  Maurice Trask looked at Miss Mystery with rapidly growing interest and curiosity. She seemed so young and helpless and she was so pretty and so pathetic that he immediately decided she could not be mixed up in any wrong-doing. He also decided, for he was a man of quick conclusions, that this was the girl for him. Having his new fortune, he wanted a wife to help him enjoy it, and where could he find a more utterly desirable girl than Miss Austin? Straightforwardly he asked: “Did Doctor Waring make love to you? Did you love him?” The others looked aghast at these suggestions, and then Mrs. Adams said, “Yes, she did! I saw her one night, kissing Doctor Waring’s picture.” Cray turned on Anita. “Did you love that man?” he asked, sternly. “If you did, you surely didn’t kill him.” “Of course she didn’t kill him,” Old Salt put in. “Impossible to imagine such a thing! Speak up, little girl. Why did you kiss the picture of a man you had never seen?” Several of those listening waited breathlessly for a response. Gordon Lockwood, for one, could scarce control his impatience to hear the answer. For, only too well he remembered the letter he had found in the Doctor’s waste-basket. The words were graven in his brain. Darling Anita: At the first glance of your brown eyes love was born in my heart. Life is worth living—with you in the world. If love at first sight had been born in the man’s heart, must it not have found response in the girl’s? Or, even if not, could she have killed a man who felt thus toward her? Truly she was a mystery. For, the very fact that Waring had fallen in love with her, made possible, even plausible, her clandestine visit to him, and her possession of the money and jewel. Could it be that the pretty little thing was merely a sly adventuress? That she cajoled Waring into giving her the valuables, and then— No, Gordon Lockwood could not and would not believe any evil of the girl he loved. Even though she should admit her love for Waring, he would not lose faith in her. “Answer me,” Cray demanded. “Answer this direct question directly. Did you love Doctor Waring?” Almost like one hypnotized, Miss Mystery gave a helpless glance at her inquisitor and murmured a low, almost inaudible “yes.” “Then why did you kill him?” Cray stormed at her. “I—I didn’t.” “You were there, in his study the night he—he died.” “N—no, I wasn’t.” “You were! It’s been proved. You went over from this house, across the snow field, and you went in the study and you sat on the plush chair, near the desk. Didn’t you?” The great dark eyes seemed unable to tear themselves from Cray’s face, and again the half-breathed whisper was, “yes.” “I protest!” said Trask. “That girl shall not be tortured. Whether she’s guilty or not, she’s entitled to fairer treatment. You can’t make her say those things that may be used against her! Quit it, Cray. I forbid it.” “That’s right, Cray,” Lockwood said, quietly. “You’ve no right to bait Miss Austin—you make her admit things through sheer fright.” And it was true. Miss Mystery was trembling, and her face was white, save for the delicate flush on her cheeks and lips that she had placed there herself. Her great eyes, beneath their heavy dark brows flew from one face to another, and she did not fail to notice the fact that every man in the room, Cray perhaps excepted, was in sympathy with her, while every woman was against her. This must have comforted her, for she looked about, a faint smile dawning in her eyes. “Is that true?” she said, “may I be excused from this questioning until I can get counsel? I don’t know what to say—myself—” Her pretty distress and helplessness again appealed to the masculine sympathy, and, realizing this, she ignored the other sex. A puzzled expression crossed the face of Maurice Trask. “Who in the world can she be?” he thought. “That last flash of those eyes, as she drew her heavy eyebrows into a straight line surely reminded me of somebody. By heavens! the Truesdell brows!” Again he scanned the oval little face. He shook his head in uncertainty, but again declared to himself, “The Truesdell eyebrows!” “Now look here, all of you,” Old Saltonstall Adams said, “I don’t believe this child is guilty of anything really wrong. If she caught the fancy of Doctor Waring, it may seem pretty awful to us old fogies, but a pretty girl like Miss Austin can’t help charming the menfolks. I don’t want to discuss that, but I do say that it’s no crime to go to see a man in the evening, and too, she may have had some errand we know nothing about. Did Doctor Waring give you that money of his own free will, Miss Austin?” “Yes,” said Anita, involuntarily, and then bit her lip as she added, “I told you he didn’t give it to me.” “There, there, don’t say any more, you only contradict yourself. I had no business to ask that. Now, Mr. Cray, from now on, I take Miss Austin under my personal care. I’ll be responsible for her appearance when you want her. And,” he looked at his wife, “Mrs. Adams will back me up. She too will shelter and care for Miss Austin—” “Unless she is proved guilty,” Esther Adams broke in. “In that case—” “Wait until she is,” Old Salt said, in his calm way. “I don’t guarantee her innocence—I only want to prevent injustice to her. Have you funds to engage a lawyer, Miss Austin?” Again that frightened look made the girl seem anything but innocent. “Would I have to tell a lawyer—everything?” she asked. “Yes, yes—to be sure,” Trask broke in. “But what of that? I’ll bet you’ve nothing to tell him incriminating to yourself. You exaggerate your connection with this matter. I’ll bet you were there that night on some perfectly innocent errand—at least so far as Doctor Waring’s death is concerned.” “Oh, I was!” Anita said, and then, as quickly, “But I wasn’t there at night—it was in the afternoon.” Lockwood groaned in spirit. Everything this girl said made her more of a prevaricator, even though she might be innocent of crime. Surely she was mixed up in the matter, and must know who gave the fatal stab—if she didn’t do it herself. If only Nogi could be found. He, of course, was implicated. “I’ll get a lawyer for you, if you’ll let me, Miss Austin,” Lockwood said, unable to resist his impulse to help her. “I am a lawyer,” said Maurice Trask, “I here and now offer my services to Miss Austin. If you’ll accept, my dear young lady, I promise to use my best efforts to do all that can be done for you.” “But do I have to tell you—” again Anita began, perplexedly—her brows straight. Trask gazed at her fixedly, and then he said, “That will be between us. You will decide when we talk things over, what to tell me and what not.” He spoke as to a fractious child, and his voice was kind and helpful even though his inflections were not cultured. Lockwood looked at him uneasily. Might not this man’s kindness and assistance to the distressed girl lead her to feel such gratitude that it would be no hard matter for Trask to win more than gratitude? Lockwood was nervously sensitive to the interest Trask took in Anita, and well knew his state of mind toward the little beauty. And, instead of being lessened by the trend of suspicion toward Anita, Lockwood’s own infatuation deepened with every glance he allowed himself at the lovely face. The countenance of Miss Mystery was ever changing. Now, she was a wistful-eyed child, and in a flash she was an inscrutable young woman—only to change the next instant to a wrongly accused and innocent martyr. Anyway, Lockwood told himself, he meant to win her, and if Trask stood in his way, Trask must be set aside, that was all. An indomitable will ought to be able to conquer the intents of a self-made, unattractive man of Trask’s type. And, too, a love like his own, surging more fully every moment must appeal to the girl, once he could get a chance to declare it. Lockwood was by no means a conceited man, but he had a true sense of value and he knew that he was a fitter mate for Miss Mystery than Trask, if the girl could know them both. “I know a lawyer,” Lockwood began, “here in Corinth. Might he not be a better man for you, Miss Austin, than a stranger in the town?” “Just why?” Trask said, his eyes coldly scanning Lockwood’s face. “Because he would have known Doctor Waring, and—and all the circumstances,” Lockwood concluded a little lamely. “Not much of an argument,” Trask dismissed the suggestion. “Also, I promise not to cost the lady as much as any other counsel would.” This speech was accompanied by an admiring glance that was so nearly a smirk that Lockwood with difficulty kept his hands off Trask’s throat. Mrs. Peyton, who with Helen had sat almost wordless through the whole session, now rose to go. “Come, Helen,” she said, “we are of no use here, and I’d rather take you away.” Her implication that the presence of Miss Mystery was contaminating was too plain to be mistaken, and mother and daughter left the room. “Well,” Cray said, “I’ve pretty much made up my mind in this matter. I make no arrest now, since you’re going to be responsible, Mr. Adams, for Miss Austin’s presence when desired. But, I think I see it all. I think I can reconstruct the whole case, and I think there will be decided developments very soon.” “You do,” was Trask’s response to this speech, and as one by one all present rose to go, Trask remained, and asked that he might see Miss Austin alone. “Guess I’ll stand by,” said Old Salt, and something in the grim but kindly old face made Trask give tacit consent. Straightforwardly the man set about his inquiries. “Now, first of all, Miss Austin,” Trask said, “where is your home?” An obstinate look came into her eyes, and she hesitated a moment. Then, with a sudden change of expression, she said, “Indianapolis.” “Address?” “Six-twenty-seven Jackson Street.” Trask’s eyebrows went up at this, and he gave her a searching look, but Miss Mystery showed no embarrassment. “Sure of the number?” he said, “I know Indianapolis pretty well.” “I’m sure,” was the cool reply, and Trask went on. “Know Doctor Waring before you came here?” “No.” “Never saw him before?” “Never, to my knowledge.” “You didn’t kill him?” Anita only shook her head slowly, but Trask did not press her for a verbal answer. “Yet you were there that night. Now, it’s useless to deny it, for the prints of those doodads on the back of that very frock you have on now were on the plush back of the chair you sat in. Young Lockwood smoothed them away—Lord knows why! He must suspect you, I should say, and tried to shield you that way.” “Could he?” asked Miss Mystery, hopefully. “Could he shield you? No, my child, he couldn’t, but I can. You just trust yourself to me, and you’ll have no trouble, no trouble at all. You’ve got Mr. Saltonstall, here, and me for friends. Something tells me you won’t need anybody else. We’ll pull you through, eh, Old Salt?” Though accustomed to the nickname from the townspeople, Mr. Adams didn’t relish it from this stranger, and he merely said, “I’m Miss Austin’s friend, be sure of that.” “So’m I,” Trask declared. “Now, little lady, you needn’t tell all you know, but some things you must tell me. Anybody among your relatives named Truesdell?” Only a quick eye could have caught a fleeting look of dismay on her face, as Anita promptly responded, “No—not that I know of.” “Falsehood number one,” said Trask to himself. “What the deuce is she up to?” But aloud, he only said, “All right. Now, why did you come to Corinth?” “To sketch,” said Anita glibly, and smiling at him. “I’m an artist, you see—I paint water-colors.” “Yes—I see. Now, just why did you hide that stiletto of yours?” “I was frightened. I was afraid they would think I killed Doctor Waring.” “Why did you fear that?” “Oh, I don’t know.” She was almost flippant now. “Those detectives are so queer, they’re likely to suspect anybody. And they said the weapon used was a round, sharp instrument, so—so I hid the thing.” “You didn’t use that to kill him?” “Oh, no!” “What did you use?” “I didn’t kill him.” “Who did?” “I think he killed himself.” “Mr. Adams,” Trask turned to the old man, “please leave us two alone for a few moments. I ask you as a personal favor.” Without a word Old Salt left the room. “Now, look here, Miss Austin,” Trask said, in a determined tone, “I know you killed that man as well as I know you’re here. Also, I know why. Or, at least, I don’t know exactly why, but I have knowledge that will lead straight to a revelation of the whole affair. I know you are related to the Truesdells—though perhaps you don’t know that yourself. Now, here’s my proposition. I’m a lawyer, and I’m known as a shrewd one. Many a time I’ve made black appear white—and I can do it in your case. But—if you’ll marry me, I’ll get you off. Wait a minute—don’t speak yet. I’m not bad-looking, I’m kind-hearted and, by my cousin’s death, I’m a rich man. You may not love me yet—but I’ll guarantee I can win your affection. I fell in love with you, the very minute I saw you and I want you for my wife. You needn’t marry me now—wait as long as you say—but give me your promise, and I’ll clear you of all suspicion in this terrible affair. On the other hand—” There was a pause, and then Anita said: “On the other hand?” “I shall tell what I know about you—and, well, you know yourself what chance you will have then of getting off scotfree!” “A threat?” and Miss Mystery flung up her proud little head. “No; don’t misunderstand. Not a threat. But I admit, a bribe. Marry me, and I’ll free you. Say no—and I don’t have to do a thing. The law will do it all. You simpleton! Do you suppose you can keep your secret once the law really begins to hound you? Cray is only just opening his eyes to your connections with the case. Lockwood has realized that you must be guilty, though he’s trying hard not to believe it. Old Salt only befriends you because you’re helpless and pretty—not because he thinks you’re innocent—any more than his wife does. The two Peytons hate you—for reasons of their own—probably because you snared Lockwood away from the lovely Helen. But none of those things will matter if you take up with my offer. I’ll carry you through with flying colors. You’ll be not only freed from suspicion but eulogized and beloved by all who know you, and as my wife, you’ll have a proud and enviable position.” Miss Mystery gave the speaker a look that not only took him in from head to foot but seemed to penetrate his very soul, and in a quiet, even tone, she said: “Rather than marry you—I would face the electric chair.” The scorn in her voice, even more than the scathing words themselves, enraged Trask. “Oh,” he said, with ill-repressed fury, “you would, would you? Have your own way, then, Miss Mystery—and soon your mystery will be known and you may have your desire, and—face the electric chair!” The girl rose, and stood, waiting. “Go,” she said, without glance or gesture. And in a white heat of anger, Trask went. “Now, dearie,” Mrs. Adams said, coming in, “I don’t want you to tell me anything. My husband bids me befriend you—and I will, so long as your case is uncertain. But if you’re proved to be guilty, I—” “Oh, don’t fail me,” and Miss Mystery threw herself into the other’s arms. “I am so lonely and so friendless—” “Why are you? Where’s your folks?” Then Miss Mystery drew herself up, with a forlorn little attempt at dignity, and said, “I’d like to go to my room now, please.” Upstairs she went, slowly, and as she neared her own room Lockwood met her in the hall. “Count me your friend,” he said, simply, and held out his hand. “I will,” she replied, putting her little hand in his, and then, with one deep glance, each knew of the other’s love. Lockwood’s was written plain on his face, and his eyes, usually so calm and cold, were lighted with the intensity of his passion. This Anita read, and her own response was quick and involuntary. Perhaps it was a rebound from the awful proposals of Maurice Trask; perhaps it was a heart finding its mate—perhaps, remembering Miss Mystery’s ways, it was mere coquetry, but the glances were exchanged and they knew. Anita went on to her room, and throwing herself into a chair, sat long in thought. “What shall I do?” she asked herself over and over again. “What can I do? If only I hadn’t taken the money—and the pin. Why did I do it? And he said Truesdell! How did he know? My eyebrows, I suppose. That awful man! And he’ll tell—oh, yes, he’ll surely tell—and that will poison Gordon’s mind against me—oh, was anybody ever in such trouble as I?” A tap at her door announced the maid with a note. Alone again, Anita read it. It was from Lockwood and begged an interview. “Please let me see you alone,” it said; “I don’t know how best to manage it. Will you go for a walk with me now? There’s time for a short stroll before dark.” Hurriedly Anita flung on hat and coat, and opened her door. Lockwood was on the stair. “Going out?” he said, casually, “may I walk with you?” “Please do,” said Anita, and they started out together. “I’m sorry enough to do anything that seems clandestine,” said Lockwood as they walked, “but that feline lady, Miss Bascom, is watching your every move, and I can’t let her get anything to criticise you for.” A grateful look rewarded him, and then Gordon went on: “Tell me, did I read your eyes aright? Do you, can you care to know how I love you? How I have loved you from the moment I first saw you. Do you care, Anita? May I love you?” “But you don’t know me,” she said, in a soft little voice. “And you do know dreadful things about me.” “I don’t care for any of those things. If they’re dreadful, they’re not true.” “Yes—they are true—some of them. And there are more dreadful things to know—that you don’t even suspect—Gordon.” The last word, spoken in the lowest, tenderest of voices, completed Lockwood’s infatuation. Had she not said that, he might have been deterred by her statements, but that softly-breathed name, stirred his pulses, and in the deepening dusk he found her hand and said: “Anita, I want you—I love you—none of these things count. I know you are in no way guiltily connected with this crime—if you are mixed up with it, it is through force of circumstances, and anyway, I don’t care who or what you are—I love you, I believe in you and I want you.” “But it’s all so dreadful—and I can’t tell—” “Don’t tell anything you don’t want to—” “But that man will tell. That terrible Trask man.” Lockwood didn’t waver in his fealty or loyalty but it was a blow to learn that Trask knew something of Anita’s secrets. “I don’t care,” he said, firmly, “I love you.” |
|
