  “Oh, of course, that settles it” Pinckney was saying to Avice, as he watched for her answering gleam of satisfaction at his words. She had been telling him about the Hemingway letter, and had said he might use it in his newspaper story. Avice was disappointed that the police had not been entirely convinced by the note she found, and while they searched for the unknown Hemingway, they kept strict surveillance over Kane Landon and a wary eye on Stryker. But Pinckney agreed with her, positively, that Hemingway was the murderer, and that it was in accordance with the dead man’s wishes that he should not be hunted down, consequently the matter ought to be dropped. However, the young reporter had reached such a pitch of infatuation for the beautiful girl, that he would have agreed to any theory she might have advanced. He lived, nowadays, only to get interviews with her, and to sanction her plans and carry out her orders. They had evolved theories and discarded them time and again, and now, Avice declared, this was the absolute solution. “Of course, Uncle Rowland looked forward to this fate,” she said, her face saddened at the thought, and, “Of course,” Pinckney echoed. “Seems queer, though,” put in Landon, who was present, “that the note just cropped up. Where was it, Avice?” “In a pigeon-hole of uncle’s desk, stuffed in between a lot of old papers,—bills and things.” “A fine search the police put up, not to find it sooner!” “But it doesn’t matter, Kane, since I came across it,” and Avice smiled at him. “You must admit that the mystery is solved, even if we don’t know who Hemingway is, and are asked not to find out.” “Oh, it’s as good a solution as any,” Landon said, indifferently; “but I don’t take much stock in it, and Pinck doesn’t either. Do you, old chap?” “I see no reason to doubt that the probabilities point to the man mentioned in the note,” Pinckney returned, a little stiffly. He was horribly jealous of Landon, and though not sure that Avice cared for him, he feared that she did. Kane Landon was a handsome fellow, and had, too, as Pinckney noted with concern, that devil-may-care air that is so taking with women. It was Landon’s fad never to discuss anything seriously, and he scoffed at all theories and all facts put forth by Pinckney in his amateur detective work. Moreover, Pinckney, who was not at all thick-skinned, couldn’t help observing how Avice’s interest in him flagged when Landon was present. Alone with the girl, the reporter could entertain and amuse her, but let Landon appear, and her attention was all for him. So Pinckney reluctantly went away, knowing he would only be made miserable if he remained longer. “What makes you act so about that note?” demanded Avice of Landon, after Pinckney left. “Act how?” “As if it were of no account. Why, Kane, if uncle wrote that, he must have known how he would meet his death.” “Yes—, if he wrote it?” “What do you mean?” Avice looked startled. “Can you have any doubt that he wrote it? Why, I know his typewriter letters as well as I know his handwriting.” “Do you?” and Landon smiled quizzically. “Avice, you are very beautiful this morning.” “Is that so unusual as to require comment?” The smile she flashed at him was charming. “It isn’t unusual, but it does require comment. Oh, Avice, I wish I could kidnap you and carry you off, away from all this horrid mess of police and detectives and suspicion.” “Would we take Eleanor Black with us?” The brown eyes looked straight at him, challenging him to declare himself for or against the one Avice felt to be a rival. “If you like,” and Landon smiled teasingly at her. “Go on, Avice, fly in a rage, I love to see you angry.” “’Deed I won’t! I’ve nothing to rage about. If you admire Eleanor, I can only say I admire your taste. She is certainly beautiful.” “Bravo! Good for you, little girl! Now, just for that I’ll tell you that in my opinion she can’t hold a candle to you for beauty.” “Your compliments are so subtle, Kane! I suppose that’s due to your western training.” “And your sarcasm is that known as the withering variety. Oh, Avice, don’t let’s fence. You are beautiful, and you are very dear to me. If I weren’t—if they didn’t—oh, pshaw! if I were free of all suspicion in this horrid matter, would you,—could you——” “Kane,” she said, looking at him seriously; “you didn’t do it, did you?” “I will not tell you.” “That can mean either of two things; one, which I hope, that you are innocent, and so, resent my question; the other, which I fear, that you are——” “Guilty,” supplemented Kane. “Yes; oh, Kane, why won’t you tell me?” “Would you care? Avice, would you really care whether I’m guilty or not?” The girl looked up at him, a sudden light in her big, dark eyes; “Oh, yes, Kane, I do care.” “Do you mean it, Avice? My little girl, do you mean it!” Impulsively, Landon took her hand, and drew her to him, looking deep into her eyes. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, and there was a thrill in his voice Avice had never heard there before, “I will clear myself of these awful matters, and then I can ask you——” “But, Kane, you know the note from John Hemingway——” “Bother John Hemingway! Avice, do you take me for a fool?” Landon crushed her to him in a desperate embrace, and then held her off and looked at her with a strange expression on his face. “Dear heart!” he said, and gently kissing her downcast, frightened eyes he went swiftly from the room. Going to the window, Avice watched him stride down the street. His swinging walk was a splendid thing in itself, and the girl felt a thrill of pride in the strong, well-proportioned figure, so full of life and energy. “But I can’t understand him,” she thought, “he acts so queer every time he talks about Uncle’s death. And then, he pretends to love me,—and he’s all mixed up with Eleanor,—I wish I could get up courage to ask him about her,—but I’m—oh, I’m not really afraid of Kane—but,—well, he is strong,—every way.” She sank into a chair and gave herself up to day dreams. “A bright, new, Lincoln penny for your thoughts,” said a deep voice, and Avice looked up to see Judge Hoyt smiling down at her. For the first time in her life, she felt an aversion to him. She knew she was not in love with her elderly suitor, but always she had felt great friendship and esteem for him. Now, the esteem was still there, but the remembrance of Landon’s caress so recent, she experienced a shrinking from the passion she could not fail to read in the eyes now bent upon her. Leslie Hoyt was a man whose physical presence dominated any group of which he was a member. Towering some inches above most of his fellow men, his fine head was carried proudly and with an air of aristocracy that gave him especial prestige. Few had ever seen his grave, scholarly face aglow with emotion of any sort, but Avice knew well the light that love kindled in those deep, dark eyes, and though not entirely responding to it, she had gratefully appreciated it, and had tacitly accepted her uncle’s plan that she should marry the judge. But that was during her uncle’s lifetime, and before Kane Landon had come home from the West. In a swift mental picture, Avice contrasted the two men. Landon, too, was tall and big and strong. Hoyt was far superior in manner, and in that indefinable effect given by cultured associations. Landon had the advantage of youth and the careless grace of that lack of self-consciousness, so often the result of western life. The self-possession of both men was complete, but Landon’s was somewhat that of bravado and Hoyt’s that of experience. Without detailing these thoughts to herself, Avice was quite aware of them and of their value, and she knew that she was going to choose between two of the finest specimens of men she had ever seen. “I’m thinking about Kane Landon,” she said in answer to the remark of her new visitor. Avice was naturally mischievous, and well knew the effect of her aggravating speeches. The kindly look in Judge Hoyt’s eyes gave way to an ironic gleam, as he said “Then I offered you full value, I think.” “That’s so clever that I forgive its mean spirit,” and Avice smiled at him. “Yes, my thoughts were penny-wise, which is far better than if they had been pound-foolish.” “Think pound-foolish ones of me—” “Of you! Why, Leslie, I can’t connect you and foolishness in my mind!” “I’m foolishly in love with you, I know that! What is there about you, Avice, that makes me lose my head entirely the moment I see you?” “Do you really? It seems incredible! I’d like to see dignified Judge Hoyt in that state commonly described as having lost his head!” “Would you?” and a dangerous fire blazed in Hoyt’s eyes as he took a step nearer to her. “No, no!” cried Avice, really alarmed, “not now. I mean some other time.” “There’ll be times enough. You’ll have to spend the rest of your life getting used to seeing me headless. But Avice, I came to talk to you about that Hemingway note.” “Yes, do. Will it clear Kane?” “Why?” said the lawyer, a sudden anger coming into his eyes. “Do you love him?” Avice looked at him. “Yes,” she said simply. “Then he shall not be cleared!” and Hoyt’s voice was full of deep hatred. “Do you know it rests with me to free him from suspicion or not! Do you know that I hold his life in my hands?” Avice looked at him in horror. “Do you mean,” she cried “that you would let him be suspected, knowing he is innocent?” “On the contrary,” and Hoyt looked at her meaningly, “I know the only hope of freedom Landon has, is that letter found in your uncle’s desk. And I know,—” he paused. “You know what?” said Avice, grasping a chair for support, as she felt herself giving away. “I know who wrote that letter.” “What do you mean?” “You know what I mean. You wrote that letter yourself. Oh, it was a fine scheme to save a guilty man, but it didn’t deceive me.” “How do you know?” “I know because I am familiar with all your uncle’s papers and business matters. I know, because it is not written on a style of paper that he ever used. Because it is not in his style of diction. Because, moreover, you ‘discovered’ it, just after you were told that only another suspect could save Kane Landon. And you concluded to invent that other suspect! Oh, it was clever, my girl, but it didn’t deceive me! Now, why did you do it? Because you love that man?” Avice stood up straight and faced him. “Yes,” she cried, while her eyes shone. “Yes, that was the reason. I know he is innocent, both you and Mr. Duane declared he would not be thought so, unless there was another suspect. So I did resort to that ruse, and I’m glad of it. It does no wrong. The man it accuses is only imaginary, and if it saves the life of an innocent man it is a justifiable deception.” “And do you suppose I will be a party to it? Do you suppose for a minute that I will stand up for a man, knowing that my attitude is based on a falsehood?” “Not if it is a harmless, justifiable falsehood? Not if I ask you to do it?” “Avice, don’t tempt me. What is this man to you? You have known me for years, and along comes this stranger, and you turn to him. I won’t have it!” “Don’t talk like that, Leslie. He doesn’t really care for me. He is in love with Mrs. Black. But she can’t save him from an awful fate, and I can, yes, and I have, if you don’t interfere with my plans. And you won’t, will you?” Avice looked very coaxing and sweet, as she urged her plea, and Leslie Hoyt caught her in his arms. “I’ll do it,” he said, in a whisper, “if you’ll marry me at once.” “Oh, I can’t!” and Avice shrank away from him with a gesture of aversion. “Don’t ask me that now! Wait till this awful ordeal is over.” “That’s just it, Avice. I’m in earnest. Promise to marry me and I’ll get Landon cleared of all suspicion whether he is guilty or not.” “Is that your price?” “Yes, and the only condition on which I will keep your secret! Do you know I shall have to perjure myself? Do you know that I will do that only to gain you? What is your answer? Tell me, Avice, my beautiful darling? Oh, I love you so!” “Leslie, you frighten me. I don’t love you. I have told you I love Kane. But he must never know it. He is infatuated with Eleanor Black, and I shall in no way hamper his happiness. But, I don’t want to marry anybody.” “You’ll marry me, or that precious adoration of yours will pay the full penalty of his crime. And, too, Avice, remember your uncle’s will. Do you want to throw away a million to escape a union with me? I’ll be very good to you, dear. You shall have your own way in everything.” “Do you want me to marry for money’s sake?” “Yes; if you won’t marry me for my own.” “Are you sure you can save Kane?” “My skill is small else. With that letter that you forged, to work on, I ought to be able to manage it.” “And otherwise,—” “Otherwise, prepare yourself for the worst.” Hoyt spoke seriously, even solemnly, and Avice knew he meant every word he said. With a sob in her throat, she turned to him and held out her hand. “So be it, then,” she said, and her voice was as sad as a funeral chime. “But always remember that I warned you I don’t love you.” “I’ll make you love me!” and Hoyt’s voice rang out exultantly. |
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