Broughton lifted the limp form of the fainting woman to a couch while Edith Wolcott brought cold water and sprinkled her face. In a few minutes she showed signs of returning consciousness, and leaving Edith to chafe her hands, Broughton drew Lyon out into the hall.
Is that straight about Vanderburg being dead? Can you prove it? he asked anxiously.
Of course. He was killed in a railway accident in Ohio three years ago. I was with him, and I am sure I still have among my old papers the pocket memorandum book which I took from his pocket. It gave me his name, and a few minutes before he died he recovered consciousness enough to confirm it.
Was this before or after my marriage, do you happen to remember?
About six weeks after. As a newspaper man, I knew the circumstances of the case, and therefore was interested in meeting Vanderburg. Of course I knew nothing further.
Broughton walked back and forth with nervous steps.
We will be married again, at once, and very privately, he said, in an unsteady voice. "That will satisfy her mind. What an amazing tangle it has been. And what luck--what amazing luck--that I should have come across you, the one man who could give that essential information about Vanderburg's death. Without that, where would we be, even with Fullerton dead?--We would not dare to take chances."
He wrung Lyon's hand with a grip that hurt.
Edith Wolcott came to the door. "Will you go in now?" she said. "She is conscious and anxious to see you."
Broughton went in, and Edith Wolcott, with a warning finger on her lip, drew Lyon across the hall into the little sitting room where they had talked earlier in the evening.
They are happy, she said, with a catch in her voice. "All has come out well for them. But if she stays in Waynscott, will she not be called as a witness? And if she tells that story of Arthur's anger with Fullerton will it not go against him on the trial?"
It is already known that there was bitterness between the two men, said Lyon thoughtfully. "She would add no new element to the evidence against him by confirming that, though Howell may think it best to whisk her away. But I want to consult him about that, first. And if she is to be secreted, it will involve something more than merely taking a train at the union Station."
Then that other matter, said Miss Wolcott, hesitatingly. "She saw me in the hall at the Wellington that evening. You know I told you that I went to him with a wild idea that I might make him give up my letters, and that I failed. It was that same evening. I gave up my purpose because I saw him come out with a lady. She was veiled and I did not recognize Mrs. Broughton, but she recognized me. And Bede trapped her into admitting it yesterday. How he got any suspicion of my visit, I can't guess. But he did."
Lyon nodded. This he already knew, but he felt there was much he did not know.
So if she is called to the witness stand, that will come out. She looked at him with troubled eyes. "You can't imagine how I dread the idea of having my name connected with it in any way. I would rather die! Do you think they will make me tell publicly all that I told you? Isn't there any way for me to escape? When I think of the newspapers,--the gossip,--" She clenched her hands in desperation. "And if it would do Arthur any good, either! But it wouldn't. If anything, it would hurt him, I suppose." She looked at him wistfully.
Lyon considered rapidly and resolved to hazard a question which might prove a very boomerang if the answer was not what he hoped it would be.
Miss Wolcott, you remember that Lawrence called on you that Sunday before the tragedy?
She looked startled. "Yes."
Did he forget his cane here when he left?
No.
You are sure?
Oh, yes, quite sure. I should have seen it the next day.
And you have not seen it at all?
No.
Would you have noticed it, without fail? Your grandfather has quite a collection of canes, I have noticed.
Yes; but I would have seen Arthur's if he had left it.
You know it, then?
Yes. I remember we spoke of it particularly that evening when he first came. I made some teasing remark about it being dandified to carry a cane, and he retorted that he carried it for protection. He said, I remember, that a gold headed cane was quite as effective as a sandbag, and more elegant. He advised me to carry one of Dandy's canes if I ever had occasion to go out alone in the evening.
He said that? Just that?
Yes. We were just talking nonsense, you know. It was when he first came.
Lyon felt both relieved and disappointed. At least he could assure Lawrence that Miss Wolcott denied all knowledge of the cane. That would be something. Yet if Lawrence was as positive as he seemed to be about having left it here, would her denial have any weight? Lawrence could not doubt his own knowledge of facts. Might it be possible that Mr. Wolcott had carried the cane away somewhere?
As though in answer to his unspoken thought, the old gentleman, in a flapping dressing gown, with a lighted candle in his hand and a highly disapproving look on his face appeared at that moment at the door.
I thought I heard voices, but I couldn't quite believe my ears, he said, with a frowning glance. "Do you know what time it is, young man?"
Time that I were going, I know, said Lyon briskly. "It must be well on toward twelve."
Well on toward two in the morning, protested Mr. Wolcott.
You don't really mean it! I certainly have lost count of the time. I'm going this minute. Forgive me for keeping you up in this unconscionable way. Miss Wolcott. And good night.
He pressed her hand encouragingly, and went out to the hall where he had hung his hat and coat. Fortunately the door to the library was tight closed, as his first glance had assured him. He should have to leave it to Miss Wolcott to see that Broughton had a chance to slip out later.
As he was about to let himself out, his ruling passion reasserted itself. Blandly he looked the old gentleman in the eye. "I believe I'll ask you to lend me a cane, since it's so late," he said.
Surely, surely. Take this one, cried the flattered old gentleman. "Or perhaps you would like this better? It is heavier."
I don't want to take one that you are accustomed to carrying yourself, if you have an odd one around you don't use. By the way, didn't you say that my friend Lawrence left a cane here once? I might take that, as he is not likely to call for it immediately.
Lawrence? No, he never left a cane here. These are all mine. Here, take this one. You'll find it light and tough.
Thank you, said Lyon, taking it perforce. "I thought someone spoke of a cane belonging to Lawrence,--"
He never left it here, said the old gentleman definitely, and Lyon had to let himself out of the house without further satisfaction. He crossed the yard to Broughton's house, let himself in, and while he waited for his romantic landlord to escape, like a concealed Romeo, from his lady's bower, he mentally reviewed the situation.
Mrs. Broughton had cleared up her own connection with Fullerton. Whatever of mystery there had been in her movements, and whatever of rashness, it touched her personal history only. She had not killed Fullerton, nor had she witnessed his murder. The fleeing woman whom he had seen on the fatal night was not she. He had been entirely wrong in his suspicion, and his pursuit of that clue had done no good except to assist in bringing Broughton and his wife together. That was a good thing in itself, but it would not affect Lawrence's case.
Was it then possible that Lawrence had been right in his first suspicion that the fleeing woman was Edith Wolcott? She had told her story so clearly and with so much apparent frankness that Lyon found it very hard to believe she could really be concealing so vital a point in her account of that evening. However, whether innocent or guilty, her whole connection with the affair and her relation to the two principals was bound to come out, now that Bede had got on her trail. That was bad. The publicity of such a trial would be as bitter as death to such a woman. It was the very thing Lawrence had risked everything to avoid.
And Lawrence himself? His case looked darker than ever to his brooding friend. Unless he could explain away the evidence of the broken cane, the implication was against him. Apparently he could not explain that away. He had certainly implied to Lyon that the cane had been left at Miss Wolcott's, and that this was the reason he could say nothing on the subject. But since Miss Wolcott, who certainly was interested in his acquittal, and her grandfather, who certainly was innocent of all complicity, both were positive he had not left it there, what could one think? Lyon felt utterly and completely at sea.
His brooding was cut short by the entrance of Broughton.
I had to wait until the old gentleman had gone back upstairs and the house was quiet, he said, as he lit a cigar. His face was glowing, and he looked twenty years younger than the "Olden" who had spoken with Lyon in that room two nights before. "Then Grace let me out. Miss Wolcott had left the door unbolted. Grace is bearing up wonderfully. I say, isn't she a wonderful woman?"
Miss Wolcott? asked Lyon perversely.
I meant Grace. But Miss Wolcott is all right. She has stood by her like a trump. I won't soon forget that. Well, it has been pretty hard on all of us, but it is all right now.
How about Lawrence? asked Lyon.
Lawrence? Oh, Lawrence! Well, of course I don't know anything about Lawrence, said Broughton somewhat vaguely.
Lyon smothered a groan with a laugh.
Well, your happiness does not make Lawrence's case any worse, so far as that goes. And Mrs. Broughton's testimony--
I hope she will not be called on to testify in this case. It would be very unpleasant--
Undoubtedly. But Bede will have her subp?naed if he thinks she can help his side. And before you smuggle her away, I must lay the matter before Howell. You know Howell has been waiting days and days for a chance to see Mrs. Broughton himself. Bede didn't wait.
Broughton looked as though the idea were distasteful, but he was too manly a man to shirk an issue.
All right, he said. "You may give Howell the situation to-morrow."
To-day, said Lyon, pulling out his watch. "What will this day bring forth?"
He was soon to find out. Fate had been dodging behind covers for a long time. Now she was ready to come out into the open.
Although it was nearly three before Lyon went to sleep, he awoke the next morning earlier than usual and lay for some time figuring on the problem that possessed his mind before he thought of such a thing as dressing. He must see Howell and acquaint him with the strange developments of the night before as soon as possible, but Howell was old-fashioned, and he kept no telephone at his residence, for the express purpose of warding off the intrusion of business matters upon his hours at home. It was useless, therefore, to try to communicate with him before he reached his office, which would be at ten precisely.
While Lyon lay speculating on the situation, his eye fell upon the knotted handkerchief containing the booty which he had brought away from his raid upon Fullerton's room last night. The pressing incidents that had followed had put it for the time completely out of his mind. He sprang from the bed to examine it.
It was a curious record of a curious form of villainy that the little package revealed. The notes were all from women, who, by fault or fortune, had given him some hold upon their fears. Evidently the phase of Fullerton's nature revealed by the decadent literature and pictures in his room had had dark and complex ramifications in his career. The rule of terror which he had held over Edith Wolcott and Mrs. Broughton was, it would seem, only an instance of the methods by which, for the sake of money or malice or for pure delight in deviltry, he had made himself master of the secret history of women, and had used his knowledge to keep them trembling under his lash.
Lyon soon found to his relief that it was not necessary for him to read the whole of a letter to classify it, and he conscientiously averted his eyes from the signatures. What an oppression must have lifted from the face of nature when this man was dead! The man must have possessed the fascination and the venom of a cobra. Lyon used up a box of matches burning the telltale notes over his ash-receiver, and felt that if he should have failed in everything else, it would have been worth all to save this package of pitiful secrets from the cold official eye of Bede.
Two letters only he saved from the cleansing flame. They were from William Vanderburg and contained the information which had enabled Fullerton to terrorize Mrs. Broughton. These he kept to turn over to Broughton, and with them he placed the old note-book of Vanderburg's which he had taken from the pocket of the dying man. It was a curious fact that the two tangled threads of that story should have come into his hands and that chance should have brought his path and Mrs. Broughton's again together.
On his way downstairs, an impulse not wholly devoid of mischief sent him to the 'phone. If it was too early to talk to Howell, he could at any rate get Bede on the line,--and he did.
Hello, Mr. Bede, he said, respectfully, "This is Lyon, of the News. Any new developments in the Lawrence case?"
I think I'd better ask you that question, said Bede, somewhat drily.
Oh, I mean authentic information, not newspaper imagination, protested Lyon.
I'd like to know, Mr. Lyon, just how much of your innocence is authentic and how much is newspaper imagination.
Oh, come, you're making fun of me. Really, haven't you any news items to give me?
Not a scrap. You are very well able to help yourself to what you want, young man. And Bede suspended the receiver and the conversation.
That cheered Lyon a little, but as he came out into the streets his footsteps lagged. His imagination had achieved little good in the present case. It had simply led him wandering far afield. He had imagined that the woman who fled from the scene of Fullerton's murder might be Mrs. Broughton instead of Miss Wolcott. It was not Mrs. Broughton,--and now Bede knew all about Mrs. Broughton's share in the evening's events. Whether it was Miss Wolcott or not seemed as debatable as at first. Lawrence undoubtedly believed it was. Whether Bede believed it or not, he certainly had unearthed the facts that she had visited the Wellington to see Fullerton earlier in the evening, and that she had been at the drug-store on Hemlock Avenue a few minutes before the time when Fullerton must have been struck down by Lawrence's cane. The cards were therefore practically all in his hands, and the defence could only hope to do what he might graciously permit. It was maddening.
That fatal cane! It was the one bit of evidence more than circumstantial. It must be explained.
In his dejection Lyon had walked along Hemlock Avenue to Sherman Street. The empty lot where the cane had been discovered was on his left, and he crossed the street and stopped to look down into the trampled hollow. That cursed cane! How was it possible that it had come here unless by Lawrence's hand? He scowled at the spot, with gloom on his brow and perplexity in his mind, till someone stopped beside him, and an eager old voice asked,
What is happening? Anything?
It was old Mr. Wolcott, eager-eyed and interested as ever. He tried to discover what it was that was attracting Lyon's attention, with a lively curiosity that made Lyon laugh, even in his depression.
I was looking for an inspiration, he said, "but I can't see one. I'm afraid it's hopeless."
Sometimes you see queer things when you don't expect to, the old gentleman said, cheerfully. "Once I saw a dog-fight down in that hollow."
Did you? responded Lyon, looking at his watch. "I must be going on. I've been killing time till I could see a man down town."
It was a lively fight. There is a Boston terrier up in our neighborhood that is a fighter. I don't like fighting dogs myself,--and this one is a terror. He is always pitching on to some poor little fellow that isn't big enough to stand up to him, and doesn't have a chance to run. I broke my cane over him.
Indeed? murmured Lyon, with polite indifference. Then the echo of the words rang through the silence of his mind,--louder and louder, until he pulled up with a start, as though some one had been calling to him for a long time and he had just become conscious of it. "You broke your cane over him?" he repeated, and it seemed to him that everything about him suddenly stood still till he should get the answer. "Was that here,--in this hollow?"
Yes. He's a big brute of a dog, and he had the little fellow by the throat--
Yes, yes. What did you do with the pieces?
The pieces of the cane?
Yes. What did you do with them?
The old man laughed somewhat slyly. "Edith doesn't like to hear about things like that. She thinks that I am too old to go in and straighten out a dog-fight. I don't tell her when anything of that sort happens."
I see, said Lyon eagerly. "So you hid the pieces?"
The old man nodded cannily. "She'd never miss the cane. I have a lot of other walking sticks. But if she saw the broken pieces, she'd get the whole story out of me."
Where did you hide them?
Oh, I put them out of sight, all right.
But where, man, where? Show me the place.
But I don't want them, protested Mr. Wolcott. "It was an old cane, anyhow. I didn't mind breaking it."
I just wanted to see if you had found a good hiding place. Do you suppose the pieces are still there?
They aren't any good.
No, but let's look and see, anyhow. Was it hereabouts?
Just under the sidewalk here. There's a hole under the sidewalk that you see when you are down in the hollow.
Come down and show me. Here, I'll help you down, and Miss Edith won't guess where you have been.
The old man chuckled. This added a thrill to the affair, and with some difficulty and hard breathing he climbed down into the low-lying lot and made his way over the snow-covered hummocks of last summer's weeds to the place which was more familiar to Lyon than it was to him.
Right in there, he said, pointing to the famous spot where Lawrence's cane had been found. "Perhaps they are there now. I poked them quite far in. But I can't see anything in there."
You remember the place? You are sure it was right there?
There isn't any other place where I could poke them in, is there?
No, I don't see that there is. Now, can you remember when it was that you put them in there? Was there anything that would fix the date in your mind?
You remember that day you came to the house to see Edith,--the first time you came?
Yes.
Well, it was the last time I had been out for a walk before that. Not that day. It was on a Monday, because I remember that I didn't go out Sunday because it stormed. Monday I went, and that was when I saw the dogs fighting.
What sort of a cane was it? asked Lyon, as he helped the old gentleman to recover the upper levels of the street.
Oh, it wasn't a cane I cared for specially. It was just an old one.
But what was it like? Did it have a heavy knob or a little one? Can you describe it?
It had a pretty heavy knob. But the wood broke off right at my hand when I beat the dog off. It wasn't a very stout cane. I got it in New Orleans in 1842.
I have noticed that you have a good collection of canes. I'd like to look at them, if you have time.
The old gentleman blossomed into a pathetic vivacity under this unexpected interest in his affairs.
Oh, they are nothing to speak of. Not more than eight or nine. When I was younger, I was something of a dandy, and I liked to have whatever was going in that sort of thing. There weren't many that could show a better style in little things than I could. But nobody thinks an old man like me counts. No one cares for what I have.
I should very much like to see your canes, said Lyon. "I have been interested in canes lately. I can think of nothing that would please me more than an opportunity to examine your collection. May I go home with you now and see them?"
I shall have great pleasure in showing them to you, Mr. Wolcott answered, with dignified courtesy, turning homeward at once. "Though I fear that my modest collection is hardly worthy the attention of a connoisseur."
I can hardly claim to be a connoisseur, protested Lyon in the same vein. "I merely have a personal interest and curiosity which I may say amounts to a passion. Now, I suppose you can tell me where you got each and every cane you own."
Certainly I can. Edith says that I am forgetful, but remember the things that happened a few years back well enough. I can tell you just where each one came from. Here we are. Come in, sir, come in. I am glad to have you here as my guest. I don't have so many visitors.
Miss Wolcott, hearing her grandfather enter, had come into the hall to look after him, and she was evidently surprised to see his companion. Her surprise could hardly equal that of Lyon, however, at the change which a day had made in her appearance. Instead of the somewhat severe and marvellously self-controlled woman whom he had seen before, he saw a radiant girl, tremulous and eager. The statue had been touched with life. She came forward with a questioning look.
Has anything new come up? Did you wish to see me? she asked under her breath.
Not yet, he answered, in the same tone, but she read something in his eye that made her watch him.
But the old gentleman did not like this disregard of his prior and exclusive claims as the host.
Mr. Lyon came to see me, Edith. Sit down, Mr. Lyon. My canes are right here in the hall. I have never made anything like a collection, and I am afraid you will be disappointed, but this one was my father's. I've always kept that as a souvenir, but I never carried it myself. It was cracked when I got it, and I was afraid of breaking it. This thin little cane was one I carried as a young man. The dandies carried them for dress canes when they went beauing the young ladies in those days. I could tell tales--! You wouldn't suspect it, Edith, but your grandfather was quite a lady-killer in his day.
This stout stick is the one that you usually carry, I see, said Lyon. He had run his eye over the entire lot when they were first laid before him, and the hope he had cherished that a cane resembling the one that Lawrence had carried might be found here had swiftly vanished. There was nothing like it. Still, even without that final link his discovery was so nearly perfect that he could hardly in reason ask for more. He rose, eager to get to Howell with his news. Edith, watchful of his face, guessed that there was something more in his inquiry than appeared upon the surface.
Dandy has another cane upstairs, if you want to know about his entire collection, she said.
No, I haven't, Edith.
Oh, yes, you have. Dandy. It's in your room, behind the door. That cane with the heavy top that you got in New Orleans in 1842.
The old gentleman chuckled, and essayed an elaborate wink at Lyon.
Oh, it's upstairs, is it?
Yes, I put it there yesterday. I came across it in the back hall. I think Eliza had kept it up there to straighten the pictures with.
You are talking nonsense, Edith, her grandfather interrupted, impatiently. "I know where that cane is. It got broken and I threw it away. It was an old cane, anyhow,--not worth making a fuss over."
I wonder if you could find it, Lyon said to the girl, in a swift aside. She ran at once upstairs, and in a few moments returned, a little breathless, but successful. She was carrying a heavy-headed cane which in general appearance was very like the broken cane which had figured in the trial. Lyon's eyes sparkled when he saw it. His idea that Lawrence had forgotten his cane here in the hall, and that the old gentleman, whose eyesight was confessedly so bad that he could not read the newspapers, had picked it out of the hall rack by mistake for one of his own, seemed now conclusively proved. And after all his work, that the actual discovery of the fact should come so by accident and casually!
Is this your New Orleans cane,--the one you told me about? he asked.
The old gentleman was examining it with a puzzled look and growing perplexity. "I don't understand it," he murmured. "I guess I must be getting old. I ought to be dead."
Nonsense. The explanation is very simple, and I think I can tell you what It is. But first, is this your New Orleans cane?
It certainly seems to be.
Would you swear to it?
But what was that other cane?
Let us settle this first. Would you swear to this one,--that it is your own, and that this is the cane that you thought you had with you when you broke your stick across those fighting dogs? You may be asked in court to testify to that point, Mr. Wolcott. Can you swear that this stick is actually the one that you thought you had broken?
Why, of course it is. I know my own stick. But I don't understand--
It is very simple. Lawrence left his cane here one evening, and the next morning, when you went for your walk, you took it in mistake for your own. It was just about the size and weight of this one, and you would not be likely to notice the difference since it was not the cane you commonly carried. You broke the cane, and put the pieces under the edge of the sidewalk. They were found there immediately after Fullerton's murder, and as Lawrence's name was engraved around the knob, they seemed to connect him circumstantially with the murder. It has been the one point we could not get around.
But didn't he remember that he had left it here? I can't understand why that did not occur to him, Miss Wolcott exclaimed.
Can't you imagine why he would not allow himself to remember? Lyon asked, bluntly.
No. I don't understand you. Allow himself to remember? Why not? If it was merely a question of where he had left his cane, it would not have been a serious matter to answer, would it?
But suppose he, too, thought, as all the rest of us did, that the cane had been the instrument of Fullerton's death?
But it was not!
No, but it seemed so. And with that seeming fact before him, he could not defend himself by saying he had left it here without throwing the same suspicion upon someone in this house.
But he could not entertain so absurd a suspicion!
It was far from absurd. Do you remember you told me that he had said that a good stout cane was better than a policeman's whistle, and that he advised you to carry one of your grandfather's sticks if you had to go out at night?
Yes, I remember very well. Of course it was all in jest. We were not talking seriously then.
I suspect he thought afterwards that you might have taken his suggestion seriously.
What do you mean?
He has absolutely refused to give any hint of where he had lost his cane. Of course he had not forgotten. But there was in his mind the possibility that you had, under some necessity, acted upon his suggestion, and had taken his cane with you when you went out that night,-- He had been talking rapidly, following out his own line of reasoning, and forgetting for the moment that the implication it contained must be startling to her, till he was pulled up by the look of horror and amazement that had gathered on her face.
What are you saying? she cried. "Good heavens, what do you mean? You haven't been thinking that I--I killed Mr. Fullerton with Arthur's cane?"
I haven't, said Lyon, simply. "I haven't from the first. But it was very natural that, knowing what he knew and not knowing what he didn't, Lawrence should have felt that to clear himself would be to implicate you."
Her horror was too deep for words. She only stared at him, with that fixed look of dismay.
Of course, added Lyon, "now that we can explain the cane away, he will probably speak out."
Was that why he was so anxious I should say nothing?--because he thought I--oh, it is not to be believed!
But consider, Miss Wolcott! It seemed very clear. He knew he had left his cane here, he of course remembered the talk you had had about it as a weapon of defense, he knew that you were out of the house that evening, because he called to see you at a quarter of nine and you were not in. He knew, also, that you had reason to hate Fullerton, he knew that a woman was with Fullerton when he was killed and that when she fled from the spot she came to this house--
She interrupted him with a cry. "No, no! How can he think that? It is not true! I did go to the Wellington as I told you, meaning to see him and try to appeal to his better nature, if he had one, for the return of my letters, but gave up my plan when I found I could not see him alone. But I saw nothing of him after he left the Wellington with Mrs. Broughton."
That was early in the evening,--before eight. Did you come straight home?
Yes.
But when Lawrence called at a quarter before nine,--
I had shut myself up in my room with a headache, and told Eliza to deny me to any caller.
Then did you go out again, later?
She looked surprised. "Yes. I went out to the drugstore afterwards to get something to make me sleep. I was nervous and overwrought, and I wanted to get a quiet night's sleep. Then I came home and went in at the side door and up to my room."
Do you know what time it was?
Yes, my grandfather met me in the hall and was very much excited to find that I had been out alone so late at night. It was a few minutes before ten. I noticed the time particularly, because he was so annoyed about it.
It all seems very simple, now, said Lyon, cheerfully. "Just what Bede may have up his sleeve, of course I don't know. But I think that with the information that you have given me, we can checkmate him very neatly. Now I must see Howell. With this elimination of the fatal cane as an element in the case, I cannot see that there is anything to connect Lawrence directly with the situation. I think we can expect to have him free at once. If we only could really discover the actual murderer, it might be better, but I am hopeful, as things are."
Was that all you wanted to see my canes for? protested Mr. Wolcott, with an air of injury.
Lyon laughed and shook his hand. "I want to add a cane to your collection if you will let me. We'll go and pick it out the day that Lawrence goes free!"
When Lyon left the Wolcotts, he hurried for the car to reach Howell's office as quickly as possible. As he went down Hemlock Avenue he saw a group of Miss Elliott's girls taking their daily constitutional under the supervision of Miss Rose. In orderly ranks, two by two, they crossed the street sedately, and up on the opposite side, and Lyon scrutinized them eagerly to discover if Kittie was among them. There she was, near the center of the procession, her tall, slight figure swinging in the time of the march, but somehow so much more individual and graceful than any of the others! He was so absorbed in watching her as the file came nearer that he did not notice at all the sound of a runaway behind him until a light delivery wagon, with one wheel gone, dashed frantically by, in the direction of the girls. The horse, wild with terror at the ungainly thing which bumped at his heels, swung in toward the sidewalk, and in a moment the girls had broken ranks and were flying, in swift disorder, in all directions. Lyon had instinctively broken into a run as soon as he saw the situation, but if he had any intention of catching the horse and cutting an heroic figure in the eyes of Kittie, the thought was utterly and absolutely forgotten the next instant. Instead, he suddenly stood stock still in the middle of the street, staring at one of the girls who had cut diagonally across the road with the long, easy running gait that he had seen once and only once before. It was the girl who had fled from the scene of Fullerton's murder, and so had swept for an instant across the field of Lyon's vision,--and it was not the frail and delicate invalid, Mrs. Broughton, nor yet the slow and stately Miss Wolcott. This was a young athlete, who ran with a grace, a sureness, that made the sight a joy and unforgettable. It was not until she had turned again and was clinging to his arm for protection that he fully realized what it meant that he should have identified the running girl whom he had so long been searching for with Kittie Tayntor.
Oh, Cousin Percy, wasn't it perfectly beautiful that the horse should run away right here and give you a chance to rescue me like this? I have always wanted to be rescued to see what it would feel like. The girls in the novels almost always faint, but I never faint, so I knew I would always be able to remember afterwards just how it felt. I was so glad when I saw that you were the only man in sight on the street!
Kittie, when we were talking about Mr. Fullerton, why didn't you tell me what you knew about it?
What I knew? About what?
About the--accident.
I don't know what you are talking about.
She looked so plainly bewildered that his heart sank. Could it be, after all, that she really knew nothing. She must know! He took up the filmy clue carefully.
Kittie, one evening not long ago--it was on the Monday before Thanksgiving--I was on Hemlock Avenue opposite Miss Wolcott's, and I saw a girl run across the street, and in at the Wolcotts' side yard. She ran just as you ran a minute ago when that horse startled you. Wasn't that girl you?
Oh, yes! I didn't know what you were talking about. Did you really see me then? How curious! Then that was the first time!
It was a little before ten?
She nodded, her eyes dancing with suppressed mischief, though she drew her lips down like a fair penitent.
Where had you been, Kittie?
To the skating rink on Elm Street.
Alone?
She nodded again, and glanced back at Miss Rose, who was gathering her scattered flock together at a safe distance beyond hearing.
It was this way, she said, hurriedly. "Everybody else had gone home for the vacation on Saturday, and Miss Elliott had made me stay till Tuesday to make up some history. I was just wild about it, missing three whole days. I got thinking what I could do to get even,--it would be a secret satisfaction even if she never knew it. So Monday night I climbed down from my room by way of the window, and got out by the Secret Passage I told you there was, and went to the rink and had a splendid time. I knew Miss Elliott had a friend visiting her, and so she would not be likely to think of me or anything like that. And she didn't. She never knew I wasn't learning the names of the Roman emperors, horrid old things, all the time."
But, Kittie, is that all?
Goodness! Miss Elliott would think it was enough!
But what made you run so? You ran as though you were frightened.
She gave him a startled look and half turned away. She did not answer.
What frightened you? Had you seen anything,--a row, or a fight of any sort?
She shook her head. "I was frightened," she said, "but it isn't worth talking about. Besides, it isn't pleasant. I don't want to talk about it."
But I have a very special reason for asking, Kittie. It isn't just curiosity.
Well, a horrid man frightened me. I suppose he was drunk. But if Miss Elliott knew about that--!
How did he frighten you?
He jumped out at me. It's a kind of dark place on Sherman Street, and I was scurrying along and I didn't see him at all until I was right up to him, and then as I hurried by he suddenly jumped out and caught my arm.
Did you scream?
I shrieked and struck at him--
What with?
Why, I just struck out. But I had my skates in my hand and I guess I hit him, because he let go of my arm. Then I ran as hard as I could.
The physician's testimony at the inquest flashed across Lyon's mind,--"a heavy instrument with a cutting edge." Kitty's skate and not Lawrence's cane! The relief was so great that he almost forgot the necessity of establishing all the links. But Miss Rose was approaching, and he knew he must lose no time.
How was he dressed, Kittie?
Goodness! I didn't stop to see.
But in dark clothes or light? Did he wear a hat?
He had a long loose grey coat, and a hat pulled away down over his eyes. And a silk muffler around his throat was pulled up over his chin. That came off in my hand when I pushed him away. I didn't know I had it until I had run half a block. Then I threw it in the street.
Lyon nodded. "I found it. Now, Kittie, I want you to come and show me the exact spot on Sherman Street where this happened."
Her face was already flushed and her breath coming fast with her recital, but she now looked annoyed at his persistence.
I can't. Miss Rose is waiting for me now. And besides,-- she hesitated to impugn his chivalry by so unworthy a suggestion, but needs must,--"you aren't going to tell?"
Kittie, haven't you any idea who that man was?
She looked shocked at the question. "Of course not!" Then the seriousness of his tone struck her and she began to tremble.
What do you mean?
It was Mr. Fullerton,--I am sure it must have been. But you must come and show me the spot. You know that Mr. Lawrence is in jail under suspicion of having killed him.
Yes. Then, suddenly, she understood. She went very white and her eyes grew large with horror. He feared she would faint, but Kittie was not of the fainting sort. Instead she began talking volubly, in intense nervous excitement.
I don't care, he hadn't any business to jump out of the shadows in that way. He just did it to frighten me, and it made my heart beat so terribly that I didn't know what I was doing. I just struck at him and I didn't think about the skates, and if Miss Elliott hears about it she will simply be hysterical. I'll have to tell her how I got out and that will be breaking my initiation oath and there will simply be nothing terrible enough for her to say. And-- she stopped suddenly as a new horror struck her, and gasped. "Will they put me in jail?"
I think probably not, but we'll have to see Mr. Howell, the lawyer, and let him arrange in regard to all that.
His hesitancy was more terrible than anything she had expected. It struck her dumb.
You never suspected, when you saw the report in the paper the next day, that the man found dead on Sherman Street was the man you had met?
I never saw the papers, said Kittie. "Miss Elliott doesn't allow them to come into the school. And besides I went away early Tuesday morning, you know, and didn't come back till Saturday. I never heard a thing about it."
I see. And when you came back, and became acquainted with Mrs. Broughton, and she spoke of Lawrence and Fullerton, you would naturally never connect that with what had happened to you, especially as you did not know that the man was dead. I see: Now, first of all, I want you to come around and show me the place so as to make sure there is no mistake, and then we'll take the car down town and see Mr. Howell. I'll explain to Miss Rose. Would you like to have her come with you?
She shook her head.
Or any of the girls?
No. They are sillies. I don't want to tell any of them. I'd rather have nobody there but just you. You will take all the responsibility, won't you?
Yes, said Lyon, with an emphasis that she did not altogether understand until somewhat later in the story. "I am going to take the whole responsibility of you from this time on, and you must always tell me when you do anything like--killing people, you know. Someone will always have to explain such things, and I am just as good at explaining as anyone. Promise you will let me--look out for you always."
She looked at him doubtfully. "But--if I have to go right to jail?"
Perhaps that can be avoided. But you must come down with me to Mr. Howell's office and tell him the whole story. That is the first thing. I think he will be able to fix it up so that you won't have to go to jail even for a minute. Wait here for me while I run back to explain to Miss Rose.
Poor Miss Rose was the most bewildered woman in town when Lyon hastily told her that it would be necessary for him to take Miss Tayntor down town for an interview with his lawyer, and that there was not time for her to go back to the school to secure Miss Elliott's permission.
But it would be entirely contrary to the rules to allow one of our pupils to go down town alone with a man, she protested, feebly.
That's too bad, said Lyon, sympathetically. "You just tell Miss Elliott that I was in too much of a hurry to see her and explain, but I will come around and tell her about it afterwards." He hurried back to where poor Kittie, looking much more like a frightened school-girl than like a deep-dyed criminal, awaited him on the corner.
Now come on, he said. "We must have this over as soon as possible and then I'll take you to Sweetzer's and you are to pick out the biggest box of chocolates he can fill while we have time to wait. We'll go down Sherman Street first. Oh, Kittie, Kittie, what a dance you have been leading me for the last two weeks! I have been suspecting everybody but you. Now show me where the man stood."
There, she said, pointing to the exact spot where Fullerton's body had been found.
That, I think, settles everything, said Lyon, cheerfully. "You see, the law is particular, so I had to know exactly. It will be worth a month's salary to see old Howell's face when he hears your story."
He thought he had really placed the estimate too low when he sat watching that amazed gentleman listening to Kittie a few minutes later. That witch, whose terrors of the rigors of the law had been somewhat softened by Percy's manner of receiving her story, rose to the dramatic occasion and told her tale with a vividness and color that held Howell absorbed from the beginning. He let her tell the whole without interruption, and when it was over he turned to Lyon, drawing him aside so that Kittie should not hear.
Perhaps you don't remember, but for several weeks before the murder there were stories of a man who lurked about that district, frightening women and eluding the police. There have been no such reports since Fullerton was killed. That explains the turned overcoat worn inside-out for a disguise, and the black silk muffler you found in the street. A quick change and the respectable, black-coated Fullerton had replaced the skulking vagrant in gray that the police might be inquiring for. I am not a pious man, but it strikes me as more than accident that the hand of an innocent girl should be the instrument, under Providence, to send him to his account. However, that is speculation. Thank heaven I have some facts to deal with, at last.
And I've found the explanation of the cane business, said Lyon. "You can add that to your small but choice assortment of facts."
And he related his encounter with Mr. Wolcott, and the significant facts that had been evolved from that gentle old peace-maker of canine quarrels.
Howell rubbed his glasses, and put them on to look at Lyon, and then took them off to rub them again.
Well! he remarked. "Well, well!" It seemed inadequate, but it was the best he could do with Kittie present.
Then he called in a stenographer, and asked Kittie a number of questions slowly, and the stenographer wrote them down, and also, to Kittie's dismay, wrote her answers. This process seemed to her so uncanny that she could not keep her eyes from the point of the rapid pencil, and even when Mr. Howell bade her look at him and not at the stenographer, she could hardly keep herself from turning nervously to see if that thing was still going. Then she had to wait until it was all written out on the typewriter, and then Mr. Howell read it all over to her and asked her to sign it. It was all very exciting and interesting, and Kittie made good use of it as material for tales afterwards. But when it was over, and the box of chocolates had been duly selected and sampled, Kittie suddenly felt that she had been living up to the character of a reasonable being long enough, and when Lyon suggested that he would go back with her to the school and tell Miss Elliott what they had been doing, Kittie calmly announced that she was never going back there. Never.
But, Kittie, you will have to! That is your home while you are at school.
I shall never go back there.
But why not?
Do you suppose I could ever tell Miss Elliott that I had killed somebody? Why, I'd rather go to jail. Honest.
Where else can you go?
I don't know. But I won't go there. I won't ever go where Miss Elliott can say anything to me until I am as old as she is,--or till I am married, maybe.
But you will have to go somewhere for a day or two, you know. You needn't be afraid. Miss Elliott won't say anything when she understands,--
No, she won't, because I won't give her the chance. I won't be there for her to say anything to.
Kittie, dear,--
It doesn't make any difference what you say. I won't go.
Do you know anyone in Waynscott?
No. But I can go to a hotel.
No, you can't. That's nonsense.
Now you are not being polite. And her lip trembled in a way that warned Lyon she was near the verge of tears. He looked distractedly up and down the street,--for they had been waiting on the corner for the car when this deadlock developed,--and then he had an inspiration.
Will you let me take you to Miss Wolcott's?
She looked at him suspiciously. "You needn't think that if you get me so near the school as that, I will change my mind and go in. Because I won't."
Oh, Kittie, I'm not trying to play any tricks on you! I'd know better than to try! But you must go somewhere, and if you won't go back to Miss Elliott's, I don't know of a better place for you to go than to Miss Wolcott's. She will be glad to see you and to help you, because she is engaged to Arthur Lawrence, and your--your statement to Mr. Howell will set him free, you see, so she will feel under obligations to you on that account. You must have a woman friend to stay with, Kittie. It wouldn't be nice for you to go off anywhere by yourself.
You needn't tell me that, said Kittie, with quick offense. "I guess I know what is proper. All right, I'll go to Miss Wolcott's if I have to. But she needn't think she can lecture me."
Mrs. Broughton is staying with Miss Wolcott, I forgot to tell you. You like her, you know.
Like her! exclaimed Kittie with a swift clearing of her darkened brow. "Why, I'd go to her if she was on the tip-top of the North Pole. She's the only one in all the world I do like." She stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye as she made this sweeping statement.
Lyon made no answer. The subject was too large to discuss.
Lyon would probably have found himself somewhat embarrassed in explaining Kittie and her methods to Miss Wolcott if Mrs. Broughton had not been there. But Mrs. Broughton was there (and so was Mr. Broughton, whose presence at an exceedingly hasty and exceedingly private wedding that morning had been found necessary), and when Kittie saw her she ran to her and clung to her with hidden face, while Lyon told her story to the amazed little group of three.
Poor child, poor child, murmured Mrs. Broughton, softly, touching the defiant little head that was crushed against her sleeve.
Will Mr. Lawrence be released, then, without anything further? asked Edith Wolcott. It was perhaps natural that to her that would be the pivotal point of the situation.
Immediately. Howell is attending to the red tape of it now. It certainly won't take long.
Edith put up her hand to hide her trembling lips. Mrs. Broughton gave her a glance of sympathetic understanding, and then said to Lyon,
And what about this dear little girl? Are there any other formalities,--
Howell will take care of that. There isn't anything to worry about. Her deposition will be laid before the county attorney, but as I understood it, she is not likely to be called on for much of anything else. The Grand Jury would only act on information laid before them, and if the county attorney is satisfied, there won't be any bill brought. In the meantime,--
I won't go back to Miss Elliott's. I won't--ever, Kittie interrupted suddenly.
Lyon glanced hesitatingly at Miss Wolcott, but that young woman was regarding the volcanic schoolgirl with surprise and with no special warmth of emotion.
That's what she says, said Lyon, with a whimsical appeal. "If she persists, I suppose I must write--or someone must--to her uncle in Columbus, and explain why she refuses, and assure him that she is safe with friends until he can arrange for her."
I won't go back to Uncle Joe, said Kittie, sitting up suddenly. "Do you think I could go to them and explain that I had--had killed anybody? Why, they would think I was crazy. They would look at me so. I won't go to anybody that knows me."
Lyon looked distressed. Miss Wolcott looked annoyed and perplexed. Mrs. Broughton looked at her husband,--a long glance, at least three sentences long,--and then she said quietly,
Would you like to come to New York and stay with me for the rest of the winter, Kittie?
Would I? gasped Kittie.
Do you think your uncle and aunt would consent to your coming to pay me a visit?
They'd have to, said Kittie, calmly.
Mrs. Broughton laughed.
We'll see what we can do by way of persuasion first. We'll go by way of Columbus when we go on, and explain our plans. I can't spare my little nurse yet. In fact, I think I must have you come with me for a while to the Metropole, while we have to stay in Waynscott. That may be-- she glanced inquiringly at Lyon--"a few days? Or a week?"
Probably.
Then is that all settled?
Kittie threw her arms around her. "Oh, I'd do anything in the world for you."
Then come over to Miss Elliott's at once, and I will explain everything to her while you pack your trunk.
Kittie looked dismayed. "Oh, I can't,--"
Yes, you can,--with me there. Come, we'll go at once. You'd better come, too. Woods. Miss Elliott has a tremendous respect for your name!
Broughton, who looked curiously like a lion being petted and enjoying the process, turned to Lyon with benign ferocity.
You will have to come to New York, too, Mr. Lyon. I need you in my business.
Lyon unconsciously looked at Kittie before answering.
I am ready to consider any proposition you may make, sir.
All right. We'll talk it over later. But I warn you I shall leave you no possible room for refusing. Yes, Grace, I'm ready.
The Broughtons took Kittie off, bent on smoothing the path for her, and Miss Wolcott turned to Lyon with a sigh of relief.
What a wild, unmanageable child! I should think that after all the trouble that has come from her act she would at least be a little subdued.
Oh, it isn't all trouble, said Lyon, assuming as a matter of course his life-long privilege of being Kittie's defender. "Mr. Broughton came out to Waynscott fully determined to shoot Lawrence at sight. Being in jail probably saved his life,--so you ought to count that to Kittie's credit. And would you ever have known the measure of Lawrence's devotion if he had not had this chance of proving how far he could carry it? Then those letters of yours,--if there hadn't been a mystery about Fullerton's death, I should never have been spurred on to run things down, and if I hadn't those letters might have fallen into who knows whose hands! And Mrs. Broughton's unhappiness,--think of all the trouble and wretchedness those two people are saved through the accident of my being drawn into this Hemlock Avenue mystery! Even Fullerton's death alone would not have cleared the cloud from their lives. It needed the knowledge no one could give them but I,--and I should never have known how much the fact in my possession was needed if I had not met Mrs. Broughton in this curiously intimate way. Indeed, I should probably never have met Mrs. Broughton! Or you! Or Kittie! Or had the friendship of Lawrence. And when you think of each one of us, and how, through this strange tangle, we have all won what we wanted most, don't you think we can say, with Tiny Tim, that all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds?"
He glanced at her, smiling, for confirmation. Her face was so radiant that he thought he had for once in his life succeeded in being eloquent. Then his glance followed her eye to the window, and he realized that she had probably heard nothing of what he had been saying. Lawrence was swinging up Hemlock Avenue at a pace that devoured the distance.
I--er--really, I must go, murmured Lyon, reaching for his hat.
THE END.