  Even though his eyes could not tell the difference between light and darkness, Dr. Stone knew that day had broken. The air had an early morning smell. Reaching out, he felt for the clock from which the glass face had been removed; his sensitive fingers, touching the exposed hands lightly, recorded the time. Five minutes of six. He sat up in bed. He had gone to sleep thinking of Allan Robb, and now, awake, the thought returned. Tomorrow would be Allan’s birthday. Twenty-one years old; the master, in his own right, of a fortune. The doctor chuckled, and wondered just how much of a master Allan would really be—for a while, anyway. For Alec Landry was Allan’s guardian and had lived at the Robb homestead these six years since old Jamie Robb’s death. A straightforward man, Alec Landry, who had obeyed old Jamie’s dying command to “bring up my boy right.” A loud, hearty man, with a love of having his own way and a habit of roaring down any who opposed him. Tomorrow, then, Allan Robb would become master in name; but it would be several years, probably, before the young man got out from under Alec Landry’s hand. A good thing, Dr. Stone thought dryly. Already there were signs of attentions that might turn the head of a young man suddenly independent. Tomorrow there was to be a great party. That was all right—a lad comes of age only once. Bruce Robb had sent up a blooded mare from New York. That was all right, too—Bruce was Allan’s cousin. But all yesterday afternoon cars had come in through the village, traveling fast. Cars that blew imperative horns too obviously. That was the danger to Allen—rich young friends with time on their hands and nothing to do. Ah, well; leave that to Alec Landry. He was a stout man when it came to calling halt. Dr. Stone swung his legs to the floor. Lady arose from where she had slept, stretched her great muscles, and came toward him. “Lady,” the doctor said, “suppose we take to the road. There aren’t many good days left. Once winter comes you and I will be more or less chained to the house.” The deep eyes of the dog clung to his face. Presently, his hand holding the hard handle-grip of Lady’s harness, he listened at Joe Morrow’s bedroom door. His nephew was still asleep. Out on the dirt road Dr. Stone said, “Lady, away,” and they turned north to where Indian summer lingered late in the hills and the valleys were a brown haze. By and by there was wood smoke in the man’s nostrils, and the distant babble of many alien tongues. And, while he wondered about this a woman’s voice, old and weak, quavered at him from the roadside. “Your fortune, kind master, if it’s safe near the beast and you blind. Cross my palm with silver, and——” Gypsies! The doctor laughed and shook his gray, lion head. His left hand held to the harness; his right hand swung a light cane. Abruptly the cane lost contact with a field fence and touched nothing. The man said, “Lady, right,” and passed through a pasture gate onto Allan Robb’s land as unerringly as though he could see the gate itself. And the thought that lay in his mind had to do with the gypsy encampment and how long it would be before Alec Landry discovered the trespass and roared the intruders off. And now, suddenly, the stillness that seemed part of the smoky haze was broken, and the morning was filled with the far-off echoes of a sledge or a pick swung against rock and dirt. The sound, the doctor decided, came from the deep ravine that divided the Robb estate. But when man and dog came to the wooden bridge that spanned the ravine, there was no sound save the gurgle of water running among the sharp rocks far below. “Hello, down there!” Dr. Stone called. Silence! Lady stood rigid and a low growl rumbled in her throat. The man, sharpened by an intangible something, touched the alert ears, and the dog was quiet. A wind sighed through the bare branches of the trees, and all at once there was dust and grit in his face. The grit burned like fire. He put up a quick hand and rubbed hot, harsh particles between his fingers. For a time he stood there motionless, startled; and then, slowly, he moved off the bridge with the dog. An hour later he was back on the dirt road. Horses’ hoofs raced and pounded, and voices shouted and halloed. Lady pulled him out of the way, toward the safety of a hedge, and the young people who had come for Allan’s party thundered past. One pair of hoofs pranced, and one of the riders rode back. “The new mare, Allan?” Dr. Stone asked. “No, sir. Skipper thinks it’s more in keeping not to ride her until tomorrow.” Skipper had always been Allan Robb’s name for his guardian. “Did you run into the gypsies?” The doctor was surprised. “You know they’re there?” “Of course. I think we all know they’re there.” The doctor’s surprise increased. “Alec, too?” “Skipper?” Allan’s laugh rang. “Doctor, I think Skipper’s softening. Of course he knows they’re there—he must. Cousin Bruce, too. You remember Bruce—forever chasing boys out of the orchard when he came on vacation? Last night I saw him talking pleasantly to one of the gypsy men.” “Where was Bruce? At their camp?” “No; down at the ravine bridge.” Spurs touched the horse. “You and Joe will be over this afternoon?” “Nothing could keep me away,” Dr. Stone said quietly. The horse was gone in a crescendo of hoof-beats, and the blind man again stood thinking for a time before moving on. Joe Morrow met him at the house gate. “Allan stopped and said we were to go over, Uncle David. He’s going to show me the mare. And there’s a story in the Herald about Bruce Robb. He’s being sued—.” The boy found the story in the paper. “For eight thousand five hundred dollars.” He spoke the sum in a tone of awe. Dr. Stone whistled soundlessly. How much would a good horse cost today? Five hundred dollars? If a man who couldn’t pay his bills spent five hundred dollars for a birthday present—— “Joe, do you think you could get into that ravine on Allan’s land without being seen?” “I—I think so.” “Somebody was there this morning hiding under the planking of the bridge.” Joe stared. “How did you know?” “Lady warned me. Then, whoever was under there, had a pipe. The hot grains of tobacco blew into my face.” The boy’s heart missed a beat. “You think the gypsies—” The blind man shrugged. “I’d like to know what story the ravine could tell. Give it a look, Joe, and keep out of sight.” Lady, out of her harness, drowsed in a patch of sun, but Dr. Stone sat with a perplexed pucker between his sightless eyes. By and by familiar footsteps came hurriedly along the dirt road, and he arose and went to the porch door. “Somebody’s been messing under the bridge,” Joe reported. “A lot of rock’s been knocked out and a lot of dirt dug away. Does it mean anything, Uncle David?” “Perhaps,” the blind man said, and took the dog’s harness down from a peg. “It’s time we looked in at the party.” Allan Robb’s house was gay with noise and with laughter. Young people seemed to be everywhere—on the porch, on the lawn, back toward the stables. Joe, walking with his uncle and the dog, was conscious of curious glances and voices that flattened out and became silent. And so they went up to the porch to be met by Allan in the great hall. “Glad you came, Doctor. Joe, I’ll show you the mare—” His voice broke off. “Bruce, here’s an old friend.” Joe edged back a step. Bruce Robb, proud and imperious, had often driven him from Allan’s acres, and he was still a little in awe of the man. But the Bruce he met today was morose and restless, and given to a habit of gnawing on a clipped, black mustache. Alec Landry surged down the hall. “Hi, Doctor. A party to be remembered. Well, why not? It isn’t every day a man comes of age.” “Aren’t you a day early?” Dr. Stone asked mildly. “Why wait for the day to arrive. Meet it; greet it; welcome it on the threshold. The old Indian tribes had the right idea.” Joe wondered what Indians had to do with Allan’s birthday. “Symbolism,” Alec Landry roared heartily. “At midnight Allan becomes of age, and immediately he begins to exercise the prerogatives of a man. At a minute past the hour he walks into the library with two witnesses and signs his will. At four tomorrow morning he’ll saddle the mare Bruce gave him and ride it for the first time. Ride it, Doctor, in the dark of the night and on his own land. Ride it through the woodland to the bridge, and over the ravine, and up East Hill. And then, alone on the hilltop, he’ll meet his manhood in the dawn.” “Quite an idea,” the blind man said. And then: “Might I trouble either of you gentlemen for a pipeful of tobacco?” Joe thought they must all hear the breath that rattled in his throat. A man, smoking a pipe, had hidden—. Did his uncle suspect somebody here? His hot eyes watched to see who would bring forth tobacco. “All the pipefuls you want, Doctor,” Alec Landry roared, “and welcome. Bruce and I smoke the same brand. Take your pick of either pouch.” The doctor filled his pipe, and a merry group came through the hall and Alec was swept away. “Skipper’s certainly putting on a show for the golden crown,” Bruce said tartly. The blind face was a tranquil mask. “Aren’t you?” Bruce gave a bitter laugh. “You’ve seen the Herald, I suppose, and you’re wondering about the mare. You’ve never been a half-soled cousin, have you? When you become the poor end of a rich relative you play to keep in his good graces. You heard Skipper mention the will? When Allan dies I’ll inherit wealth. Something to look forward to, isn’t it? And yet, at this minute, I’m as poor—.” He bit off the sentence, and in that instant the noisy gayety from the lawn fell away to a startled murmur and then became a hushed silence. “Probably some more of Skipper’s symbolism,” Bruce Robb jeered. Dr. Stone said, “Lady, out,” and they reached the porch. The silence remained unbroken. “It’s a gypsy woman, Uncle David,” Joe said breathlessly. The woman was painfully old, and gnarled, and advanced toward the porch with the aid of a stout stick of twisted wood. Even in the voluminous folds of her faded, bedraggled, once gayly-colored garments she seemed a fragile framework of bones and of brown, wrinkled flesh. Beads were strung around her scrawny neck; brass rings hung from her ears. And as Joe watched, fascinated, she hobbled slowly up the walk with the slowness of great age. “Where did she come from?” Bruce demanded. “Don’t you know?” Dr. Stone asked mildly. The morose man flared. “Of course not. Why should I?” Joe had the feeling that, in that short dialogue, something had been charged, something denied. Strange premonitions grew and throbbed. And yet his eyes were glued to the old crone, leaning like a bundle of rags on her stick at the foot of the porch. “Your fortunes, kind masters,” she cried in a weak quaver. “It is well to know the future, for a cloud hangs over this house. I see danger where no danger should be, and a bud dying as it blooms.” Joe went cold to his spine. Feet shifted restlessly in the grass, and Alec Landry burst through the crowd. “What’s this vagabond doing here?” he demanded roughly. Bruce gave a thin smile. “A different sort of symbolism, Skipper. Making prophecy. Danger, and death, and doom. Pleasant old hag.” Joe saw the Landry face go red with rage. Pushing past Bruce he went down the steps, burly in his strength, and towered above the bent, shrunken form. “You’re not wanted here,” he said. “Clear out before I call the police.” The bent bundle did not stir. “Do you hear me?” Alec roared. “Go!” Slowly a clawlike hand lifted itself above the parchment face. For seconds she stood there, and in those seconds no one moved or spoke. “The blind man,” she croaked. “Hark to me. The blind man shall see, and the wolf shall find a thorn in the rose.” The hand dropped. Slowly that bundle of rags turned, slowly it tottered on its way, slowly it disappeared among the trees. A shuddering voice said, “Gosh, Allan; that was creepy.” Alec Landry fumed. “Mark me, Doctor, if there’s mischief abroad in this neighborhood it will be the gypsies behind it.” “What mischief, Alec?” “Why—.” Joe was startled to find the man suddenly uneasy. “How should I know?” “How?” the doctor admitted blandly. Pinched lines had formed around the sightless eyes. Lady moved restlessly against his left leg, and Allan strove to rout the depression of the old woman’s visit. “Your fortune, kind masters,” he mimicked; “a roof lies over this house—.” He went off into a gale of laughter. “What a lot of rot! I said I’d show you the mare, Joe. Coming, Doctor?” and the party, recovering its voice and its holiday mood, milled toward the stable-yard. The mare, Joe saw with a thrill of admiration, was superb. A groom had brought her out roaring and plunging. Suddenly she was on her hind legs, pawing the air, whistling and snorting. A girl screamed. The blind man’s ears had etched the picture. “A spirited animal, Bruce.” “Spirited, yes.” “Too much spirit, perhaps.” Bruce shrugged. “Allan wouldn’t thank you for a cream-puff. He knows how to ride—he’s proud of it—he warms to a horse with plenty of fire.” “And yet—.” The cane in the right hand swished gently against a trouser leg. “Even a skilled rider might find it dangerous to ride a strange, fiery horse in the dark.” “Why don’t you tell that to Skipper, Doctor? It’s his show. Anyhow, the mare isn’t a killer. I know horses.” “And gypsies?” the doctor asked softly. Joe was conscious of those strange premonitions twitching at his nerves. Bruce gnawed at his mustache. “I might as well tell you,” he flung out suddenly. “Of course I knew that the gypsies had made camp; I talked to some of them. When you’ve had your own taste of being harried and pressed you shrink from hounding others. The truth is, Doctor, I’ve lost practically all of what money I had a year ago. Skipper had a hot tip on a deal and let me in. It wiped me out.” Joe saw that the right hand no longer swished the cane. The groom took the mare back to the stable, and the crowd went off shouting in search of some new interest. Dr. Stone said, “Lady, house,” and returned to the porch. The house seemed to be momentarily deserted; but suddenly a voice came from one of the rooms off the wide, center hall. “I tell you I can’t—not now. Give me time. A week—two at the most. I’ll make good. I—” The blind man’s feet rang hard against the floor. The voice stopped short, and a receiver snapped back upon a hook. Alec Landry came out into the hall. “Oh! It’s you, Doctor. You’ll pardon me; I have an errand that won’t wait.” Abruptly, on his way to the door, he turned and came back. “What do you think of the mare?” It was Joe who answered. “Isn’t she a beauty?” “A devil. You’ve talked to Bruce, Doctor. What do you make of him?” “Was I supposed to make something?” The man shook his head impatiently. “Allan should not have told him how much he was to inherit. He’s in a black mood and penniless.” “You’re letting Allan ride the mare,” Dr. Stone pointed out. “Yes.” There was a moment of silence. “What else could I do? He believes in himself. Could I risk shaking his courage and turning him into a coward? See you later.” The blind man stood whistling his soundless whistle. Presently he touched the dog. “Lady, outside.” The revelry of Allan’s guests was subdued in the distance. “Are we going home, Uncle David?” Joe asked. “We’re going to the bridge,” said Dr. Stone. Dusk crept out of the sky and darkness gathered in the hollows. They skirted a field of stubble and plunged into woodland, and Joe could feel the hard pumping of his heart. The bridge again! Did his uncle expect to find something there? The murmur of water came to them, and he lengthened his stride and struck out ahead. “Behind me, Joe,” Dr. Stone called sharply. The boy drew back. From the rear he saw his uncle urge Lady forward until both walked at an extraordinary fast pace. The sound of running water was stronger now, clear and distinct in the evening quiet. Fearlessly, without hesitation, the blind man went ahead into the unknown, trusting himself to the guidance of the beast. Lady reached the bridge. And then, in one swift movement, she seemed to half leap and turn. Her powerful body blocked the man’s path, found his legs and pressed him back. “Joe!” There was no change in the serene self-control of the voice. “Yes, Uncle David.” “Give me your hand. Step out upon the bridge—one foot only, one foot lightly. And hold on to my hand with all your strength.” The boy put a trembling foot upon the wooden planking. The next instant, with a strangled cry, he leaped toward the man and, even as he leaped, found himself pulled back violently. “It moved, Uncle David.” “I thought so.” “What does it mean?” “It means murder,” the blind man said grimly. Joe wiped cold sweat from his forehead. Who was to die? Allan? Who planned it? “The gypsies, Uncle David?” “No.” Quietly, without haste, the man filled his pipe. “Remember, they are a clan. The old woman would not have spoken of death if the men of her tribe were concerned in this. Besides, who would hire them for this sort of work and risk paying blackmail all the days of his life? I am concerned with something else. Alec Landry called me to witness their presence should there be mischief. Bruce took pains to explain why he had not driven them off. Both men may have spoken the truth, but it is not likely. One or both of them lied.” Night had fallen. In the darkness Dr. Stone smoked as placidly as though death and horror were not at his elbow. Lady still kept her body between him and the ravine. “Two men,” he said, “one with a fortune to gain, one with a crime to cover. Do they work together, or do they work alone? Is one innocent? If so, which one?” Joe spoke in a whisper. “What crime, Uncle David?” “Embezzlement. You heard that telephone talk of Landry’s? He’s lost heavily in the deal that wrecked Bruce. He’s probably lost money that didn’t belong to him—Allan’s money. Somebody has planned that Allan shall die. Is it the man who would be sure to become wealthy, or the man who might save himself from jail? Who undermined this bridge?” Without haste he knocked the ashes from his pipe. “Come, Joe; we’re going back.” Once clear of the woodland Joe saw the house across the fields brilliant with lights. Sounds of merriment came from inside, and a dozen voices laughed and talked at once. Dr. Stone spoke softly. “What are they doing, Joe? Eating?” “Yes, sir.” “Bruce and Mr. Landry?” “I can’t see them. They’re not at the tab——I see them now. They’re coming this way toward the porch.” “We’ll soon know,” the blind man said calmly. When Bruce and Alec Landry stepped from the house he sat in placid contentment, and the tawny shepherd dog lay at his feet. “Allan’s holding places for you and Joe,” Alec Landry said. The doctor shook his head. “I think I’ll stay here. This is a night when youth has a right to question the presence of gray hairs.” “I’m in no mood for it myself,” Bruce Robb said curtly, and dropped into a chair to the left of Dr. Stone. Landry sat on his right. The blind man stretched his arms lazily, as one does who takes his rest gratefully, and his hands fell on an arm of the chair of the man on either side. “And so Allan rides at dawn,” he said casually. Joe had almost ceased to breathe. “At dawn,” Alec Landry repeated heartily. “By George, there’s a picture. Sir Galahad with the sunrise in his face. Get it, Doctor?” “Plainly, Alec; very plainly. That’s what worries me.” “What worries you?” “The picture. It’s incomplete. First he rides out. So far, so good. But—is he supposed to come back?” For the space of a heart-beat it was as though neither man had heard; then Bruce leaped to his feet. “Dr. Stone, that’s a ghastly thing to say.” “It’s a ghastly business,” the blind man said without emotion. “That mumbling gypsy has addled your brain. You’re mad. I think I can find pleasanter company.” He was gone, and Joe grew conscious of a collar that had become too tight. Would Uncle David let him go, or would Lady be sent to bring him back? A burst of laughter rolled from the festive dining-room. Dr. Stone’s voice, brooding, came out of the darkness. “You were desperate, Alec, weren’t you?” “Desperate?” The word was snapped. “Yes; desperate. The deal that had plunged Bruce to ruin had sucked you down, too. You didn’t know which way to turn. Until Bruce sent up the mare there seemed no escape; but when the mare arrived it opened the doors to salvation. It brought a plan. Let the lad ride out alone. Blame the mare when his body was found—a runaway crash through the bridge. Hadn’t they all seen the mare’s wild prancings? You tried to cover yourself from every angle. You even insinuated that Bruce might have a reason for sending such a horse—you even called her a devil—and whispered of Bruce’s black mood, and his penniless condition, and the will. You tried to work the gypsies into the pattern. If some sharp eye should notice something queer about the way the bridge had collapsed hadn’t there been gypsies encamped nearby? You were too pointed in calling my attention to the gypsies and their possible relation to the future events. That was when I began to suspect you. It was inconceivable that you hadn’t known they were on the land. Never before had you permitted trespass. Why this time? “The answer was simple. It was the will that Allan was to sign at midnight. Without question he was to name you executor. It takes a year to close an estate. With Allan dead the estate, instead of passing out of your charge, would remain in your control for another twelve months. A year in which to save yourself from going to prison as a thief. A year in which to put back the money you used to finance your own personal business deals. How deeply did you dip your hands into Allan’s funds? How much did you lose? How much are you short?” There was a stark, sick silence. Joe pulled at his collar and wet his lips. “Eighty thousand dollars,” Alec Landry said hoarsely. “And you planned to hide it under a murder,” Dr. Stone said in a voice that was flat, and level, and as cold as ice. They were singing in the house. Allan, flushed and happy, came out to the porch. “Skipper, they want you inside. That bass voice of yours is needed.” Joe held to the porch rail and waited for what might come next. Alec Landry did not rise. “Allan,” he said heavily, “when you ride at dawn, don’t go by the bridge. I’ve just had word that it’s in bad shape—the weight of a horse would crash it down. It might be a good idea to run your party over and block the approaches. Some luckless devil might wander out on it.” Presently the young men were gone with lanterns, and lights, and axes to build a barricade; and he who had been great on Allan Robb’s land waited in the house for the just punishment that would come; and a boy, and a dog and a blind man went toward home along the dirt road. “Conscience, Joe,” Dr. Stone said quietly. “You’ll remember, I sat between them. One, or both, were behind the cold-blooded plan. If, out of a clear sky, knowledge of the plot were exploded, there would have to be a reaction. I counted on that. Conscience can steel itself to brazenly meet the expected, but against the unexpected it is unprepared. And so, when I asked if Allan were expected to return from that ride——” “Yes?” Joe Morrow asked breathlessly. “Conscience spoke,” Dr. Stone told him quietly. “Alec Landry’s chair trembled as his guilty soul cowered in fear.” |
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