fast Don! It makes my hair rise the way you take these curves!

I'll try to remember ... Lord! but it's good to have an accelerator under your big toe again! ... This lil' ole bus is about all I own, Pen!

You'll soon get a fresh start, now ... You're driving just as fast as ever!

Sorry! I feel as if that mob was still behind us. Wasn't it ghastly!

But they were friendly!

Oh, friendly! Three days ago they would just as lief have strung me up to a lamp-post. I could feel it in the court-room.

Well, don't you suppose it was a feeling that they had been unjust to you that made them cheer so to-day when you appeared?

I hope so. I don't trust mobs ... Lord! when I came out and saw them massed in the street from curb to curb ... thousands! ... I could feel myself turning pea-green! I had no idea I had become so famous.

They have been reading about nothing else for days.

What a lot of idle people there must be!

I don't think it's idleness altogether. But nothing ever happens to them. They only live in the newspapers.

A good many cars followed us out of town. When they saw which way we were heading I suppose they'll wire the news, and cheering crowds will be waiting for us...

Oh, Don!

I'll fool 'em! I'll circle around outside Philadelphia and all the big towns.

It's horribly immoral our running off together in a car.

Oh, what do morals matter after what we've been through together! ... We couldn't get married in New York with that mob at our heels. We can get hitched up wherever we happen to stop I suppose.

You take it coolly!

I take it as a matter of course ... Shouldn't I?

I don't want to be rushed into it!

Pen! ... Have you any doubts of me?

No! How can you say such a thing!

Then what is it? ... What brings the tears to your eyes, dearest?

Nothing! ... Only I want to be quiet when I am married! ... I want to be quiet! ... Things are still roaring about me!

Would you like me to take you home first?

No! I don't want you to leave me!

Look out! You'll have us in the ditch! ... What is it, dearest? It's immoral our going away together. But you don't want to marry me yet. But I mustn't leave you either!

Oh, don't expect me to talk reasonably! ... I don't want to talk ... Marry me whenever you like, but don't talk about it ... I just want to be quiet ... with you!

Suits me! I'll bring you to quiet. I know a little place in the Virginia foothills ... Oh, my Pen! ... Look behind us!

Why?

Is there anybody in sight?

No!

I'm going to stop for a moment. Do you realize I haven't kissed you yet?

THE END

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