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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33064-8.txt b/33064-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..07e182d --- /dev/null +++ b/33064-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,12483 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Blind Man's Eyes, by William MacHarg and Edwin Balmer + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Blind Man's Eyes + +Author: William MacHarg + Edwin Balmer + +Illustrator: Wilson C. Dexter + +Release Date: July 3, 2010 [EBook #33064] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLIND MAN'S EYES *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Cover art] + + + +[Frontispiece: "Until I come to you as--as you have never known me +yet!"] + + + + +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + + +By WILLIAM MACHARG & EDWIN BALMER + + + + +With Frontispiece + +By WILSON C. DEXTER + + + + +A. L. BURT COMPANY + +Publishers ---- New York + + +Published by Arrangements with LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY + + + + +_Copyright, 1916,_ + +BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY + + +_All rights reserved_ + + + + +To + +R. G. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I A FINANCIER DIES + II THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE + III MISS DORNE MEETS EATON + IV TRUCE + V ARE YOU HILLWARD? + VI THE HAND IN THE AISLE + VII "ISN'T THIS BASIL SANTOINE?" + VIII SUSPICION FASTENS ON EATON + IX QUESTIONS + X THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + XI PUBLICITY NOT WANTED + XII THE ALLY IN THE HOUSE + XIII THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN + XIV IT GROWS PLAINER + XV DONALD AVERY IS MOODY + XVI SANTOINE'S "EYES" FAIL HIM + XVII THE FIGHT IN THE STUDY + XVIII UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS + XIX PURSUIT + XX WAITING + XXI WHAT ONE CAN DO WITHOUT EYES + XXII THE MAN HUNT + XXIII NOT EATON--OVERTON + XXIV THE FLAW IN THE LEFT EYE + XXV "IT'S ALL RIGHT, HUGH"--AT LAST + + + + +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + + +CHAPTER I + +A FINANCIER DIES + +Gabriel Warden--capitalist, railroad director, owner of mines and +timber lands, at twenty a cow-puncher, at forty-eight one of the +predominant men of the Northwest Coast--paced with quick, uneven steps +the great wicker-furnished living room of his home just above Seattle +on Puget Sound. Twice within ten minutes he had used the telephone in +the hall to ask the same question and, apparently to receive the same +reply--that the train from Vancouver, for which he had inquired, had +come in and that the passengers had left the station. + +It was not like Gabriel Warden to show nervousness of any sort; Kondo, +the Japanese doorman, who therefore had found something strange in this +telephoning, watched him through the portières which shut off the +living-room from the hall. Three times Kondo saw him--big, uncouth in +the careless fit of his clothes, powerful and impressive in his +strength of feature and the carriage of his well-shaped head--go to the +window and, watch in hand, stand staring out. It was a Sunday evening +toward the end of February--cold, cloudy and with a chill wind driving +over the city and across the Sound. Warden evidently saw no one as he +gazed out into the murk; but each moment, Kondo observed, his +nervousness increased. He turned suddenly and pressed the bell to call +a servant. Kondo, retreating silently down the hall, advanced again +and entered the room; he noticed then that Warden's hand, which was +still holding the watch before him, was shaking. + +"A young man who may, or may not, give a name, will ask for me in a few +moments. He will say he called by appointment. Take him at once to my +smoking-room, and I will see him there. I am going to Mrs. Warden's +room now." + +He went up the stairs, Kondo noticed, still absently holding his watch +in his hand. + +Warden controlled his nervousness before entering his wife's +room,--where she had just finished dressing to go out,--so that she did +not at first sense anything unusual. In fact, she talked with him +casually for a moment or so before she even sent away her maid. He had +promised a few days before to accompany her to a concert; she thought +he had come simply to beg off. When they were alone, she suddenly saw +that he had come to her to discuss some serious subject. + +"Cora," he said, when he had closed the door after the maid, "I want +your advice on a business question." + +"A business question!" She was greatly surprised. She was a number of +years younger than he; he was one of those men who believe all business +matters should be kept from their wives. + +"I mean it came to me through some business--discoveries." + +"And you cannot decide it for yourself?" + +"I had decided it." He looked again at his watch. "I had quite +decided it; but now--It may lead to some result which I have suddenly +felt that I haven't the right to decide entirely for myself." + +Warden's wife for the first time felt alarmed. She could not well +describe his manner; it did not suggest fear for himself; she could not +imagine his feeling such fear; but she was frightened. She put her +hand on his arm. + +"You mean it affects me directly?" + +"It may. For that reason I feel I must do what you would have me do." + +He seized both her hands in his and held her before him; she waited for +him to go on. + +"Cora," he said, "what would you have me do if you knew I had found out +that a young man--a man who, four or five years ago, had as much to +live for as any man might--had been outraged in every right by men who +are my friends? Would you have me fight the outfit for him? Or would +you have me--lie down?" + +His fingers almost crushed hers in his excitement. She stared at him +with only pride then; she was proud of his strength, of his ability to +fight, of the power she knew he possessed to force his way against +opposition. "Why, you would fight them!" + +"You mean you want me to?" + +"Isn't that what you had decided to do?" + +He only repeated. "You want me to fight them?" + +"Of course." + +"No matter what it costs?" + +She realized then that what he was facing was very grave. + +"Cora," he said, "I didn't come to ask your advice without putting this +squarely to you. If I go into this fight, I shall be not only an +opponent to some of my present friends; I shall be a threat to +them--something they may think it necessary to remove." + +"Remove?" + +"Such things have happened--to better men than I, over smaller matters." + +She cried out. "You mean some one might kill you?" + +"Should that keep me from going in?" + +She hesitated. He went on: "Would you have me afraid to do a thing +that ought to be done, Cora?" + +"No," she said; "I would not." + +"All right, then. That's all I had to know now. The young man is +coming to see me to-night, Cora. Probably he's downstairs. I'll tell +you all I can after I've talked with him." + +Warden's wife tried to hold him a moment more, but he loosed himself +from her and left her. + +He went directly downstairs; as he passed through the hall, the +telephone bell rang. Warden himself answered it. Kondo, who from his +place in the hall overheard Warden's end of the conversation, made out +only that the person at the other end of the line appeared to be a +friend, or at least an acquaintance, of Warden's. Kondo judged this +from the tone of the conversation; Warden spoke no names. Apparently +the other person wished to see Warden at once. Warden finished, "All +right; I'll come and get you. Wait for me there." Then he hung up. + +Turning to Kondo, he ordered his limousine car. Kondo transmitted the +order and brought Warden's coat and cap; then Kondo opened the house +door for him and the door of the limousine, which had been brought +under the porte-cochère. Kondo heard Warden direct the chauffeur to a +drug store near the center of the city; the chauffeur was Patrick +Corboy, a young Irishman who had been in Warden's employ for more than +five years; his faithfulness to Warden was never questioned. Corboy +drove to the place Warden had directed. As they stopped, a young man +of less than medium height, broad-shouldered and wearing a mackintosh, +came to the curb and spoke to Warden. Corboy did not hear the name, +but Warden immediately asked the man into the car; he directed Corboy +to return home. The chauffeur did this, but was obliged on the way to +come to a complete stop several times, as he met streetcars or other +vehicles on intersecting streets. + +Almost immediately after Warden had left the house, the door-bell rang +and Kondo answered it. A young man with a quiet and pleasant bearing +inquired for Mr. Warden and said he came by appointment. Kondo ushered +him into the smoking room, where the stranger waited. The Jap did not +announce this arrival to any one, for he had already received his +instructions; but several times in the next half hour he looked in upon +him. The stranger was always sitting where he had seated himself when +Kondo showed him in; he was merely waiting. In about forty minutes, +Corboy drove the car under the porte-cochère again and got down and +opened the door. Kondo had not heard the car at once, and the +chauffeur had not waited for him. There was no motion inside the +limousine. The chauffeur looked in and saw Mr. Warden lying back +quietly against the cushions in the back of the seat; he was alone. + +Corboy noticed then that the curtains all about had been pulled down; +he touched the button and turned on the light at the top of the car, +and then he saw that Warden was dead; his cap was off, and the top of +his head had been smashed in by a heavy blow. + +The chauffeur drew back, gasping; Kondo, behind him on the steps, cried +out and ran into the house calling for help. Two other servants and +Mrs. Warden, who had remained nervously in her room, ran down. The +stranger who had been waiting, now seen for the first time by Mrs. +Warden, came out from the smoking room to help them. He aided in +taking the body from the car and helped to carry it into the living +room and lay it on a couch; he remained until it was certain that +Warden had been killed and nothing could be done. When this had been +established and further confirmed by the doctor who was called, Kondo +and Mrs. Warden looked around for the young man--but he was no longer +there. + +The news of the murder brought extras out upon the streets of Seattle, +Tacoma, and Portland at ten o'clock that night; the news took the first +page in San Francisco, Chicago, and New York papers, in competition +with the war news, the next morning. Seattle, stirred at once at the +murder of one of its most prominent citizens, stirred still further at +the new proof that Warden had been a power in business and finance; +then, as the second day's dispatches from the larger cities came in, it +stirred a third time at the realization--for so men said--that this was +the second time such a murder had happened. + +Warden had been what was called among men of business and finance a +member of the "Latron crowd"; he had been close, at one time, to the +great Western capitalist Matthew Latron; the properties in which he had +made his wealth, and whose direction and administration had brought him +the respect and attention of other men, had been closely allied with or +even included among those known as the "Latron properties"; and Latron, +five years before, had been murdered. The parallel between the two +cases was not as great as the newspapers in their search for the +startling made it appear; nevertheless, there was a parallel. Latron's +murderer had been a man who called upon him by appointment, and +Warden's murderer, it appeared, had been equally known to him, or at +least equally recommended. Of this as much was made as possible in the +suggestion that the same agency was behind the two. + +The statement of Cora Warden, indicating that Warden's death might have +been caused by men with whom he was--or had been at one +time--associated, was compared with the fact that Latron's death had +occurred at a time of fierce financial stress and warfare. But in this +comparison Warden's statement to his wife was not borne out. Men of +high place in the business world appeared, from time to time during the +next few days, at Warden's offices and even at his house, coming from +other cities on the Coast and from as far east as Chicago; they felt +the need, many of them, of looking after interests of their own which +were involved with Warden's. All concurred in saying that, so far as +Warden and his properties were concerned, the time was one of peace; +neither attack nor serious disagreement had threatened him. + +More direct investigation of the murder went on unceasingly through +these days. The statements of Kondo and Corboy were verified; it was +even learned at what spot Warden's murderer had left the motor +unobserved by Corboy. Beyond this, no trace was found of him, and the +disappearance of the young man who had come to Warden's house and +waited there for three quarters of an hour to see him was also complete. + +No suspicion attached to this young man; Warden's talk with his wife +made it completely clear that, if he had any connection with the +murder, it was only as befriending him brought danger to Warden. His +disappearance seemed explicable therefore only in one way. Appeals to +him to come forward were published in the newspapers; he was offered +the help of influential men, if help was what he needed, and a money +reward was promised for revealing himself and explaining why Warden saw +inevitable danger in befriending him. To these offers he made no +response. The theory therefore gained ground that his appointment with +Warden had involved him in Warden's fate; it was generally credited +that he too must have been killed; or, if he was alive, he saw in +Warden's swift and summary destruction a warning of his own fate if he +came forward and sought to speak at this time. + +Thus after ten days no information from or about this mysterious young +man had been gained. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE + +On the morning of the eleventh day, Bob Connery, special conductor for +the Coast division of one of the chief transcontinentals, was having +late breakfast on his day off at his little cottage on the shore of +Puget Sound, when he was treated to the unusual sight of a large +touring car stopping before his door. The car carried no one but the +chauffeur, however, and he at once made it plain that he came only as a +message-bearer when he hurried from the car to the house with an +envelope in his hand. Connery, meeting him at the door, opened the +envelope and found within an order in the handwriting of the president +of the railroad and over his signature. + + +Connery: + +No. 5 being held at Seattle terminal until nine o'clock--will run one +hour late. This is your authority to supersede the regular man as +conductor--prepared to go through to Chicago. You will facilitate +every desire and obey, when possible, any request even as to running of +the train, which may be made by a passenger who will identify himself +by a card from me. + +H. E. JARVIS. + + +The conductor, accustomed to take charge of trains when princes, +envoys, presidents and great people of any sort took to travel publicly +or privately, fingered the heavy cream-colored note-paper upon which +the order was written and looked up at the chauffeur. + +The order itself was surprising enough even to Connery. Some passenger +of extraordinary influence, obviously, was to take the train; not only +the holding of the transcontinental for an hour told this, but there +was the further plain statement that the passenger would be incognito. +Astonishing also was the fact that the order was written upon private +note-paper. There had been a monogram at the top of the sheet, but it +had been torn off; that would not have been if Mr. Jarvis had sent the +order from home. Who could have had the president of the road call +upon him at half past seven in the morning and have told Mr. Jarvis to +hold the Express for an hour? + +Connery, having served for twenty of his forty-two years under Mr. +Jarvis, and the last five, at least, in almost a confidential capacity, +was certain of the distinctive characters of the president's +handwriting. The enigma of the order, however, had piqued him so that +he pretended doubt. + +"Where did you get this?" he challenged the chauffeur. + +"From Mr. Jarvis." + +"Of course; but where?" + +"You mean you want to know where he was?" + +Connery smiled quietly. If he himself was trusted to be cautious and +circumspect, the chauffeur also plainly was accustomed to be in the +employ of one who required reticence. Connery looked from the note to +the bearer more keenly. There was something familiar in the +chauffeur's face--just enough to have made Connery believe, at first, +that probably he had seen the man meeting some passenger at the station. + +"You are--" Connery ventured more casually. + +"In private employ; yes, sir," the man cut off quickly. Then Connery +knew him; it was when Gabriel Warden traveled on Connery's train that +the conductor had seen this chauffeur; this was Patrick Corboy, who had +driven Warden the night he was killed. But Connery, having won his +point, knew better than to show it. "Waiting for a receipt from me?" +he asked as if he had abandoned his curiosity. + +The chauffeur nodded. Connery took a sheet of paper, wrote on it, +sealed it in an envelope and handed it over; the chauffeur hastened +back to his car and drove off. Connery, order in hand, stood at the +door watching the car depart. He whistled softly to himself. +Evidently his passenger was to be one of the great men in Eastern +finance who had been brought West by Warden's death. As the car +disappeared, Connery gazed off to the Sound. + +The March morning was windy and wet, with a storm blowing in from the +Pacific. East of the mountains--in Idaho and Montana--there was snow, +and a heavy fall of it, as the conductor well knew from the long list +of incoming trains yesterday stalled or badly overdue; but at Seattle, +so far, only rain or a soft, sloppy sleet had appeared. Through this +rose the smoke from tugs and a couple of freighters putting out in +spite of the storm, and from further up Eliot Bay reverberated the roar +of the steam-whistle of some large ship signaling its intention to pass +another to the left. The incoming vessel loomed in sight and showed +the graceful lines, the single funnel and the white- and red-barred +flag of the Japanese line, the Nippon Yusen Kaisha. Connery saw that +it was, as he anticipated, the _Tamba Maru_, due two days before, +having been delayed by bad weather over the Pacific. It would dock, +Connery estimated, just in time to permit a passenger to catch the +Eastern Express if that were held till nine o'clock. So, as he +hastened to the car-line, Connery smiled at himself for taking the +trouble to make his earlier surmises. More probably the train was +being held just for some party on the boat. Going to the chief +dispatcher's office to confirm understanding of his orders, he found +that Mr. Jarvis had sent simply the curt command, "Number Five will run +one hour late." Connery went down to the trainsheds. + +The Eastern Express, with its gleaming windows, shining brass and +speckless, painted steel, was standing between the sooty, +slush-splashed trains which had just struggled in from over the +mountain; a dozen passengers, tired of waiting on the warm, cushioned +seats of the Pullmans, sauntered up and down beside the cars, +commenting on the track-conditions which, apparently, prevented even +starting a train on time. Connery looked these over and then got +aboard the train and went from observation to express car. Travel was +light that trip; in addition to the few on the platform, Connery +counted only fourteen passengers on the train. He scrutinized these +without satisfaction; all appeared to have arrived at the train long +before and to have been waiting. Connery got off and went back to the +barrier. + +Old Sammy Seaton, the gateman, stood in his iron coop twirling a punch +about his finger. Old Sammy's scheme of sudden wealth--every one has a +plan by which at any moment wealth may arrive--was to recognize and +apprehend some wrongdoer, or some lost or kidnaped person for whom a +great reward would be given. His position at the gate through which +must pass most of the people arriving at the great Coast city, or +wishing to depart from it, certainly was excellent; and by constant and +careful reading of the papers, classifying and memorizing faces, he +prepared himself to take advantage of any opportunity. Indeed, in his +years at the gate, he had succeeded in no less than seven acknowledged +cases in putting the police upon the track of persons "wanted"; these, +however, happened to be worth only minor rewards. Sammy still awaited +his great "strike." + +"Any one off on Number Five, Sammy?" Connery questioned carelessly as +he approached. Sammy's schemes involved the following of the comings +and goings of the great as well as of the "wanted." + +Old Sammy shook his head. "What're we holding for?" he whispered. +"Ah--for them?" + +A couple of station-boys, overloaded with hand-baggage, scurried in +from the street; some one shouted for a trunk-truck, and baggagemen +ran. A group of people, who evidently had come to the station in +covered cars, crowded out to the gate and lined up to pass old Sammy. +The gateman straightened importantly and scrutinized each person +presenting a ticket. Much of the baggage carried by the boys, and also +the trunks rushed by on the trucks, bore foreign hotel and steamship +"stickers." Connery observed the label of the Miyaka Hotel, Kioto, +leaving visible only the "Bombay" of another below it; others +proclaimed "Amoy," "Tonkin," and "Shanghai." This baggage and some of +the people, at least, undoubtedly had just landed from the _Tamba +Maru_. Connery inspected with even greater attention the file at the +gate and watched old Sammy also as each passed him. + +The first of the five in line was a girl--a girl about twenty-two or +three, Connery guessed. She was of slightly more than medium height, +slender and erect in figure, and with slim, gloved hands. She had the +easy, interested air of a person of assured position. She evidently +had come to the station in a motor-car which had kept off the sleet, +but had let in the wind--a touring-car, possibly, with top up. Her +fair cheeks were ruddy and her blue eyes bright; her hair, which was +deep brown and abundant, was caught back from her brow, giving her a +more outdoor and boyish look. When Connery first saw her, she seemed +to be accompanying the man who now was behind her; but she offered her +own ticket for perusal at the gate, and as soon as she was through, she +hurried on ahead alone. + +Whether or not she had come from the Japanese boat, Connery could not +tell; her ticket, at least, disclaimed for her any connection with the +foreign baggage-labels, for it was merely the ordinary form calling for +transportation from Seattle to Chicago. Connery was certain he did not +know her. He noticed that old Sammy had held her at the gate as long +as possible, as if hoping to recollect who she might be; but now that +she was gone, the gateman gave his attention more closely to the first +man--a tall, strongly built man, neither heavy nor light, and with a +powerful patrician face. His hair and his mustache, which was clipped +short and did not conceal his good mouth, were dark; his brows were +black and distinct, but not bushy or unpleasantly thick; his eyes were +hidden by smoked glasses such as one wears against a glare of snow. + +"Chicago?" old Sammy questioned. Connery knew that it was to draw the +voice in reply; but the man barely nodded, took back his ticket--which +also was the ordinary form of transportation from Seattle to +Chicago--and strode on to the train. Connery found his gaze following +this man; the conductor did not know him, nor had old Sammy recognized +him; but both were trying to place him. He, unquestionably, was a man +to be known, though not more so than many who traveled in the +transcontinental trains. + +A trim, self-assured man of thirty--his open overcoat showed a cutaway +underneath--came past next, proffering the plain Seattle-Chicago ticket. + +An Englishman, with red-veined cheeks, fumbling, clumsy fingers and +curious, interested eyes, immediately followed. To him, plainly, the +majority of the baggage on the trucks belonged; he had "booked" the +train at Hong Kong and seemed pleasantly surprised that his tourist +ticket was instantly accepted. The name upon the strip, "Henry +Standish," corresponded with the "H. S., Nottingham," emblazoned on the +luggage. + +The remaining man, carrying his own grips, which were not initialed, +set them down in the gate and felt in his pocket for his transportation. + +This fifth person had appeared suddenly after the line of four had +formed in front of old Sammy at the gate; he had taken his place with +them only after scrutiny of them and of the station all around. Like +the Englishman's, his ticket was a strip which originally had held +coupons for the Pacific voyage and some indefinite journey in Asia +before; unlike the Englishman's,--and his baggage did not bear the +pasters of the Nippon Yusen Kaisha,--the ticket was close to the date +when it would have expired. It bore upon the line where the purchaser +signed, the name "Philip D. Eaton" in plain, vigorous characters +without shading or flourish. An American, and too young to have gained +distinction in any of the ordinary ways by which men lift themselves +above others, he still made a profound impression upon Connery. There +was something about him which said, somehow, that these strips of +transportation were taking him home after a long and troublesome +absence. He combined, in some strange way, exaltation with weariness. +He was, plainly, carefully observant of all that went on about him, +even these commonplace formalities connected with taking the train; and +Connery felt that it was by premeditation that he was the last to pass +the gate. + +As a sudden eddy of the gale about the shed blew the ticket from old +Sammy's cold fingers, the young man stooped to recover it. The wind +blew off his cloth cap as he did so, and as he bent and straightened +before old Sammy, the old man suddenly gasped; and while the traveler +pulled on his cap, recovered his ticket and hurried down the platform +to the train, the gateman stood staring after him as though trying to +recall who the man presenting himself as Philip D. Eaton was. + +Connery stepped beside the old man. + +"Who is it, Sammy?" he demanded. + +"Who?" Sammy repeated. His eyes were still fixed on the retreating +figure. "Who? I don't know." + +The gateman mumbled, repeating to himself the names of the famous, the +great, the notorious, in his effort to fit one to the man who had just +passed. Connery awaited the result, his gaze following Eaton until he +disappeared aboard the train. No one else belated and bound for the +Eastern Express was in sight. The president's order to the conductor +and to the dispatcher simply had directed that Number Five would run +one hour late; it must leave in five minutes; and Connery, guided by +the impression the man last through the gate had made upon him and old +Sammy both, had no doubt that the man for whom the train had been held +was now on board. + +For a last time, the conductor scrutinized old Sammy. The gateman's +mumblings were clearly fruitless; if Eaton were not the man's real +name, old Sammy was unable to find any other which fitted. As Connery +watched, old Sammy gave it up. Connery went out to the train. The +passengers who had been parading the platform had got aboard; the last +five to arrive also had disappeared into the Pullmans, and their +luggage had been thrown into the baggage car. Connery jumped aboard. +He turned back into the observation car and then went forward into the +next Pullman. In the aisle of this car the five whom Connery had just +watched pass the gate were gathered about the Pullman conductor, +claiming their reservations. Connery looked first at Eaton, who stood +beside his grips a little apart, but within hearing of the rest; and +then, passing him, he joined the Pullman conductor. + +The three who had passed the gate first--the girl, the man with the +glasses and the young man in the cutaway--it had now become clear were +one party. They had had reservations made, apparently, in the name of +Dorne; and these reservations were for a compartment and two sections +in this car, the last of the four Pullmans. As they discussed the +disposition of these, the girl's address to the spectacled man made +plain that he was her father; her name, apparently, was Harriet; the +young man in the cutaway coat was "Don" to her and "Avery" to her +father. His relation, while intimate enough to permit him to address +the girl as "Harry," was unfailingly respectful to Mr. Dorne; and +against them both Dorne won his way; his daughter was to occupy the +drawing-room; he and Avery were to have sections in the open car. + +"You have Sections One and Three, sir," the Pullman conductor told him. +And Dorne directed the porter to put Avery's luggage in Section One, +his own in Section Three. + +The Englishman who had come by the Japanese steamer was unsupplied with +a sleeping-car ticket; he accepted, after what seemed only an automatic +and habitual debate on his part, Section Four in Car Three--the next +car forward--and departed at the heels of the porter. Connery watched +more closely, as now it came the turn of the young man whose ticket +bore the name of Eaton. Like the Englishman with the same sort of +ticket from Asia, Eaton had no reservation in the sleepers; he +appeared, however, to have some preference as to where he slept. + +"Give me a Three, if you have one," he requested of the Pullman +conductor. His voice, Connery noted, was well modulated, rather deep, +distinctly pleasant. At sound of it, Dorne, who with his daughter's +help was settling himself in his section, turned and looked that way +and said something in a low tone to the girl. Harriet Dorne also +looked, and with her eyes on Eaton, Connery saw her reply inaudibly, +rapidly and at some length. + +"I can give you Three in Car Three, opposite the gentleman I just +assigned," the Pullman conductor offered. + +"That'll do very well," Eaton answered in the same pleasant voice. + +As the porter now took his bags, Eaton followed him out of the car. +Connery looked around the sleeper; then, having allowed a moment to +pass so that he would not too obviously seem to be following Eaton, he +went after them into the next car. He expected, rather, that Eaton +would at once identify himself to him as the passenger to whom +President Jarvis' short note had referred. Eaton, however, paid no +attention to him, but was busy taking off his coat and settling himself +in his section as Connery passed. + +The conductor, willing that Eaton should choose his own time for +identifying himself, passed slowly on, looking over the passengers as +he went. The cars were far from full. + +Besides Eaton, Connery saw but half a dozen people in this car: the +Englishman in Section Four; two young girls of about nineteen and +twenty and their parents--uninquisitive-looking, unobtrusive, +middle-aged people who possessed the drawing-room; and an alert, +red-haired, professional-looking man of forty whose baggage was marked +"D. S.--Chicago." Connery had had nothing to do with putting Eaton in +this car, but his survey of it gave him satisfaction; if President +Jarvis inquired, he could be told that Eaton had not been put near to +undesirable neighbors. The next car forward, perhaps, would have been +even better; for Connery saw, as he entered it, that but one of its +sections was occupied. The next, the last Pullman, was quite well +filled; beyond this was the diner. Connery stood a few moments in +conversation with the dining car conductor; then he retraced his way +through the train. He again passed Eaton, slowing so that the young +man could speak to him if he wished, and even halting an instant to +exchange a word with the Englishman; but Eaton allowed him to pass on +without speaking to him. Connery's step quickened as he entered the +next car on his way back to the smoking compartment of the observation +car, where he expected to compare sheets with the Pullman conductor +before taking up the tickets. As he entered this car, however, Avery +stopped him. + +"Mr. Dorne would like to speak to you," Avery said. The tone was very +like a command. + +Connery stopped beside the section, where the man with the spectacles +sat with his daughter. Dorne looked up at him. + +"You are the train conductor?" he asked, seeming either unsatisfied of +this by Connery's presence or merely desirous of a formal answer. + +"Yes, sir," Connery replied. + +Dorne fumbled in his inner pocket and brought out a card-case, which he +opened, and produced a card. Connery, glancing at the card while the +other still held it, saw that it was President Jarvis' visiting card, +with the president's name in engraved block letters; across its top was +written briefly in Jarvis' familiar hand, "_This is the passenger_"; +and below, it was signed with the same scrawl of initials which had +been on the note Connery had received that morning--"_H. R. J._" + +Connery's hand shook as, while trying to recover himself, he took the +card and looked at it more closely, and he felt within him the sinking +sensation which follows an escape from danger. He saw that his too +ready and too assured assumption that Eaton was the man to whom Jarvis' +note had referred, had almost led him into the sort of mistake which is +unpardonable in a "trusted" man; he had come within an ace, he +realized, of speaking to Eaton and so betraying the presence on the +train of a traveler whose journey his superiors were trying to keep +secret. + +"You need, of course, hold the train no longer," Dorne said to Connery. + +"Yes, sir; I received word from Mr. Jarvis about you, Mr. Dorne. I +shall follow his instructions fully." Connery recalled the discussion +about the drawing-room which had been given to Dorne's daughter. "I +shall see that the Pullman conductor moves some one in one of the other +cars to have a compartment for you, sir." + +"I prefer a place in the open car," Dorne replied. "I am well situated +here. Do not disturb any one." + +As he went forward again after the train was under way, Connery tried +to recollect how it was that he had been led into such a mistake, and +defending himself, he laid it all to old Sammy. But old Sammy was not +often mistaken in his identifications. If Eaton was not the person for +whom the train was held, might he be some one else of importance? Now +as he studied Eaton, he could not imagine what had made him accept this +passenger as a person of great position. It was only when he passed +Eaton a third time, half an hour later, when the train had long left +Seattle, that the half-shaped hazards and guesses about the passenger +suddenly sprang into form. Connery stood and stared back. Eaton did +not look like any one whom he remembered having seen; but he fitted +perfectly some one whose description had been standing for ten days in +every morning and evening edition of the Seattle papers. Yes, allowing +for a change of clothes and a different way of brushing his hair, Eaton +was exactly the man whom Warden had expected at his house and who had +come there and waited while Warden, away in his car, was killed. + +Connery was walking back through the train, absent-minded in trying to +decide whether he could be at all sure of this from the mere printed +description, and trying to decide what he should do if he felt sure, +when Mr. Dorne stopped him. + +"Conductor, do you happen to know," he questioned, "who the young man +is who took Section Three in the car forward?" + +Connery gasped; but the question put to him the impossibility of his +being sure of any recognition from the description. "He gave his name +on his ticket as Philip D. Eaton, sir," Connery replied. + +"Is that all you know about him?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"If you find out anything about him, let me know," Dorne bade. + +"Yes, sir." Connery moved away and soon went back to look again at +Eaton. Had Mr. Dorne also seen the likeness of Eaton in the published +descriptions of the man whom Warden had said was most outrageously +wronged? the man for whom Warden had been willing to risk his life, who +afterwards had not dared to come forward to aid the police with +anything he might know? Connery determined to let nothing interfere +with learning more of Eaton; Dorne's request only gave him added +responsibility. + +Dorne, however, was not depending upon Connery alone for further +information. As soon as the conductor had gone, he turned back to his +daughter and Avery upon the seat opposite. + +"Avery," he said in a tone of direction, "I wish you to get in +conversation with this Philip Eaton. It will probably be useful if you +let Harriet talk with him too. She would get impressions helpful to me +which you can't." + +The girl started with surprise but recovered at once. "Yes, Father," +she said. + +"What, sir?" Avery ventured to protest. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +MISS DORNE MEETS EATON + +Dorne motioned Avery to the aisle, where already some of the +passengers, having settled their belongings in their sections, were +beginning to wander through the cars seeking acquaintances or players +to make up a card game. Eaton, however, was not among these. On the +contrary, when these approached him in his section, he frankly avoided +chance of their speaking to him, by an appearance of complete immersion +in his own concerns. The Englishman directly across the aisle from +Eaton clearly was not likely to speak to him, or to anybody else, +without an introduction; the red-haired man, "D. S.," however, seemed a +more expansive personality. Eaton, seeing "D. S." look several times +in his direction, pulled a newspaper from the pocket of his overcoat +and engrossed himself in it; the newspaper finished, he opened his +traveling bag and produced a magazine. + +But as the train settled into the steady running which reminded of the +days of travel ahead during which the half-dozen cars of the train must +create a world in which it would be absolutely impossible to avoid +contact with other people, Eaton put the magazine into his traveling +bag, took from the bag a handful of cigars with which he filled a +plain, uninitialed cigar-case, and went toward the club and observation +car in the rear. As he passed through the sleeper next to him,--the +last one,--Harriet Dorne glanced up at him and spoke to her father; +Dorne nodded but did not look up. Eaton went on into the wide-windowed +observation-room beyond, which opened onto the rear platform protected +on three sides. + +The observation-room was nearly empty. The sleet which had been +falling when they left Seattle had changed to huge, heavy flakes of +fast-falling snow, which blurred the windows, obscured the landscape +and left visible only the two thin black lines of track that, streaming +out behind them, vanished fifty feet away in the white smother. The +only occupants of the room were a young woman who was reading a +magazine, and an elderly man. Eaton chose a seat as far from these two +as possible. + +He had been there only a few minutes, however, when, looking up, he saw +Harriet Dorne and Avery enter the room. They passed him, engaged in +conversation, and stood by the rear door looking out into the storm. +It was evident to Eaton, although he did not watch them, that they were +arguing something; the girl seemed insistent, Avery irritated and +unwilling. Her manner showed that she won her point finally. She +seated herself in one of the chairs, and Avery left her. He wandered, +as if aimlessly, to the reading table, turning over the magazines +there; abandoning them, he gazed about as if bored; then, with a wholly +casual manner, he came toward Eaton and took the seat beside him. + +"Rotten weather, isn't it?" Avery observed somewhat ungraciously. + +Eaton could not well avoid reply. "It's been getting worse," he +commented, "ever since we left Seattle." + +"We're running into it, apparently." Again Avery looked toward Eaton +and waited. + +"It'll be bad in the mountains, I suspect," Eaton said. + +"Yes--lucky if we get through." + +The conversation on Avery's part was patently forced; and it was +equally forced on Eaton's; nevertheless it continued. Avery introduced +the war and other subjects upon which men, thrown together for a time, +are accustomed to exchange opinions. But Avery did not do it easily or +naturally; he plainly was of the caste whose pose it is to repel, not +seek, overtures toward a chance acquaintance. His lack of practice was +perfectly obvious when at last he asked directly: "Beg pardon, but I +don't think I know your name." + +Eaton was obliged to give it. + +"Mine's Avery," the other offered; "perhaps you heard it when we were +getting our berths assigned." + +And again the conversation, enjoyed by neither of them, went on. +Finally the girl at the end of the car rose and passed them, as though +leaving the car. Avery looked up. + +"Where are you going, Harry?" + +"I think some one ought to be with Father." + +"I'll go in just a minute." + +She had halted almost in front of them. Avery, hesitating as though he +did not know what he ought to do, finally arose; and as Eaton observed +that Avery, having introduced himself, appeared now to consider it his +duty to present Eaton to Harriet Dorne, Eaton also arose. Avery +murmured the names. Harriet Dorne, resting her hand on the back of +Avery's chair, joined in the conversation. As she replied easily and +interestedly to a comment of Eaton's, Avery suddenly reminded her of +her father. After a minute, when Avery--still ungracious and still +irritated over something which Eaton could not guess--rather abruptly +left them, she took Avery's seat; and Eaton dropped into his chair +beside her. + +Now, this whole proceeding--though within the convention which, +forbidding a girl to make a man's acquaintance directly, says nothing +against her making it through the medium of another man--had been so +unnaturally done that Eaton understood that Harriet Dorne deliberately +had arranged to make his acquaintance, and that Avery, angry and +objecting, had been overruled. + +She seemed to Eaton less alertly boyish now than she had looked an hour +before when they had boarded the train. Her cheeks were smoothly +rounded, her lips rather full, her lashes very long. He could not look +up without looking directly at her, for her chair, which had not been +moved since Avery left it, was at an angle with his own. A faint, +sweet fragrance from her hair and clothing came to him and made him +recollect how long it was--five years--since he had talked with, or +even been near, such a girl as this; and the sudden tumult of his +pulses which her nearness caused warned him to keep watch of what he +said until he had learned why she had sought him out. + +To avoid the appearance of studying her too openly, he turned slightly, +so that his gaze went past her to the white turmoil outside the windows. + +"It's wonderful," she said, "isn't it?" + +"You mean the storm?" A twinkle of amusement came to Eaton's eyes. +"It would be more interesting if it allowed a little more to be seen. +At present there is nothing visible but snow." + +"Is that the only way it affects you?" She turned to him, apparently a +trifle disappointed. + +"I don't exactly understand." + +"Why, it must affect every man most as it touches his own interests. +An artist would think of it as a background for contrasts--a thing to +sketch or paint; a writer as something to be written down in words." + +Eaton understood. She could not more plainly have asked him what he +was. + +"And an engineer, I suppose," he said, easily, "would think of it only +as an element to be included in his formulas--an _x_, or an _a_, or a +_b_, to be put in somewhere and square-rooted or squared so that the +roof-truss he was figuring should not buckle under its weight." + +"Oh--so that is the way you were thinking of it?" + +"You mean," Eaton challenged her directly, "am I an engineer?" + +"Are you?" + +"Oh, no; I was only talking in pure generalities, just as you were." + +"Let us go on, then," she said gayly. "I see I can't conceal from you +that I am doing you the honor to wonder what you are. A lawyer would +think of it in the light of damage it might create and the subsequent +possibilities of litigation." She made a little pause. "A business +man would take it into account, as he has to take into account all +things in nature or human; it would delay transportation, or harm or +aid the winter wheat." + +"Or stop competition somewhere," he observed, more interested. + +The flash of satisfaction which came to her face and as quickly was +checked and faded showed him she thought she was on the right track. + +"Business," she said, still lightly, "will--how is it the newspapers +put it?--will marshal its cohorts; it will send out its generals in +command of brigades of snowplows, its colonels in command of regiments +of snow-shovelers and its spies to discover and to bring back word of +the effect upon the crops." + +"You talk," he said, "as if business were a war." + +"Isn't it?--like war, but war in higher terms." + +"In higher terms?" he questioned, attempting to make his tone like +hers, but a sudden bitterness now was betrayed by it. "Or in lower?" + +"Why, in higher," she declared, "demanding greater courage, greater +devotion, greater determination, greater self-sacrifice." + +"What makes you say that?" + +"Soldiers themselves say it, Mr. Eaton, and all the observers in this +horrible war say it when they say that they find almost no cowards and +very few weaklings among all the millions of every sort of men at the +front. They could not say the same of those identical millions under +the normal conditions of everyday business life." + +He remained silent, though she waited for him to reply. + +"You know that is so, Mr. Eaton," she said. "One has only to look on +the streets of any great city to find thousands of men who have not had +the courage and determination to carry on their share of the ordinary +duties of life. Recruiting officers can pick any man off the streets +and make a good soldier of him, but no one could be so sure of finding +a satisfactory employee in that way. Doesn't that show that daily +life, the everyday business of earning a living and bearing one's share +in the workaday world, demands greater qualities than war?" + +Her face had flushed eagerly as she spoke; a darker, livid flush +answered her words on his. + +"But the opportunities for evil are greater, too," he asserted almost +fiercely. + +"What do you mean?" + +"For deceit, for lies, for treachery, Miss Dorne! Violence is the evil +of war, and violence is the evil most easily punished, even if it does +not bring its own punishment upon itself. But how many of those men +you speak of on the streets have been deliberately, mercilessly, even +savagely sacrificed to some business expediency, their future +destroyed, their hope killed!" Some storm of passion, whose meaning +she could not divine, was sweeping him. + +"You mean," she asked after an instant's silence, "that you, Mr. Eaton, +have been sacrificed in such a way?" + +"I am still talking in generalities," he denied ineffectively. + +He saw that she sensed the untruthfulness of these last words. Her +smooth young forehead and her eyes were shadowy with thought. Eaton +was uneasily silent. The train roared across some trestle, giving a +sharp glimpse of gray, snow-swept water far below. Finally Harriet +Dorne seemed to have made her decision. + +"I think you should meet my father, Mr. Eaton," she said. "Would you +like to?" + +He did not reply at once. He knew that his delay was causing her to +study him now with greater surprise. + +"I would like to meet him, yes," he said, "but,"--he hesitated, tried +to avoid answer without offending her, but already he had affronted +her,--"but not now, Miss Dorne." + +She stared at him, rebuffed and chilled. + +"You mean--" The sentence, obviously, was one she felt it better not +to finish. As though he recognized that now she must wish the +conversation to end, he got up. She rose stiffly. + +"I'll see you into your car, if you're returning there," he offered. + +Neither spoke, as he went with her into the next car; and at the +section where her father sat, Eaton bowed silently, nodded to Avery, +who coldly returned his nod, and left her. Eaton went on into his own +car and sat down, his thoughts in mad confusion. + +How near he had come to talking to this girl about himself, even +though, he had felt from the first that that was what she was trying to +make him do! Was he losing his common sense? Was the self-command on +which he had so counted that he had dared to take this train deserting +him? He felt that he must not see Harriet Dorne again alone. At first +this was all he felt; but as he sat, pale and quiet, staring vacantly +at the snow-flakes which struck and melted on the window beside him, +his thoughts grew more clear. In Avery he had recognized, by that +instinct which so strangely divines the personalities one meets, an +enemy from the start; Dorne's attitude toward him, of course, was not +yet defined; as for Harriet Dorne--he could not tell whether she was +prepared to be his enemy or friend. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +TRUCE + +The Eastern Express, mantled in a seething whirl of snow, but still +maintaining very nearly its scheduled time and even regaining a few +lost minutes from hour to hour as, now well past the middle of the +State, it sped on across the flatter country in its approach to the +mountains, proceeded monotonously through the afternoon. Eaton watched +the chill of the snow battle against the warmth of the double windows +on the windward side of the car, until finally it conquered and the +windows became--as he knew the rest of the outside of the cars must +have been long before--merely a wall of white. This coating, +thickening steadily with the increasing severity of the storm as they +approached the Rockies, dimmed the afternoon daylight within the car to +dusk. + +Presently all became black outside the windows, and the passengers from +the rear cars filed forward to the dining car and then back to their +places again. Eaton took care to avoid the Dorne party in the diner. +Soon the porter began making up the berths to be occupied that night; +but as yet no one was retiring. The train was to reach Spokane late in +the evening; there would be a stop there for half an hour; and after +the long day on the train, every one seemed to be waiting up for a walk +about the station before going to bed. But as the train slowed, and +with a sudden diminishing of the clatter of the fishplates under its +wheels and of the puffings of exhausted steam, slipped into the lighted +trainsheds at the city, Eaton sat for some minutes in thought. Then he +dragged his overcoat down from its hook, buttoned it tightly about his +throat, pulled his traveling cap down on his head and left the car. +All along the train, vestibule doors of the Pullmans had been opened, +and the passengers were getting out, while a few others, snow-covered +and with hand-luggage, came to board the train. Eaton, turning to +survey the sleet-shrouded car he had left, found himself face to face +with Miss Dorne, standing alone upon the station platform. + +Her piquant, beautiful face was half hidden in the collar of the great +fur coat she had worn on boarding the train, and her cheeks were ruddy +with the bite of the crisp air. + +"You see before you a castaway," she volunteered, smiling. + +He felt it necessary to take the same tone. "A castaway?" he +questioned. "Cast away by whom?" + +"By Mr. Avery, if you must know, though your implication that anybody +should have cast me away--anybody at all, Mr. Eaton--is unpleasant." + +"There was no implication; it was simply inquiry." + +"You should have put it, then, in some other form; you should have +asked how I came to be in so surprising a position." + +"'How,' in this part of the country, Miss Dorne, is not regarded as a +question, but merely as a form of salutation," he bantered. "It was +formerly employed by the Indian aborigines inhabiting these parts, who +exchanged 'How's' when passing each other on the road. If I had said +'How,' you might simply have replied 'How,' and I should have been +under the necessity of considering the incident closed." + +She laughed. "You do not wish it to be closed." + +"Not till I know more about it." + +"Very well; you shall know more. Mr. Avery brought me out to take a +walk. He remembered, after bringing me as far as this, that we had not +asked my father whether he had any message to be sent from here or any +commission to execute; so he went back to find out. I have now waited +so many minutes that I feel sure it is my father who has detained him. +The imperfectly concealed meaning of what I am telling you is that I +consider that Mr. Avery, by his delay, has forfeited his right. The +further implication--for _I_ do imply things, Mr. Eaton--is that you +cannot very well avoid offering to take the post of duty he has +abandoned." + +"You mean walk with you?" + +"I do." + +He slipped his hand inside her arm, sustaining her slight, active body +against the wind which blew strongly through the station and scattered +over them snow-flakes blown from the roofs of the cars, as they walked +forward along the train. Her manner had told him that she meant to +ignore her resentment of the morning; but as, turning, they commenced +to walk briskly up and down the platform, he found he was not wholly +right in this. + +"You must admit, Mr. Eaton, that I am treating you very well." + +"In pardoning an offense where no offense was meant?" + +"It is partly that--that I realized no offense was meant. Partly it is +because I do not pass judgment on things I do not understand. I could +imagine no possible reason for your very peculiar refusal." + +"Not even that I might be perhaps the sort of person who ought not to +be introduced into your party in quite that way?" + +"That least of all. Persons of that sort do not admit themselves to be +such; and if I have lived for twen--I shall not tell you just how many +years--the sort of life I have been obliged to live almost since I was +born, without learning to judge men in that respect, I must have failed +to use my opportunities." + +"Thank you," he returned quietly; then, as he recollected his +instinctive prejudice against Avery: "However, I am not so sure." + +She plainly waited for him to go on, but he pretended to be concerned +wholly with guiding her along the platform. + +"Mr. Eaton!" + +"Yes." + +"Do you know that you are a most peculiar man?" + +"Exactly in what way, Miss Dorne?" + +"In this: The ordinary man, when a woman shows any curiosity about +himself, answers with a fullness and particularity and eagerness which +seems to say, 'At last you have found a subject which interests me!'" + +"Does he?" + +"Is that the only reply you care to make?" + +"I can think of none more adequate." + +"Meaning that after my altogether too open display of curiosity +regarding you, I can still do nothing better than guess, without any +expectation that you, on your part, will deign to tell me whether I am +right or wrong. Very well; my first guess is that you have not done +much walking with young women on station platforms--certainly not much +of late." + +"I'll try to do better, if you'll tell me how you know that?" + +"You do very well. I was not criticising you, and I don't have to tell +why. Ask no questions; it is a clairvoyant diviner who is speaking." + +"Divinity?" + +"Diviner only. My second guess is that you have been abroad in far +lands." + +"My railroad ticket showed as much as that." + +"Pardon me, if it seriously injures your self-esteem; but I was not +sufficiently interested in you when you came aboard the train, to +observe your ticket. What I know is divined from the exceedingly odd +and reminiscent way in which you look at all things about you--at this +train, this station, the people who pass." + +"You find nothing reminiscent, I suppose, in the way I look at you?" + +"You do yourself injustice. You do not look at me at all, so I cannot +tell; but there could hardly be any reminiscence extending beyond this +morning, since you never saw me before then." + +"No; this is all fresh experience." + +"I hope it is not displeasing. My doubt concerning your evidently +rather long absence abroad is as to whether you went away to get or to +forget." + +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." + +"Those are the two reasons for which young men go to Asia, are they +not?--to get something or to forget something. At least, so I have +been given to understand. Shall I go on?" + +"Go on guessing, you mean? I don't seem able to prevent it." + +"Then my third guess is this--and you know no one is ever allowed more +than three guesses." She hesitated; when she went on, she had entirely +dropped her tone of banter. "I guess, Mr. Eaton, that you have been--I +think, are still--going through some terrible experience which has +endured for a very long time--perhaps even for years--and has nearly +made of you and perhaps even yet may make of you something far +different and--and something far less pleasing than you--you must have +been before. There! I have transcended all bounds, said everything I +should not have said, and left unsaid all the conventional things which +are all that our short acquaintance could have allowed. Forgive +me--because I'm not sorry." + +He made no answer. They walked as far as the rear of the train, turned +and came back before she spoke again: + +"What is it they are doing to the front of our train, Mr. Eaton?" + +He looked. "They are putting a plow on the engine." + +"Oh!" + +"That seems to be only the ordinary push-plow, but if what I have been +overhearing is correct, the railroad people are preparing to give you +one of the minor exhibitions of that everyday courage of which you +spoke this morning, Miss Dorne." + +"In what particular way?" + +"When we get across the Idaho line and into the mountains, you are to +ride behind a double-header driving a rotary snow-plow." + +"A double-header? You mean two locomotives?" + +"Yes; the preparation is warrant that what is ahead of us in the way of +travel will fully come up to anything you may have been led to expect." +They stood a minute watching the trainmen; as they turned, his gaze +went past her to the rear cars. "Also," he added, "Mr. Avery, with his +usual gracious pleasure at my being in your company, is hailing you +from the platform of your car." + +She looked up at Eaton sharply, seemed about to speak, and then checked +what was upon her tongue. "You are going into your own car?" She held +out to him her small gloved hand. "Good-by, then--until we see one +another again." + +"Good night, Miss Dorne." + +He took her hand and retaining it hardly the fraction of an instant, +let it go. Was it her friendship she had been offering him? Men use +badinage without respect to what their actual feelings may be; +women--some memory from the past in which he had known such girls as +this, seemed to recall--use it most frequently when their feelings, +consciously or unconsciously, are drawing toward a man. + +Eaton now went into the men's compartment of his car, where he sat +smoking till after the train was under way again. The porter looked in +upon him there to ask if he wished his berth made up now; Eaton nodded +assent, and fifteen minutes later, dropping the cold end of his cigar +and going out into the car, he found the berth ready for him. "D. +S.'s" section, also made up but with the curtains folded back +displaying the bedding within, was unoccupied; jerkings of the +curtains, and voices and giggling in the two berths at the end of the +car, showed that Amy and Constance were getting into bed; the +Englishman was wide awake in plain determination not to go to bed until +his accustomed Nottingham hour. Eaton, drawing his curtains together +and buttoning them from the inside, undressed and went to bed. A +half-hour later the passage of some one through the aisle and the +sudden dimming of the crack of light which showed above the curtains +told him that the lights in the car had been turned down. Eaton closed +his eyes, but sleep was far from him. + +Presently he began to feel the train beginning to labor with the +increasing grade and the deepening snow. It was well across the State +line and into Idaho; it was nearing the mountains, and the weather was +getting colder and the storm more severe. Eaton lifted the curtain +from the window beside him and leaned on one elbow to look out. The +train was running through a bleak, white desolation; no light and no +sign of habitation showed anywhere. Eaton lay staring out, and now the +bleak world about him seemed to assume toward him a cruel and merciless +aspect. The events of the day ran through his mind again with sinister +suggestion. He had taken that train for a certain definite, dangerous +purpose which required his remaining as obscure and as inconspicuous as +possible; yet already he had been singled out for attention. So far, +he was sure, he had received no more than that--attention, curiosity +concerning him. He had not suffered recognition; but that might come +at any moment. Could he risk longer waiting to act? + +He dropped on his back upon the bed and lay with his hands clasped +under his head, his eyes staring up at the roof of the car. + +In the card-room of the observation car, playing and conversation still +went on for a time; then it diminished as one by one the passengers +went away to bed. Connery, looking into this car, found it empty and +the porter cleaning up; he slowly passed on forward through the train, +stopping momentarily in the rear Pullman opposite the berth of the +passenger whom President Jarvis had commended to his care. His +scrutiny of the car told him all was correct here; the even breathing +within the berth assured him the passenger slept. + +Connery went on through to the next car and paused again outside the +berth occupied by Eaton. He had watched Eaton all day with results +that still he was debating with himself; he had found in a newspaper +the description of the man who had waited at Warden's, and he reread +it, comparing it with Eaton. It perfectly confirmed Connery's first +impression; but the more Connery had seen of Eaton, and the more he had +thought over him during the day, the more the conductor had become +satisfied that either Eaton was not the man described or, if he was, +there was no harm to come from it. After all, was not all that could +be said against Eaton--if he was the man--simply that he had not +appeared to state why Warden was befriending him? Was it not possible +that he was serving Warden in some way by not appearing? Certainly Mr. +Dorne, who was the man most on the train to be considered, had +satisfied himself that Eaton was fit for an acquaintance; Connery had +seen what was almost a friendship, apparently, spring up between Eaton +and Dorne's daughter during the day. + +The conductor went on, his shoulders brushing the buttoned curtains on +both sides of the narrow aisle. Except for the presence of the +passenger in the rear sleeper, this inspection was to the conductor the +uttermost of the commonplace; in its monotonous familiarity he had +never felt any strangeness in this abrupt and intimate bringing +together of people who never had seen one another before, who after +these few days of travel together, might probably never see one another +again, but who now slept separated from one another and from the +persons passing through the cars by no greater protection than these +curtains designed only to shield them from the light and from each +other's eyes. He felt no strangeness in this now. He merely assured +himself by his scrutiny that within his train all was right. Outside-- + +Connery was not so sure of that; rather, he had been becoming more +certain hour by hour all through the evening, that they were going to +have great difficulty in getting the train through. Though he knew by +President Jarvis' note that the officials of the road must be watching +the progress of this especial train with particular interest, he had +received no train-orders from the west for several hours. His inquiry +at the last stop had told him the reason for this; the telegraph wires +to the west had gone down. To the east, communication was still open, +but how long it would remain so he could not guess. Here in the deep +heart of the great mountains--they had passed the Idaho boundary-line +into Montana--they were getting the full effect of the storm; their +progress, increasingly slow, was broken by stops which were becoming +more frequent and longer as they struggled on. As now they fought +their way slower and slower up a grade, and barely topping it, +descended the opposite slope at greater speed as the momentum of the +train was added to the engine-power, Connery's mind went back to the +second sleeper with its single passenger, and he spoke to the Pullman +conductor, who nodded and went toward that car. The weather had +prevented the expected increase of their number of passengers at +Spokane; only a few had got aboard there; there were worse grades +ahead, in climbing which every pound of weight would count; so +Connery--in the absence of orders and with Jarvis' note in his +pocket--had resolved to drop the second sleeper. + +At Fracroft--the station where he was to exchange the ordinary plow +which so far had sufficed, and couple on the "rotary" to fight the +mountain drifts ahead--he swung himself down from the train, looked in +at the telegraph office and then went forward to the two giant +locomotives, on whose sweating, monstrous backs the snow, suddenly +visible in the haze of their lights, melted as it fell. He waited on +the station platform while the second sleeper was cut out and the train +made up again. Then, as they started, he swung aboard and in the +brightly lighted men's compartment of the first Pullman checked up his +report-sheets with a stub of pencil. They had stopped again, he +noticed; now they were climbing a grade, more easily because of the +decrease of weight; now a trestle rumbled under the wheels, telling him +just where they were. Next was the powerful, steady push against +opposition--the rotary was cutting its way through a drift. + +Again they stopped--once more went on. Connery, having put his papers +into his pocket, dozed, awoke, dozed again. The snow was certainly +heavy, and the storm had piled it up across the cuts in great drifts +which kept the rotary struggling almost constantly now. The progress +of the train halted again and again; several times it backed, charged +forward again--only to stop, back and charge again and then go on. But +this did not disturb Connery. Then something went wrong. All at once +he found himself, by a trainman's instinctive and automatic action, +upon his feet; for the shock had been so slight as barely to be felt, +far too slight certainly to have awakened any of the sleeping +passengers in their berths. He went to the door of the car, lifted the +platform stop, threw open the door of the vestibule and hanging by one +hand to the rail, swung himself out from the side of the car to look +ahead. He saw the forward one of the two locomotives wrapped in clouds +of steam, and men arm-deep in snow wallowing forward to the rotary +still further to the front, and the sight confirmed fully his +apprehension that this halt was more important and likely to last much +longer than those that had gone before. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ARE YOU HILLWARD? + +It is the wonder of the moment of first awakening that one--however +tried or troubled he may be when complete recollection returns--may +find, at first, rehearsal of only what is pleasant in his mind. Eaton, +waking and stretching himself luxuriously in his berth in the reverie +halfway between sleep and full consciousness, found himself supremely +happy. His feelings, before recollection came to check them, reminded +him only that he had been made an acquaintance, almost a friend, the +day before, by a wonderful, inspiring, beautiful girl. Then suddenly, +into his clearing memory crushed and crowded the reason for his being +where he was. By an instinctive jerk of his shoulders, almost a +shudder, he drew the sheet and blanket closer about him; the smile was +gone from his lips; he lay still, staring upward at the berth above his +head and listening to the noises in the car. + +The bell in the washroom at the end of the car was ringing violently, +and some one was reinforcing his ring with a stentorian call for +"Porter! Porter!" + +Eaton realized that it was very cold in his berth--also that the train, +which was standing still, had been in that motionless condition for +some time. He threw up the window curtain as he appreciated that and, +looking out, found that he faced a great unbroken bank of glistening +white snow as high as the top of the car at this point and rising even +higher ahead. He listened, therefore, while the Englishman--for the +voice calling to the porter was his--extracted all available +information from the negro. + +"Porter!" Standish called again. + +"Yessuh!" + +"Close my window and be quick about it!" + +"It's closed, suh." + +"Closed?" + +"Yessuh; I shut it en-durin' the night." + +"Closed!" the voice behind the curtains iterated skeptically; there was +a pause during which, probably, there was limited exploration. "I say, +then, how cold is it outside?" + +"Ten below this morning, suh." + +"What, what? Where are we?" + +"Between Fracroft and Simons, suh." + +"Yet?" + +"Yessuh, yit!" + +"Hasn't your silly train moved since four o'clock?" + +"Moved? No, suh. Not mo'n a yahd or two nohow, suh, and I reckon we +backed them up again." + +"That foolish snow still?" + +"Yessuh; and snow some more, suh." + +"But haven't we the plow still ahead?" + +"Oh, yessuh; the plow's ahaid. We still got it; but that's all, suh. +It ain't doin' much; it's busted." + +"Eh--what?" + +"Yessuh--busted! There was right smart of a slide across the track, +and the crew, I understands, diagnosed it jus' fo' a snowbank and done +bucked right into it. But they was rock in this, suh; we's layin' +right below a hill; and that rock jus' busted that rotary like a +Belgium shell hit it. Yessuh--pieces of that rotary essentially +scattered themselves in four directions besides backwards and fo'wards. +We ain't done much travelin' since then." + +"Ah! But the restaurant car's still attached?" + +"De restaur--oh, yessuh. We carries the diner through--from the Coast +to Chicago." + +"H'm! Ten below! Porter, is that wash-compartment hot? And are they +serving breakfast yet?" + +"Yessuh; yessuh!" + +The Briton, from behind his curtains, continued; but Eaton no longer +paid attention. + +"Snowed in and stopped since four!" The realization startled him with +the necessity of taking it into account in his plans. He jerked +himself up in his berth and began pulling his clothes down from the +hooks; then, as abruptly, he stopped dressing and sat absorbed in +thought. Finally he parted the curtains and looked out into the aisle. + +The Englishman, having elicited all he desired, or could draw, from the +porter, now bulged through his curtains and stood in the aisle, +unabashed, in gaudy pajamas and slippers, while he methodically bundled +his clothes under his arm; then, still garbed only in pajamas, he +paraded majestically to the washroom. The curtains over the berths at +the other end of the car also bulged and emitted the two dark-haired +girls. They were completely kimono-ed over any temporary deficiency of +attire and skipped to the drawing-room inhabited by their parents. The +drawing-room door instantly opened at Amy's knock, admitted the girls +and shut again. Section Seven gave to the aisle the reddish-haired D. +S. He carried coat, collar, hairbrushes and shaving case and went to +join the Briton in the men's washroom. + +There was now no one else in the main part of the car; and no berths +other than those already accounted for had been made up. Yet Eaton +still delayed; his first impulse to get up and dress had been lost in +the intensity of the thought in which he was engaged. He had let +himself sink back against the pillows, while he stared, unseeingly, at +the solid bank of snow beside the car, when the door at the further end +of the coach opened and Conductor Connery entered, calling a name. +"Mr. Hillward! Mr. Lawrence Hillward! Telegram for Mr. Hillward!" + +Eaton started at the first call of the name; he sat up and faced about. + +"Mr. Hillward! Telegram for Mr. Lawrence Hillward!" + +The conductor was opposite Section Three; Eaton now waited tensely and +delayed until the conductor was past; then putting his head out of his +curtains and assuring himself that the car was otherwise empty as when +he had seen it last, he hailed as the conductor was going through the +door. + +"What name? Who is that telegram for?" + +"Mr. Lawrence Hillward." + +"Oh, thank you; then that's mine." He put his hand out between the +curtains to take the yellow envelope. + +Connery held back. "I thought your name was Eaton." + +"It is. Mr. Hillward--Lawrence Hillward--is an associate of mine who +expected to make this trip with me but could not. So I should have +telegrams or other communications addressed to him. Is there anything +to sign?" + +"No, sir--train delivery. It's not necessary." + +Eaton drew his curtains close again and ripped the envelope open; but +before reading the message, he observed with alarm that his pajama +jacket had opened across the chest, and a small round scar, such as +that left by a high-powered bullet penetrating, was exposed. He gasped +almost audibly, realizing this, and clapped his hand to his chest and +buttoned his jacket. The message--nine words without signature--lay +before him: + + +Thicket knot youngster omniscient issue foliage lecture tragic +instigation. + + +It was some code which Eaton recognized but could not decipher at once. +It was of concern, but at that instant, less of concern than to know +whether his jacket had been open and his chest exposed when he took the +message. The conductor was still standing in the aisle. + +"When did you get this?" Eaton asked, looking out. + +"Just now." + +"How could you get it here?" Eaton questioned, watching the conductor's +face. + +"We've had train instruments--the emergency telegraph--on the wires +since four o'clock and just got talking with the stations east; wires +are still down to the west. That message came through yesterday some +time and was waiting for you at Simons; when we got them this morning, +they sent it on." + +"I see; thanks." Eaton, assured that if the conductor had seen +anything, he suspected no significance in what he saw, closed his +curtains and buttoned them carefully. The conductor moved on. Eaton +took a small English-Chinese pocket-dictionary from his vest pocket and +opened it under cover of the blanket; counting five words up from +_thicket_ he found _they_; five down from _knot_ gave him _know_; six +up from _youngster_ was _you_; six down from _omniscient_ was _one_; +seven up from _issue_ was _is_; and so continuing, he translated the +nine words to: + +"They know you. One is following. Leave train instantly." + +Eaton, nervous and jerky, as he completed the first six words, laughed +as he compiled the final three. "Leave train instantly!" The humor of +that advice in his present situation, as he looked out the window at +the solid bank of snow, appealed to him. He slapped the little +dictionary shut and returned it to his pocket. A waiter from the +dining car came back, announcing the first call for breakfast, and +spurred him into action. Passengers from the Pullman at the rear +passed Eaton's section for the diner. He glanced out at the first two +or three; then he heard Harriet Dorne's voice in some quiet, +conventional remark to the man who followed her. Eaton started at it; +then he dressed swiftly and hurried into the now deserted washroom and +then on to breakfast. + +The dining car, all gleaming crystal and silver and white covers +within, also was surrounded by snow. The space outside the windows +seemed somewhat wider than that about the sleeping car. And a moment +before Eaton went forward, the last cloud had cleared and the sun had +come out bright. The train was still quite motionless; the great +drifts of snow, even with the tops of the cars on either side, made +perfectly plain how hopeless it would be to try to proceed without the +plow; and the heavy white frost which had not yet cleared from some of +the window-panes, told graphically of the cold without. But the dining +car was warm and cheerful, and it gave assurance that, if the train was +helpless to move, it at least offered luxuries in its idleness. As +Eaton stepped inside the door, the car seemed all cheer and good +spirits. + +Fresh red carnations and ruddy roses were, as usual, in the cut-glass +vases on the white cloths; the waiters bore steaming pots of coffee and +bowls of hot cereals to the different tables. These, as usual, were +ten in number--five with places for four persons each, on one side of +the aisle, and five, each with places for two persons, beside the +windows on the other side of the car. + +Harriet Dorne was sitting facing the door at the second of the larger +tables; opposite her, and with his back to Eaton, sat Donald Avery. A +third place was laid beside the girl, as though they expected Dorne to +join them; but they had begun their fruit without waiting. The girl +glanced up as Eaton halted in the doorway; her blue eyes brightened +with a look part friendliness, part purpose. She smiled and nodded, +and Avery turned about. + +"Good morning, Mr. Eaton," the girl greeted. + +"Good morning, Miss Dorne," Eaton replied collectedly. He nodded also +to Avery, who, stiffly returning the nod, turned back again to Miss +Dorne. + +Amy and Constance, with their parents, occupied the third large table; +the other three large tables were empty. "D. S." was alone at the +furthest of the small tables; a traveling-salesman-looking person was +washing down creamed Finnan haddock with coffee at the next; the +passenger who had been alone in the second car was at the third; the +Englishman, Standish, was beginning his iced grape-fruit at the table +opposite Miss Dorne; and at the place nearest the door, an +insignificant broad-shouldered and untidy young man, who had boarded +the train at Spokane, had just spilled half a cup of coffee over the +egg spots on his lapels as his unsteady and nicotine-stained fingers +all but dropped the cup. + +The dining car conductor, in accordance with the general determination +to reserve the larger tables for parties traveling together, pulled +back the chair opposite the untidy man; but Eaton, with a sharp sense +of disgust, went past to the chair opposite the Englishman. + +As he was about to seat himself there, the girl again looked up. "Oh, +Mr. Eaton," she smiled, "wouldn't you like to sit with us? I don't +think Father is coming to breakfast now; and if he does, of course +there's still room." + +She pulled back the chair beside her enticingly; and Eaton accepted it. + +"Good morning, Mr. Avery," he said to Miss Dorne's companion formally +as he sat down, and the man across the table murmured something +perforce. + +As Eaton ordered his breakfast, he appreciated for the first time that +his coming had interrupted a conversation--or rather a sort of +monologue of complaint on the part of Standish addressed impersonally +to Avery. + +"Extraordinarily exposed in these sleeping cars of yours, isn't one, +wouldn't you say?" the Englishman appealed across the aisle. + +"Exposed?" Avery repeated, more inclined to encourage the conversation. + +"I say, is it quite the custom for a train servant--whenever he fancies +he should--to reach across one, sleeping?" + +"He means the porter closed his window during the night," Eaton +explained to Avery. + +"Quite so; and I knew nothing about it--nothing at all. Fancy! There +was I in the bunk, and the beggar comes along, pulls my curtains aside, +reaches across me--" + +"It got very cold in the night," Avery offered. + +"I know; but is that any reason for the beggar invading my bunk that +way? He might have done anything to me! Any one in the car might have +done anything to me! Any one in your bally corridor-train might have +done anything. There was I, asleep--quite unconscious; people passing +up and down the aisle just the other side of a foolish fall of curtain! +How does any one know one of those people might not be an enemy of +mine? Remarkable people, you Americans--inconsistent, I say. Lock +your homes with most complicated fastenings--greatest lock-makers in +the world--burglar alarms on windows; but when you travel, expose +yourselves as one wouldn't dream of exposing oneself elsewhere. +Amazing places, your Pullman coaches! Why, any one might do anything +to any one! What's to stop him, what?" + +Eaton, suddenly reminded of his telegram, put a hand into his pocket +and fingered the torn scraps; he had meant to remove and destroy them, +but had forgotten. He glanced at Harriet Dorne. + +"What he says is quite true," she observed. She was smiling, however, +as most of the other passengers were, at the Englishman's vehemence. + +They engaged in conversation as they breakfasted--a conversation in +which Avery took almost no part, though Miss Dorne tried openly to draw +him in; then the sudden entrance of Connery, followed closely by a +stout, brusque man who belonged to the rear Pullman, took Eaton's +attention and hers. + +Other passengers also looked up; and the nervous, untidy young man at +the table near the door again slopped coffee over himself as the +conductor gazed about. + +"Which is him?" the man with Connery demanded loudly. + +Connery checked him, but pointed at the same time to Eaton. + +"That's him, is it?" the other man said. "Then go ahead." + +Eaton observed that Avery, who had turned in his seat, was watching +this diversion on the part of the conductor with interest. Connery +stopped beside Eaton's seat. + +"You took a telegram for Lawrence Hillward this morning," he asserted. + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"Because it was mine, or meant for me, as I said at the time. My name +is Eaton; but Mr. Hillward expected to make this trip with me." + +The stout man with the conductor forced himself forward. + +"That's pretty good, but not quite good enough!" he charged. +"Conductor, get that telegram for me!" + +Eaton got up, controlling himself under the insult of the other's +manner. + +"What business is it of yours?" he demanded. + +"What business? Why, only that I'm Lawrence Hillward--that's all, my +friend! What are you up to, anyway? Lawrence Hillward traveling with +you! I never set eyes on you until I saw you on this train; and you +take my telegram!" The charge was made loudly and distinctly; every +one in the dining car--Eaton could not see every one, but he knew it +was so--had put down fork or cup or spoon and was staring at him. +"What did you do it for? What did you want with it?" the stout man +blared on. "Did you think I wasn't on the train? What? + +"I was in the washroom," he continued, roaring for the benefit of the +car, "when the conductor went by with it. I couldn't take the telegram +then--so I waited for the conductor to come back. When I got dressed, +I found him, and he said you'd claimed my message. Say, hand it over +now! What were you up to? What did you do that for?" + +Eaton felt he was paling as he faced the blustering smaller man. He +realized that the passengers he could see--those at the smaller +tables--already had judged his explanation and found him wanting; the +others unquestionably had done the same. Avery was gazing up at him +with a sort of contented triumph. + +"The telegram was for me, Conductor," he repeated. + +"Get that telegram, Conductor!" the stout man demanded again. + +"I suppose," Connery suggested, "you have letters or a card or +something, Mr. Eaton, to show your relationship to Lawrence Hillward." + +"No; I have not." + +The man asserting himself as Hillward grunted. + +"Have you anything to show you are Lawrence Hillward?" Eaton demanded +of him. + +"Did you tell any one on the train that your name was Hillward before +you wanted this telegram?" + +It was Harriet Dorne's voice which interposed; and Eaton felt his pulse +leap as she spoke for him. + +"I never gave any other name than Lawrence Hillward," the other +declared. + +Connery gazed from one claimant to the other. "Will you give this +gentleman the telegram?" he asked Eaton. + +"I will not." + +"Then I shall furnish him another copy; it was received here on the +train by our express-clerk as the operator. I'll go forward and get +him another copy." + +"That's for you to decide," Eaton said; and as though the matter was +closed for him, he resumed his seat. He was aware that, throughout the +car, the passengers were watching him curiously; he would have foregone +the receipt of the telegram rather than that attention should be +attracted to him in this way. Avery was still gazing at him with that +look of quiet satisfaction; Eaton had not dared, as yet, to look at +Harriet Dorne. When, constraining himself to a manner of indifference, +he finally looked her way, she began to chat with him as lightly as +before. Whatever effect the incident just closed had had upon the +others, it appeared to have had none at all upon her. + +"Are you ready to go back to our car now, Harriet?" Avery inquired when +she had finished her breakfast, though Eaton was not yet through. + +"Surely there's no hurry about anything to-day," the girl returned. +They waited until Eaton had finished. + +"Shall we all go back to the observation car and see if there's a walk +down the track or whether it's snowed over?" she said impartially to +the two. They went through the Pullmans together. + +The first Pullman contained four or five passengers; the next, in which +Eaton had his berth, was still empty as they passed through. The +porter had made up all the berths, and only luggage and newspapers and +overcoats occupied the seats. The next Pullman also, at first glance, +seemed to have been deserted in favor of the diner forward or of the +club-car further back. The porter had made up all the berths there +also, except one; but some one still was sleeping behind the curtains +of Section Three, for a man's hand hung over the aisle. It was a +gentleman's hand, with long, well-formed fingers, sensitive and at the +same time strong. That was the berth of Harriet Dorne's father; Eaton +gazed down at the hand as he approached the section, and then he looked +up quickly to the girl. She had observed the hand, as also had Avery; +but, plainly, neither of them noticed anything strange either in its +posture or appearance. Their only care had been to avoid brushing +against it on their way down the aisle so as not to disturb the man +behind the curtain; but Eaton, as he saw the hand, started. + +He was the last of the three to pass, and so the others did not notice +his start; but so strong was the fascination of the hand in the aisle +that he turned back and gazed at it before going on into the last car. +Some eight or ten passengers--men and women--were lounging in the +easy-chairs of the observation-room; a couple, ulstered and fur-capped, +were standing on the platform gazing back from the train. + +The sun was still shining, and the snow had stopped some hours before; +but the wind which had brought the storm was still blowing, and +evidently it had blown a blizzard after the train stopped at four that +morning. The canyon through the snowdrifts, bored by the giant rotary +plow the night before, was almost filled; drifts of snow eight or ten +feet high and, in places, pointing still higher, came up to the rear of +the train; the end of the platform itself was buried under three feet +of snow; the men standing on the platform could barely look over the +higher drifts. + +"There's no way from the train in that direction now," Harriet Dorne +lamented as she saw this. + +"There was no way five minutes after we stopped," one of the men +standing at the end of the car volunteered. "From Fracroft on--I was +the only passenger in sleeper Number Two, and they'd told me to get up; +they gave me a berth in another car and cut my sleeper out at +Fracroft--we were bucking the drifts about four miles an hour; it +seemed to fill in behind about as fast and as thick as we were cutting +it out in front. It all drifted in behind as soon as we stopped, the +conductor tells me." + +The girl made polite acknowledgment and referred to her two companions. + +"What shall we do with ourselves, then?" + +"Cribbage, Harriet? You and I?" Avery invited. + +She shook her head. "If we have to play cards, get a fourth and make +it auction; but must it be cards? Isn't there some way we can get out +for a walk?" + +CHAPTER VI + +THE HAND IN THE AISLE + +The man whose interest in the passenger in Section Three of the last +sleeper was most definite and understandable and, therefore, most +openly acute, was Conductor Connery. Connery had passed through the +Pullmans several times during the morning--first in the murk of the +dawn before the dimmed lamps in the cars had been extinguished; again +later, when the passengers had been getting up; and a third time after +all the passengers had left their berths except Dorne, and after nearly +all the berths had been unmade and the bedding packed away behind the +panels overhead. Each time he passed, Connery had seen the hand which +hung out into the aisle from between the curtains; but the only +definite thought that came to him was that Dorne was a sound sleeper. + +Nearly all the passengers had now breakfasted. Connery, therefore, +took a seat in the diner, breakfasted leisurely and after finishing, +went forward to see what messages had been received as to the relieving +snow-plows. Nothing definite yet had been learned; the snow ahead of +them was fully as bad as this where they were stopped, and it would be +many hours before help could get to them. Connery walked back through +the train. Dorne by now must be up, and might wish to see the +conductor. Unless Dorne stopped him, however, Connery did not intend +to speak to Dorne. The conductor had learned in his many years of +service that nothing is more displeasing to the sort of people for whom +trains are held than officiousness. + +As Connery entered the last sleeper, his gaze fell on the dial of +pointers which, communicating with the pushbuttons in the different +berths, tell the porter which section is calling him, and he saw that +while all the other arrows were pointing upward, the arrow marked "3" +was pointing down. Dorne was up, then--for this was the arrow denoting +his berth--or at least was awake and had recently rung his bell. + +Connery looked in upon the porter, who was cleaning up the washroom. + +"Section Three's getting up?" he asked. + +"No, Mistah Connery--not yet," the porter answered. + +"What did he ring for?" Connery thought Dorne might have asked for him. + +"He didn't ring. He ain't moved or stirred this morning." + +"He must have rung." Connery looked to the dial, and the porter came +out of the washroom and looked at it also. + +"Fo' the lan's sake. I didn't hear no ring, Mistah Connery. It mus' +have been when I was out on the platform." + +"When was that?" + +"Jus' now. There ain't been nobody but him in the car for fifteen +minutes, and I done turn the pointers all up when the las' passenger +went to the diner. It can't be longer than a few minutes, Mistah +Connery." + +"Answer it, then," Connery directed. + +As the negro started to obey, Connery followed him into the open car. +He could see over the negro's shoulder the hand sticking out into the +aisle, and this time, at sight of it, Connery started violently. If +Dorne had rung, he must have moved; a man who is awake does not let his +hand hang out into the aisle. Yet the hand had not moved. Nothing was +changed about it since Connery had seen it before. The long, sensitive +fingers fell in precisely the same position as before, stiffly +separated a little one from another; they had not changed their +position at all. + +"Wait!" Connery seized the porter by the arm. "I'll answer it myself." + +He dismissed the negro and waited until he had gone. He looked about +and assured himself that the car, except for himself and the man lying +behind the curtains of Section Three, was empty. He slowed, as he +approached the hand. He halted and stood a moment beside the berth, +himself almost breathless as he listened for the sound of breathing +within. He heard nothing, though he bent closer to the curtain. Yet +he still hesitated, and retreating a little and walking briskly as +though he were carelessly passing up the aisle, he brushed hard against +the hand and looked back, exclaiming an apology for his carelessness. + +The hand fell back heavily, inertly, and resumed its former position +and hung as white and lifeless as before. No response to the apology +came from behind the curtains; the man in the berth had not roused. +Connery rushed back to the curtains and touched the hand with his +fingers. It was cold! He seized the hand and felt it all over; then, +gasping, he parted the curtains and looked into the berth. He stared; +his breath whistled out; his shoulders jerked, and he drew back, +instinctively pressing his two clenched hands against his chest and the +pocket which held President Jarvis' order. + +The man in the berth was lying on his right side facing the aisle; the +left side of his face was thus exposed; and it had been crushed in by a +violent blow from some heavy weapon which, too blunt to cut the skin +and bring blood, had fractured the cheekbone and bludgeoned the temple. +The proof of murderous violence was so plain that the conductor, as he +saw the face in the light, recoiled with starting eyes, white with +horror. + +He looked up and down the aisle to assure himself that no one had +entered the car during his examination; then he carefully drew the +curtains together again, and hurried to the forward end of the car +where he had left the porter. + +"Lock the rear door of the car," he commanded. "Then come back here." + +He gave the negro the keys, and himself waited to prevent any one from +entering the car at his end. Looking through the glass of the door, he +saw the young man Eaton standing in the vestibule of the car next +ahead. Connery hesitated; then he opened the door and beckoned Eaton +to him. + +"Will you go forward, please," he requested, "and see if there isn't a +doctor--" + +"You mean the man with red hair in my car?" Eaton inquired. + +"That's the one." + +Eaton started off without asking any questions. The porter, having +locked the rear door of the car, returned and gave Connery back the +keys. Connery still waited, until Eaton returned with the red-haired +man, "D. S." He let them in and locked the door behind them. + +"You are a doctor?" Connery questioned the red-haired man. + +"I am a surgeon; yes." + +"That's what's wanted. Doctor--" + +"My name is Sinclair. I am Douglas Sinclair, of Chicago." + +Connery nodded. "I have heard of you." He turned then to Eaton. "Do +you know where the gentleman is who belongs to Mr. Dorne's +party?--Avery, I believe his name is." + +"He is in the observation car," Eaton answered. + +"Will you go and get him? The car-door is locked. The porter will let +you in and out. Something serious has happened here--to Mr. Dorne. +Get Mr. Avery, if you can, without alarming Mr. Dorne's daughter." + +Eaton nodded understanding and followed the porter, who, taking the +keys again from the conductor, let him out at the rear door of the car +and reclosed the door behind him. Eaton went on into the observation +car. As he passed the club compartment of this car, he sensed an +atmosphere of disquiet which gave him first the feeling that some of +these people must know already that there was something wrong farther +forward; but this was explained when he heard some one say that the +door of the car ahead was locked. Another asked Eaton how he had got +through; he put the questioner off and went on into the +observation-room. No suspicion of anything having occurred had as yet +penetrated there. + +"How long you've been!" Harriet Dorne remarked as he came near. "And +how is it about the roof promenade?" + +"Why, all right, I guess, Miss Dorne--after a little." Controlling +himself to an appearance of casualness, he turned then to Avery: "By +the way, can I see you a moment?" + +Without alarming Harriet Dorne, he got Avery away and out of the car. +A few passengers now were collected upon the platforms between this car +and the next, who questioned and complained as Eaton, pushing by them +with Avery, was admitted by the negro, who refused the others +admittance. + +"Is it something wrong with Mr. Dorne?" Donald Avery demanded as Eaton +drew back to let Avery precede him into the open part of the car. + +"So the conductor says." + +Avery hurried forward toward the berth where Connery was standing +beside the surgeon. Connery turned toward him. + +"I sent for you, sir, because you are the companion of the man who had +this berth." + +Avery pushed past him, and leaped forward as he looked past the +surgeon. "What has happened to Mr. Dorne?" + +"You see him as we found him, sir." Connery stared down nervously +beside him. + +Avery leaned inside the curtains and recoiled. "He's dead!" + +"The doctor hasn't made his examination yet; but, there seems no doubt +he's dead." Connery was very pale but controlled. + +"He's been murdered!" + +"It looks so, Mr. Avery. Yes; if he's dead, he's certainly been +murdered," Connery agreed. "This is Doctor Douglas Sinclair, a Chicago +surgeon. I called him just now to make an examination; but since Mr. +Dorne seems to have been dead for some time, I waited for you before +moving the body. You can tell,"--Connery avoided mention of President +Jarvis' name,--"tell any one who asks you, Mr. Avery, that you saw him +just as he was found." + +He looked down again at the form in the berth, and Avery's gaze +followed his; then, abruptly, it turned away. Avery stood clinging to +the curtain, his eyes darting from one to another of the three men. + +"As he was found? When?" he demanded. "Who found him that way? When? +How?" + +"I found him so," Connery answered. + +Avery said nothing more. + +"Will you start your examination now, Dr. Sinclair," Connery suggested. +"No--I'll ask you to wait a minute." + +Noises were coming to them from the platforms at both ends of the car, +and the doors were being tried and pounded on, as passengers attempted +to pass through. Connery went to the rear, where the negro had been +posted; then, repassing them, he went to the other end of the car. The +noises ceased. "The Pullman conductor is forward, and the brakeman is +back there now," he said, as he turned to them. "You will not be +interrupted, Dr. Sinclair." + +"What explanation did you give them?" Eaton asked. + +"Why?" Connery returned. + +"I was thinking of Miss Dorne." + +"I told them nothing which could disturb her." Connery, as he spoke, +pulled back the curtains, entirely exposing the berth. + +The surgeon, before examining the man in the berth more closely, lifted +the shades from the windows. Everything about the berth was in place, +undisturbed; except for the mark of the savage blow on the side of the +man's head, there was no evidence of anything unusual. The man's +clothes were carefully and neatly hung on the hooks or in the little +hammock; his glasses were in their case beside the pillow; his watch +and purse were under the pillow; the window at his feet was still +raised a crack to let in fresh air while he slept. Save for the marks +upon the head, the man might yet be sleeping. It was self-evident +that, whatever had been the motives of the attack, robbery was not one; +whoever had struck had done no more than reach in and deliver his +murderous blow; then he had gone on. + +Connery shut the window. + +As the surgeon carefully and deliberately pulled back the bedclothing +and exposed the body of the man clothed in pajamas, the others watched +him. Sinclair made first an examination of the head; completing this, +he unbuttoned the pajamas upon the chest, loosened them at the waist +and prepared to make his examination of the body. + +"How long has he been dead?" Connery asked. + +"He is not dead yet." + +"You mean he is still dying?" + +"I did not say so." + +"You mean he is alive, then?" + +"Life is still present," Sinclair answered guardedly. "Whether he will +live or ever regain consciousness is another question." + +"One you can't answer?" + +"The blow, as you can see,"--Sinclair touched the man's face with his +deft finger-tips,--"fell mostly on the cheek and temple. The cheekbone +is fractured. He is in a complete state of coma; and there may be some +fracture of the skull. Of course, there is some concussion of the +brain." + +Any inference to be drawn from this as to the seriousness of the +injuries was plainly beyond Connery. "How long ago was he struck?" he +asked. + +"Some hours." + +"You can't tell more than that?" + +"Longer ago than five hours, certainly." + +"Since four o'clock, then, rather than before?" + +"Since midnight, certainly; and longer ago than five o'clock this +morning." + +"Could he have revived half an hour ago--say within the hour--enough to +have pressed the button and rung the bell from his berth?" + +Sinclair straightened and gazed at the conductor curiously. "No, +certainly not," he replied. "That is completely impossible. Why did +you ask?" + +Connery avoided answer. + +The doctor glanced down quickly at the form of the man in the berth; +then again he confronted Connery. "Why did you ask that?" he +persisted. "Did the bell from this berth ring recently?" + +Connery shook his head, not in negation of the question, but in refusal +to answer then. But Avery pushed forward. "What is that? What's +that?" he demanded. + +"Will you go on with your examination, Doctor?" Connery urged. + +"You said the bell from this berth rang recently!" Avery accused +Connery. + +"I did not say that; he asked it," the conductor evaded. + +"But is it true?" + +"The pointer in the washroom, indicating a signal from this berth, was +turned down a minute ago," Connery had to reply. "A few moments +earlier, all pointers had been set in the position indicating no call." + +"What!" Avery cried. "What was that?" + +Connery repeated the statement. + +"That was before you found the body?" + +"That was why I went to the berth--yes," Connery replied; "that was +before I found the body." + +"Then you mean you did not find the body," Avery charged. "Some one, +passing through this car a minute or so before you, must have found +him!" + +Connery attended without replying. + +"And evidently that man dared not report it and could not wait longer +to know whether Mr.--Mr. Dorne, was really dead; so he rang the bell!" + +"Ought we keep Dr. Sinclair any longer from the examination, sir?" +Connery now seized Avery's arm in appeal. "The first thing for us to +know is whether Mr. Dorne is dying. Isn't--" + +Connery checked himself; he had won his appeal. Eaton, standing +quietly watchful, observed that Avery's eagerness to accuse now had +been replaced by another interest which the conductor's words had +recalled. Whether the man in the berth was to live or die--evidently +that was momentously to affect Donald Avery one way or the other. + +"Of course, by all means proceed with your examination, Doctor," Avery +directed. + +As Sinclair again bent over the body, Avery leaned over also; Eaton +gazed down, and Connery--a little paler than before and with lips +tightly set. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"ISN'T THIS BASIL SANTOINE?" + +The surgeon, having finished loosening the pajamas, pulled open and +carefully removed the jacket part, leaving the upper part of the body +of the man in the berth exposed. Conductor Connery turned to Avery. + +"You have no objection to my taking a list of the articles in the +berth?" + +Avery seemed to oppose; then, apparently, he recognized that this was +an obvious part of the conductor's duty. "None at all," he replied. + +Connery gathered up the clothing, the glasses, the watch and purse, and +laid them on the seat across the aisle. Sitting down, then, opposite +them, he examined them and, taking everything from the pockets of the +clothes, he began to catalogue them before Avery. In the coat he found +only the card-case, which he noted without examining its contents, and +in the trousers a pocket-knife and bunch of keys. He counted over the +gold and banknotes in the purse and entered the amount upon his list. + +"You know about what he had with him?" he asked. + +"Very closely. That is correct. Nothing is missing," Avery answered. + +The conductor opened the watch. "The crystal is missing." + +Avery nodded. "Yes; it always--that is, it was missing yesterday." + +Connery looked up at him, as though slightly puzzled by the manner of +the reply; then, having finished his list, he rejoined the surgeon. + +Sinclair was still bending over the naked torso. With Eaton's help, he +had turned the body upon its back in order to look at its right side, +which before had been hidden. It had been a strong, healthy body; +Sinclair guessed its age at fifty. As a boy, the man might have been +an athlete,--a college track-runner or oarsman,--and he had kept +himself in condition through middle age. There was no mark or bruise +upon the body, except that on the right side and just below the ribs +there now showed a scar about an inch and a half long and of peculiar +crescent shape. It was evidently a surgical scar and had completely +healed. + +Sinclair scrutinized this carefully and then looked up to Avery. "He +was operated on recently?" + +"About two years ago." + +"For what?" + +"It was some operation on the gall-bladder." + +"Performed by Kuno Garrt?" + +Avery hesitated. "I believe so." + +He watched Sinclair more closely as he continued his examination; the +surgeon had glanced quickly at the face on the pillow and seemed about +to question Avery again; but instead he laid the pajama jacket over the +body and drew up the sheet and blanket. Connery touched the surgeon on +the arm. "What must be done, Doctor? And where and when do you want +to do it?" + +Sinclair, however, it appeared, had not yet finished his examination. +"Will you pull down the window-curtains?" he directed. + +As Connery, reaching across the body, complied, the surgeon took a +matchbox from his pocket, and glancing about at the three others as +though to select from them the one most likely to be an efficient aid, +he handed it to Eaton. "Will you help me, please?" + +"What is it you want done?" + +"Strike a light and hold it as I direct--then draw it away slowly." + +He lifted the partly closed eyelid from one of the eyes of the +unconscious man and nodded to Eaton: "Hold the light in front of the +pupil." + +Eaton obeyed, drawing the light slowly away as Sinclair had directed, +and the surgeon dropped the eyelid and exposed the other pupil. + +"What's that for?" Avery now asked. + +"I was trying to determine the seriousness of the injury to the brain. +I was looking to see whether light could cause the pupil to contract." + +"Could it?" Connery asked. + +"No; there was no reaction." + +Avery started to speak, checked himself--and then he said: "There could +be no reaction, I believe, Dr. Sinclair." + +"What do you mean?" + +"His optic nerve is destroyed." + +"Ah! He was blind?" + +"Yes, he was blind," Avery admitted. + +"Blind!" Sinclair ejaculated. "Blind, and operated upon within two +years by Kuno Garrt!" Kuno Garrt operated only upon the all-rich and +-powerful or upon the completely powerless and poor; the unconscious +man in the berth could belong only to the first class of Garrt's +clientele. The surgeon's gaze again searched the features in the +berth; then it shifted to the men gathered about him in the aisle. + +"Who did you say this was?" he demanded of Avery. + +"I said his name was Nathan Dorne," Avery evaded. + +"No, no!" Sinclair jerked out impatiently. "Isn't this--" He +hesitated, and finished in a voice suddenly lowered: "Isn't this Basil +Santoine?" + +Avery, if he still wished to do so, found it impossible to deny. + +"Basil Santoine!" Connery breathed. + +To the conductor alone, among the four men standing by the berth, the +name seemed to have come with the sharp shock of a surprise; with it +had come an added sense of responsibility and horror over what had +happened to the passenger who had been confided to his care, which made +him whiten as he once more repeated the name to himself and stared down +at the man in the berth. + +Conductor Connery knew Basil Santoine only in the way that Santoine was +known to great numbers of other people--that is, by name but not by +sight. There was, however, a reason why the circumstances of +Santoine's life had remained in the conductor's mind while he forgot or +had not heeded the same sort of facts in regard to men who traveled +much more often on trans-continental trains. Thus Connery, staring +whitely at the form in the berth, recalled for instance Santoine's age; +Santoine was fifty-one. + +Basil Santoine at twenty-two had been graduated from Harvard, though +blind. His connections,--the family was of well-to-do Southern +stock,--his possession of enough money for his own support, made it +possible for him to live idly if he wished; but Santoine had not chosen +to make his blindness an excuse for doing this. He had disregarded too +the thought of foreign travel as being useless for a man who had no +eyes; and he had at once settled himself to his chosen profession, +which was law. He had not found it easy to get a start in this; +lawyers had shown no willingness to take into their offices a blind boy +to whom the surroundings were unfamiliar and to whom everything must be +read; and he had succeeded only after great effort in getting a place +with a small and unimportant firm. Within a short time, well within +two years, men had begun to recognize that in this struggling law-firm +there was a powerful, clear, compelling mind. Santoine, a youth living +in darkness, unable to see the men with whom he talked or the documents +and books which must be read to him, was beginning to put the stamp of +his personality on the firm's affairs. A year later, his name appeared +with others of the firm; at twenty-eight, his was the leading name. He +had begun to specialize long before that time, in corporation law; he +married shortly after this. At thirty, the firm name represented to +those who knew its particulars only one personality, the personality of +Santoine; and at thirty-five--though his indifference to money was +proverbial--he was many times a millionaire. But except among the +small and powerful group of men who had learned to consult him, +Santoine himself at that time was utterly unknown. + +There are many such men in all countries,--more, perhaps, in America +than anywhere else,--and in their anonymity they are like minds without +physical personality; they advise only, and so they remain out of +public view, behind the scenes. Now and then one receives publicity +and reward by being sent to the Senate by the powers that move behind +the screen, or being called to the President's cabinet. More often, +the public knows little of them until they die and men are astonished +by the size of the fortunes or of the seemingly baseless reputations +which they leave. So Santoine--consulted continually by men concerned +in great projects, immersed day and night in vast affairs, capable of +living completely as he wished--had been, at the age of forty-six, +great but not famous, powerful but not publicly known. At that time an +event had occurred which had forced the blind man out unwillingly from +his obscurity. + +This event had been the murder of the great Western financier Matthew +Latron. There had been nothing in this affair which had in any way +shadowed dishonor upon Santoine. So much as in his role of a mind +without personality Santoine ever fought, he had fought against Latron; +but his fight had been not against the man but against methods. There +had come then a time of uncertainty and unrest; public consciousness +was in the process of awakening to the knowledge that strange things, +approaching close to the likeness of what men call crime, had been +being done under the unassuming name of business. Government +investigation threatened many men, Latron among others; no precedent +had yet been set for what this might mean; no one could foresee the +end. Scandal--financial scandal--breathed more strongly against Latron +than perhaps against any of the other Western men. He had been among +their biggest; he had his enemies, of whom impersonally Santoine might +have been counted one, and he had his friends, both in high places; he +was a world figure. Then, all of a sudden, the man had been struck +down--killed, because of some private quarrel, men whispered, by an +obscure and till then unheard-of man. + +The trembling wires and cables, which should have carried to the +waiting world the expected news of Latron's conviction, carried instead +the news of Latron's death; and disorder followed. The first public +concern had been, of course, for the stocks and bonds of the great +Latron properties; and Latron's bigness had seemed only further +evidenced by the stanchness with which the Latron banks, the Latron +railroads and mines and public utilities stood firm even against the +shock of their builder's death. Assured of this, public interest had +shifted to the trial, conviction and sentence of Latron's murderer; and +it was during this trial that Santoine's name had become more publicly +known. Not that the blind man was suspected of any knowledge--much +less of any complicity--in the crime; the murder had been because of a +purely private matter; but in the eager questioning into Latron's +circumstances and surroundings previous to the crime, Santoine was +summoned into court as a witness. + +The drama of Santoine's examination had been of the sort the +public--and therefore the newspapers--love. The blind man, led into +the court, sitting sightless in the witness chair, revealing himself by +his spoken, and even more by his withheld, replies as one of the +unknown guiders of the destiny of the Continent and as counselor to the +most powerful,--himself till then hardly heard of but plainly one of +the nation's "uncrowned rulers,"--had caught the public sense. The +fate of the murderer, the crime, even Latron himself, lost temporarily +their interest in the public curiosity over the personality of +Santoine. So, ever since, Santoine had been a man marked out; his +goings and comings, beside what they might actually reveal of +disagreements or settlements among the great, were the object of +unfounded and often disturbing guesses and speculations; and +particularly at this time when the circumstances of Warden's death had +proclaimed dissensions among the powerful which they had hastened to +deny, it was natural that Santoine's comings and goings should be as +inconspicuous as possible. + +It had been reported for some days that Santoine had come to Seattle +directly after Warden's death; but when this was admitted, his +associates had always been careful to add that Santoine, having been a +close personal friend of Gabriel Warden, had come purely in a personal +capacity, and the impression was given that Santoine had returned +quietly some days before. The mere prolonging of his stay in the West +was more than suggestive that affairs among the powerful were truly in +such state as Warden had proclaimed; this attack upon Santoine, so +similar to that which had slain Warden, and delivered within eleven +days of Warden's death, must be of the gravest significance. + +Connery stood overwhelmed for the moment with this fuller recognition +of the seriousness of the disaster which had come upon this man +entrusted to his charge; then he turned to the surgeon. + +"Can you do anything for him here, Doctor?" he asked. + +The surgeon glanced down the car. "That stateroom--is it occupied?" + +"It's occupied by his daughter." + +"We'll take him in there, then. Is the berth made?" + +The conductor went to the rear of the car and brought the porter who +had been stationed there, with the brakeman. He set the negro to +making up the berth; and when it was finished, the four men lifted the +inert figure of Basil Santoine, carried it into the drawing-room and +laid it on its back upon the bed. + +"I have my instruments," Sinclair said. "I'll get them; but before I +decide to do anything, I ought to see his daughter. Since she is here, +her consent is necessary before any operation on him." + +The surgeon spoke to Avery. Eaton saw by Avery's start of recollection +that Harriet Dorne's--or Harriet Santoine's--friend could not have been +thinking of her at all during the recent moments. The chances of life +or death of Basil Santoine evidently so greatly and directly affected +Donald Avery that he had been absorbed in them to the point of +forgetting all other interests than his own. Eaton's own thought had +gone often to her. Had Connery in his directions said anything to the +trainmen guarding the door or to the passengers on the platforms, that +had frightened her with suspicions of what had happened here? When the +first sense of something wrong spread back to the observation car, what +word had reached her? Did she connect it with her father? Was +she--the one most closely concerned--among those who had been on the +rear platform seeking admittance? Was she standing there in the aisle +of the next car waiting for confirmation of her dread? Or had no word +reached her, and must the news of the attack upon her father come to +her with all the shock of suddenness? + +Eaton had been about to leave the car, where he now was plainly of no +use, but these doubts checked him. + +"Miss Santoine is in the observation car," Avery said. "I'll get her." + +The tone was in some way false--Eaton could not tell exactly how. +Avery started down the aisle. + +"One moment, please, Mr. Avery!" said the conductor. "I'll ask you not +to tell Miss Santoine before any other passengers that there has been +an attack upon her father. Wait until you get her inside the door of +this car." + +"You yourself said nothing, then, that can have made her suspect it?" +Eaton asked. + +Connery shook his head; the conductor, in doubt and anxiety over +exactly what action the situation called for,--unable, too, to +communicate any hint of it to his superiors to the West because of the +wires being down,--clearly had resolved to keep the attack upon +Santoine secret for the time. "I said nothing definite even to the +trainmen," he replied; "and I want you gentlemen to promise me before +you leave this car that you will say nothing until I give you leave." + +His eyes shifted from the face of one to another, until he had assured +himself that all agreed. As Avery left the car, Eaton found a seat in +one of the end sections near the drawing-room. Sinclair and the +conductor had returned to Santoine. The porter was unmaking the berth +in the next section which Santoine had occupied, having been told to do +so by Connery; the negro bundled together the linen and carried it to +the cupboard at the further end of the car; he folded the blankets and +put them in the upper berth; he took out the partitions and laid them +on top of the blankets. Eaton stared out the window at the bank of +snow. He did not know whether to ask to leave the car, or whether he +ought to remain; and he would have gone except for recollection of +Harriet Santoine. He had heard the rear door of the car open and close +some moments before, so he knew that she must be in the car and that, +in the passage at that end, Avery must be telling her about her father. +Then the curtain at the end of the car was pushed further aside, and +Harriet Santoine came in. + +She was very pale, but quite controlled, as Eaton knew she would be. +She looked at Eaton, but did not speak as she passed; she went directly +to the door of the drawing-room, opened it and went in, followed by +Avery. The door closed, and for a moment Eaton could hear voices +inside the room--Harriet Santoine's, Sinclair's, Connery's. The +conductor then came to the door of the drawing-room and sent the porter +for water and clean linen; Eaton heard the rip of linen being torn, and +the car became filled with the smell of antiseptics. + +Donald Avery came out of the drawing-room and dropped into the seat +across from Eaton. He seemed deeply thoughtful--so deeply, indeed, as +to be almost unaware of Eaton's presence. And Eaton, observing him, +again had the sense that Avery's absorption was completely in +consequences to himself of what was going on behind the door--in how +Basil Santoine's death or continued existence would affect the fortunes +of Donald Avery. + +"Is he going to operate?" Eaton asked. + +"Operate? Yes; he's doing it," Avery replied shortly. + +"And Miss Santoine?" + +"She's helping--handing instruments and so on." + +Avery could not have replied, as he did, if the strain this period must +impose upon Harriet Santoine had been much in his mind. Eaton turned +from him and asked nothing more. A long time passed--how long, Eaton +could not have told; he noted only that during it the shadows on the +snowbank outside the window appreciably changed their position. Once +during this time, the door of the drawing-room was briefly opened, +while Connery handed something out to the porter, and the smell of the +antiseptics grew suddenly stronger; and Eaton could see behind Connery +the surgeon, coatless and with shirt-sleeves rolled up, bending over +the figure on the bed. Finally the door opened again, and Harriet +Santoine came out, paler than before, and now not quite so steady. + +Eaton rose as she approached them; and Avery leaped up, all concern and +sympathy for her immediately she appeared. He met her in the aisle and +took her hand. + +"Was it successful, dear?" Avery asked. + +She shut her eyes before she answered, and stood holding to the back of +a seat; then she opened her eyes, saw Eaton and recognized him and sat +down in the seat where Avery had been sitting. + +"Dr. Sinclair says we will know in four or five days," she replied to +Avery; she turned then directly to Eaton. "He thought there probably +was a clot under the skull, and he operated to find it and relieve it. +There was one, and we have done all we can; now we may only wait. Dr. +Sinclair has appointed himself nurse; he says I can help him, but not +just yet. I thought you would like to know." + +"Thank you; I did want to know," Eaton acknowledged. He moved away +from them, and sat down in one of the seats further down the car. +Connery came out from the drawing-room, went first to one end of the +car, then to the other; and returning with the Pullman conductor, began +to oversee the transfer of the baggage of all other passengers than the +Santoine party to vacant sections in the forward sleepers. People +began to pass through the aisle; evidently the car doors had been +unlocked. Eaton got up and left the car, finding at the door a porter +from one of the other cars stationed to warn people not to linger or +speak or make other noises in going through the car where Santoine was. + +As the door was closing behind Eaton, a sound came to his ears from the +car he just had left--a young girl suddenly crying in abandon. Harriet +Santoine, he understood, must have broken down for the moment, after +the strain of the operation; and Eaton halted as though to turn back, +feeling the blood drive suddenly upon his heart. Then, recollecting +that he had no right to go to her, he went on. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SUSPICION FASTENS ON EATON + +As he entered his own car, Eaton halted; that part of the train had +taken on its usual look and manner, or as near so, it seemed, as the +stoppage in the snow left possible. Knowing what he did, Eaton stared +at first with astonishment; and the irrational thought came to him that +the people before him were acting. Then he realized that they were +almost as usual because they did not know what had happened; the fact +that Basil Santoine had been attacked--or that he was on the +train--still had been carefully kept secret by the spreading of some +other explanation of the trouble in the car behind. So now, in their +section, Amy and Constance were reading and knitting; their parents had +immersed themselves in double solitaire; the Englishman looked out the +window at the snow with no different expression than that with which he +would have surveyed a landscape they might have been passing. +Sinclair's section, of course, remained empty; and a porter came and +transferred the surgeon's handbag and overcoat to the car behind in +which he was caring for Santoine. + +Eaton found his car better filled than it had been before, for the +people shifted from the car behind had been scattered through the +train. He felt a hand on his arm as he started to go to his seat, and +turned and faced Connery. + +"If you must say anything, say it was appendicitis," the conductor +warned when he had brought Eaton back to the vestibule. "Mr. Dorne--if +a name is given, it is that--was suddenly seized with a recurrence of +an attack of appendicitis from which he had been suffering. An +immediate operation was required to save him; that was what Dr. +Sinclair did." + +Eaton reaffirmed his agreement to give no information. He learned by +the conversation of the passengers that Connery's version of what had +happened had been easily received; some one, they said, had been taken +suddenly and seriously ill upon the train. Their speculation, after +some argument, had pitched on the right person; it was the tall, +distinguished-looking man in the last car who wore glasses. At noon, +food was carried into the Santoine car. + +Keeping himself to his section, Eaton watched the car and outside the +window for signs of what investigation Connery and Avery were making. +What already was known had made it perfectly clear that whoever had +attacked Santoine must still be upon the train; for no one could have +escaped through the snow. No one could now escape. Avery and Connery +and whoever else was making investigation with them evidently were not +letting any one know that an investigation was being made. A number of +times Eaton saw Connery and the Pullman conductor pass through the +aisles. Eaton went to lunch; on his way back from the diner, he saw +the conductors with papers in their hands questioning a passenger. +They evidently were starting systematically through the cars, examining +each person; they were making the plea of necessity of a report to the +railroad offices of names and addresses of all held up by the stoppage +of the train. As Eaton halted at his section, the two conductors +finished with the man from the rear who had been installed in Section +One, and they crossed to the Englishman opposite. Eaton heard them +explain the need of making a report and heard the Englishman's answer, +with his name, his address and particulars as to who he was, where he +was coming from and whither he was going. + +Eaton started on toward the rear of the train. + +"A moment, sir!" Connery called. + +Eaton halted. The conductors confronted him. + +"Your name, sir?" Connery asked. + +"Philip D. Eaton." + +Connery wrote down the answer. "Your address?" + +"I--have no address." + +"You mean you don't want to give it?" + +"No, I have none. I was going to a hotel in Chicago--which one I +hadn't decided yet." + +"Where are you coming from?" + +"From Asia." + +"That's hardly an address, Mr. Eaton!" + +"I can give you no address abroad. I had no fixed address there. I +was traveling most of the time. You could not reach me or place me by +means of any city or hotel there. I arrived in Seattle by the Asiatic +steamer and took this train." + +"Ah! you came on the _Tamba Maru_." + +Connery made note of this, as he had made note of all the other +questions and answers. Then he said something to the Pullman +conductor, who replied in the same low tone; what they said was not +audible to Eaton. + +"You can tell us at least where your family is, Mr. Eaton," Connery +suggested. + +"I have no family." + +"Friends, then?" + +"I--I have no friends." + +"What?" + +"I say that I can refer you to no friends." + +"Nowhere?" + +"Nowhere." + +Connery pondered for several moments. "The Mr. Hillward--Lawrence +Hillward, to whom the telegram was addressed which you claimed this +morning, your associate who was to have taken this train with you--will +you give me his address?" + +"I thought you had decided the telegram was not meant for me." + +"I am asking you a question, Mr. Eaton--not making explanations. It +isn't impossible there should be two Lawrence Hillwards." + +"I don't know Hillward's address." + +"Give me the address, then, of the man who sent the telegram." + +"I am unable to do that, either." + +Connery spoke again to the Pullman conductor, and they conversed +inaudibly for a minute. "That is all, then," Connery said finally. + +He signed his name to the sheet on which he had written Eaton's +answers, and handed it to the Pullman conductor, who also signed it and +returned it to him; then they went on to the passenger now occupying +Section Four, without making any further comment. + +Eaton abandoned his idea of going to the rear of the train; he sat +down, picked up his magazine and tried to read; but after an instant, +he leaned forward and looked at himself in the little mirror between +the windows. It reassured him to find that he looked entirely normal; +he had been afraid that during the questioning he might have turned +pale, and his paleness--taken in connection with his inability to +answer the questions--might have seriously directed the suspicions of +the conductors toward him. The others in the car, who might have +overheard his refusal to reply to the questions, would be regarding him +only curiously, since they did not know the real reasons for the +examination. But the conductors--what did they think? + +Already, Eaton reflected, before the finding of the senseless form of +Basil Santoine, there had occurred the disagreeable incident of the +telegram to attract unfavorable attention to him. On the other hand, +might not the questioning of him have been purely formal? Connery +certainly had treated him, at the time of the discovery of Santoine, as +one not of the class to be suspected of being the assailant of +Santoine. Avery, to be sure, had been uglier, more excited and +hostile; but Harriet Santoine again had treated him trustfully and +frankly as one with whom thought of connection with the attack upon her +father was impossible. Eaton told himself that there should be no +danger to himself from this inquiry, directed against no one, but +including comprehensively every one on the train. + +As Eaton pretended to read, he could hear behind him the low voices of +the conductors, which grew fainter and fainter as they moved further +away, section by section, down the car. Finally, when the conductors +had left the car, he put his magazine away and went into the men's +compartment to smoke and calm his nerves. His return to America had +passed the bounds of recklessness; and what a situation he would now be +in if his actions brought even serious suspicions against him! He +finished his first cigar and was debating whether to light another, +when he heard voices outside the car, and opening the window and +looking out, he saw Connery and the brakeman struggling through the +snow and making, apparently, some search. They had come from the front +of the train and had passed under his window only an instant before, +scrutinizing the snowbank beside the car carefully and looking under +the car--the brakeman even had crawled under it; now they went on. +Eaton closed the window and lighted his second cigar. Presently +Connery passed the door of the compartment carrying something loosely +wrapped in a newspaper in his hands. Eaton finished his cigar and went +back to his seat in the car. + +As he glanced at the seat where he had left the magazine and his locked +traveling-bag, he saw that the bag was no longer there. It stood now +between the two seats on the floor, and picking it up and looking at +it, he found it unfastened and with marks about the lock which told +plainly that it had been forced. + +His quick glance around at the other passengers, which showed him that +his discovery of this had not been noticed, showed also that they had +not seen the bag opened. They would have been watching him if they +had; clearly the bag had been carried out of the car during his +absence, and later had been brought back. He set it on the floor +between his knees and checked over its contents. Nothing had been +taken, so far as he could tell; for the bag had contained only +clothing, the Chinese dictionary and the box of cigars, and these all +apparently were still there. He had laid out the things on the seat +across from him while checking them up, and now he began to put them +back in the bag. Suddenly he noticed that one of his socks was +missing; what had been eleven pairs was now only ten pairs and one odd +sock. + +The disappearance of a single sock was so strange, so bizarre, so +perplexing that--unless it was accidental--he could not account for it +at all. No one opens a man's bag and steals one sock, and he was quite +sure there had been eleven complete pairs there earlier in the day. +Certainly then, it had been accidental: the bag had been opened, its +contents taken out and examined, and in putting them back, one sock had +been dropped unnoticed. The absence of the sock, then, meant no more +than that the contents of the bag had been thoroughly investigated. By +whom? By the man against whom the telegram directed to Lawrence +Hillward had warned Eaton? + +Ever since his receipt of the telegram, Eaton--as he passed through the +train in going to and from the diner or for other reasons--had been +trying covertly to determine which, if any one, among the passengers +was the "one" who, the telegram had warned him, was "following" him. +For at first he had interpreted it to mean that one of "them" whom he +had to fear must be on the train. Later he had felt certain that this +could not be the case, for otherwise any one of "them" who knew him +would have spoken by this time. He had watched particularly for a time +the man who had claimed the telegram and given the name of Hillward; +but the only conclusion he had been able to reach was that the man's +name might be Hillward, and that coincidence--strange as such a thing +seemed--might have put aboard the train a person by this name. Now his +suspicions that one of "them" must be aboard the train returned. + +The bag certainly had not been carried out the forward door of the car, +or he would have seen it from the compartment at that end of the car +where he had sat smoking. As he tried to recall who had passed the +door of the compartment, he remembered no one except trainmen. The +bag, therefore, had been carried out the rear door, and the man who had +opened it, if a passenger, must still be in the rear part of the train. + +Eaton, refilling his cigar-case to give his action a look of +casualness, got up and went toward the rear of the train. A porter was +still posted at the door of the Santoine car, who warned him to be +quiet in passing through. The car, he found, was entirely empty; the +door to the drawing-room where Santoine lay was closed. Two berths +near the farther end of the car had been made up, no doubt for the +surgeon and Harriet Santoine to rest there during the intervals of +their watching; but the curtains of these berths were folded back, +showing both of them to be empty, though one apparently had been +occupied. Was Harriet Santoine with her father? + +He went on into the observation-car. The card-room was filled with +players, and he stood an instant at the door looking them over, but +"Hillward" was not among them, and he saw no one whom he felt could +possibly be one of "them." In the observation-room, the case was the +same; a few men and women passengers here were reading or talking. +Glancing on past them through the glass door at the end of the car, he +saw Harriet Santoine standing alone on the observation platform. The +girl did not see him; her back was toward the car. As he went out onto +the platform and the sound of the closing door came to her, she turned +to meet him. + +She looked white and tired, and faint gray shadows underneath her eyes +showed where dark circles were beginning to form. + +"I am supposed to be resting," she explained quietly, accepting him as +one who had the right to ask. + +"Have you been watching all day?" + +"With Dr. Sinclair, yes. Dr. Sinclair is going to take half the night +watch, and I am going to take the other half. That is why I am +supposed to be lying down now to get ready for it; but I could not +sleep." + +"How is your father?" + +"Just the same; there may be no change, Dr. Sinclair says, for days. +It seems all so sudden and so--terrible, Mr. Eaton. You can hardly +appreciate how we feel about it without knowing Father. He was so +good, so strong, so brave, so independent! And at the same time so--so +dependent upon those around him, because of his blindness! He started +out so handicapped, and he has accomplished so much, and--and it is so +unjust that there should have been such an attack upon him." + +Eaton, leaning against the rail beside her and glancing at her, saw +that her lashes were wet, and his eyes dropped as they caught hers. + +"They have been investigating the attack?" + +"Yes; Donald--Mr. Avery, you know--and the conductor have been working +on it all day." + +"What have they learned?" + +"Not much, I think; at least not much that they have told me. They +have been questioning the porter." + +"The porter?" + +"Oh, I don't mean that they think the porter had anything to do with +it; but the bell rang, you know." + +"The bell?" + +"The bell from Father's berth. I thought you knew. It rang some time +before Father was found--some few minutes before; the porter did not +hear it, but the pointer was turned down. They have tested it, and it +cannot be jarred down or turned in any way except by means of the bell." + +Eaton looked away from her, then back again rather strangely. + +"I would not attach too much importance to the bell," he said. + +"Father could not have rung it; Dr. Sinclair says that is impossible. +So its being rung shows that some one was at the berth, some one must +have seen Father lying there and--and rung the bell, but did not tell +any one about Father. That could hardly have been an innocent person, +Mr. Eaton." + +"Or a guilty one, Miss Santoine, or he would not have rung the bell at +all." + +"I don't know--I don't understand all it might mean. I have tried not +to think about anything but Father." + +"Is that all they have learned?" + +"No; they have found the weapon." + +"The weapon with which your father was struck?" + +"Yes; the man who did it seems not to have realized that the train was +stopped--or at least that it would be stopped for so long--and he threw +it off the train, thinking, I suppose, we should be miles away from +there by morning. But the train didn't move, and the snow didn't cover +it up, and it was found lying against the snowbank this afternoon. It +corresponds, Dr. Sinclair says, with Father's injuries." + +"What was it?" + +"It seems to have been a bar of metal--of steel, they said, I think, +Mr. Eaton--wrapped in a man's black sock." + +"A sock!" Eaton's voice sounded strange to himself; he felt that the +blood had left his cheeks, leaving him pale, and that the girl must +notice it. "A man's sock!" + +Then he saw that she had not noticed, for she had not been looking at +him. + +"It could be carried in that way through the sleepers, you know, +without attracting attention," she observed. + +Eaton had controlled himself. "A sock!" he said again, reflectively. + +He felt suddenly a rough tap upon his shoulder, and turning, he saw +that Donald Avery had come out upon the platform and was standing +beside him; and behind Avery, he saw Conductor Connery. There was no +one else on the platform. + +"Will you tell me, Mr. Eaton--or whatever else your name may be--what +it is that you have been asking Miss Santoine?" Avery demanded harshly. + +Eaton felt his blood surge at the tone. Harriet Santoine had turned, +and sensing the strangeness of Avery's manner, she whitened. "What is +it, Don?" she cried. "What is the matter? Is something wrong with +Father?" + +"No, dear; no! Harry, what has this man been saying to you?" + +"Mr. Eaton?" Her gaze went wonderingly from Avery to Eaton and back +again. "Why--why, Don! He has only been asking me what we had found +out about the attack on Father!" + +"And you told him?" Avery swung toward Eaton. "You dog!" he mouthed. +"Harriet, he asked you that because he needed to know--he had to know! +He had to know how much we had found out, how near we were getting to +him! Harry, this is the man that did it!" + +Eaton's fists clenched; but suddenly, recollecting, he checked himself. +Harriet, not yet comprehending, stood staring at the two; then Eaton +saw the blood rush to her face and dye forehead and cheek and neck as +she understood. + +"Not here, Mr. Avery; not here!" Conductor Connery had stepped +forward, glancing back into the car to assure himself the disturbance +on the platform had not attracted the attention of the passengers in +the observation-room. He put his hand on Eaton's arm. "Come with me, +sir," he commanded. + +Eaton thought anxiously for a moment. He looked to Harriet Santoine as +though about to say something to her, but he did not speak; instead, he +quietly followed the conductor. As they passed through the +observation-car into the car ahead, he heard the footsteps of Harriet +Santoine and Avery close behind them. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +QUESTIONS + +Connery pulled aside the curtain of the washroom at the end of the +Santoine car--the end furthest from the drawing-room where Santoine lay. + +"Step in here, sir," he directed. "Sit down, if you want. We're far +enough from the drawing-room not to disturb Mr. Santoine." + +Eaton, seating himself in the corner of the leather seat built against +two walls of the room, and looking up, saw that Avery had come into the +room with them. The girl followed. With her entrance into the room +came to him--not any sound from her or anything which he could describe +to himself as either audible or visual--but a strange sensation which +exhausted his breath and stopped his pulse for a beat. To be +accused--even to be suspected--of the crime against Santoine was to +have attention brought to him which--with his unsatisfactory account of +himself--threatened ugly complications. Yet, at this moment of +realization, that did not fill his mind. Whether his long dwelling +close to death had numbed him to his own danger, however much more +immediate it had become, he could not know; probably he had prepared +himself so thoroughly, had inured himself so to expect arrest and +imminent destruction, that now his finding himself confronted with +accusers in itself failed to stir new sensation; but till this day, he +had never imagined or been able to prepare himself for accusation +before one like Harriet Santoine; so, for a moment, thought solely of +himself was a subcurrent. Of his conscious feelings, the terror that +she would be brought to believe with the others that he had struck the +blow against her father was the most poignant. + +Harriet Santoine was not looking at him; but as she stood by the door, +she was gazing intently at Avery; and she spoke first: + +"I don't believe it, Don!" + +Eaton felt the warm blood flooding his face and his heart throb with +gratitude toward her. + +"You don't believe it because you don't understand yet, dear," Avery +declared. "We are going to make you believe it by proving to you it is +true." + +Avery pulled forward one of the leather chairs for her to seat herself +and set another for himself facing Eaton. Eaton, gazing across +steadily at Avery, was chilled and terrified as he now fully realized +for the first time the element which Avery's presence added. What the +relations were between Harriet Santoine and Avery he did not know, but +clearly they were very close; and it was equally clear that Avery had +noticed and disliked the growing friendship between her and Eaton. +Eaton sensed now with a certainty that left no doubt in his own mind +that as he himself had realized only a moment before that his strongest +feeling was the desire to clear himself before Harriet Santoine, so +Avery now was realizing that--since some one on the train had certainly +made the attack on Santoine--he hoped he could prove before her that +that person was Eaton. + +"Why did you ring the bell in Mr. Santoine's berth?" Avery directed the +attack upon him suddenly. + +"To call help," Eaton answered. + +Question and answer, Eaton realized, had made some effect upon Harriet +Santoine, as he did not doubt Avery intended they should; yet he could +not look toward her to learn exactly what this effect was but kept his +eyes on Avery. + +"You had known, then, that he needed help?" + +"I knew it--saw it then, of course." + +"When?" + +"When I found him." + +"'Found' him?" + +"Yes." + +"When was that?" + +"When I went forward to look for the conductor to ask him about taking +a walk on the roof of the cars." + +"You found him then--that way, the way he was?" + +"That way? Yes." + +"How?" + +"How?" Eaton iterated. + +"Yes; how, Mr. Eaton, or Hillward, or whatever your name is? How did +you find him? The curtains were open, perhaps; you saw him as you went +by, eh?" + +Eaton shook his head. "No; the curtains weren't open; they were +closed." + +"Then why did you look in?" + +"I saw his hand in the aisle." + +"Go on." + +"When I came back it didn't look right to me; its position had not been +changed at all, and it hadn't looked right to me before. So I stopped +and touched it, and I found that it was cold." + +"Then you looked into the berth?" + +"Yes." + +"And having looked in and seen Mr. Santoine injured and lying as he +was, you did not call any one, you did not bring help--you merely +leaned across him and pushed the bell and went on quickly out of the +car before any one could see you?" + +"Yes; but I waited on the platform of the next car to see that help did +come; and the conductor passed me, and I knew that he and the porter +must find Mr. Santoine as they did." + +"Do you expect us to believe that very peculiar action of yours was the +act of an innocent man?" + +"If I had been guilty of the attack on Mr. Santoine, I'd not have +stopped or looked into the berth at all." + +"If you are innocent, you had, of course, some reason for acting as you +did. Will you explain what it was?" + +"No--I cannot explain." + +With a look almost of triumph Avery turned to Harriet Santoine, and +Eaton felt his flesh grow warm with gratitude again as he saw her meet +Avery's look with no appearance of being convinced. + +"Mr. Eaton spoke to me about that," she said quietly. + +"You mean he told you he was the one who rang the bell?" + +"No; he told me we must not attach too much importance to the ringing +of the bell in inquiring into the attack on Father." + +Avery smiled grimly. "He did, did he? Don't you see that that only +shows more surely that he did not want the ringing of the bell +investigated because it would lead us to himself? He did not happen to +tell you, did he, that the kind and size of socks he wears and carries +in his traveling-bag are very nearly the same as the black sock in +which the bar was wrapped with which your father was struck?" + +"It was you, then, who took the sock from my bag?" Eaton demanded. + +"It was the conductor, and I can assure you, Mr. Eaton-Hillward, that +we are preserving it very carefully along with the one which was found +in the snow." + +"But the socks were not exactly the same, were they?" Harriet Santoine +asked. + +Avery made a vexed gesture, and turned to Connery. "Tell her the rest +of it," he directed. + +Connery, who had remained standing back of the two chairs, moved +slightly forward. His responsibility in connection with the crime that +had been carried out on his train had weighed heavily on the conductor; +he was worn and nervous. + +"Where shall I begin?" he asked of Avery; he was looking not at the +girl but at Eaton. + +"At the beginning," Avery directed. + +"Mr. Eaton, when you came to this train, the gateman at Seattle called +my attention to you," Connery began. "I didn't attach enough +importance, I see now, to what he said; I ought to have watched you +closer and from the first. Old Sammy has recognized men with criminal +records time and time again. He's got seven rewards out of it." + +Eaton felt his pulses close with a shock. "He recognized me?" he asked +quietly. + +"No, he didn't; he couldn't place you," Connery granted. "He couldn't +tell whether you were somebody that was 'wanted' or some one well +known--some one famous, maybe; but I ought to have kept my eye on you +because of that, from the very start. Now this morning you claim a +telegram meant for another man--a man named Hillward, on this train, +who seems to be all right--that is, by his answers and his account of +himself he seems to be exactly what he claims to be." + +"Did he read the telegram to you?" Eaton asked. "It was in code. If +it was meant for him, he ought to be able to read it." + +"No, he didn't. Will you?" + +Eaton halted while he recalled the exact wording of the message. "No." + +Connery also paused. + +"Is this all you have against me?" Eaton asked. + +"No; it's not. Mr. Avery's already told you the next thing, and you've +admitted it. But we'd already been able by questioning the porter of +this car and the ones in front and back of it to narrow down the time +of the ringing of Mr. Santoine's bell not to quarter-hours but to +minutes; and to find out that during those few minutes you were the +only one who passed through the car. So there's no use of my going +into that." Connery paused and looked to Avery and the girl. "You'll +wait a minute, Mr. Avery; and you, Miss Santoine. I won't be long." + +He left the washroom, and the sound of the closing of a door which came +to Eaton a half-minute later told that he had gone out the front end of +the car. + +As the three sat waiting in the washroom, no one spoke. Eaton, looking +past Avery, gazed out the window at the bank of snow. Eaton understood +fully that the manner in which the evidence against him was being +presented to him was not with any expectation that he could defend +himself; Avery and Connery were obviously too certain of their +conclusion for that; rather, as it was being given thus under Avery's +direction, it was for the effect upon Harriet Santoine and to convince +her fully. But Eaton had understood this from the first. It was for +this reason he had not attempted to deny having rung Santoine's bell, +realizing that if he denied it and it afterwards was proved, he would +appear in a worse light than by his inability to account for or assign +a reason for his act. And he had proved right in this; for the girl +had not been convinced. So now he comprehended that something far more +convincing and more important was to come; but what that could be, he +could not guess. + +As he glanced at her, he saw her sitting with hands clasped in her lap, +pale, and merely waiting. Avery, as though impatient, had got up and +gone to the door, where he could look out into the passage. From time +to time people had passed through the car, but no one had stopped at +the washroom door or looked in; the voices in the washroom had not been +raised, and even if what was going on there could have attracted +momentary attention, the instructions to pass quickly through the car +would have prevented any one from stopping to gratify his curiosity. +Eaton's heart-beat quickened as, listening, he heard the car door open +and close again and footsteps, coming to them along the aisle, which he +recognized as those of Conductor Connery and some one else with him. + +Avery returned to his seat, as the conductor appeared in the door of +the washroom followed by the Englishman from Eaton's car, Henry +Standish. Connery carried the sheet on which he had written the +questions he had asked Eaton, and Eaton's answers. + +"What name were you using, Mr. Eaton, when you came from Asia to the +United States?" the conductor demanded. + +Eaton reflected. "My own," he said. "Philip D. Eaton." + +Connery brought the paper nearer to the light of the window, running +his finger down it till he found the note he wanted. "When I asked +this afternoon where you came from in Asia, Mr. Eaton, you answered me +something like this: You said you could give me no address abroad; you +had been traveling most of the time; you could not be placed by +inquiring at any city or hotel; you came to Seattle by the Asiatic +steamer and took this train. That was your reply, was it not?" + +"Yes," Eaton answered. + +"The 'Asiatic steamer'--the _Tamba Maru_ that was, Mr. Eaton." + +Eaton looked up quickly and was about to speak; but from Connery his +gaze shifted swiftly to the Englishman, and checking himself, he said +nothing. + +"Mr. Standish,"--Connery faced the Englishman,--"you came from Yokohama +to Seattle on the _Tamba Maru_, didn't you?" + +"I did, yes." + +"Do you remember this Mr. Eaton among the passengers?" + +"No." + +"Do you know he was not among the passengers?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"How do you know?" + +The Englishman took a folded paper from his pocket, opened it and +handed it to the conductor. Connery, taking it, held it out to Eaton. + +"Here, Mr. Eaton," he said, "is the printed passenger-list of the +people aboard the _Tamba Maru_ prepared after leaving Yokohama for +distribution among the passengers. It's unquestionably correct. Will +you point out your name on it?" + +Eaton made no move to take the paper; and after holding it long enough +to give him full opportunity, Connery handed it back to the Englishman. + +"That's all, Mr. Standish," he said. + +Eaton sat silent as the Englishman, after staring curiously around at +them with his bulging, interested eyes, left the washroom. + +"Now, Mr. Eaton," Connery said, as the sound of Standish's steps became +inaudible, "either you were not on the _Tamba Maru_ or you were on it +under some other name than Eaton. Which was it?" + +"I never said I was on the _Tamba Maru_," Eaton returned steadily. "I +said I came from Asia by steamer. You yourself supplied the name +_Tamba Maru_." + +"In case of questioning like that, Mr. Eaton, it makes no difference +whether you said it or I supplied it in your hearing. If you didn't +correct me, it was because you wanted me to get a wrong impression +about you. You can take notice that the only definite fact about you +put down on this paper has proved to be incorrect. You weren't on the +_Tamba Maru_, were you?" + +"No, I was not." + +"Why didn't you say so while Mr. Standish was here?" + +"I didn't know how far you had taken him into your confidence in this +matter." + +"You did come from Asia, though, as your railroad ticket seemed to +show?" + +"Yes." + +"From where?" + +Eaton did not answer. + +"From Yokohama?" + +"The last port we stopped at before sailing for Seattle was +Yokohama--yes." + +Connery reflected. "You had been in Seattle, then, at least five days; +for the last steamer you could have come on docked five days before the +_Tamba Maru_." + +"You assume that; I do not tell you so." + +"I assume it because it must be so. You'd been in Seattle--or at least +you had been in America--for not less than five days. In fact, Mr. +Eaton, you had been on this side of the water for as many as eleven +days, had you not?" + +"Eleven days?" Eaton repeated. + +"Yes; for it was just eleven days before this train left Seattle that +you came to the house of Mr. Gabriel Warden and waited there for him +till he was brought home dead!" + +Eaton, sitting forward a little, looked up at the conductor; his glance +caught Avery's an instant; he gazed then to Harriet Santoine. At the +charge, she had started; but Avery had not. The identification, +therefore, was Connery's, or had been agreed upon by Connery and Avery +between them; suggestion of it had not come from the Santoines. And +Connery had made the charge without being certain of it; he was +watching the effect, Eaton now realized, to see if what he had accused +was correct. + +"What do you mean by that?" Eaton returned. + +"What I said. You came to see Gabriel Warden in Seattle eleven days +ago," Connery reasserted. "You are the man who waited in his house +that night and whom every one has been looking for since!" + +"Well?" inquired Eaton. + +"Isn't that so?" Connery demanded. "Or do you want to deny that too +and have it proved on you later?" + +Again for a moment Eaton sat silent. "No," he decided, "I do not deny +that." + +"Then you are the man who was at Warden's the night he was murdered?" + +"Yes," said Eaton, "I was there that evening. I was the one who came +there by appointment and waited till after Mr. Warden was brought home +dead." + +"So you admit that?" Connery gloated; but he could not keep from Eaton +a sense that, by Eaton's admission of the fact, Connery had been +disappointed. Avery too plainly had expected Eaton to deny it; the +identification of Eaton with the man who had waited at Warden's was +less a triumph to Avery, now that it was confessed. Indeed, Eaton's +heart leaped with quick gratitude as he now met Harriet Santoine's eyes +and as he heard her turning it into a fact in his favor. + +"All you have brought against Mr. Eaton is that he has been indefinite +in his replies to your questions or has refused answers; isn't that +all, Don?" she said. "So if Mr. Eaton is the one who had the +appointment with Mr. Warden that night, does not that explain his +silence?" + +"Explain it?" Avery demanded. "How?" + +"We have Mr. Warden's word that Mr. Eaton came that night because he +was in trouble--he had been outrageously wronged, Don. He was in +danger. Because of that danger, undoubtedly, he has not made himself +known since. May not that be the only reason he has avoided answering +your questions now?" + +"No!" Avery jerked out shortly. + +Eaton's heart, from pulsating fast with Harriet Santoine's attempt at +his defense, now constricted with a sudden increase of his terror and +anxiety. + +"All right, Mr. Eaton!" Connery now returned to his charge. "You are +that man. So besides whatever else that means, you'd been in Seattle +eleven days and yet you were the last person to get aboard this train, +which left a full hour after its usual starting time. Who were you +waiting to see get on the train before you yourself took it?" + +Eaton wet his lips. To what was Connery working up? The probability, +now rapidly becoming certainty, that in addition to the recognition of +him as the man who had waited at Warden's--which fact any one at any +time might have charged--Connery knew something else which the +conductor could not have been expected to know--this dismayed Eaton the +more by its indefiniteness. And he saw, as his gaze shifted to Avery, +that Avery knew this thing also. All that had gone before had been +only preliminary, then; they had been leading up step by step to the +circumstance which had finally condemned him in their eyes and was to +condemn him in the eyes of Harriet Santoine. + +She, he saw, had also sensed the feeling that something else more +definite and conclusive was coming. She had paled after the flush in +which she had spoken in Eaton's defense, and her hands in her lap were +clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed only as spots of white. + +Eaton controlled himself to keep his voice steady. + +"What do you mean by that question?" he asked. + +"I mean that--however innocent or guilty may be the chance of your +being at Mr. Warden's the night he was killed--you'll have a hard time +proving that you did not wait and watch and take this train because +Basil Santoine had taken it; and that you were not following him. Do +you deny it?" + +Eaton was silent. + +"You asked the Pullman conductor for a Section Three after hearing him +assign Mr. Santoine to Section Three in this car. Do you deny that you +did this so as not to be put in the same car with him?" + +Eaton, in his uncertainty, still said nothing. Connery, bringing the +paper in his hand nearer to the window again, glanced down once more at +the statement Eaton had made. "I asked you who you knew in Chicago," +he said, "and you answered 'No one.' That was your reply, was it not?" + +"Yes." + +"You still make the same statement?" + +"Yes." + +"You know no one in Chicago?" + +"No one," Eaton repeated. + +"And certainly no one there knows you well enough to follow your +movements in relation to Mr. Santoine. That's a necessary assumption +from the fact that you know no one at all there." + +The conductor pulled a telegram from his pocket and handed it to Avery, +who, evidently having already seen it, passed it on to Harriet +Santoine. She took it, staring at it mechanically and vacantly; then +suddenly she shivered, and the yellow paper which she had read slipped +from her hand and fluttered to the floor. Connery stooped and picked +it up and handed it toward Eaton. + +"This is yours," he said. + +Eaton had sensed already what the nature of the message must be, though +as the conductor held it out to him he could read only his name at the +top of the sheet and did not know yet what the actual wording was +below. Acceptance of it must mean arrest, indictment for the crime +against Basil Santoine; and that, whether or not he later was +acquitted, must destroy him; but denial of the message now would be +hopeless. + +"It is yours, isn't it?" Connery urged. + +"Yes; it's mine," Eaton admitted; and to make his acceptance definite, +he took the paper from Connery. As he looked dully down at it, he read: + + +He is on your train under the name of Dorne. + + +The message was not signed. + +Connery touched him on the shoulder. "Come with me, Mr. Eaton." + +Eaton got up slowly and mechanically and followed the conductor. At +the door he halted and looked back; Harriet Santoine was not looking; +her face was covered with her hands; Eaton hesitated; then he went on. +Connery threw open the door of the compartment next to the washroom and +corresponding to the drawing-room at the other end of the car, but +smaller. + +"You'll do well enough in here." He looked over Eaton deliberately. +"Judging from your manner, I suppose there's not much use expecting you +to answer anything more about yourself--either in relation to the +Warden murder or this?" + +"No," said Eaton, "there is not." + +"You prefer to make us find out anything more?" + +Eaton made no answer. + +"All right," Connery concluded. "But if you change your mind for the +better, or if you want anything bad enough to send for me, ring for the +porter and he'll get me." + +He closed the door upon Eaton and locked it. As Eaton stood staring at +the floor, he could hear through the metal partition of the washroom +the nervous, almost hysterical weeping of an overstrained girl. The +thing was done; in so far as the authorities on the train were +concerned, it was known that he was the man who had had the appointment +with Gabriel Warden and had disappeared; and in so far as the train +officials could act, he was accused and confined for the attack upon +Basil Santoine. But besides being overwhelmed with the horror of this +position, the manner in which he had been accused had roused him to +helpless anger, to rage at his accusers which still increased as he +heard the sounds on the other side of the partition where Avery was now +trying to silence Harriet Santoine and lead her away. + +Why had Avery gone at his accusation of him in that way? Connery had +had the telegram in his pocket from the start of the questioning in the +washroom; Avery had seen and read it; they could have condemned him +with whomever they wished, merely by showing it. Why, then, had Avery +chosen to drag this girl--strained and upset already by the attack upon +her father and with long hours of nursing ahead of her before expert +help could be got--step by step through their accusation of him? Eaton +saw that--whatever Harriet Santoine's casual interest in himself might +be--this showed at least that Avery's relation to her was not so +completely accepted by her and so definite as appeared on the surface, +since Avery thought it necessary to convince her rather than merely +tell her. And what sent the blood hot and throbbing into Eaton's +temples was the cruelty of Avery's action. + +So Avery was that kind of a man! The kind that, when an end is to be +attained, is ready to ignore as though unimportant the human side of +things. Concurrently with these thoughts--as always with all his +thoughts--was running the memory of his own experience--that experience +of which Eaton had not spoken and of which he had avoided speaking at +any cost; and as he questioned now whether Avery might be one of those +men who to gain an end they deem necessary are ready to disregard +humanity,--to inflict suffering, wrong, injustice,--he realized that he +was beginning to hate Avery for himself, for what he was, aside from +the accusation he brought. + +No sounds came to him now from the washroom--the girl must have +controlled herself; footsteps passing the door of his compartment told +him then that the two had gone out into the open car. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + +Half an hour later, Connery unlocked the door of Eaton's compartment, +entered and closed the door behind him. He had brought in Eaton's +traveling bag and put it down. + +"You understand," said the conductor, "that when a train is stalled +like this it is considered as if under way. So I have local police +power, and I haven't exceeded my rights in putting you under arrest." + +"I don't recall that I have questioned your right," Eaton answered +shortly. + +"I thought you might question it now. I'm going to search you. Are +you going to make trouble or needn't I send for help?" + +"I'll help you." Eaton took off his coat and vest and handed them +over. The conductor put them on a seat while he felt over his prisoner +for weapons or other concealed objects. Eaton handed him a +pocket-knife, and the key to his traveling-bag--he had no other +keys--from his trousers pockets. The conductor discovered nothing +else. He found a pencil--but no papers or memorandum book--a plain +gold watch, unengraved, and a bill-fold containing seven hundred +dollars in United States bank-notes in the vest. Connery wrote out a +receipt for the money and handed it to his prisoner. He returned the +other articles. In the coat, the conductor found a handkerchief and in +another pocket the torn scraps of the telegram delivered to Eaton in +his berth. + +"That's the one we had the fuss over in the dining car," Eaton +volunteered, as the conductor began fitting the scraps together. + +"You forgot to completely destroy it, eh?" + +"What was the use?" Eaton took up the other's point of view. "You had +a copy anyway." + +"You might have wanted to get rid of it since the discovery of the +murder." + +"Murder?" + +"I guess it's the same thing." The conductor dropped the scraps into +an envelope and put it in his pocket. He examined the coat for a +tailor's name. + +"That coat was copied by a Chinaman in Amoy from the coat I had before. +Before the new one was made, I took out the name of the other tailor so +it wouldn't be copied too," Eaton remarked in explanation of the lack +of any mark. Connery handed back the coat, went out and locked the +door behind him. + +Eaton opened his traveling bag and checked over the contents. He could +tell that everything in it had been again carefully examined, but +nothing more had been taken except the small Chinese-English +dictionary; that was now gone. There had been nothing in the bag to +betray any other identity than the one he had given. Eaton put the bag +away and went back to his seat by the window. + +The clear, bright day was drawing toward its dusk: there had been no +movement or attempt to move the train all day. About six o'clock, as +people began passing forward to the diner, Connery appeared again with +a waiter from the dining car bearing a tray with dinner. + +"This is 'on' the Department of Justice, Conductor?" Eaton tried to ask +lightly. + +"The check is a dollar twenty. If you want this, I'll charge it +against your money which I have." + +"Make it a dollar, forty-five then," Eaton directed. "Remember the +waiter." + +The black boy grinned and spread the table. + +"How is Mr.--" Eaton began. + +"Dorne?" Connery put in sharply. + +"Thanks," said Eaton. "I understand. How is he?" + +Connery did not answer, and with the waiter left him, locking him in +again. At ten, Connery came once more with the porter of the car, and +the conductor stood by silently while the porter made up the berth. +Eaton went to bed with the car absolutely still, with only the wall of +snow outside his window and no evidence of any one about but a subdued +step occasionally passing his door. Though he had had nothing to do +all the long, lonely hours of the evening but to think, Eaton lay awake +thinking. He understood definitely now that whatever action was to be +taken following his admission of his presence at Warden's, a charge of +murder or of assault to kill--dependent upon whether Santoine died or +seemed likely to recover--would be made against him at the first city +they reached after the train had started again. He would be turned +over to the police; inquiry would be made; then--he shrank from going +further with these thoughts. + +The night again was very cold; it was clear, with stars shining; toward +midnight wind came; but little snow drifted now, for the cold had +frozen a crust. In the morning, from somewhere over the snow-covered +country, a man and a boy appeared at the top of the shining bank beside +the train. They walked beside the sleepers to the dining car, where, +apparently, they disposed of whatever they had brought in the bags they +carried; they came back along the cars and then disappeared. + +As he watched them, Eaton felt the desperate impulse to escape through +the window and follow them; but he knew he surely would be seen; and +even if he could get away unobserved, he would freeze; his overcoat and +hat had been kept by Connery. The conductor came after a time and let +in the porter, who unmade the berth and carried away the linen; and +later, Connery came again with the waiter bringing breakfast. He had +brought a magazine, which he dropped upon the seat beside Eaton; and he +stood by until Eaton had breakfasted and the dishes were carried away. + +"Want to talk yet?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Is there anything else you want?" he asked. + +"I'd like to see Miss Santoine." + +Connery turned away. + +"You will tell Miss Santoine I have something I want to say to her?" +Eaton asked more definitely. + +Connery turned back. "If you've anything to say, tell it to me," he +bade curtly. + +"It will do no good to tell it to you. Will you tell her what I asked?" + +"No," said Connery. + +At noon, when they brought Eaton's luncheon, he repeated his request +and was again refused; but less than an hour afterward Connery came to +his door again, and behind Connery, Eaton saw Harriet Santoine and +Avery. + +Eaton jumped up, and as he saw the girl's pale face, the color left his +own. + +"Miss Santoine has asked to speak to you," Connery announced; and he +admitted Harriet Santoine and Avery, and himself remaining outside in +the aisle, closed the door upon them. + +"How is your father?" Eaton asked the girl. + +"He seems just the same; at least, I can't see any change, Mr. Eaton." +She said something in a low tone to Avery, who nodded; then she sat +down opposite Eaton, and Avery seated himself on the arm of the seat +beside her. + +"Can Dr. Sinclair see any difference?" Eaton asked. + +"Dr. Sinclair will not commit himself except to say that so far as he +can tell, the indications are favorable. He seems to think--" The +girl choked; but when she went on, her blue eyes were very bright and +her lips did not tremble. "Dr. Sinclair seems to think, Mr. Eaton, +that Father was found just in time, and that whatever chance he has for +recovery came from you. Mr. Avery and I had passed by the berth; other +people had gone by. Sometimes Father had insomnia and wouldn't get to +sleep till late in the morning; so I--and Mr. Avery too--would have +left him undisturbed until noon. Dr. Sinclair says that if he had been +left as long as that, he would have had no chance at all for life." + +"He has a chance, then, now?" + +"Yes; but we don't know how much. The change Dr. Sinclair is expecting +may be either for better or worse. I--I wanted you to know, Mr. Eaton, +that I recognize--that the chance Father may have came through you, and +that I am trying to think of you as the one who gave him the chance." + +The warm blood flooded Eaton's face, and he bowed his head. She, then, +was not wholly hostile to him; she had not been completely convinced by +Avery. + +"What was it you wanted to tell Miss Santoine?" Avery challenged. + +"What did Miss Santoine want to tell me?" + +"What she has just told you." + +Eaton thought for a moment. The realization that had come to him just +now that something had kept the girl from condemning him as Avery and +Connery had condemned him, and that somehow, for some reason, she must +have been fighting within herself to-day and last night against the +proof of his guilt, flushed him with gratitude and changed the attitude +he had thought it was going to be necessary for him to take in this +talk with her. As he looked up, her eyes met his; then she looked +quickly away. Avery moved impatiently and repeated his question: + +"What was it you wanted to say?" + +"Are they looking for any one, Miss Santoine--any one besides me in +connection with the attack upon your father?" + +She glanced at Avery and did not answer. Avery's eyes narrowed. "We +are quite satisfied with what we have been doing," he answered. + +"Then they are not looking, Miss Santoine!" + +Her lips pressed together, and again it was Avery who answered. "We +have not said so." + +"I must assume it, then," Eaton said to the girl without regarding +Avery. "I have been watching as well as I could since they shut me up +here, and I have listened, but I haven't found any evidence that +anything more is being done. So I'm obliged to assume that nothing is +being done. The few people who know about the attack on your father +are so convinced and satisfied that I am the one who did it that they +aren't looking any further. Among the people moving about on the +train, the--the man who made the attack is being allowed to move about; +he could even leave the train, if he could do so without being seen and +was willing to take his chance in the snow; and when the train goes on, +he certainly will leave it!" + +Harriet Santoine turned questioningly to Avery again. + +"I am not asking anything of you, you see," Eaton urged. "I'm not +asking you to let me go or to give me any--any increase of liberty +which might make it possible for me to escape. I--I'm only warning you +that Mr. Avery and the conductor are making a mistake; and you don't +have to have any faith in me or any belief that I'm telling the truth +when I say that I didn't do it! I'm only warning you, Miss Santoine, +that you mustn't let them stop looking! Why, if I had done it, I might +very likely have had an accomplice whom they are going to let escape. +It's only common sense, you see." + +"That is what you wanted to say?" Avery asked. + +"That is it," Eaton answered. + +"We can go, then, Harriet." + +But she made no move to go. Her eyes rested upon Eaton steadily; and +while he had been appealing to her, a flush had come to her cheeks and +faded away and come again and again with her impulses as he spoke. + +"If you didn't do it, why don't you help us?" she cried. + +"Help you?" + +"Yes: tell us who you are and what you are doing? Why did you take the +train because Father was on it, if you didn't mean any harm to him? +Why don't you tell us where you are going or where you have been or +what you have been doing? What did your appointment with Mr. Warden +mean? And why, after he was killed, did you disappear until you +followed Father on this train? Why can't you give the name of anybody +you know or tell us of any one who knows about you?" + +Eaton sank back against the seat away from her, and his eyes shifted to +Avery standing ready to go, and then fell. + +"I might ask you in return," Eaton said, "why you thought it worth +while, Miss Santoine, to ask so much about myself when you first met me +and before any of this had happened? You were not so much interested +then in me personally as that; and it was not because you could have +suspected I had been Mr. Warden's friend; for when the conductor +charged that, it was a complete surprise to you." + +"No; I did not suspect that." + +"Then why were you curious about me?" + +Before Avery could speak or even make a gesture, Harriet seemed to come +to a decision. "My Father asked me to," she said. + +"Your father? Asked you to do what?" + +"To find out about you." + +"Why?" + +As she hesitated, Avery put his hand upon her shoulder as though +warning her to be still; but she went on, after only an instant. + +"I promised Mr. Avery and the conductor," she said, "that if I saw you +I would listen to what you had to say but would not answer questions +without their consent; but I seem already to have broken that promise. +I have been wondering, since we have found out what we have about you, +whether Father could possibly have suspected that you were Mr. Warden's +friend; but I am quite sure that was not the original reason for his +inquiring about you. My Father thought he recognized your voice, Mr. +Eaton, when you were speaking to the conductor about your tickets. He +thought he ought to know who you were. He knew that some time and +somewhere he had been near you before, and had heard you speak; but he +could not tell where or when. And neither Mr. Avery nor I could tell +him who you were; so he asked us to find out. I do not know whether, +after we had described you to Father, he may have connected you with +Mr. Warden or not; but that could not have been in his mind at first." + +Eaton had paled; Avery had seemed about to interrupt her, but watching +Eaton, he suddenly had desisted. + +"You and Mr. Avery?" Eaton repeated. "He sent you to find out about +me?" + +"Sent me--in this case--more than Mr. Avery; because he thought it +would be easier for me to do it." Harriet had reddened under Eaton's +gaze. "You understand, Mr. Eaton, it was--was entirely impersonal with +me. My Father, being blind, is obliged to use the eyes of +others--mine, for one; he has trained me to see for him ever since we +used to take walks together when I was a little girl, and he has made +me learn to tell him what I see in detail, in the way that he would see +it himself; and for helping him to see other things on which I might be +unable to report so definitely and clearly, he has Mr. Avery. He calls +us his eyes, sometimes; and it was only--only because I had been +commissioned to find out about you that I was obliged to show so much +curiosity." + +"I understand," said Eaton quietly. "Your report to your father, I +suppose, convinced him that he had been mistaken in thinking he knew my +voice." + +"No--not that. He knew that he had heard it; for sounds have so much +meaning to him that he never neglects or forgets them, and he carries +in his mind the voices of hundreds of different people and almost never +makes a mistake among them. It did make him surer that you were not +any one with whose voice he ought to have been familiar, but only some +one whom he had heard say something--a few words or sentences, +maybe--under conditions which impressed your voice upon his mind. And +he told Mr. Avery so, and that has only made Mr. Avery and the +conductor more certain that you must be the--one. And since you will +not tell--" + +"To tell would only further confirm them--" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean they would be more certain it was I who--" Eaton, as he +blundered with the words and checked himself, looked up apprehensively +at Avery; but Avery, if he had thought that it was worth while to let +this conversation go on in the expectation that Eaton might let slip +something which could be used against himself, now had lost that +expectation. + +"Come, Harry," he said. + +Harriet arose, and Eaton got up as she did and stood as she went toward +the door. + +"You said Mr. Avery and the conductor believe--" he began impulsively, +in answer to the something within him which was urging him to know, to +make certain, how far Harriet Santoine believed him to have been +concerned in the attack upon her father. And suddenly he found that he +did not need to ask. He knew; and with this sudden realization he all +at once understood why she had not been convinced in spite of the +conviction of the others--why, as, flushing and paling, she had just +now talked with him, her manner had been a continual denial of the +suspicion against him. + +To Avery and to Connery the attack upon Santoine was made a vital and +important thing by the prominence of Santoine and their own +responsibility toward him, but after all there was nothing surprising +in there having been an attack. Even to Harriet Santoine it could not +be a matter of surprise; she knew--she must know--that the father whom +she loved and thought of as the best of men, could not have +accomplished all he had done without making enemies; but she could +conceive of an attack upon him being made only by some one roused to +insane and unreasoning hate against him or by some agent wicked and +vile enough to kill for profit. She could not conceive of its having +been done by a man whom, little as she had known him, she had liked, +with whom she had chatted and laughed upon terms of equality. The +accusation of the second telegram had overwhelmed her for a time, and +had driven her from the defense of him which she had made after he had +admitted his connection with Gabriel Warden; but now, Eaton felt, the +impulse in his favor had returned. She must have talked over with her +father many times the matter of the man whom Warden had determined to +befriend; and plainly she had become so satisfied that he deserved +consideration rather than suspicion that Connery's identification of +Eaton now was to his advantage. Harriet Santoine could not yet answer +the accusation of the second telegram against him, but--in reason or +out of reason--her feelings refused acceptance of it. + +It was her feelings that were controlling her now, as suddenly she +faced him, flushed and with eyes suffused, waiting for the end of the +sentence he could not finish. And as his gaze met hers, he realized +that life--the life that held Harriet Santoine, however indefinite the +interest might be that she had taken in him--was dearer to him than he +had thought. + +Avery had reached the door, holding it open for her to go out. +Suddenly Eaton tore the handle from Avery's grasp, slammed the door +shut upon him and braced his foot against it. He would be able to hold +it thus for several moments before they could force it open. + +"Miss Santoine," he pleaded, his voice hoarse with his emotion, "for +God's sake, make them think what they are doing before they make a +public accusation against me--before they charge me with this to others +not on this train! I can't answer what you asked; I can't tell you now +about myself; there is a reason--a fair and honest reason, and one +which means life or death to me. It will not be merely accusation they +make against me--it will be my sentence! I shall be sentenced before I +am tried--condemned without a chance to defend myself! That is the +reason I could not come forward after the murder of Mr. Warden. I +could not have helped him--or aided in the pursuit of his enemies--if I +had appeared; I merely would have been destroyed myself! The only +thing I could hope to accomplish has been in following my present +course--which, I swear to you, has had no connection with the attack +upon your father. What Mr. Avery and Connery are planning to do to me, +they cannot undo. They will merely complete the outrage and injustice +already done me,--of which Mr. Warden spoke to his wife,--and they will +not help your father. For God's sake, keep them from going further!" + +Her color deepened, and for an instant, he thought he saw full belief +in him growing in her eyes; but if she could not accept the charge +against him, neither could she consciously deny it, and the hands she +had been pressing together suddenly dropped. + +"I--I'm afraid nothing I could say would have much effect on them, +knowing as little about--about you as I do!" + +They dashed the door open then--silenced and overwhelmed him; and they +took her from the room and left him alone again. But there was +something left with him which they could not take away; for in the +moment he had stood alone with her and passionately pleading, something +had passed between them--he could give no name to it, but he knew that +Harriet Santoine never could think of him again without a stirring of +her pulses which drew her toward him. And through the rest of the +lonely day and through the sleepless night, he treasured this and +thought of it again and again. + +The following morning the relieving snowplows arrived from the east, +and Eaton felt it was the beginning of the end for him. He watched +from his window men struggling in the snow about the forward end of the +train; then the train moved forward past the shoveled and trampled snow +where rock and pieces of the snowplow were piled beside the +track--stopped, waited; finally it went on again and began to take up +its steady progress. + +The attack upon Santoine having taken place in Montana, Eaton thought +that he would be turned over to the police somewhere within that State, +and he expected it would be done at the first stop; but when the train +slowed at Simons, he saw the town was nothing more than a little hamlet +beside a side-track. They surely could not deliver him to the village +authorities here. The observation car and the Santoine car were +uncoupled here and the train made up again with the Santoine car as the +last car of the train and the observation car ahead of it. This, +evidently, was to stop the passing of passengers through the Santoine +car. Did it mean that the change in Santoine's condition which Dr. +Sinclair had been expecting had taken place and was for the worse? +Eaton would have liked to ask about this of Connery, whom he saw +standing outside his window and keeping watch upon him during the +switching of the cars; but he knew that the conductor would not answer +him. + +He rang, instead, for the porter and asked him for a railway folder, +and when this had been brought, he opened it to the map of the railroad +and checked off the names of the towns they would pass through. Nearly +all the names set in the bold-face letters which denoted the cities and +larger towns ahead of them were, he found, toward the eastern end of +the State; the nearest--and the one, therefore, at which he thought he +would be given up--was several hours away. At long intervals the train +passed villages all but buried in the snow; the inhabitants of these, +gathered at the stations, stared in on him as they looked in on any +other passenger; and at each of these stops Connery stood outside his +window guarding against possibility of his escape. Each time, too, +that the train slowed, the porter unlocked the door of the compartment, +opened it and stood waiting until the train had regained its speed; +plainly they were taking no chances of his dropping from the window. + +Early in the afternoon, as they approached the town whose name in +bold-face had made him sure that it was the one where he would be given +to the police, Eaton rang for the porter again. + +"Will you get me paper and an envelope?" he asked. + +The negro summoned the conductor. + +"You want to write?" Connery asked. + +"Yes." + +"You understand that anything you write must be given to me unsealed." + +"That's satisfactory to me. I don't believe that, even though it is +unsealed, you'll take it upon yourself to read it." + +The conductor looked puzzled, but sent the porter for some of the +stationery the railroad furnished for passengers. The negro brought +paper, and pen and ink, and set up the little table in front of Eaton; +and when they had left him and had locked the door, Eaton wrote: + + +Miss Santoine: + +The questions--all of them--that you and others have asked me you are +going to find answered very soon--within a very few hours, it may be, +certainly within a few days--though they are not going to be answered +by me. When they are answered, you are going to think me the most +despicable kind of man; you are not going to doubt, then,--for the +answers will not let you doubt,--that I was the one who hurt your +father. You, and every one else, are going to feel--not only because +of that, but because of what you will learn about me--that nothing that +may happen to me will be more than I justly deserve. + +I don't seem to care very much what people other than you may think; as +the time grows nearer, I feel that I care less and less about that; but +I do care very much--and more and more--that you are going to think of +me in this way. It is very hard for me to know that you are going to +regret that you ever let me talk with you in the friendly way you did, +or that you let me walk beside you on the station platform at Spokane, +and that you are going to shrink with horror when you recollect that +you let me touch you and put my hand upon your arm. I feel that you do +not yet believe that it was I who attacked your father; and I ask +you--even in face of the proof which you are so soon to receive--not to +believe it. I took this train-- + + +He stopped writing, recollecting that the letter was to be given to +Connery unsealed and that Connery might read it; he scratched out the +sentence he had begun; then he thought a moment and went on: + + +I ask you not to believe that. More than that, I ask you--when you +have learned who I am--still to believe in me. I don't ask you to +defend me against others; you could not do that, for you will see no +one who will not hate and despise me. But I beg of you, in all honesty +and faith, not to let yourself feel as they do toward me. I want you +to believe-- + + +He stopped again, but not because he felt that Harriet Santoine would +not believe what he was asking her to believe; instead, it was because +he knew she would. Mechanically he opened his traveling-bag and got +out a cigar, bit off the end and forgetting in his absorption to light +it, puffed and sucked at it. The future was sure ahead of him; he +foresaw it plainly, in detail even, for what was happening to him was +only the fulfillment of a threat which had been over him ever since he +landed at Seattle. He was going out of life--not only Harriet +Santoine's life, but all life, and the letter he was writing would make +Harriet Santoine believe his death to have been an act of injustice, of +cruelty. She could not help but feel that she herself had been in a +way instrumental in his death, since it was the accusation of violence +against her father which was going to show who he was and so condemn +him. Dared he, dying, leave a sting like that in the girl's life? + +He continued to puff at the unlighted cigar; then, mechanically, he +struck a match to light it. As the match flared up, he touched it to +the sheet on which he had been writing, held the paper until the +written part was all consumed, and dropped it on the floor of the car, +smiling down at it wryly and grimly. He would go out of Harriet +Santoine's life as he had come into it--no, not that, for he had come +into it as one who excited in her a rather pleasing doubt and +curiosity, but he would go out of it as a man whom she must hate and +condemn; to recall him would be only painful to her, so that she would +try to kill within her all memory of him. + +As he glanced to the window, he saw that they were passing through the +outskirts of some place larger than any they had stopped at before; and +realizing that this must be the place he had picked out on the map as +the one where they would give him to the police, he closed his +traveling bag and made ready to go with them. The train drew into the +station and stopped; the porter, as it slowed, had unlocked and opened +the door of his compartment, and he saw Connery outside upon the +platform; but this was no different from their procedure at every stop. +Several people got on the train here; others got off; so Connery, +obviously, was not preventing those who had been on the train when +Santoine was struck, from leaving it now. Eaton, as he saw Connery +make the signal for the train to go ahead, sank back suddenly, +conscious of the suspense he had been under. + +He got out the railroad folder and looked ahead to the next town where +he might be given up to the authorities; but when they rolled into this +in the late afternoon the proceedings were no different. Eaton could +not understand. He saw by studying the time-table that some time in +the night they would pass the Montana state line into North Dakota. +Didn't they intend to deliver him to the State authorities in Montana? + +When the waiter brought his supper, Connery came with him. + +"You wrote something to-day?" the conductor asked. + +"I destroyed it." + +Connery looked keenly around the compartment. "You brought me two +envelopes; there they are. You brought three sheets of paper; here are +two, and there's what's left of the other on the floor." + +Connery seemed satisfied. + +"Why haven't you jailed me?" Eaton asked. + +"We're waiting to see how things go with Mr. Santoine." + +"Has he been conscious?" + +Connery did not answer; and through the conductor's silence Eaton +sensed suddenly what the true condition of affairs must be. To give +him up to the police would make public the attack upon Santoine; and +until Santoine either died or recovered far enough to be consulted by +them, neither Avery nor Connery--nor Connery's superiors, +apparently--dared to take the responsibility of doing this. So Eaton +would be carried along to whatever point they might reach when Santoine +died or became fully conscious. Where would that be? Clear to Chicago? + +It made no material difference to him, Eaton realized, whether the +police took him in Montana or Chicago, since in either case recognition +of him would be certain in the end; but in Chicago this recognition +must be immediate, complete, and utterly convincing. + +The next day the weather had moderated, or--here in North Dakota--it +had been less severe; the snow was not deep except in the hollows, and +on the black, windswept farmlands sprouts of winter wheat were faintly +showing. The train was traveling steadily and faster than its regular +schedule; it evidently was running as a special, some other train +taking the ordinary traffic; it halted now only at the largest cities. +In the morning it crossed into Minnesota; and in the late afternoon, +slowing, it rolled into some large city which Eaton knew must be +Minneapolis or St. Paul. All day he had listened for sounds in the +Santoine car, but had heard nothing; the routine which had been +established to take care of him had gone on through the day, and he had +seen no one but Connery and the negro, and his questions to them had +been unanswered. + +The car here was uncoupled from the train and picked up by a switch +engine; as dusk fell, Eaton, peering out of his window, could see that +they had been left lying in the railroad yards; and about midnight, +awakening in his berth, he realized that the car was still motionless. +He could account for this stoppage in their progress only by some +change in the condition of Santoine. Was Santoine sinking, so that +they no longer dared to travel? Was he, perhaps--dead? + +No sounds came to him from the car to confirm Eaton in any conclusion; +there was nothing to be learned from any one outside the car. A +solitary man, burly and alert, paced quietly back and forth below +Eaton's window. He was a guard stationed to prevent any escape while +the car was motionless in the yard. + +Eaton lay for a long time, listening for other sounds and wondering +what was occurring--or had occurred--at the other end of his car. +Toward morning he fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +PUBLICITY NOT WANTED + +"Basil Santoine dying! Blind Millionaire lawyer taken ill on train!" + +The alarm of the cry came to answer Eaton's question early the next +morning. As he started up in his berth, he shook himself into +realization that the shouts were not merely part of an evil dream; some +one was repeating the cry outside the car window. He threw up the +curtain and saw a vagrant newsboy, evidently passing through the +railroad yards to sell to the trainmen. Eaton's guard outside his +window was not then in sight; so Eaton lifted his window from the +screen, removed that, and hailing the boy, put out his hand for a +paper. He took it before he recalled that he had not even a cent; but +he looked for his knife in his trousers pocket and tossed it out to the +boy with the inquiry: "How'll that do?" + +The boy gaped, picked it up, grinned and scampered off. Eaton spread +the news-sheet before him and swiftly scanned the lines for information +as to the fate of the man who, for four days, had been lying only forty +feet away from him at the other end of a Pullman car. + +The paper--a Minneapolis one--blared at him that Santoine's condition +was very low and becoming rapidly worse. But below, under a Montana +date-line, Eaton saw it proclaimed that the blind millionaire was +merely sick; there was no suggestion anywhere of an attack. The paper +stated only that Basil Santoine, returning from Seattle with his +daughter and his secretary, Donald Avery, had been taken seriously ill +upon a train which had been stalled for two days in the snow in +Montana. The passenger from whom the information had been gained had +heard that the malady was appendicitis, but he believed that was merely +given out to cover some complication which had required surgical +treatment on the train. He was definite as regarded the seriousness of +Mr. Santoine's illness and described the measures taken to insure his +quiet. The railroad officials refused, significantly, to make a +statement regarding Mr. Santoine's present condition. There was +complete absence of any suggestion of violence having been done; and +also, Eaton found, there was no word given out that he himself had been +found on the train. The column ended with the statement that Mr. +Santoine had passed through Minneapolis and gone on to Chicago under +care of Dr. Douglas Sinclair. + +Eaton stared at the newspaper without reading, after he saw that. He +thought first--or rather, he felt first--for himself. He had not +realized, until now that he was told that Harriet Santoine had +gone,--for if her father had gone on, of course she was with him,--the +extent to which he had felt her fairness, almost her friendship to him. +At least, he knew now that, since she had spoken to him after he was +first accused of the attack on her father, he had not felt entirely +deserted or friendless till now. And with this start of dread for +himself, came also feeling for her. Even if they had taken her father +from the other end of this car early in the night to remove him to +another special car for Chicago, she would be still watching beside him +on the train. Or was her watch beside the dying man over now? And +now, if her father were dead, how could Harriet Santoine feel toward +the one whom all others--if not she herself--accused of the murder of +her father? For evidently it was murder now, not just "an attack." + +But why, if Santoine had been taken away, or was dead or dying, had +they left Eaton all night in the car in the yards? Since Santoine was +dying, would there be any longer an object in concealing the fact that +he had been murdered? + +Eaton turned the page before him. A large print of a picture of +Harriet Santoine looked at him from the paper--her beautiful, deep eyes +gazing at him, as he often had surprised her, frankly interested, +thoughtful, yet also gay. The newspaper had made up its lack of more +definite and extended news by associating her picture with her father's +and printing also a photograph of Donald Avery--"closely associated +with Mr. Santoine in a confidential capacity and rumored to be engaged +to Miss Santoine." Under the blind man's picture was a biography of +the sort which newspaper offices hold ready, prepared for the passing +of the great. + +Eaton did not read that then. The mention in the paper of an +engagement between Avery and Harriet Santoine had only confirmed the +relation which Eaton had imagined between them. Avery, therefore, must +have gone on with her; and if she still watched beside her father, +Avery was with her; and if Basil Santoine was dead, his daughter was +turning to Avery for comfort. + +This feature somehow stirred Eaton so that he could not stay quiet; he +dressed and then paced back and forth the two or three steps his +compartment allowed him. He stopped now and then to listen; from +outside came the noises of the yard; but he made out no sound within +the car. If it had been occupied as on the days previous, he must have +heard some one coming to the washroom at his end. Was he alone in the +car now? or had the customary moving about taken place before he awoke? + +Eaton had seen no one but the newsboy when he looked out the window, +but he felt sure that, if he had been left alone in the car, he was +being watched so that he could not escape. + +His hand moved toward the bell, then checked itself. By calling any +one, he now must change his situation only for the worse; as long as +they were letting him stay there, so much the better. He realized that +it was long past the time when the porter usually came to make up his +berth and they brought him breakfast; the isolation of the car might +account for this delay, but it was more likely that he was to find +another reason. + +Finally, to free himself from his nervous listening for sounds which +never came, he picked up the paper again. A column told of Santoine's +youth, his blindness, his early struggle to make a place for himself +and his final triumph--position, wealth and power gained; Eaton, +reading of Harriet Santoine's father, followed these particulars with +interest; and further down the column his interest became even greater. +He read: + + +The news of Mr. Santoine's visit of a week on the Coast, if not known +already in great financial circles, is likely to prove interesting +there. Troubles between little people are tried in the courts; the +powerful settle their disagreements among themselves and without appeal +to the established tribunals in which their cases are settled without +the public knowing they have been tried at all. Basil Santoine, of +late years, has been known to the public as one of the greatest and +most influential of the advisers to the financial rulers of America; +but before the public knew him he was recognized by the financial +masters as one of the most able, clear-minded and impartial of the +adjudicators among them in their own disputes. For years he has been +the chief agent in keeping peace among some of the great conflicting +interests, and more than once he has advised the declaring of financial +war when war seemed to him the correct solution. Thus, five years ago, +when the violent death of Matthew Latron threatened to precipitate +trouble among Western capitalists, Santoine kept order in what might +very well have become financial chaos. If his recent visit to the +Pacific Coast was not purely for personal reasons but was also to +adjust antagonisms such as charged by Gabriel Warden before his death, +the loss of Santoine at this time may precipitate troubles which, +living, his advice and information might have been able to prevent. + + +Having read and reread this long paragraph, Eaton started to tear out +the picture of Harriet Santoine before throwing the paper away; then he +desisted and thrust the sheets out the window. As he sat thinking, +with lips tight closed, he heard for the first time that morning +footsteps at his end of the car. The door of his compartment was +unlocked and opened, and he saw Dr. Sinclair. + +"Mr. Santoine wants to speak to you," the surgeon announced quietly. + +This startling negation of all he imagined, unnerved Eaton. He started +up, then sank back for better composure. + +"Mr. Santoine is here, then?" + +"Here? Of course he's here." + +"And he's conscious?" + +"He has been conscious for the better part of two days. Didn't they +tell you?" Sinclair frowned. "I heard Miss Santoine send word to you +by the conductor soon after her father first came to himself." + +"You mean he will recover!" + +"He would recover from any injury which was not inevitably fatal. He +was in perfect physical condition, and I never have known a patient to +grasp so completely the needs of his own case and to help the surgeon +as much by his control of himself." + +Eaton looked toward the window, breathing hard. "I heard the +newsboys--" + +Sinclair shrugged. "The papers print what they can get and in the way +which seems most effective to them," was his only comment. + +Eaton pulled himself together. So Santoine was neither dead nor dying. +Therefore, at worst, the charge of murder would not be made; and at +best--what? He was soon to find out; the papers evidently were +entirely in error or falsely informed. Basil Santoine was still at the +other end of the car, and his daughter would be with him there. But as +Eaton followed Sinclair out of the compartment into the aisle, he +halted a moment--the look of the car was so entirely different from +what he had expected. A nurse in white uniform sat in one of the seats +toward the middle of the car, sewing; another nurse, likewise clothed +in white, had just come out from the drawing-room at the end of the +car; Avery and Sinclair apparently had been playing cribbage, for Avery +sat at a little table in the section which had been occupied by +Santoine, with the cards and cribbage board in front of him. The +surgeon led Eaton to the door of the drawing-room, showed him in and +left him. + +Harriet Santoine was sitting on the little lounge opposite the berth +where her father lay. She was watching the face of her father, and as +Eaton stood in the door, he saw her lean forward and gently touch her +father's hand; then she turned and saw Eaton. + +"Here is Mr. Eaton, Father," she said. + +"Sit down," Santoine directed. + +Harriet made room for Eaton upon the seat beside her; and Eaton, +sitting down, gazed across at the blind man in the berth. Santoine was +lying flat on his back, his bandaged head turned a little toward Eaton +and supported by pillows; he was not wearing his dark glasses, and his +eyes were open. Eyes of themselves are capable of no expression except +as they may be clear or bloodshot, or by the contraction or dilation of +the pupils, or as they shift or are fixed upon some object: their +"expression" is caused by movements of the lids and brows and other +parts of the face. Santoine's eyes had the motionlessness of the eyes +of those who have been long blind; seeing nothing, with pupils which +did not change in size, they had only the abstracted look which, with +men who see, accompanies deep thought. The blind man was very weak and +must stay quite still; and he recognized it; but he knew too that his +strength was more than equal to the task of recovery, and he showed +that he knew it. His mind and will were, obviously, at their full +activity, and he had fully his sense of hearing. + +This explained to Eaton the better color in his daughter's face; yet +she was still constrained and nervous; evidently she had not found her +ordeal over with the start of convalescence of her father. Her lips +trembled now as she turned to Eaton; but she did not speak directly to +him yet; it was Basil Santoine who suddenly inquired: + +"What is it they call you?" + +"My name is Philip D. Eaton." Eaton realized as soon as he had spoken +that both question and answer had been unnecessary, and Santoine had +asked only to hear Eaton's voice. + +The blind man was silent for a moment, as he seemed to consider the +voice and try again vainly to place it in his memories. Then he spoke +to his daughter. + +"Describe him, Harriet." + +Harriet paled and flushed. + +"About thirty," she said, "--under rather than over that. Six feet or +a little more in height. Slender, but muscular and athletic. Skin and +eyes clear and with a look of health. Complexion naturally rather +fair, but darkened by being outdoors a good deal. Hair dark brown, +straight and parted at the side. Smooth shaven. Eyes blue-gray, with +straight lashes. Eyebrows straight and dark. Forehead smooth, broad +and intelligent. Nose straight and neither short nor long; nostrils +delicate. Mouth straight, with lips neither thin nor full. Chin +neither square nor pointed, and without a cleft. Face and head, in +general, of oval Anglo-American type." + +"Go on," said Santoine. + +Harriet was breathing quickly. "Hands well shaped, strong but without +sign of manual labor; nails cared for but not polished. Gray business +suit, new, but not made by an American tailor and of a style several +years old. Soft-bosomed shirt of plain design with soft cuffs. +Medium-height turn-down white linen collar. Four-in-hand tie, tied by +himself. Black shoes. No jewelry except watch-chain." + +"In general?" Santoine suggested. + +"In general, apparently well-educated, well-bred, intelligent young +American. Expression frank. Manner self-controlled and reserved. +Seems sometimes younger than he must be, sometimes older. Something +has happened at some time which has had a great effect and can't be +forgotten." + +While she spoke, the blood, rising with her embarrassment, had dyed +Harriet's face; suddenly now she looked away from him and out the +window. + +Her feeling seemed to be perceived by Santoine. "Would you rather I +sent for Avery, daughter?" he asked. + +"No; no!" She turned again toward Eaton and met his look defiantly. + +Eaton merely waited. He was confident that much of this description of +himself had been given Santoine by his daughter before the attack had +been made on him and that she had told him also as fully as she could +the two conversations she had had with Eaton. He could not, somehow, +conceive it possible that Santoine needed to refresh his memory; the +description, therefore, must have been for purposes of comparison. +Santoine, in his blindness, no doubt found it necessary to get +descriptions of the same one thing from several people, in order that +he might check one description against another. He probably had +Harriet's and Avery's description of Eaton and now was getting +Harriet's again. + +"He would be called, I judge, a rather likable-looking man?" Santoine +said tentatively; his question plainly was only meant to lead up to +something else; Santoine had judged in that particular already. + +"I think he makes that impression." + +"Certainly he does not make the impression of being a man who could be +hired to commit a crime?" + +"Very far from it." + +"Or who would commit a crime for his own interest--material or +financial interest, I mean?" + +"No." + +"But he might be led into crime by some personal, deeper interest. He +has shown deep feeling, I believe--strong, personal feeling, Harriet?" + +"Yes." + +"Mr. Eaton,"--Santoine addressed him suddenly,--"I understand that you +have admitted that you were at the house of Gabriel Warden the evening +he was killed while in his car. Is that so?" + +"Yes," said Eaton. + +"You are the man, then, of whom Gabriel Warden spoke to his wife?" + +"I believe so." + +"You believe so?" + +"I mean," Eaton explained quietly, "that I came by appointment to call +on Mr. Warden that night. I believe that it must have been to me that +Mr. Warden referred in the conversation with his wife which has since +been quoted in the newspapers." + +"Because you were in such a situation that, if Mr. Warden defended you, +he would himself meet danger?" + +"I did not say that," Eaton denied guardedly. + +"What, then, was your position in regard to Mr. Warden?" + +Eaton remained silent. + +"You refuse to answer?" Santoine inquired. + +"I refuse." + +"In spite of the probability that Mr. Warden met his death because of +his intention to undertake something for you?" + +"I have not been able to fix that as a probability." + +The blind man stopped. Plainly he appreciated that, where Connery and +Avery had failed in their questionings, he was not likely to succeed +easily; and with his limited strength, he proceeded on a line likely to +meet less prepared resistance. + +"Mr. Eaton, have I ever injured you personally--I don't mean directly, +as man to man, for I should remember that; have I ever done anything +which indirectly has worked injury on you or your affairs?" + +"No," Eaton answered. + +"Who sent you aboard this train?" + +"Sent me? No one." + +"You took the train of your own will because I was taking it?" + +"I have not said I took it because you were taking it." + +"That seems to be proved. You can accept it from me; it has been +proved. Did you take the train in order to attack me?" + +"No." + +"To spy upon me?" + +"No." + +Santoine was silent for an instant. "What was it you took the train to +tell me?" + +"I? Nothing." + +Santoine moved his head upon the pillow. + +"Father!" his daughter warned. + +"Oh, I am careful, Harriet; Dr. Sinclair allows me to move a little.... +Mr. Eaton, in one of the three answers you have just given me, you are +not telling the truth. I defy you to find in human reasoning more than +four reasons why my presence could have made you take this train in the +manner and with the attending circumstances you did. You took it to +injure me, or to protect me from injury; to learn something from me, or +to inform me of something. I discard the second of these possibilities +because you asked for a berth in another car and for other reasons +which make it impossible. However, I will ask it of you. Did you take +the train to protect me from injury?" + +"No." + +"Which of your former answers do you wish to change, then?" + +"None." + +"You deny all four possibilities?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you are using denial only to hide the fact, whatever it may be; +and of the four possibilities I am obliged to select the first as the +most likely." + +"You mean that I attacked you?" + +"That is not what I said. I said you must have taken the train to +injure me, but that does not mean necessarily that it was to attack me +with your own hand. Any attack aimed against me would be likely to +have several agents. There would be somewhere, probably, a distant +brain that had planned it; there would be an intelligent brain near by +to oversee it; and there would be a strong hand to perform it. The +overseeing brain and the performing hand--or hands--might belong to one +person, or to two, or more. How many there were I cannot now +determine, since people were allowed to get off the train. The +conductor and Avery--" + +"Father!" + +"Yes, Harriet; but I expected better of Avery. Mr. Eaton, as you are +plainly withholding the truth as to your reason for taking this train, +and as I have suffered injury, I am obliged--from the limited +information I now have--to assume that you knew an attack was to be +made by some one, upon that train. In addition to the telegram, +addressed to you under your name of Eaton and informing of my presence +on the train, I have also been informed, of course, of the code message +received by you addressed to Hillward. You refused, I understand, to +favor Mr. Avery with an explanation of it; do you wish to give one now?" + +"No," said Eaton. + +"It has, of course, been deciphered," the blind man went on calmly. +"The fact that it was based upon your pocket English-Chinese dictionary +as a word-book was early suggested; the deciphering from that was +simply a trial of some score of ordinary enigma plans, until the +meaning appeared." + +Eaton made no comment. Santoine went on: + +"And that very interesting meaning presented another possible +explanation--not as to your taking the train, for as to that there can +be only the four I mentioned--but as to the attack itself, which would +exonerate you from participation in it. It is because of this that I +am treating you with the consideration I do. If that explanation were +correct, you would--" + +"What?" + +"You would have had nothing to do with the attack, and yet you would +know who made it." + +At this, Eaton stared at the blind man and wet his lips. + +"What do you mean?" he said. + +Santoine did not reply to the question. "What have you been doing +yesterday and to-day?" he asked. + +"Waiting," Eaton answered. + +"For what?" + +"For the railroad people to turn me over to the police." + +"So I understood. That is why I asked you. I don't believe in +cat-and-mouse methods, Mr. Eaton; so I am willing to tell you that +there is no likelihood of your being turned over to the police +immediately. I have taken this matter out of the hands of the railroad +people. We live in a complex world, Mr. Eaton, and I am in the most +complex current of it. I certainly shall not allow the publicity of a +police examination of you to publish the fact that I have been attacked +so soon after the successful attack upon Mr. Warden--and in a similar +manner--until I know more about both attacks and about you--why you +came to see Warden that night and how, after failing to see him alive, +you followed me, and whether that fact led to the attempt at my life." + +Eaton started to speak, and then stopped. + +"What were you going to say?" Santoine urged. + +"I will not say it," Eaton refused. + +"However, I think I understand your impulse. You were about to remind +me that there has been nothing to implicate you in any guilty +connection with the murder of Mr. Warden. I do not now charge that." + +He hesitated; then, suddenly lost in thought, as some new suggestion +seemed to come to him which he desired to explain alone, he motioned +with a hand in dismissal. "That is all." Then, almost immediately: +"No; wait! ... Harriet, has he made any sign while I have been +talking?" + +"Not much, if any," Harriet answered. "When you said he might not have +had anything to do with the attack upon you, but in that case he must +know who it was that struck you, he shut his eyes and wet his lips." + +"That is all, Mr. Eaton," Santoine repeated. + +Eaton started back to his compartment. As he turned, Harriet Santoine +looked up at him and their eyes met; and her look confirmed to him what +he had felt before--that her father, now taking control of the +investigation of the attack upon himself, was not continuing it with +prejudice or predisposed desire to damage Eaton, except as the evidence +accused him. And her manner now told, even more plainly than +Santoine's, that the blind man had viewed the evidence as far from +conclusive against Eaton; and as Harriet showed that she was glad of +that, Eaton realized how she must have taken his side against Avery in +reporting to her father. + +For Santoine must have depended entirely upon circumstances presented +to him by Avery and Connery and her; and Eaton was very certain that +Avery and Connery had accused him; so Harriet Santoine--it could only +be she--had opposed them in his defense. The warmth of his gratitude +to her for this suffused him as he bowed to her; she returned a frank, +friendly little nod which brought back to him their brief companionship +on the first day on the train. + +And as Eaton went back to his compartment through the open car, Dr. +Sinclair looked up at him, but Avery, studying his cribbage hand, +pretended not to notice he was passing. So Avery admitted too that +affairs were turning toward the better, just now at least, for Eaton. +When he was again in his compartment, no one came to lock him in. The +porter who brought his breakfast a few minutes later, apologized for +its lateness, saying it had had to be brought from a club car on the +next track, whither the others in the car, except Santoine, had gone. + +Eaton had barely finished with this tardy breakfast when a bumping +against the car told him that it was being coupled to a train. The new +train started, and now the track followed the Mississippi River. +Eaton, looking forward from his window as the train rounded curves, saw +that the Santoine car was now the last one of a train--presumably bound +from Minneapolis to Chicago. + +South they went, through Minnesota and Wisconsin, and the weather grew +warmer and the spring further advanced. The snow was quite cleared +from the ground, and the willows beside the ditches in the fields were +beginning to show green sprouts. At nine o'clock in the evening, some +minutes after crossing the state line into Illinois, the train stopped +at a station where the last car was cut off. + +A motor-ambulance and other limousine motor-cars were waiting in the +light from the station. Eaton, seated at the window, saw Santoine +carried out on a stretcher and put into the ambulance. Harriet +Santoine, after giving a direction to a man who apparently was a +chauffeur, got into the ambulance with her father. The surgeon and the +nurses rode with them. They drove off. Avery entered another +automobile, which swiftly disappeared. Conductor Connery came for the +last time to Eaton's door. + +"Miss Santoine says you're to go with the man she's left here for you. +Here's the things I took from you. The money's all there. Mr. +Santoine says you've been his guest on this car." + +Eaton received back his purse and bill-fold. He put them in his pocket +without examining their contents. The porter appeared with his +overcoat and hat. Eaton put them on and stepped out of the car. The +conductor escorted him to a limousine car. "This is the gentleman," +Connery said to the chauffeur to whom Harriet Santoine had spoken. The +man opened the door of the limousine; another man, whom Eaton had not +before seen, was seated in the car; Eaton stepped in. Connery extended +his hand--"Good-by, sir." + +"Good-by." + +The motor-car drove down a wide, winding road with tall, spreading +trees on both sides. Lights shone, at intervals, from windows of what +must be large and handsome homes. The man in the car with Eaton, whose +duty plainly was only that of a guard, did not speak to Eaton nor Eaton +to him. The motor passed other limousines occasionally; then, though +the road was still wide and smooth and still bounded by great trees, it +was lonelier; no houses appeared for half a mile; then lights glowed +directly ahead; the car ran under the porte-cochère of a great stone +country mansion; a servant sprang to the door of the limousine and +opened it; another man seized Eaton's hand-baggage from beside the +chauffeur. Eaton entered a large, beamed and paneled hallway with an +immense fireplace with logs burning in it; there was a wide stairway +which the servant, who had appointed himself Eaton's guide, ascended. +Eaton followed him and found another great hall upstairs. The servant +led him to one of the doors opening off this and into a large room, +fitted for a man's occupancy, with dark furniture, cases containing +books on hunting, sports and adventure, and smoking things; off this +was a dressing room with the bath next; beyond was a bedroom. + +"These are to be your rooms, sir," the servant said. A valet appeared +and unpacked Eaton's traveling bag. + +"Anything else, sir?" The man, who had finished unpacking his clothes +and laying them out, approached respectfully. "I've drawn your bath +tepid, sir; is that correct?" + +"Quite," Eaton said. "There's nothing else." + +"Very good. Good night, sir. If there's anything else, the second +button beside the bed will bring me, sir." + +When the man had withdrawn noiselessly and closed the door, Eaton stood +staring about the rooms dazedly; then he went over and tried the door. +It opened; it was not locked. He turned about and went into the +dressing room and began taking off his clothes; he stepped into the +bathroom and felt the tepid bath. In a moment he was in the bath; +fifteen minutes later he was in bed with the window open beside him, +letting in the crisp, cool breeze. But he had not the slightest idea +of sleep; he had undressed, bathed, and gone to bed to convince himself +that what he was doing was real, that he was not acting in a dream. + +He got up and went to the window and looked out, but the night was +cloudy and dark, and he could see nothing except some lighted windows. +As he watched, the light was switched out. Eaton went back to bed, but +amazement would not let him sleep. + +He was in Santoine's house; he knew it could be no other than +Santoine's house. It was to get into Santoine's house that he had come +from Asia; he had thought and planned and schemed all through the long +voyage on the steamer how it was to be done. He would have been +willing to cross the Continent on foot to accomplish it; no labor that +he could imagine would have seemed too great to him if this had been +its end; and here it had been done without effort on his part, +naturally, inevitably! Chance and circumstance had done it! And as he +realized this, his mind was full of what he had to do in Santoine's +house. For many days he had not thought about that; it had seemed +impossible that he could have any opportunity to act for himself. And +the return to his thoughts of possibility of carrying out his original +plan brought before him thoughts of his friends--those friends who, +through his exile, had been faithful to him but whose identity or +existence he had been obliged to deny, when questioned, to protect them +as well as himself. + +As he lay on his bed in the dark, he stared upward to the ceiling, wide +awake, thinking of those friends whose devotion to him might be +justified at last; and he went over again and tested and reviewed the +plan he had formed. But it never had presumed a position for him--even +if it was the position of a semi-prisoner--inside Santoine's house. +And he required more information of the structure of the house than he +as yet had, to correct his plan further. But he could not, without too +great risk of losing everything, discover more that night; he turned +over and set himself to go to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE ALLY IN THE HOUSE + +The first gray of dawn roused Eaton, and drawing on trousers and coat +over his pajamas, he seated himself by the open window to see the house +by daylight. The glow, growing in the east, showed him first that the +house stood on the shore of the lake; the light came to him across +water, and from the lake had come the crisp, fresh-smelling breeze that +had blown into his windows through the night. As it grew lighter, he +could see the house; it was an immense structure of smooth gray stone. +Eaton was in its central part, his windows looking to the south. To +the north of him was a wing he could not see--the wing which had +contained the porte-cochère under which the motor-car had stopped the +night before; and the upper part of this wing, he had been able to +tell, contained the servants' quarters. To the south, in front of him, +was another wing composed, apparently in part at least, of family +bedrooms. + +Between the house and the lake was a terrace, part flagged, part +gravel, part lawn not yet green but with green shoots showing among the +last year's grass. A stone parapet walled in this terrace along the +top of the bluff which pitched precipitously down to the lake fifty +feet below, and the narrow beach of sand and shingle. As Eaton +watched, one of the two nurses who had been on the train came to a +window of the farthest room on the second floor of the south wing and +stood looking out; that, then, must be Santoine's room; and Eaton drew +back from his window as he noted this. + +The sun had risen, and its beams, reflected up from the lake, danced on +his ceiling. Eaton, chilled by the sharp air off the water--and +knowing now the locality where he must be--pulled off his coat and +trousers and jumped back into bed. The motor driveway which stretches +north from Chicago far into Wisconsin leaves between it and the lake a +broad wooded strip for spacious grounds and dwellings; Santoine's house +was one of these. + +Eaton felt that its location was well suited for his plans; and he +realized, too, that circumstances had given him time for anything he +might wish to do; for the night's stop at Minneapolis and Santoine's +unexpected taking him into his own charge must have made Eaton's +disappearance complete; for the present he was lost to "them" who had +been "following" him, and to his friends alike. His task, then, was to +let his friends know where he was without letting "them" learn it; and +thinking of how this was to be done, he fell asleep again. + +At nine he awoke with a start; then, recollecting everything, he jumped +up and shut his windows. There was a respectful, apologetic knock at +the door; evidently a servant had been waiting in the hall for some +sound within the room. + +"May I come in, sir?" + +"Come in." + +The man who had attended him the evening before entered. + +"Your bath, sir; hot or cold in the morning, sir?" + +"Hot," Eaton answered. + +"Of course, sir; I'd forgotten you'd just come from the Orient, sir. +Do you wish anything first, sir?" + +"Anything?" + +"Anything to drink, sir." + +"Oh, no." + +The man again prepared the bath. When Eaton returned to his +dressing-room, he found the servant awaiting him with shaving mug, +razor and apron. The man shaved him and trimmed his hair. + +"I shall tell them to bring breakfast up, sir; or will you go down?" +the man asked then. + +Eaton considered. The manners of servants are modeled on the feelings +of their masters, and the man's deference told plainly that, although +Eaton might be a prisoner, he was not to be treated openly as such. + +"I think I can go down," Eaton replied, when the man had finished +dressing him. He found the hall and the rooms below bright and open +but unoccupied; a servant showed him to a blue Delft breakfast room to +the east, where a fire was burning in an old-fashioned Dutch fireplace. +A cloth was spread on the table, but no places were set; a number of +covered dishes, steaming above electric discs, were on the sideboard. +The servant in attendance there took covers off these dishes as Eaton +approached; he chose his breakfast and sat down, the man laying one +place for him. This manner of serving gave Eaton no hint as to how +many others were in the house or might be expected to breakfast. He +had half finished his bacon and greens before any one else appeared. + +This was a tall, carefully dressed man of more than fifty, with +handsome, well-bred features--plainly a man of position and wealth but +without experience in affairs, and without power. He was dark haired +and wore a mustache which, like his hair, was beginning to gray. As he +appeared in the hall without hat or overcoat, Eaton understood that he +lived in the house; he came directly into the breakfast room and +evidently had not breakfasted. He observed Eaton and gave him the +impersonal nod of a man meeting another whom he may have met but has +forgotten. + +"Good morning, Stiles," he greeted the servant. + +"Good morning, sir," the man returned. + +The newcomer sat down at the table opposite Eaton, and the servant, +without inquiring his tastes, brought pineapple, rolls and coffee. + +"I am Wallace Blatchford," the stranger volunteered as Eaton looked up. +He gave the name in a manner which seemed to assume that he now must be +recalled; Eaton therefore feigned recognition as he gave him his name +in return. + +"Basil Santoine is better this morning," Blatchford announced. + +"I understood he was very comfortable last evening," Eaton said. "I +have not seen either Miss Santoine or Mr. Avery this morning." + +"I saw Basil Santoine the last thing last night," the other boasted. +"He was very tired; but when he was home, of course he wished me to be +beside him for a time." + +"Of course," Eaton replied, as the other halted. There was a humility +in the boast of this man's friendship for Santoine which stirred +sympathy, almost pity. + +"I believe with the doctors that Basil Santoine is to be spared," the +tall man continued. "The nation is to be congratulated. He is +certainly one of the most useful men in America. The President--much +as he is to be admired for unusual qualities--cannot compare in +service. Suppose the President were assassinated; instantly the Vice +President would take his place; the visible government of the country +would go on; there would be no chaos, scarcely any confusion. But +suppose Basil Santoine had died--particularly at this juncture!" + +Eaton finished his breakfast but remained at the table while +Blatchford, who scarcely touched his food, continued to boast, in his +queer humility, of the blind man and of the blind man's friendship for +him. He checked himself only when Harriet Santoine appeared in the +doorway. He and Eaton at once were on their feet. + +"My dear! He wants to see me now?" the tall man almost pleaded. "He +wants me to be with him this morning?" + +"Of course, Cousin Wallace," the girl said gently, almost with +compassion. + +"You will excuse me then, sir," Blatchford said hastily to Eaton and +hurried off. The girl gazed after him, and when she turned the next +instant to Eaton her eyes were wet. + +"Good morning!" + +"Good morning, Miss Santoine. You are coming to breakfast?" + +"Oh, no; I've had my breakfast; I was going out to see that things +outside the house have been going on well since we have been away." + +"May I go with you while you do that?" Eaton tried to ask casually. +Important to him as was the plan of the house, it was scarcely less +essential for him to know the grounds. + +She hesitated. + +"I understand it's my duty at present to stay wherever I may be put; +but I'd hardly run away from you while inside your own grounds." + +This did not seem to be the question troubling her. "Very well," she +said at last. The renewed friendliness--or the reservation of judgment +of him--which she had let him see again after the interview with her +father in the car the morning before, was not absent; it seemed only +covered over with responsibilities which came upon her now that she was +at home. She was abstracted as they passed through the hall and a man +brought Eaton's overcoat and hat and a maid her coat. Harriet led the +way out to the terrace. The day was crisp, but the breeze had lost the +chill it had had earlier in the morning; the lake was free from ice; +only along the little projecting breakwaters which guarded the bluff +against the washing of the waves, some ice still clung, and this was +rapidly melting. A graveled path led them around the south end of the +house. + +"Your father is still better this morning?" Eaton asked. + +"What did you say?" she asked. + +He repeated his question. Was her constraint, he wondered, due to her +feeling, somehow, that for the first time in their short acquaintance +he was consciously "using" her, if only for the purpose of gaining an +immediate view of the grounds? He felt that; but he told himself he +was not doing the sort of thing he had refused to do when, on the +train, he had avoided her invitation to present him to her father. +Circumstances now were entirely different. And as he shook off the +reproach to himself, she also came from her abstraction. + +"Yes; Father's improving steadily and--Dr. Sinclair says--much more +rapidly than it would have been right to expect. Dr. Sinclair is going +to remain only to-day; then he is to turn Father over to the village +doctor, who is very good. We will keep the same nurses at present." + +"Mr. Blatchford told me that might be the arrangement." + +"Oh, you had some talk with Mr. Blatchford, then?" + +"We introduced ourselves." + +Harriet was silent for a moment, evidently expecting some comment from +him; when he offered none, she said, "Father would not like you to +accept the estimate of him which Mr. Blatchford must have given you." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Didn't Mr. Blatchford argue with you that Father must be the greatest +man living?" + +"He certainly expressed great admiration for your father," Eaton said. +"He is your cousin?" + +"I call him that; he's Father's cousin. They were very close friends +when they were boys, though Cousin Wallace is a few years older. They +entered preparatory school together and were together all through +college and ever since. I suppose Cousin Wallace told you that it was +he-- Those are the garages and stables over there to the north, Mr. +Eaton. This road leads to them. And over there are the toolhouses and +gardeners' quarters; you can only just see them through the trees." + +She had interrupted herself suddenly, as though she realized that his +attention had not been upon what she was saying but given to the plan +of the grounds. He recalled himself quickly. + +"Yes; what was it you were saying about Mr. Blatchford?" + +She glanced at him keenly, then colored and went on. "I was saying +that Father and he went through college together. They both were +looked upon as young men of very unusual promise--Mr. Blatchford +especially; I suppose because Father, being younger, had not shown so +plainly what he might become. Then Father was blinded--he was just +sixteen; and--and Cousin Wallace never fulfilled the promise he had +given." + +"I don't quite see the connection," Eaton offered. + +"Oh, I thought Cousin Wallace must have told you; he tells almost every +one as soon as he meets them. It was he who blinded Father. It was a +hunting accident, and Father was made totally blind. Father always +said it wasn't Cousin Wallace's fault; but Mr. Blatchford was almost +beside himself because he believed he had ruined Father's life. But +Father went on and did all that he has done, while it stopped poor +Cousin Wallace. It's queer how things work out! Cousin Wallace +thought it was Father's, but it was his own life that he destroyed. +He's happy only when Father wants him with him; and to himself--and to +most people--he's only the man that blinded Basil Santoine." + +"I think I shall understand him now," Eaton said quietly. + +"I like the way you said that.... Here, Mr. Eaton, is the best place +to see the grounds." + +Their path had topped a little rise; they stopped; and Eaton, as she +pointed out the different objects, watched carefully and printed the +particulars and the general arrangement of the surroundings on his +memory. + +As he looked about, he could see that further ahead the path they were +on paralleled a private drive which two hundred yards away entered what +must be the public pike; for he could see motor-cars passing along it. +He noted the direction of this and of the other paths, so that he could +follow them in the dark, if necessary. The grounds were broken by +ravines at right angles to the shore, which were crossed by little +bridges; other bridges carried the public pike across them, for he +could hear them rumble as the motor-cars crossed them; a man could +travel along the bottom of one of those ravines for quite a distance +without being seen. To north and south outside of the cared-for +grounds there were clumps of rank, wild-growing thicket. To the east, +the great house which the trees could not hide stood out against the +lake, and beyond and below it, was the beach; but a man could not +travel along the beach by daylight without being visible for miles from +the top of the bluff, and even at night, one traveling along the beach +would be easily intercepted. + +Could Harriet Santoine divine these thoughts in his mind? He turned to +her as he felt her watching him; but if she had been observing him as +he looked about, she was not regarding him now. He followed her +direction and saw at a little distance a powerful, strapping man, +half-concealed--though he did not seem to be hiding--behind some +bushes. The man might have passed for an undergardener; but he was not +working; and once before during their walk Eaton had seen another man, +powerfully built as this one, who had looked keenly at him and then +away quickly. Harriet flushed slightly as she saw that Eaton observed +the man; Eaton understood then that the man was a guard, one of +several, probably, who had been put about the house to keep watch of +him. + +Had Harriet Santoine understood his interest in the grounds as +preparatory to a plan to escape, and had she therefore taken him out to +show him the guards who would prevent him? He did not speak of the +men, and neither did she; with her, he went on, silently, to the +gardeners' cottages, where she gave directions concerning the spring +work being done on the grounds. Then they went back to the house, +exchanging--for the first time between them--ordinary inanities. + +She left him in the hall, saying she was going to visit her father; but +part way up the stairs, she paused. + +"You'll find books in the library of every conceivable sort, Mr. +Eaton," she called down to him. + +"Thank you," he answered; and he went into the library, but he did not +look for a book. Left alone, he stood listening. + +As her footsteps on the stairs died away, no other sound came to him. +The lower part of the house seemed deserted. He went out again into +the hall and looked about quickly and waited and listened; then he +stepped swiftly and silently to a closet where, earlier, he had noticed +a telephone. He shut himself in and took up the receiver of the +instrument. As he placed it to his ear, he heard the almost +imperceptible sound of another receiver on the line being lifted; then +the girl at the suburban central said, "Number, please." + +Eaton held the receiver to his ear without making reply. The other +person on the line--evidently it was an extension in the house--also +remained silent. The girl at central repeated the request; neither +Eaton nor the other person replied. Eaton hung up the receiver and +stepped from the closet. He encountered Donald Avery in the hall. + +"You have been telephoning?" Avery asked. + +"No." + +"Oh; you could not get your number?" + +"I did not ask for it." + +Eaton gazed coolly at Avery, knowing now that Avery had been at the +other telephone on the line or had had report from the person who had +been prepared to overhear. + +"So you have had yourself appointed my--warden?" + +Avery took a case from his pocket and lighted a cigar without offering +Eaton one. Eaton glanced past him; Harriet Santoine was descending the +stair. Avery turned and saw her, and again taking out his cigar-case, +now offered it to Eaton, who ignored it. + +"I found Father asleep," Harriet said to Eaton. + +"May I see you alone for a moment?" he asked. + +"Of course," she said; and as Avery made no motion, she turned toward +the door of the large room in the further end of the south wing. Eaton +started to follow. + +"Where are you taking him, Harriet?" Avery demanded of her sharply. + +She had seemed to Eaton to have been herself about to reconsider her +action; but Avery decided her. + +"In here," she replied; and proceeded to open the door which exposed +another door just within, which she opened and closed after she had +entered and Eaton had followed her in. Her manner was like that of +half an hour before, when she showed him the grounds beyond the house. +And Eaton, feeling his muscles tighten, strove to control himself and +examine the room with only casual curiosity. It would well excuse any +one's interest. + +It was very large, perhaps forty feet long and certainly thirty in +width. There was a huge stone fireplace on the west wall where the +wing connected with the main part of the house; and all about the other +wall, and particularly to the east, were high and wide windows; and +through those to the south, the sunlight now was flooding in. +Bookcases were built between the windows up to the ceiling, and +bookcases covered the west wall on both sides of the fireplace. And +every case was filled with books; upon a table at one side lay a pile +of volumes evidently recently received and awaiting reading and +classification. There was a great rack where periodicals of every +description--popular, financial, foreign and American--were kept; and +there were great presses preserving current newspapers. + +At the center of the room was a large table-desk with a chair and a +lounge beside it; there were two other lounges in the room, one at the +south in the sun and another at the end toward the lake. There were +two smaller table-desks on the north side of the room, subordinate to +the large desk. There were two "business phonograph" machines with +cabinets for records; there was a telephone on the large desk and +others on the two smaller tables. A safe, with a combination lock, was +built into a wall. The most extraordinary feature of the room was a +steep, winding staircase, in the corner beyond the fireplace, evidently +connecting with the room above. + +The room in which they were was so plainly Basil Santoine's work-room +that the girl did not comment upon that; but as Eaton glanced at the +stairs, she volunteered: + +"They go to Father's room; that has the same space above." + +"I see. This is a rather surprising room." + +"You mean the windows?" she asked. "That surprises most people--so +very much light. Father can't see even sunlight, but he says he feels +it. He likes light, anyway; and it is true that he can tell, without +his eyes, whether the day is bright or cloudy, and whether the light is +turned on at night. The rooms in this wing, too, are nearly +sound-proof. There is not much noise from outside here, of course, +except the waves; but there are noises from other parts of the house. +Noise does not irritate Father, but his hearing has become very acute +because of his blindness, and noises sometimes distract him when he is +working.... Now, what was it you wished to say to me, Mr. Eaton?" + +Eaton, with a start, recollected himself. His gaining a view of that +room was of so much more importance than what he had to say that, for a +moment, he had forgotten. Then: + +"I wanted to ask you exactly what my position here is to be." + +"Oh," she said. "I thought that was plain to you from what Father +said." + +"You mean that I am to be kept here?" + +"Yes." + +"Indefinitely?" + +"Until--as Father indicated to you on the train--he has satisfied +himself as to the source of the attack upon him." + +"I understand. In the meantime, I am not to be allowed to communicate +at all with any one outside?" + +"That might depend upon the circumstances." + +He gazed at the telephone instrument on the desk. "Miss Santoine, a +moment ago I tried to telephone, when I--" He described the incident +to her. The color on her cheeks heightened. "Some one was appointed +to listen on the wire?" he challenged. + +"Yes." She hesitated, and then she added, in the manner in which she +had directed him to the guard outside the house: "And besides, I +believe there are--or will be--the new phonographic devices on every +line, which record both sides of a conversation. Subject to that, you +may use the telephone." + +"Thank you," said Eaton grimly. "I suppose if I were to write a +letter, it would be taken from me and opened and read." + +She colored ruddier and made no comment. + +"And if I wished to go to the city, I would be prevented or followed?" + +"Prevented, for the present," she replied. + +"Thank you." + +"That is all?" + +The interview had become more difficult for her; he saw that she was +anxious to have it over. + +"Just one moment more, Miss Santoine. Suppose I resist this?" + +"Yes?" + +"Your father is having me held here in what I might describe as a free +sort of confinement, but still in confinement, without any legal charge +against me. Suppose I refuse to submit to that--suppose I demand right +to consult, to communicate with some one in order, let us say, to +defend myself against the charge of having attacked your father. What +then?" + +"I can only answer as before, Mr. Eaton." + +"That I will be prevented?" + +"For the present. I don't know all that Father has ordered done about +you; but he is awaiting the result of several investigations. The +telegrams you received doubtless are being traced to their sources; +other inquiries are being made. As you have only lately come back to +America, they may extend far and take some time." + +"Thank you," he acknowledged. He went to the door, opened it and went +out; he closed it after him and left her alone. + +Harriet stood an instant vacantly staring after him; then she went to +the door and fastened it with a catch. She came back to the great +table-desk--her blind father's desk--and seated herself in the great +chair, his chair, and buried her face in her hands. She had +seemed--and she knew that she had seemed--quite composed as she talked +to Eaton; now she was not composed. Her face was burning hot; her +hands, against her cheeks, were cold; tremors of feeling shook her as +she thought of the man who just had left her. Why, she asked herself, +was she not able to make herself treat this man in the way that her +mind told her she should have treated him? That he might be the one +who had dealt the blow intended to kill her father--her being could not +and would not accept that. Yet, the only reason she had to deny it, +was her feeling. + +That Eaton must have been involved in the attack or, at least, must +have known and now knew something about it which he was keeping from +them, seemed certain. Yet she did not, she could not, abominate and +hate this man. Instead, she found herself impelled, against all +natural reason, more and more to trust him. Moreover, was it fair to +her father for her to do this? + +Since childhood, since babyhood, even, no one had ever meant anything +to her in comparison with her father. Her mother had died when she was +young; she had never had, in her play as a child, the careless abandon +of other children, because in spite of play she had been thinking of +her father; the greatest joy of childhood she could remember was +walking hand in hand with her father and telling him the things she +saw; it had been their "game"; and as she grew older and it had ceased +to be merely a game--as she had grown more and more useful to the blind +man, and he had learned more fully to use and trust her--she had found +it only more interesting, a greater pleasure. She had never had any +other ambition--and she had no other now--except to serve her father; +her joy was to be his eyes; her triumph had been when she had found +that, though he searched the world and paid fortunes to find others to +"see" for him, no one could serve him as she could; she had never +thought of herself apart from him. + +Now her father had been attacked and injured--attacked foully, while he +slept; he had come close to death, had suffered; he was still +suffering. Certainly she ought to hate, at least be aloof from any +one, every one, against whom the faintest suspicion breathed of having +been concerned in that dastardly attack upon her father; and that she +found herself without aversion to Eaton, when he was with her, now +filled her with shame and remorse. + +She crouched lower against this desk which so represented her father in +his power; she felt tears of shame at herself hot on her cold hands. +Then she got up and recollected herself. Her father, when he would +awake, would wish to work; there were certain, important matters he +must decide at once. + +Harriet went to the end of the room and to the right of the entrance +door. She looked about, with a habit of caution, and then removed a +number of books from a shelf about shoulder high; she thus exposed a +panel at the back of the bookcase, which she slid back. Behind it +appeared the steel door of a combination wall-safe. She opened it and +took out two large, thick envelopes with tape about them, sealed and +addressed to Basil Santoine; but they were not stamped, for they had +not been through the mail; they had been delivered by a messenger. +Harriet reclosed the safe, concealed it and took the envelopes back to +her father's desk and opened them to examine their contents preparatory +to taking them to him. But even now her mind was not on her work; she +was thinking of Eaton, where he had gone and what he was doing and--was +he thinking of her? + +Eaton had left the room, thinking of her. The puzzle of his position +in relation to her, and hers to him, filled his mind too. That she had +been constrained by circumstances and the opinions of those around her +to assume a distrust of him which she did not truly feel, was plain to +him; but it was clear that, whatever she felt, she would obey her +father's directions in regard to him. And she had told that Basil +Santoine, if he was to hold his prisoner as almost a guest in his house +pending developments, was to keep that guest strictly from +communication with any one outside. Santoine, of course, was aware +from the telegram that others had been acting with Eaton; the incident +at the telephone had shown that Santoine had anticipated that Eaton's +first necessity would be to get in touch with his friends. And this, +now, indeed was a necessity. The gaining of Santoine's house, under +conditions which he would not have dared to dream of, would be +worthless now unless immediately--before Santoine could get any further +trace of him--he could get word to and receive word from his friends. + +He had stopped, after leaving Santoine's study, in the alcove of the +hall in front of the double doors which he had closed behind him; he +heard Harriet fasten the inner one. As he stood now, undecided where +to go, a young woman crossed the main part of the hall, coming +evidently from outside the house--she had on hat and jacket and was +gloved; she was approaching the doors of the room he just had left, and +so must pass him. He stared at sight of her and choked; then, he +controlled himself rigidly, waiting until she should see him. + +She halted suddenly as she saw him and grew very pale, and her gloved +hands went swiftly to her breast and pressed against it; she caught +herself together and looked swiftly and fearfully about her and out +into the hall. Seeing no one but himself, she came a step nearer, +"Hugh!" she breathed. Her surprise was plainly greater than his own +had been at sight of her; but she checked herself again quickly and +looked warningly back at the hall; then she fixed on him her blue +eyes--which were very like Eaton's, though she did not resemble him +closely in any other particular--as though waiting his instructions. + +He passed her and looked about the hall. There was no one in sight in +the hall or on the stairs or within the other rooms which opened into +the hall. The door Eaton had just come from stayed shut. He held his +breath while he listened; but there was no sound anywhere in the house +which told him they were likely to be seen; so he came back to the spot +where he had been standing. + +"Stay where you are, Edith," he whispered. "If we hear any one coming, +we are just passing each other in the hall." + +"I understand; of course, Hugh! But you--you're here! In his house!" + +"Even lower, Edith; remember I'm Eaton--Philip Eaton." + +"Of course; I know; and I'm Miss Davis here--Mildred Davis." + +"They let you come in and out like this--as you want, with no one +watching you?" + +"No, no; I do stenography for Mr. Avery sometimes, as I wrote you. +That is all. When he works here, I do his typing; and some even for +Mr. Santoine himself. But I am not confidential yet; they send for me +when they want me." + +"Then they sent for you to-day?" + +"No; but they have just got back, and I thought I would come to see if +anything was wanted. But never mind about me; you--how did you get +here? What are you doing here?" + +Eaton drew further back into the alcove as some one passed through the +hall above. The girl turned swiftly to the tall pier mirror near to +which she stood; she faced it, slowly drawing off her gloves, trembling +and not looking toward him. The foot-steps ceased overhead; Eaton, +assured no one was coming down the stairs, spoke swiftly to tell her as +much as he might in their moment. "He--Santoine--wasn't taken ill on +the train, Edith; he was attacked." + +"Attacked!" Her lips barely moved. + +"He was almost killed; but they concealed it, Edith--pretended he was +only ill. I was on the train--you know, of course; I got your +wire--and they suspected me of the attack." + +"You? But they didn't find out about you, Hugh?" + +"No; they are investigating. Santoine would not let them make anything +public. He brought me here while he is trying to find out about me. +So I'm here, Edith--here! Is it here too?" + +Again steps sounded in the hall above. The girl swiftly busied herself +with gloves and hat; Eaton stood stark in suspense. The servant +above--it was a servant they had heard before, he recognized +now--merely crossed from one room to another overhead. Now the girl's +lips moved again. + +"It?" She formed the question noiselessly. + +"The draft of the new agreement." + +"It either has been sent to him, or it will be sent to him very +soon--here." + +"Here in this house with me!" + +"Mr. Santoine has to be a party to it--he's to draft it, I think. +Anyway, he hasn't seen it yet--I know that. It is either here now, +Hugh, or it will be here before long." + +"You can't find out about that?" + +"Whether it is here, or when it will be? I think I can." + +"Where will it be when it is here?" + +"Where? Oh!" The girl's eyes went to the wall close to where Eaton +stood; she seemed to measure with them a definite distance from the +door and a point shoulder high, and to resist the impulse to come over +and put her hand upon the spot. As Eaton followed her look, he heard a +slight and muffled click as if from the study; but no sound could reach +them through the study doors and what he heard came from the wall +itself. + +"A safe?" he whispered. + +"Yes; Miss Santoine--she's in there, isn't she?--closed it just now. +There are two of them hidden behind the books one on each side of the +door." + +Eaton tapped gently on the wall; the wall was brick; the safe +undoubtedly was backed with steel. + +"The best way is from inside the room," he concluded. + +She nodded. "Yes. If you--" + +"Look out!" + +Some one now was coming downstairs. The girl had time only to whisper +swiftly, "If we don't get a chance to speak again, watch that vase." +She pointed to a bronze antique which stood on a table near them. +"When I'm sure the agreement is in the house, I'll drop a glove-button +in that--a black one, if I think it'll be in the safe on the right, +white on the left. Now go." + +Eaton moved quietly on and into the drawing-room. Avery's voice +immediately afterwards was heard; he was speaking to Miss Davis, whom +he had found in the hallway. Eaton was certain there was no suspicion +that he had talked with her there; indeed, Avery seemed to suppose that +Eaton was still in the study with Harriet Santoine. It was her lapse, +then, which had let him out and had given him that chance; but it was a +lapse, he discovered, which was not likely to favor him again. From +that time, while never held strictly in restraint, he found himself +always in the sight of some one. Blatchford, in default of any one +else, now appeared to assume the oversight of him as his duty. Eaton +lunched with Blatchford, dined with Blatchford and Avery--Blatchford's +presence as a buffer against Avery's studied offense to him alone +making the meal endurable. Eaton went to his room early, where at last +he was left alone. + +The day, beginning with his discovery of the fact that he was in +Santoine's house and continuing through the walk outside, which first +had shown him the lay of the grounds, and then the chance at the sight +of Santoine's study followed by the meeting just outside the study +door--all this had been more than satisfactory to him. He sat at his +window thinking it over. The weather had been clear and there was a +moon; as he watched the light upon the water and gazed now and again at +the south wing where Santoine had his study, suddenly several windows +on the first floor blazed out simultaneously; some one had entered +Santoine's work-room and turned on the light. Almost at once the light +went out; then, a minute or so later, the same windows glowed dully. +The lights in the room had been turned on again, but heavy, opaque +curtains had been drawn over the windows before the room was relighted. +These curtains were so close over the windows that, unless Eaton had +been attracted by the first flash of light, he scarcely would have +noticed that the lights were burning within the room. + +He had observed, during the day, that Avery or Harriet had been at work +in that room--one of them or both--almost all day; and besides the girl +he had met in the hall, there had been at least one other stenographer. +Must work in this house go on so continuously that it was necessary for +some one to work at night, even when Santoine lay ill and unable to +make other than the briefest and most important dispositions? And who +was working in that room now, Avery or Harriet? He let himself think, +idly, about the girl--how strange her life had been--that part of it at +least which was spent, as he had gathered most of her waking hours of +recent years had been spent, with her father. Strange, almost, as his +own life! And what a wonderful girl it had made of her--clever, sweet, +lovable, with more than a woman's ordinary capacity for devotion and +self-sacrifice. + +But, if she were the one working there, was she the sort of girl she +had seemed to be? If her service to her father was not only on his +personal side but if also she was intimate in his business affairs, +must she not therefore have shared the cruel code which had terrorized +Eaton for the last four years and kept him an exile in Asia and which, +at any hour yet, threatened to take his life? A grim set came to +Eaton's lips; his mind went again to his own affairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN + +In the supposition that he was to have less liberty, Eaton proved +correct. Harriet Santoine, to whose impulses had been due his first +privileges, showed toward him a more constrained attitude the following +morning. She did not suggest hostility, as Avery constantly did; nor, +indeed, was there any evidence of retrogression in her attitude toward +him; she seemed merely to be maintaining the same position; and since +this seemed difficult if they were often together, she avoided him. +Eaton found his life in the house after that first day more strictly +ordered into a routine which he was obliged to keep. He understood +that Santoine, steadily improving but not yet able to leave his bed, +had taken up his work again, propped up by pillows; one of the nurses +had been dismissed; the other was only upon day duty. But Eaton did +not see Santoine at all; and though he learned that Miss Davis or +another stenographer, whose name was West, came daily to the house, he +never was in a position again to encounter any outsider either coming +or going. Besides the servants of the house, he met Blatchford, with +whom Eaton usually breakfasted; he also lunched with Blatchford, and +Harriet sometimes--sometimes with Avery; he dined with Blatchford and +Avery or with all three. + +At other times, except that he was confined to the house or to a small +space of the grounds about it and was kept under constant surveillance, +he was left largely to his own devices; and these at least sufficed to +let him examine morning and night, the vase in which he was to find the +signal that was to be left for him; these permitted examination of +window-locks in other rooms, if not in Santoine's study; these +permitted the examination of many other items also and let him follow +at least the outline of the method of Santoine's work. + +There was no longer room for Eaton to doubt that Harriet had the +confidence of her father to almost a complete extent. Now that +Santoine was ill, she worked with him daily for hours; and Eaton +learned that she did the same when he was well. But Avery worked with +the blind man too; he too was certainly in a confidential capacity. +Was it not probable then that Avery, and not Harriet, was entrusted +with the secrets of dangerous and ugly matters; or was it possible that +this girl, worshiping her father as she did, could know and be sure +that, because her father approved these matters, they were right? + +A hundred times a day, as Eaton saw or spoke with the girl or thought +of her presence near by, this obsessed him. A score of times during +their casual talk upon meeting at meals or elsewhere, he found himself +turned toward some question which would aid him in determining what +must be the fact; but each time he checked himself, until one +morning--it was the fifth after his arrival at Santoine's +house--Harriet was taking him for his walk in the garden before the +house. + +It was a bright, sunshiny morning and warm--a true spring day. As they +paced back and forth in the sunshine--she bare-haired and he holding +his cap in his hand--he looked back at the room in the wing where +Santoine still lay; then Eaton looked to the daughter, clear-eyed, +clear-skinned, smiling and joyous with the day. She had just told him, +at his inquiry, that her father was very much stronger that morning, +and her manner more than ever evidenced her pride in him. + +"I have been intending to ask you, Miss Santoine," Eaton said to her +suddenly then, "if your belief in the superiority of business over +war--as we were discussing it ten days ago---hasn't suffered a shock +since then?" + +"You mean because of--Father?" + +"Yes; you can hardly go back far enough in the history of war to find a +time when the soldier's creed was not against killing--or trying to +kill--a sleeping enemy." + +She looked at him quickly and keenly. "I can't think of Father as +being any one's enemy, though I know of course no man can do big things +without making some people hate him. Even if what he does is wholly +good, bad people hate him for it." She was silent for a few steps. "I +like your saying what you did, Mr. Eaton." + +"Why?" + +"It implies your own creed would be against such a thing. But aren't +we rather mixing things up? There is nothing to show yet that the +attack on Father sprang out of business relations; and even if it did, +it would have to be regarded as an--an atrocity outside the rules of +business, just as in war, atrocities occur which are outside the rules +of war. Wait! I know what you are going to say; you are going to say +the atrocities are a part of war even if they are outside its +recognized rules." + +"Yes; I was going to say that." + +"And that atrocities due to business are a part of business, even if +they are outside the rules." + +"Yes; as business is at present conducted." + +"But the rules are a part of the game, Mr. Eaton." + +"Do you belong among the apologists for war, Miss Santoine?" + +"I?" + +"Yes; what you say is exactly what the apologists for war say, isn't +it? They say that war, in spite of its open savagery and inevitable +atrocities, is not a different sort of combat from the combat between +men in time of peace. That is, the acts of war differ only in +appearance or in degree from the acts of peace. Is that what you +believe, Miss Santoine?" + +"That men in times of peace perform acts upon each other which differ +only in degree from the acts of war?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you believe that, Mr. Eaton?" + +He hesitated. "Do you want me to answer that question from my own +experience or from what I would like to believe life to be?" + +"From your own experience, of course." + +"Then I must answer that I believe the apologists to be right as to +that fact." + +He saw her clear eyes darken. "But you don't believe that argument +itself, do you, Mr. Eaton?" she appealed. "It is only the old, old +argument, 'Whatever is, is right.' You don't excuse those acts--those +atrocities in time of peace? Or was I mistaken in thinking such things +were against your creed? Life is part right, part wrong, isn't it?" + +"I am not in a good position to judge, I'm afraid; for what I have seen +of it has been all wrong--both business and life." + +He had tried to speak lightly; but a sudden bitterness, a sharp +hardness in his tone, seemed to assail her; it struck through her and +brought her shoulders together in a shudder; but, instead of alienating +her, she turned with a deeper impulse of feeling toward him. + +"You--you do not want to tell more--to tell how it has been wrong; you +don't want to tell that--" She hesitated, and then in an intimate way +which surprised and frightened him, she added, "to me?" + +After she had said it, she herself was surprised, and frightened; she +looked away from him with face flushed, and he did not dare answer, and +she did not speak again. + +They had come to the end of the gardens where he was accustomed to turn +and retrace his steps toward the house; but now she went on, and he +went on with her. They were upon the wide pike which ran northward +following, but back from, the shore of the lake. He saw that now, as a +motor passed them on the road, she recalled that she was taking him +past the previously appointed bounds; but in the intimacy of the +moment, she could not bring herself to speak of that. It was Eaton who +halted and asked, "Shall we go on?" + +"Wouldn't you like to?" + +They walked on slowly. "I wish you could tell me more about yourself, +Mr. Eaton." + +"I wish so too," he said. + +"Then why can you not?" She turned to him frankly; he gazed at her a +moment and then looked away and shook his head. How had she answered, +in what she already had said, the question which lay below what he had +asked her? In her defense of business, did she know all the cruelties +of business and defend the wrong she knew, together with the right, as +inevitable? Or did she not know all of what was known even under her +father's roof; and if she knew all, would she then loathe or defend it? +Another motor sped near, halted and then speeded on again; Eaton, +looking up, saw it was a runabout with Avery alone in it; evidently, +seeing them in the road, Avery had halted to protest, then thought +better of it and gone on. But other motors passed now with people who +spoke to Harriet and who stopped to inquire for her father and wish him +well. + +"Your father does not seem to be one of the great men without honor in +his own neighborhood," Eaton said to her after one of these had halted +and gone on. + +"Every one who knows Father likes and admires him!" she rejoiced. + +"I don't mean exactly that," Eaton went on. "They must trust him too, +in an extraordinary way. His associates must place most complete +confidence in him when they leave to him the adjustment of matters such +as I understand they do. There is no way, as I comprehend it, that any +of the powerful men who ask his advice could hold him accountable if he +were unfair to them; yet men of the most opposite types, the most +inimical and hostile, place their affairs in his hands. He tells them +what is just, and they abide by his decision." + +Harriet shook her head. "No; it isn't quite that," she said. + +"What, then?" + +"You are correct in saying that men of the most opposite sorts--and +most irreconcilable to each other--constantly place their fate in +Father's hand; and when he tells them what they must do, they abide by +his decision. But he doesn't decide for them what is just." + +"I don't understand." + +"Father cannot tell them which side is just because, if he did that, +they wouldn't consider his decision; and they wouldn't ask him to make +any more; he would lose all influence for better relations. So he +doesn't tell them what is just." + +"What does he tell them, then?" + +"He tells them what would be the outcome if they fought, who would win +and who would lose and by how much. And they believe him and abide by +his decision without fighting; for he knows; and they know that he +knows and is absolutely honest." + +Eaton was silent for a moment as they walked along. "How can he come +to his decision?" he asked at last. + +"How?" + +"I mean, much of the material presented to him must be documentary." + +"Much of it is." + +"You will pardon me," Eaton prefaced, "but of course I am immensely +interested. How are these written out for him--in Braille characters +or other letters for the blind?" + +"No; that would not be practicable for all documents, and so it is done +with none of them." + +"Then some one must read them to him." + +"Of course." + +Eaton started to speak--then refrained. + +"What were you going to say?" she questioned. + +"That the person--or persons--who reads the documents to him must +occupy an extremely delicate position." + +"He does. In fact, I think that position is Father's one nightmare." + +"Nightmare?" + +"The person he trusts must not only be absolutely discreet but +absolutely honest." + +"I should think so. If any one in that position wanted to use the +information brought to your father, he could make himself millions +overnight, undoubtedly, and ruin other men." + +"And kill Father too," the girl added quietly. "Yes," she said as +Eaton looked at her. "Father puts nothing above his trust. If that +trust were betrayed--whether or not Father were in any way to blame for +it--I think it would kill him." + +"So you are the one who is in that position." + +"Yes; that is, I have been." + +"You mean there is another now; that is, of course, Mr. Avery?" + +"Yes; here at this house Mr. Avery and I, and Mr. Avery at the office. +There are some others at the office whom Father trusts, but not +completely; and it is not necessary to trust them wholly, for all +Father's really important decisions are made at the house, and the most +important records are kept here. Before Mr. Avery came, I was the only +one who helped here at the house." + +"When was that?" + +"When Mr. Avery came? About five years ago. Father had an immense +amount of work at that time. Business conditions were very much +unsettled. There was trouble at that time between some of the big +Eastern and the big Western men, and at the same time the Government +was prosecuting the Trusts. Nobody knew what the outcome of it all +would be; many of the biggest men who consulted Father were like men +groping in the dark. I don't suppose you would remember the time by +what I say; but you would remember it, as nearly everybody else does by +this: it was the time of the murder of Mr. Latron." + +"Yes; I remember that," said Eaton; "and Mr. Avery came to you at that +time?" + +"Yes; just at that time I was thrown from my horse, and could not do as +much as I had been doing, so Mr. Avery was sent to Father." + +"Then Mr. Avery was reading to him at the time you speak of--the time +of the Latron murder?" + +"No; Mr. Avery came just afterward. I was reading to him at that time." + +"No one but you?" + +"No one. Before that he had had Mr. Blatchford read to him sometimes, +but--poor Cousin Wallace!--he made a terrible mistake in reading to +Father once. Father discovered it before it was too late; and he never +let Cousin Wallace know. He pretends to trust Cousin Wallace now with +reading some things; but he always has Mr. Avery or me go over them +with him afterward." + +"The papers must have been a good deal for a girl of eighteen." + +"At that time, you mean? They were; but Father dared trust no one +else." + +"Mr. Avery handles those matters now for your father?" + +"The continuation of what was going on then? Yes; he took them up at +the time I was hurt and so has kept on looking after them; for there +has been plenty for me to do without that; and those things have all +been more or less settled now. They have worked themselves out as +things do, though they seemed almost unsolvable at the time. One thing +that helped in their solution was that Father was able, that time, to +urge what was just, as well as what was advisable." + +"You mean that in the final settlement of them no one suffered?" + +"No one, I think--except, of course, poor Mr. Latron; and that was a +private matter not connected in any direct way with the questions at +issue. Why do you ask all this, Mr. Eaton?" + +"I was merely interested in you--in what your work has been with your +father, and what it is," he answered quietly. + +His step had slowed, and she, unconsciously, had delayed with him. Now +she realized that his manner toward her had changed from what it had +been a few minutes before; he had been strongly moved and drawn toward +her then, ready to confide in her; now he showed only his usual quiet +reserve--polite, casual, unreadable. She halted and faced him, +abruptly, chilled with disappointment. + +"Mr. Eaton," she demanded, "a few minutes ago you were going to tell me +something about yourself; you seemed almost ready to speak; now--" + +"Now I am not, you mean?" + +"Yes; what has changed you? Is it something I have said?" + +He seemed to reflect. "Are you sure that anything has changed me? I +think you were mistaken. You asked if I could not tell you more about +myself; I said I wished I could, and that perhaps I might. I meant +some time in the future; and I still hope I may--some time." + +His look and tone convinced her; for she could recall nothing he had +asked about herself or that she had replied to, which could have made +any change in him. She studied him an instant more, fighting her +disappointment and the feeling of having been rebuffed. + +They had been following the edge of the road, she along a path worn in +the turf, he on the edge of the road itself and nearer to the tracks of +the motors. As she faced him, she was slightly above him, her face +level with his. Suddenly she cried out and clutched at him. As they +had stopped, she had heard the sound of a motor approaching them +rapidly from behind. Except that this car seemed speeding faster than +the others, she had paid no attention and had not turned. +Instantaneously, as she had cried and pulled upon him, she had realized +that this car was not passing; it was directly behind and almost upon +him. She felt him spring to the side as quickly as he could; but her +cry and pull upon him were almost too late; as he leaped, the car +struck. The blow was glancing, not direct, and he was off his feet and +in motion when the wheel struck; but the car hurled him aside and +rolled him over and over. + +As she rushed to Eaton, the two men in the rear seat of the car turned +their heads and looked back. + +"Are you all right?" one called to Eaton; but without checking its +speed or swerving, the car dashed on and disappeared down the roadway. + +She bent over Eaton and took hold of him. He struggled to his feet +and, dazed, tottered so that she supported him. As she realized that +he was not greatly hurt, she stared with horror at the turn in the road +where the car had disappeared. + +"Why, he tried to run you down! He meant to! He tried to hurt you!" +she cried. + +"No," Eaton denied. "Oh, no; I don't think so." + +"But they went on without stopping; they didn't wait an instant. He +didn't care; he meant to do it!" + +"No!" Eaton unsteadily denied again. "It must have been--an accident. +He was--frightened when he saw what he had done." + +"It wasn't at all like an accident!" she persisted. "It couldn't have +been an accident there and coming up from behind the way he did! No; +he meant to do it! Did you see who was in the car--who was driving?" + +He turned to her quickly. "Who?" he demanded. + +"One of the people who was on the train! That man--the morning we--the +morning Father was hurt--do you remember, when you came into the dining +car for breakfast and the conductor wanted to seat you opposite a young +man who had just spilled coffee? You sat down at our table instead. +Don't you remember--a little man, nervous, but very strong; a man +almost like an ape?" + +He shuddered and then controlled himself. "Nothing!" he answered her +clasp of concern on his arm. "Quite steady again; thanks. Just dizzy; +I guess I was jarred more than I knew. Yes, I remember a fellow the +conductor tried to seat me opposite." + +"This was the same man!" + +Eaton shook his head. "That could hardly be; I think you must be +mistaken." + +"I am not mistaken; it was that man!" + +"Still, I think you must be," he again denied. + +She stared, studying him. "Perhaps I was," she agreed; but she knew +she had not been. "I am glad, whoever it was, he didn't injure you. +You are all right, aren't you?" + +"Quite," he assured. "Please don't trouble about it, Miss Santoine." + +He dusted himself off with her help and tried to limp as little as +possible; and when she insisted upon returning to the house, he made no +objection, but he refused to wait while she went back for a car to take +him. They walked back rather silently, she appreciating how +passionately she had expressed herself for him, and he quiet because of +this and other thoughts too. + +They found Donald Avery in front of the house looking for them as they +came up. Eaton succeeded in walking without limping; but he could not +conceal the marks on his clothes. + +"Harriet, I've just come from your father; he wants you to go to him at +once," Avery directed. "Good morning, Eaton. What's happened?" + +"Carelessness," Eaton deprecated. "Got rather in the way of a motor +and was knocked over for it." + +Harriet did not correct this to Avery. She went up to her father; she +was still trembling, still sick with horror at what she had seen--an +attempt to kill one walking at her side. She stopped outside her +father's door to compose herself; then she went in. + +The blind man was propped up on his bed with pillows into almost a +sitting position; the nurse was with him. + +"What did you want, Father?" Harriet asked. + +He had recognized her step and had been about to speak to her; but at +the sound of her voice he stopped the words on his lips and changed +them into a direction for the nurse to leave the room. + +He waited until the nurse had left and closed the door behind her. +Harriet saw that, in his familiarity with her tones and every +inflection of her voice, he had sensed already that something unusual +had occurred; she repeated, however, her question as to what he wanted. + +"That does not matter now, Harriet. Where have you been?" + +"I have been walking with Mr. Eaton." + +"What happened?" + +She hesitated. "Mr. Eaton was almost run down by a motor-car." + +"Ah! An accident?" + +She hesitated again. She had seen on her father's face the slight +heightening of his color which, with him, was the only outward sign +that marked some triumph of his own mind; his blind eyes, abstracted +and almost always motionless, never showed anything at all. + +"Mr. Eaton said it was an accident," she answered. + +"But you?" + +"It did not look to me like an accident, Father. It--it showed +intention." + +"You mean it was an attack?" + +"Yes; it was an attack. The man in the car meant to run Mr. Eaton +down; he meant to kill him or to hurt him terribly. Mr. Eaton wasn't +hurt. I called to him and pulled him--he jumped away in time." + +"To kill him, Harriet? How do you know?" + +She caught herself. "I--I don't know, Father. He certainly meant to +injure Mr. Eaton. When I said kill him, I was telling only what I +thought." + +"That is better. I think so too." + +"That he meant to kill Mr. Eaton?" + +"Yes." + +She watched her father's face; often when relating things to him, she +was aware from his expression that she was telling him only something +he already had figured out and expected or even knew; she felt that now. + +"Father, did you expect Mr. Eaton to be attacked?" + +"Expect? Not that exactly; it was possible; I suspected something like +this might occur." + +"And you did not warn him?" + +The blind man's hands sought each other on the coverlet and clasped +together. "It was not necessary to warn him, Harriet; Mr. Eaton +already knew. Who was in the car?" + +"Three men." + +"Had you seen any of them before?" + +"Yes, one--the man who drove." + +"Where?" + +"On the train." + +The color on Santoine's face grew brighter. "Did you know who he was?" + +"No, Father." + +"Describe him, dear," Santoine directed. + +He waited while she called together her recollections of the man. + +"I can't describe him very fully, Father," she said. "He was one of +the people who had berths in the forward sleeping-car. I can recall +seeing him only when I passed through the car--I recall him only twice +in that car and once in the diner." + +"That is interesting," said Santoine. + +"What, Father?" + +"That in five days upon the train you saw the man only three times." + +"You mean he must have kept out of sight as much as possible?" + +"Have you forgotten that I asked you to describe him, Harriet?" + +She checked herself. "Height about five feet, five," she said, +"broad-shouldered, very heavily set; I remember he impressed me as +being unusually muscular. His hair was black; I can't recall the color +of his eyes; his cheeks were blue with a heavy beard closely shaved. I +remember his face was prognathous, and his clothes were spotted with +dropped food. I--it seems hard for me to recall him, and I can't +describe him very well." + +"But you are sure it was the same man in the motor?" + +"Yes." + +"Did he seem a capable person?" + +"Exactly what do you mean?" + +"Would he be likely to execute a purpose well, Harriet--either a +purpose of his own, or one in which he had been instructed?" + +"He seemed an animal sort of person, small, strong, and not +particularly intelligent. It seems hard for me to remember more about +him than that." + +"That is interesting." + +"What?" + +"That it is hard for you to remember him very well." + +"Why, Father?" + +Her father did not answer. "The other men in the motor?" he asked. + +"I can't describe them. I--I was excited about Mr. Eaton." + +"The motor itself, Harriet?" + +"It was a black touring car." + +"Make and number?" + +"I don't know either of those. I don't remember that I saw a number; +it--it may have been taken off or covered up." + +"Thank you, dear." + +"You mean that is all, then?" + +"No; bring Eaton to me." + +"He has gone to his room to fix himself up." + +"I'll send for him, then." Santoine pressed one of the buttons beside +his bed to call a servant; but before the bell could be answered, +Harriet got up. + +"I'll go myself," she said. + +She went out into the hall and closed the door behind her; she waited +until she heard the approaching steps of the man summoned by Santoine's +bell; then, going to meet him, she sent him to call Eaton in his rooms, +and she still waited until the man came back and told her Eaton had +already left his rooms and gone downstairs. She dismissed the man and +went to the head of the stairs, but her steps slowed there and stopped. +She was strained and nervous; often in acting as her father's "eye" and +reporting to him what she saw, she felt that he found many +insignificant things in her reports which were hidden from herself; and +she never had had that feeling more strongly than just now as she was +telling him about the attack made on Eaton. So she knew that the blind +man's thought in regard to Eaton had taken some immense stride; but she +did not know what that stride had been, or what was coming now when her +father saw Eaton. + +She went on slowly down the stairs, and when halfway down, she saw +Eaton in the hall below her. He was standing beside the table which +held the bronze antique vase; he seemed to have taken something from +the vase and to be examining it. She halted again to watch him; then +she went on, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps. She could +see, as she approached him, what he had taken from the vase, but she +attached no importance to it; it was only a black button from a woman's +glove--one of her own, perhaps, which she had dropped without noticing. +He tossed it indifferently toward the open fireplace as he came toward +her. + +"Father wants to see you, Mr. Eaton," she said. + +He looked at her intently for an instant and seemed to detect some +strangeness in her manner and to draw himself together; then he +followed her up the stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IT GROWS PLAINER + +Basil Santoine's bedroom, like the study below it, was so nearly +sound-proof that anything going on in the room could not be heard in +the hall outside it, even close to the double doors. Eaton, as they +approached these doors, listened vainly, trying to determine whether +any one was in the room with Santoine; then he quickened his step to +bring him beside Harriet. + +"One moment, please, Miss Santoine," he urged. + +She stopped. "What is it you want?" + +"Your father has received some answer to the inquiries he has been +having made about me?" + +"I don't know, Mr. Eaton." + +"Is he alone?" + +"Yes." + +Eaton thought a minute. "That is all I wanted to know, then," he said. + +Harriet opened the outer door and knocked on the inner one. Eaton +heard Santoine's voice at once calling them to come in, and as Harriet +opened the second door, he followed her into the room. The blind man +turned his sightless eyes toward them, and, plainly +aware--somehow--that it was Eaton and Harriet who had come in, and that +no one else was with them, he motioned Harriet to close the door and +set a chair for Eaton beside the bed. Eaton, understanding this +gesture, took the chair from her and set it as Santoine's motion had +directed; then he waited for her to seat herself in one of the other +chairs. + +"Am I to remain, Father?" she asked. + +"Yes," Santoine commanded. + +Eaton waited while she went to a chair at the foot of the bed and +seated herself--her clasped hands resting on the footboard and her chin +upon her hands--in a position to watch both Eaton and her father while +they talked; then Eaton sat down. + +"Good morning, Eaton," the blind man greeted him. + +"Good morning, Mr. Santoine," Eaton answered; he understood by now that +Santoine never began a conversation until the one he was going to +address himself to had spoken, and that Santoine was able to tell, by +the sound of the voice, almost as much of what was going on in the mind +of one he talked with as a man with eyes is able to tell by studying +the face. He continued to wait quietly, therefore, glancing up once to +Harriet Santoine, whose eyes for an instant met his; then both regarded +again the face of the blind man on the bed. + +Santoine was lying quietly upon his back, his head raised on the +pillows, his arms above the bed-covers, his finger-tips touching with +the fingers spread. + +"You recall, of course, Eaton, our conversation on the train," Santoine +said evenly. + +"Yes." + +"And so you remember that I gave you at that time four possible +reasons--as the only possible ones--why you had taken the train I was +on. I said you must have taken it to attack me, or to protect me from +attack; to learn something from me, or to inform me of something; and I +eliminated as incompatible with the facts, the second of these--I said +you could not have taken it to protect me." + +"Yes." + +"Very well; the reason I have sent for you now is that, having +eliminated to-day still another of those possibilities,--leaving only +two,--I want to call your attention in a certain order to some of the +details of what happened on the train." + +"You say that to-day you have eliminated another of the possibilities?" +Eaton asked uneasily. + +"To-day, yes; of course. You had rather a close call this morning, did +you not?" + +"Rather, I was careless." + +"You were careless?" Santoine smiled derisively. "Perhaps you were--in +one sense. In another, however, you have been very careful, Eaton. +You have been careful to act as though the attempt to run you down +could not have been a deliberate attack; you were careful to call it an +accident; you were careful not to recognize any of the three men in the +motor." + +"I had no chance to recognize any of them, Mr. Santoine," Eaton replied +easily. "I did not see the car coming; I was thrown from my feet; when +I got up, it was too far away for me to recognize any one." + +"Perhaps so; but were you surprised when my daughter recognized one of +them as having been on the train with us?" + +Eaton hesitated, but answered almost immediately: + +"Your question doesn't exactly fit the case. I thought Miss Santoine +had made a mistake." + +"But you were not surprised; no. What would have been a surprise to +you, Eaton, would have been--if you had had a chance to observe the +men--to have found that none of them--none of them had been on the +train!" + +Eaton started and felt that he had colored. How much did Santoine +know? Had the blind man received, as Eaton feared, some answer to his +inquiries which had revealed, or nearly revealed, Eaton's identity? Or +was it merely that the attack made on Eaton that morning had given +Santoine new light on the events that had happened on the train and +particularly--Eaton guessed--on the cipher telegram which Santoine +claimed to have translated? Whatever the case might be, Eaton knew +that he must conceal from Harriet the effect the blind man's words +produced on him. Santoine, of course, could not see these effects; and +he had kept his daughter in the room to watch for just such things. +Eaton glanced at her; she was watching him and, quite evidently, had +seen his discomposure, but she made no comment. As he regained +possession of himself, her gaze went back intently to her father. +Eaton looked from her back to the blind man, and saw that Santoine was +waiting for him to speak. + +"You assume that, Mr. Santoine," he asserted, "because--" He checked +himself and altered his sentence. "Will you tell me why you assume +that?" + +"That that would have surprised you? Yes; that is what I called you in +here to tell you." + +As Santoine waited a moment before going on, Eaton watched him +anxiously. The blind man turned himself on his pillows so as to face +Eaton more directly; his sightless, motionless eyes told nothing of +what was going on in his mind. + +"Just ten days ago," Santoine said evenly and dispassionately, "I was +found unconscious in my berth--Section Three of the rearmost +sleeper--on the transcontinental train, which I had taken with my +daughter and Avery at Seattle. I had been attacked,--assailed during +my sleep some time in that first night that I spent on the train,--and +my condition was serious enough so that for three days afterward I was +not allowed to receive any of the particulars of what had happened to +me. When I did finally learn them, I naturally attempted to make +certain deductions as to who it was that had attempted to murder me, +and why; and ever since, I have continued to occupy myself with those +questions. I am going to tell you a few of my deductions. You need +not interrupt me unless you discover me to be in error, and then in +error only in fact or observation which, obviously, had to be reported +to me. If you fancy I am at fault in my conclusions, wait until you +discover your error." + +Santoine waited an instant; Eaton thought it was to allow him to speak +if he wanted to, but Eaton merely waited. + +"The first thing I learned," the blind man went on, "was the similarity +of the attack on me to the more successful attack on Warden, twelve +days previous, which had caused his death. The method of the two +attacks was the same; the conditions surrounding them were very +similar. Warden was attacked in his motor, in a public street; his +murderer took a desperate chance of being detected by the chauffeur or +by some one on the street, both when he made the attack and afterward +when he escaped unobserved, as it happened, from the automobile. The +attack upon me was made in the same way, perhaps even with the same +instrument; my assailant took equally desperate chances. The attack on +me was made on a public conveyance where the likelihood of the murderer +being seen was even greater, for the train was stopped, and under +conditions which made his escape almost impossible. The desperate +nature of the two attacks, and their almost identical method, made it +practically certain that they originated at the same source and were +carried out--probably--by the same hand and for the same purpose. + +"Mrs. Warden's statement to me of her interview with her husband a +half-hour before his murder, made it certain that the object of the +attack on him was to 'remove' him. It seemed almost inevitable, +therefore, that the attack on me must have been for the same purpose. +There have been a number of times in my life, Eaton, when I have known +that it would be to the advantage of some one if I were 'removed'; that +I do not know now any definite reason for such an act does not decrease +its probability; for I do not know why Warden was 'removed.' + +"I found that a young man--yourself--had acted so suspiciously both +before and after the attack on me that both Avery and the conductor in +charge of the train had become convinced that he was my assailant, and +had segregated him from the rest of the passengers. Not only this, +but--and this seemed quite conclusive to them--you admitted that you +were the one who had called upon Warden the evening of his murder. +Warden's statement to his wife that you were some one he was about to +befriend--which had been regarded as exculpating you from share in his +murder--ceased to be so conclusive now that you had been present at a +second precisely similar attack; and it certainly was no proof that you +had not attacked me. It seemed likely, too, that you were the only +person on the train aside from my daughter and Avery who knew who I +was; for I had had reason to believe from the time when I first heard +you speak when you boarded the train, that you were some one with whom +I had, previously, very briefly come in contact; and I had asked my +daughter to find out who you were, and she had tried to do so, but +without success." + +Eaton wet his lips. + +"Also," the blind man continued, "there was a telegram which definitely +showed that there was some connection, unknown to me, between you and +me, as well as a second--or rather a previous--suspicious telegram in +cipher, which we were able to translate." + +Eaton leaned forward, impelled to speak; but as Santoine clearly +detected this impulse and waited to hear what he was going to say, +Eaton reconsidered and kept silent. + +"You were going to say something about that telegram in cipher?" +Santoine asked. + +"No," Eaton denied. + +"I think you were; and I think that a few minutes ago when I said you +were not surprised by the attempt made to-day to run you down, you were +also going to speak of it; for that attempt makes clear the meaning of +the telegram. Its meaning was not clear to me before, you understand. +It said only that you were known and followed. It did not say why you +were followed. I could not be certain of that; there were several +possible reasons why you might be followed--even that the 'one' who +'was following' might be some one secretly interested in preventing you +from an attack on me. Now, however, I know that the reason you feared +the man who was following was because you expected him to attack you. +Knowing that, Eaton--knowing that, I want to call your attention to the +peculiarity of our mutual positions on the train. You had asked for +and were occupying Section Three in the third sleeper, in order--I +assume and, I believe, correctly--to avoid being put in the same car +with me. In the night, the second sleeper--the car next in front of +yours--was cut off from the train and left behind. That made me occupy +in relation to the forward part of the train exactly the same position +as you had occupied before the car ahead of you had been cut out. I +was in Section Three in the third sleeper from the front." + +Eaton stared at Santoine, fascinated; what had been only vague, half +felt, half formed with himself, was becoming definite, tangible, under +the blind man's reasoning. He was aware that Harriet Santoine was +looking alternately from him to her father, herself startled by the +revelation thus passionlessly recited. What her father was saying was +new to her; he had not taken his daughter into his confidence to this +extent. + +Eaton's hands closed instinctively, in his emotion. "What do you mean?" + +"You understand already," Santoine asserted. "The attack made on me +was meant for you. Some one stealing through the cars from the front +to the rear of the train and carrying in his mind the location Section +Three in the third car, struck through the curtains by mistake at me +instead of you. Who was that, Eaton?" + +Eaton sat unanswering, staring. + +"You did not realize before, that the man on the train meant to murder +you?" Santoine demanded. + +"No," said Eaton. + +"I see you understand it now; and that it was the same man--or some one +accompanying the man--who tried to run you down this morning. Who is +that man?" + +"I don't know," Eaton answered. + +"You mean you prefer to shield him?" + +"Shield him?" + +"That is what you are doing, is it not? For, even if you don't know +the man directly, you know in whose cause and under whose direction he +murdered Warden--and why and for whom he is attempting to murder you." + +Eaton remained silent. + +In his intensity, Santoine had lifted himself from his pillows. "Who +is that man?" he challenged. "And what is that connection between you +and me which, when the attack found and disabled me instead of you, +told him that--in spite of his mistake--his result had been +accomplished? told him that, if I was dying, a repetition of the attack +against you was unnecessary?" + +Eaton knew that he had grown very pale; Harriet must be aware of the +effect Santoine's words had on him, but he did not dare look at her now +to see how much she was comprehending. All his attention was needed to +defend himself against Santoine. + +"I don't understand." He fought to compose himself. + +"It is perfectly plain," Santoine said patiently. "It was believed at +first that I had been fatally hurt; it was even reported at one time--I +understand--that I was dead; only intimate friends have been informed +of my actual condition. Yesterday, for the first time, the newspapers +announced the certainty of my recovery; and to-day an attack is made on +you." + +"There has been no opportunity for an attack on me before, if this was +an attack. On the train I was locked up under charge of the conductor." + +"You have been off the train nearly a week." + +"But I have been kept here in your house." + +"You have been allowed to walk about the grounds." + +"But I've been watched all the time; no one could have attacked me +without being seen by your guards." + +"They did not hesitate to attack you in sight of my daughter." + +"But--" + +"You are merely challenging my deductions! Will you reply to my +questions?--tell me the connection between us?--who you are?" + +"No." + +"Come here!" + +"What?" said Eaton. + +"Come here--close to me, beside the bed." + +Eaton hesitated, and then obeyed. + +"Bend over!" + +Eaton stooped, and the blind man's hands seized him. Instantly Eaton +withdrew. + +"Wait!" Santoine warned. "If you do not stay, I shall call help." One +hand went to the bell beside his bed. + +Harriet had risen; she met Eaton's gaze warningly and nodded to him to +comply. He bent again over the bed. He felt the blind man's sensitive +fingers searching his features, his head, his throat. Eaton gazed at +Santoine's face while the fingers were examining him; he could see that +Santoine was merely finding confirmation of an impression already +gained from what had been told him about Eaton. Santoine showed +nothing more than this confirmation; certainly he did not recognize +Eaton. More than this, Eaton could not tell. + +"Now your hands," Santoine ordered. + +Eaton extended one hand and then the other; the blind man felt over +them from wrists to the tips of the fingers; then he let himself sink +back against the pillows, absorbed in thought. + +Eaton straightened and looked to Harriet where she was standing at the +foot of the bed; she, however, was intently watching her father and did +not look Eaton's way. + +"You may go," Santoine said at last. + +"Go?" Eaton asked. + +"You may leave the room. Blatchford will meet you downstairs." + +Santoine reached for the house telephone beside his bed--receiver and +transmitter on one light band--and gave directions to have Blatchford +await Eaton in the hall below. + +Eaton stood an instant longer, studying Santoine and trying fruitlessly +to make out what was passing in the blind man's mind. He was +distinctly frightened by the revelation he just had had of Santoine's +clear, implacable reasoning regarding him; for none of the blind man's +deductions about him had been wrong--all had been the exact, though +incomplete, truth. It was clear to him that Santoine was close--much +closer even than Santoine himself yet appreciated--to knowing Eaton's +identity; it was even probable that one single additional fact--the +discovery, for instance, that Miss Davis was the source of the second +telegram received by Eaton on the train--would reveal everything to +Santoine. And Eaton was not certain that Santoine, even without any +new information, would not reach the truth unaided at any moment. So +Eaton knew that he himself must act before this happened. But so long +as the safe in Santoine's study was kept locked or was left open only +while some one was in the room with it, he could not act until he had +received help from outside; and he had not yet received that help; he +could not hurry it or even tell how soon it was likely to come. He had +seen Miss Davis several times as she passed through the halls going or +coming for her work with Avery; but Blatchford had always been with +him, and he had been unable to speak with her or to receive any signal +from her. + +As his mind reviewed, almost instantaneously, these considerations, he +glanced again at Harriet; her eyes, this time, met his, but she looked +away immediately. He could not tell what effect Santoine's revelations +had had on her, except that she seemed to be in complete accord with +her father. As he went toward the door, she made no move to accompany +him. He went out without speaking and closed the inner and the outer +doors behind him; then he went down to Blatchford. + +For several minutes after Eaton had left the room, Santoine thought in +silence. Harriet stayed motionless, watching him; the extent to which +he had been shaken and disturbed by the series of events which had +started with Warden's murder, came home strongly to her now that she +saw him alone and now that his talk with Eaton had shown partly what +was passing in his mind. + +"Where are you, Harriet?" he asked at last. + +She knew it was not necessary to answer him, but merely to move so that +he could tell her position; she moved slightly, and his sightless eyes +shifted at once to where she stood. + +"How did he act?" Santoine asked. + +She reviewed swiftly the conversation, supplementing his blind +apperceptions of Eaton's manner with what she herself had seen. + +"What have been your impressions of Eaton's previous social condition, +Daughter?" he asked. + +She hesitated; she knew that her father would not permit the vague +generality that Eaton was "a gentleman." "Exactly what do you mean, +Father?" + +"I don't mean, certainly, to ask whether he knows which fork to use at +table or enough to keep his napkin on his knee; but you have talked +with him, been with him--both on the train and here: have you been able +to determine what sort of people he has been accustomed to mix with? +Have his friends been business men? Professional men? Society people?" + +The deep and unconcealed note of trouble in her father's voice startled +her, in her familiarity with every tone and every expression. She +answered his question: "I don't know, Father." + +"I want you to find out." + +"In what way?" + +"You must find a way. I shall tell Avery to help." He thought for +several moments, while she stood waiting. "We must have that motor and +the men in it traced, of course. Harriet, there are certain +matters--correspondence--which Avery has been looking after for me; do +you know what correspondence I mean?" + +"Yes, Father." + +"I would rather not have Avery bothered with it just now; I want him to +give his whole attention to this present inquiry. You yourself will +assume charge of the correspondence of which I speak, Daughter." + +"Yes, Father. Do you want anything else now?" + +"Not of you; send Avery to me." + +She moved toward the door which led to the circular stair. Her father, +she knew, seldom spoke all that was in his mind to any one, even +herself; she was accustomed, therefore, to looking for meanings +underneath the directions which he gave her, and his present +order--that she should take charge of a part of their work which +ordinarily had been looked after by Avery--startled and surprised her +by its implication that her father might not trust Avery fully. But +now, as she halted and looked back at him from the door and saw his +troubled face and his fingers nervously pressing together, she +recognized that it was not any definite distrust of Avery that had +moved him, but only his deeper trust in herself. Blind and obliged to +rely on others always in respect of sight, and now still more obliged +to rely upon them because he was confined helpless to his bed, Santoine +had felt ever since the attack on him some unknown menace over himself +and his affairs, some hidden agency threatening him and, through him, +the men who trusted him. So, with instinctive caution, she saw now, he +had been withdrawing more and more his reliance upon those less closely +bound to him--even Avery--and depending more and more on the one he +felt he could implicitly trust--herself. As realization of this came +to her, she was stirred deeply by the impulse to rush back to him and +throw herself down beside him and assure him of her love and fealty; +but seeing him again deep in thought, she controlled herself and went +out. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +DONALD AVERY IS MOODY + +Harriet went down the stair into the study; she passed through the +study into the main part of the house and found Donald and sent him to +her father; then she returned to the study. She closed and fastened +the doors, and after glancing about the room, she removed the books in +front of the wall-safe to the right of the door, slid back the movable +panel, opened the safe and took out a bundle of correspondence. She +closed safe and panel and put back the books; and carrying the +correspondence to her father's desk, she began to look over it. + +This correspondence--a considerable bundle of letters held together +with wire clips and the two envelopes bound with tape which she had put +into the safe the day before--made up the papers of which her father +had spoken to her. These letters represented the contentions of +willful, powerful and sometimes ruthless and violent men. Ruin of one +man by another--ruin financial, social or moral, or all three +together--was the intention of the principals concerned in this +correspondence; too often, she knew, one man or one group had carried +out a fierce intent upon another; and sometimes, she was aware, these +bitter feuds had carried certain of her father's clients further even +than personal or family ruin: fraud, violence and--twice now--even +murder were represented by this correspondence; for the papers relating +to the Warden and the Latron murders were here. There were in this +connection the documents concerning the Warden and the Latron +properties which her father had brought back with him from the Coast; +there were letters, now more than five years old, which concerned the +Government's promised prosecution of Latron; and, lastly, there were +the two envelopes which had just been sent to her father concerning the +present organization of the Latron properties. + +She glanced through these and the others with them. She had felt +always the horror of this violent and ruthless side of the men with +whom her father dealt; but now she knew that actual appreciation of the +crimes that passed as business had been far from her. And, strangely, +she now realized that it was not the attacks on Mr. Warden and her +father--overwhelming with horror as these had been--which were bringing +that appreciation home to her. It was her understanding now that the +attack was not meant for her father but for Eaton. + +For when she had believed that some one had meant to murder her father, +as Mr. Warden had been murdered, the deed had come within the class of +crimes comprehensible to her. She was accustomed to recognize that, at +certain times and under special circumstances, her father might be an +obstacle to some one who would become desperate enough to attack; but +she had supposed that, if such an attack were delivered, it must be +made by a man roused to hate his victim, and the deed would be +palliated, as far as such a crime could be, by an overwhelming impulse +of terror or antipathy at the moment of striking the blow. But she had +never contemplated a condition in which a man might murder--or attempt +to murder--without hate of his victim. Yet now her father had made it +clear that this was such a case. Some one on that train in +Montana--acting for himself or for another--had found this stranger, +Eaton, an obstacle in his way. And merely as removing an obstacle, +that man had tried to murder Eaton. And when, instead, he had injured +Basil Santoine, apparently fatally, he had been satisfied so that his +animus against Eaton had lapsed until the injured man began to recover; +and then, when Eaton was out on the open road beside her, that +pitiless, passionless enemy had tried again to kill. She had seen the +face of the man who drove the motor down upon Eaton, and it had been +only calm, determined, businesslike--though the business with which the +man had been engaged was murder. + +Though Harriet had never believed that Eaton had been concerned in the +attack upon her father, her denial of it had been checked and stilled +because he would not even defend himself. She had not known what to +think; she had seemed to herself to be waiting with her thoughts in +abeyance; until he should be cleared, she had tried not to let herself +think more about Eaton than was necessary. Now that her father himself +had cleared Eaton of that suspicion, her feelings had altered from mere +disbelief that he had injured her father to recollection that Mr. +Warden had spoken of him only as one who himself had been greatly +injured. Eaton was involved with her father in some way; she refused +to believe he was against her father, but clearly he was not with him. +How could he be involved, then, unless the injury he had suffered was +some such act of man against man as these letters and statements +represented? She looked carefully through all the contents of the +envelopes, but she could not find anything which helped her. + +She pushed the letters away, then, and sat thinking. Mr. Warden, who +appeared to have known more about Eaton than any one else, had taken +Eaton's side; it was because he had been going to help Eaton that Mr. +Warden had been killed. Would not her father be ready to help Eaton, +then, if he knew as much about him as Mr. Warden had known? But Mr. +Warden, apparently, had kept what he knew even from his own wife; and +Eaton was now keeping it from every one--her father included. She felt +that her father had understood and appreciated all this long before +herself--that it was the reason for his attitude toward Eaton on the +train and, in part, the cause of his considerate treatment of him all +through. She sensed for the first time how great her father's +perplexity must be; but she felt, too, how terrible the injustice must +have been that Eaton had suffered, since he himself did not dare to +tell it even to her father and since, to hide it, other men did not +stop short of double murder. + +So, instead of being estranged by Eaton's manner to her father, she +felt an impulse of feeling toward him flooding her, a feeling which she +tried to explain to herself as sympathy. But it was not just sympathy; +she would not say even to herself what it was. + +She got up suddenly and went to the door and looked into the hall; a +servant came to her. + +"Is Mr. Avery still with Mr. Santoine?" she asked. + +"No, Miss Santoine; he has gone out." + +"How long ago?" + +"About ten minutes." + +"Thank you." + +She went back, and bundling the correspondence together as it had been +before, she removed the books from a shelf to the left of the door, +slid back another panel and revealed the second wall-safe corresponding +to the one to the right of the door from which she had taken the +papers. The combination of this second safe was known only to her +father and herself. She put the envelopes into it, closed it, and +replaced the books. Then she went to her father's desk, took from a +drawer a long typewritten report of which he had asked her to prepare a +digest, and read it through; consciously concentrating, she began her +work. The servant came at one to tell her luncheon was served, +but--immersed now--she ordered her luncheon brought to the study. At +three she heard Avery's motor, and went to the study door and looked +out as he entered the hall. + +"What have you found out, Don?" she inquired. + +"Nothing yet, Harry." + +"You got no trace of them?" + +"No; too many motors pass on that road for the car to be recalled +particularly. I've started what inquiries are possible and arranged to +have the road watched in case they come back this way." + +He went past her and up to her father. She returned to the study and +put away her work; she called the stables on the house telephone and +ordered her saddle-horse; and going to her rooms and changing to her +riding-habit, she rode till five. Returning, she dressed for dinner, +and going down at seven, she found Eaton, Avery and Blatchford awaiting +her. + +The meal was served in the great Jacobean dining room, with walls +paneled to the high ceiling, logs blazing in the big stone fireplace. +As they seated themselves, she noted that Avery seemed moody and +uncommunicative; something, clearly, had irritated and disturbed him; +and as the meal progressed, he vented his irritation upon Eaton by +affronting him more openly by word and look than he had ever done +before in her presence. She was the more surprised at his doing this +now, because she knew that Donald must have received from her father +the same instructions as had been given herself to learn whatever was +possible of Eaton's former position in life. Eaton, with his customary +self-control, met Avery's offensiveness with an equability which almost +disarmed it. Instinctively she tried to help him in this. But now she +found that he met and put aside her assistance in the same way. + +The change in his attitude toward her which she had noted first during +their walk that morning had not diminished since his talk with her +father but, plainly, had increased. He was almost openly now including +her among those who opposed him. As that feeling which she called +sympathy had come to her when she realized that what he himself had +suffered must be the reason for his attitude toward her father, so now +it only came more strongly when she saw him take the same attitude +toward herself; and as she felt it, she found she was feeling more and +more away from Donald Avery. Donald's manner toward Eaton was forcing +her to invoice exactly the materials of her companionship with Donald. + +Before Eaton's entrance into her life she had supposed that some time, +as a matter of course, she was going to marry Donald. In spite of +this, she had never thought of herself as apart from her father; when +she thought of marrying, it had been always with the idea that her duty +to her husband must be secondary to that to her father; she knew now +that she had accepted Donald Avery not because he had become necessary +to her but because he had seemed essential to her father and her +marrying Donald would permit her life to go on much as it was. Till +recently, Avery's complaisance, his certainty that it must be only a +matter of time before he would win her, had been the most +definite--almost the only definable--fault she had found with her +father's confidential agent; now her sense of many other faults in him +only marked the distance she had drawn away from him. If Harriet +Santoine could define her own present estimate of Avery, it was that he +did not differ in any essential particular from those men whose +correspondence had so horrified her that afternoon. + +Donald had social position and a certain amount of wealth and power; +now suddenly she was feeling that he had nothing but those things, that +his own unconscious admission was that to be worth while he must have +them, that to retain and increase them was his only object in life. +She had the feeling that these were the only things he would fight for; +but that for these he would fight--fairly, perhaps, if he could--but, +if he must, unfairly, despicably. + +She had finished dinner, but she hesitated to rise and leave the men +alone; after-dinner cigars and the fiction of a masculine conversation +about the table were insisted on by Blatchford. As she delayed, +looking across the table at Eaton, his eyes met hers; reassured, she +rose at once; the three rose with her and stood while she went out. +She went upstairs and looked in upon her father; he wanted nothing, and +after a conversation with him as short as she could make it, she came +down again. No further disagreement between the two men, apparently, +had happened after she left the table. Avery now was not visible. +Eaton and Blatchford were in the music-room; as she went to them, she +saw that Eaton had some sheets of music in his hand. So now, with a +repugnance against her father's orders which she had never felt before, +she began to carry out the instructions her father had given her. + +"You play, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. + +"I'm afraid not," he smiled. + +"Really don't you?" + +"Only drum a little sometimes, Miss Santoine. Won't you play? Please +do." + +She saw that they were songs which he had been examining. "Oh, you +sing!" + +He could not effectively deny it. She sat down at her piano and ran +over the songs and selections from the new opera. He followed her with +the delight of a music-lover long away from an instrument. He sang +with her a couple of the songs; he had a good, unassuming tone. And as +she went through the music, she noticed that he was familiar with +almost everything she had liked which had been written or was current +up to five years before; all later music was strange to him. To this +extent he had been of her world, plainly, up to five years before; then +he had gone out of it. + +She realized this only as something which she was to report to her +father; yet she felt a keener, more personal interest in it than that. +Harriet Santoine knew enough of the world to know that few men break +completely all social connections without some link of either fact or +memory still holding them, and that this link most often is a woman. +So now, instinctively, she found, she was selecting among the music on +the racks arias of lost, disappointed or unhappy love. But she saw +that Eaton's interest in these songs appeared no different from his +interest in others; it was, so far as she could tell, for their music +he cared for them--not because they recalled to him any personal +recollection. So far as her music could assure her, then, there +was--and had been--no woman in Eaton's life whose memory made poignant +his break with his world. + +Presently she desisted and turned to other sorts of music. Toward ten +o'clock, after she had stopped playing, he excused himself and went to +his rooms. She sat for a time, idly talking with Blatchford; then, as +a servant passed through the hall and she mistook momentarily his +footsteps for those of Avery, she got up suddenly and went upstairs. +It was only after reaching her own rooms that she appreciated that the +meaning of this action was that she shrank from seeing Avery again that +night. But she had been in her rooms only a few minutes when her house +telephone buzzed, and answering it, she found that it was Donald +speaking to her. + +"Will you come down for a few minutes, please, Harry?" + +She withheld her answer momentarily. Before Eaton had come into her +life, Donald sometimes had called her like this,--especially on those +nights when he had worked late with her father,--and she had gone down +to visit with him for a few minutes as an ending for the day. She had +never allowed these meetings to pass beyond mere companionship; but +to-night she thought of that companionship without pleasure. + +"Please, Harry!" he repeated. + +Some strangeness in his tone perplexed her. + +"Where are you?" she asked. + +"In the study." + +She went down at once. As he came to the study door to meet her, she +saw that what had perplexed her in his tone was apparently only the +remnant of that irritation he had showed at dinner. He took her hand +and drew her into the study. The lights in the room turned full on and +the opaque curtains drawn closely over the windows told that he had +been working,--or that he wished to appear to have been working,--and +papers scattered on one of the desks, and the wall safe to the right of +the door standing open, confirmed this. But now he led her to the big +chair, and guided her as she seated herself; then he lounged on the +flat-topped desk in front of and close to her and bending over her. + +"You don't mind my calling you down, Harry; it is so long since we had +even a few minutes alone together," he pleaded. + +"What is it you want, Don?" she asked. + +"Only to see you, dea--Harry." He took her hand again; she resisted +and withdrew it. "I can't do any more work to-night, Harry. I find +the correspondence I expected to go over this evening isn't here; your +father has it, I suppose." + +"No; I have it, Don." + +"You?" + +"Yes; Father didn't want you bothered by that work just now. Didn't he +tell you?" + +"He told me that, of course, Harry, and that he had asked you to +relieve me as much as you could; he didn't say he had told you to take +charge of the papers. Did he do that?" + +"I thought that was implied. If you need them, I'll get them for you, +Don. Do you want them?" + +She got up and went toward the safe where she had put them; suddenly +she stopped. What it was that she had felt under his tone and manner, +she could not tell; it was probably only irritation at having important +work taken out of his hands. But whatever it was, he was not openly +expressing it--he was even being careful that it should not be +expressed. And now suddenly, as he followed and came close behind her +and her mind went swiftly to her father lying helpless upstairs, and +her father's trust in her, she halted. + +"We must ask Father first," she said. + +"Ask him!" he ejaculated. "Why?" + +She faced him uncertainly, not answering. + +"That's rather ridiculous, Harry, especially as it is too late to ask +him to-night." His voice was suddenly rough in his irritation. "I +have had charge of those very things for years; they concern the +matters in which your father particularly confides in me. It is +impossible that he meant you to take them out of my hands like this. +He must have meant only that you were to give me what help you could +with them!" + +She could not refute what he said; still, she hesitated. + +"When did you find out those matters weren't in your safe, Don?" she +asked. + +"Just now." + +"Didn't you find out this afternoon--before dinner?" + +"That's what I said--just now this afternoon, when I came back to the +house before dinner, as you say." Suddenly he seized both her hands, +drawing her to him and holding her in front of him. "Harry, don't you +see that you are putting me in a false position--wronging me? You are +acting as though you did not trust me!" + +She drew away her hands. "I do trust you, Don; at least I have no +reason to distrust you. I only say we must ask Father." + +"They're in your little safe?" + +She nodded. "Yes." + +"And you'll not give them to me?" + +"No." + +He stared angrily; then he shrugged and laughed and went back to his +desk and began gathering up his scattered papers. She stood +indecisively watching him. Suddenly he looked up, and she saw that he +had quite conquered his irritation, or at least had concealed it; his +concern now seemed to be only over his relations with herself. + +"We've not quarreled, Harry?" he asked. + +"Quarreled? Not at all, Don," she replied. + +She moved toward the door; he followed and let her out, and she went +back to her own rooms. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SANTOINE'S "EYES" FAIL HIM + +Eaton, coming down rather late the next morning, found the breakfast +room empty. He chose his breakfast from the dishes on the sideboard, +and while the servant set them before him and waited on him, he +inquired after the members of the household. Miss Santoine, the +servant said, had breakfasted some time before and was now with her +father; Mr. Avery also had breakfasted; Mr. Blatchford was not yet +down. As Eaton lingered over his breakfast, Miss Davis passed through +the hall, accompanied by a maid. The maid admitted her into the study +and closed the door; afterward, the maid remained in the hall busy with +some morning duty, and her presence and that of the servant in the +breakfast room made it impossible for Eaton to attempt to go to the +study or to risk speaking to Miss Davis. A few minutes later, he heard +Harriet Santoine descending the stairs; rising, he went out into the +hall to meet her. + +"I don't ask you to commit yourself for longer than to-day, Miss +Santoine," he said, when they had exchanged greetings, "but--for +to-day--what are the limits of my leash?" + +"Mr. Avery is going to the country-club for lunch; I believe he intends +to ask you if you care to go with him." + +He started and looked at her in surprise. "That's rather longer +extension of the leash than I expected," he replied. + +He stood an instant thoughtful. Did the invitation imply merely that +he was to have greater freedom now? + +"Do you wish me to go?" he asked. + +Her glance wavered and did not meet his. "You may go if you please." + +"And if I do not?" + +"Mr. Blatchford will lunch with you here." + +"And you?" + +"Yes, I shall lunch here too, probably. This morning I am going to be +busy with Miss Davis on some work for my father; what I do depends on +how I get along with that." + +"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged. + +She turned away and went into the study, closing the door behind her. +Eaton, although he had finished his breakfast, went back into the +breakfast room. He did not know whether he would refuse or accept +Avery's invitation; suddenly he decided. After waiting for some five +minutes there over a second cup of coffee, he got up and crossed to the +study door and knocked. The door was opened by Miss Davis; looking +past her, he could see Harriet Santoine seated at one of the desks. + +"I beg pardon, Miss Santoine," he explained his interruption, "but you +did not tell me what time Mr. Avery is likely to want me to be ready to +go to the country club." + +"About half-past twelve, I think." + +"And what time shall we be coming back?" + +"Probably about five." + +He thanked her and withdrew. As Miss Davis stood holding open the +door, he had not looked to her, and he did not look back now as she +closed the door behind him; their eyes had not met; but he understood +that she had comprehended him fully. To-day he would be away from the +Santoine house, and away from the guards who watched him, for at least +four hours, under no closer espionage than that of Avery; this offered +opportunity--the first opportunity he had had--for communication +between him and his friends outside the house. + +He went to his room and made some slight changes in his dress; he came +down then to the library, found a book and settled himself to read. +Toward noon Avery looked in on him there and rather constrainedly +proffered his invitation; Eaton accepted, and after Avery had gone to +get ready, Eaton put away his book. Fifteen minutes later, hearing +Avery's motor purring outside, Eaton went into the hall; a servant +brought his coat and hat, and taking them, he went out to the motor. +Avery appeared a moment later, with Harriet Santoine. + +She stood looking after them as they spun down the curving drive and +onto the pike outside the grounds; then she went back to the study. +The digest Harriet had been working on that morning and the afternoon +before was finished; Miss Davis, she found, was typewriting its last +page. She dismissed Miss Davis for the day, and taking the typewritten +sheets and some other papers her father had asked to have read to him, +she went up to her father. + +Basil Santoine was alone and awake; he was lying motionless, with the +cord and electric button in his hand which served to start and stop the +phonograph, with its recording cylinder, beside his bed. His mind, +even in his present physical weakness, was always working, and he kept +this apparatus beside him to record his directions as they occurred to +him. As she entered the room, he pressed the button and started the +phonograph, speaking into it; then, as he recognized his daughter's +presence, the cylinder halted; he put down the cord and motioned her to +seat herself beside the bed. + +"What have you, Harriet?" he asked. + +She sat down and glancing through the papers in her hand, gave him the +subject of each; then at his direction she began to read them aloud. +She read slowly, careful not to demand straining of his attention; and +this slowness leaving her own mind free in part to follow other things, +her thoughts followed Eaton and Avery. As she finished the third page, +he interrupted her. + +"Where is it you want to go, Harriet?" + +"Go? Why, nowhere, Father!" + +"Has Avery taken Eaton to the country-club as I ordered?" + +"Yes." + +"I shall want you to go out there later in the afternoon; I would trust +your observation more than Avery's to determine whether Eaton has been +used to such surroundings. They are probably at luncheon now; will you +lunch with me here, dear?" + +"I'll be very glad to, Father." + +He reached for the house telephone and gave directions for the luncheon +in his room. + +"Go on until they bring it," he directed. + +She read another page, then broke off suddenly. + +"Has Donald asked you anything to-day, Father?" + +"In regard to what?" + +"I thought last night he seemed disturbed about my relieving him of +part of his work." + +"Disturbed? In what way?" + +She hesitated, unable to define even to herself the impression Avery's +manner had made on her. "I understood he was going to ask you to leave +it still in his hands." + +"He has not done so yet." + +"Then probably I was mistaken." + +She began to read again, and she continued now until the luncheon was +served. At meal-time Basil Santoine made it a rule never to discuss +topics relating to his occupation in working hours, and in his present +weakness, the rule was rigidly enforced; father and daughter talked of +gardening and the new developments in aviation. She read again for +half an hour after luncheon, finishing the pages she had brought. + +"Now you'd better go to the club," the blind man directed. + +She put the reports and letters away in the safe in the room below, and +going to her own apartments, she dressed carefully for the afternoon. +The day was a warm, sunny, early spring day, with the ground fairly +firm. She ordered her horse and trap, and leaving the groom, she drove +to the country-club beyond the rise of ground back from the lake. Her +pleasure in the drive and the day was diminished by her errand. It +made her grow uncomfortable and flush warmly as she recollected +that--if Eaton's secrecy regarding himself was accounted for by the +unknown injury he had suffered--she was the one sent to "spy" upon him. + +As she drove down the road, she passed the scene of the attempt by the +men in the motor to run Eaton down. The indefiniteness of her +knowledge by whom or why the attack had been made only made it seem +more terrible to her. Unquestionably, he was in constant danger of its +repetition, and especially when--as to-day--he was outside her father's +grounds. Instinctively she hurried her horse. The great white +club-house stood above the gentle slope of the valley to the west; +beyond it, the golf-course was spotted by a few figures of men and +girls out for early-season play. And further off and to one side of +the course, she saw mounted men scurrying up and down the polo field in +practice. A number of people were standing watching, and a few motors +and traps were halted beside the barriers. Harriet stopped at the +club-house only to make certain that Mr. Avery and his guest were not +there; then she drove on to the polo field. + +As she approached, she recognized Avery's lithe, alert figure on one of +the ponies; with a deft, quick stroke he cleared the ball from before +the feet of an opponent's pony, then he looked up and nodded to her. +Harriet drove up and stopped beside the barrier; people hailed her from +all sides, and for a moment the practice was stopped as the players +trotted over to speak to her. Then play began again, and she had +opportunity to look for Eaton. Her father, she knew, had instructed +Avery that Eaton was to be introduced as his guest; but Avery evidently +had either carried out these instructions in a purely mechanical manner +or had not wished Eaton to be with others unless he himself was by; for +Harriet discovered Eaton standing off by himself. She waited till he +looked toward her, then signaled him to come over. She got down, and +they stood together following the play. + +"You know polo?" she questioned him, as she saw the expression of +appreciation in his face as a player daringly "rode-off" an antagonist +and saved a "cross." She put the question without thought before she +recognized that she was obeying her father's instructions. + +"I understand the game somewhat," Eaton replied. + +"Have you ever played?" + +"It seems to deserve its reputation as the summit of sport," he replied. + +He answered so easily that she could not decide whether he was evading +or not; and somehow, just then, she found it impossible to put the +simple question direct again. + +"Good! Good, Don!" she cried enthusiastically and clapped her hands as +Avery suddenly raced before them, caught the ball with a swinging, +back-handed stroke and drove it directly toward his opponent's goal. +Instantly whirling his mount, Avery raced away after the ball, and with +another clean stroke scored a goal. Every one about cried out in +approbation. + +"He's very quick and clever, isn't he?" Harriet said to Eaton. + +Eaton nodded. "Yes; he's by all odds the most skillful man on the +field, I should say." + +The generosity of the praise impelled the girl, somehow, to qualify it. +"But only two others really have played much--that man and that." + +"Yes, I picked them as the experienced ones," Eaton said quietly. + +"The others--two of them, at least--are out for the first time, I +think." + +They watched the rapid course of the ball up and down the field, the +scurry and scamper of the ponies after it, then the clash of a mêlée +again. + +Two ponies went down, and their riders were flung. When they arose, +one of the least experienced boys limped apologetically from the field. +Avery rode to the barrier. + +"I say, any of you fellows, don't you want to try it? We're just +getting warmed up." + +Harriet glanced at the group Avery had addressed; she knew nearly all +of them--she knew too that none of them were likely to accept the +invitation, and that Avery must be as well aware of that as she was. +Avery, indeed, scarcely glanced at them, but looked over to Eaton and +gave the challenge direct. + +"Care to take a chance?" + +Harriet Santoine watched her companion; a sudden flush had come to his +face which vanished, as she turned, and left him almost pale; but his +eyes glowed. Avery's manner in challenging him, as though he must +refuse from fear of such a fall as he just had witnessed, was not +enough to explain Eaton's start. + +"How can I?" he returned. + +"If you want to play, you can," Avery dared him. "Furden"--that was +the boy who had just been hurt--"will lend you some things; his'll just +about fit you; and you can have his mounts." + +Harriet continued to watch Eaton; the challenge had been put so as to +give him no ground for refusal but timidity. + +"You don't care to?" Avery taunted him deftly. + +"Why don't you try it?" Harriet found herself saying to him. + +He hesitated. She realized it was not timidity he was feeling; it was +something deeper and stronger than that. It was fear; but so plainly +it was not fear of bodily hurt that she moved instinctively toward him +in sympathy. He looked swiftly at Avery, then at her, then away. He +seemed to fear alike accepting or refusing to play; suddenly he made +his decision. + +"I'll play." + +He started instantly away to the dressing-rooms; a few minutes later, +when he rode onto the field, Harriet was conscious that, in some way, +Eaton was playing a part as he listened to Avery's directions. Then +the ball was thrown in for a scrimmage, and she felt her pulses quicken +as Avery and Eaton raced side by side for the ball. Eaton might not +have played polo before, but he was at home on horseback; he beat Avery +to the ball but, clumsy with his mallet, he missed and overrode; Avery +stroked the ball smartly, and cleverly followed through. But the next +instant, as Eaton passed her, shifting his mallet in his hand, Harriet +watched him more wonderingly. + +"He could have hit that ball if he'd wanted to," she declared almost +audibly to herself; and the impression that Eaton was pretending to a +clumsiness which was not real grew on her. Donald Avery appointed +himself to oppose Eaton wherever possible, besting him in every contest +for the ball; but she saw that Donald now, though he took it upon +himself to show all the other players where they made their mistakes, +did not offer any more instruction to Eaton. One of the players drove +the ball close to the barrier directly before Harriet; Eaton and Avery +raced for it, neck by neck. As before, Eaton by better riding gained a +little; as they came up, she saw Donald's attention was not upon the +ball or the play; instead, he was watching Eaton closely. And she +realized suddenly that Donald had appreciated as fully as herself that +Eaton's clumsiness was a pretense. It was no longer merely polo the +two were playing; Donald, suspecting or perhaps even certain that Eaton +knew the game, was trying to make him show it, and Eaton was watchfully +avoiding this. Just in front of her, Donald, leaning forward, swept +the ball from in front of Eaton's pony's feet. + +For a few moments the play was all at the further edge of the field; +then once more the ball crossed with a long curving shot and came +hopping and rolling along the ground close to where she stood. Again +Donald and Eaton raced for it. + +"Stedman!" Avery called to a teammate to prepare to receive the ball +after he had struck it; and he lifted his mallet to drive the ball away +from in front of Eaton. But as Avery's club was coming down, Eaton, +like a flash and apparently without lifting his mallet at all, caught +the ball a sharp, smacking stroke. It leaped like a bullet, straight +and true, toward the goal, and before Avery could turn, Eaton was after +it and upon it, but he did not have to strike again; it bounded on and +on between the goal-posts, while together with the applause for the +stranger arose a laugh at the expense of Avery. But as Donald halted +before her, Harriet saw that he was not angry or discomfited, but was +smiling triumphantly to himself; and as she called in praise to Eaton +when he came close again, she discovered in him only dismay at what he +had done. + +The practice ended, and the players rode away. She waited in the +clubhouse till Avery and Eaton came up from the dressing-rooms. +Donald's triumphant satisfaction seemed to have increased; Eaton was +silent and preoccupied. Avery, hailed by a group of men, started away; +as he did so, he saluted Eaton almost derisively. Eaton's return of +the salute was openly hostile. She looked up at him keenly, trying +unavailingly to determine whether more had taken place between the two +men than she herself had witnessed. + +"You had played polo before--and played it well," she charged. "Why +did you want to pretend you hadn't?" + +He made no reply. As she began to talk of other things, she discovered +with surprise that his manner toward her had taken on even greater +formality and constraint than it had had since his talk with her father +the day before. + +The afternoon was not warm enough to sit outside; in the club-house +were gathered groups of men and girls who had come in from the +golf-course or from watching the polo practice. She found herself now +facing one of these groups composed of some of her own friends, who +were taking tea and wafers in the recess before some windows. They +motioned to her to join them, and she could not well refuse, especially +as this had been a part of her father's instructions. The men rose, as +she moved toward them, Eaton with her; she introduced Eaton; a chair +was pushed forward for her, and two of the girls made a place for Eaton +on the window-seat between them. + +As they seated themselves and were served, Eaton's participation in the +polo practice was the subject of conversation. She found, as she tried +to talk with her nearer neighbors, that she was listening instead to +this more general conversation which Eaton had joined. She saw that +these people had accepted him as one of their own sort to the point of +jesting with him about his "lucky" polo stroke for a beginner; his +manner toward them was very different from what it had been just now to +herself; he seemed at ease and unembarrassed with them. One or two of +the girls appeared to have been eager--even anxious--to meet him; and +she found herself oddly resenting the attitude of these girls. Her +feeling was indefinite, vague; it made her flush and grow uncomfortable +to recognize dimly that there was in it some sense of a proprietorship +of her own in him which took alarm at seeing other girls attracted by +him; but underneath it was her uneasiness at his new manner to herself, +which hurt because she could not explain it. As the party finished +their tea, she looked across to him. + +"Are you ready to go, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. + +"Whenever Mr. Avery is ready." + +"You needn't wait for him unless you wish; I'll drive you back," she +offered. + +"Of course I'd prefer that, Miss Santoine." + +They went out to her trap, leaving Donald to motor back alone. As soon +as she had driven out of the club grounds, she let the horse take its +own gait, and she turned and faced him. + +"Will you tell me," she demanded, "what I have done this afternoon to +make you class me among those who oppose you?" + +"What have you done? Nothing, Miss Santoine." + +"But you are classing me so now." + +"Oh, no," he denied so unconvincingly that she felt he was only putting +her off. + +Harriet Santoine knew that what had attracted her friends to Eaton was +their recognition of his likeness to themselves; but what had impressed +her in seeing him with them was his difference. Was it some memory of +his former life that seeing these people had recalled to him, which had +affected his manner toward her? + +Again she looked at him. + +"Were you sorry to leave the club?" she asked. + +"I was quite ready to leave," he answered inattentively. + +"It must have been pleasant to you, though, to--to be among the sort of +people again that you--you used to know. Miss Furden"--she mentioned +one of the girls who had seemed most interested in him, the sister of +the boy whose place he had taken in the polo practice--"is considered a +very attractive person, Mr. Eaton. I have heard it said that a +man--any man--not to be attracted by her must be forearmed against her +by thought--or memory of some other woman whom he holds dear." + +"She seemed very pleasant," he answered automatically. + +"Only pleasant? You were forearmed, then," she said. + +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." + +The mechanicalness of his answer reassured her. "I mean, Mr. +Eaton,"--she forced her tone to be light,--"Miss Furden was not as +attractive to you as she might have been, because there has been some +other woman in your life--whose memory--or--or the expectation of +seeing whom again--protected you." + +"Has been? Oh, you mean before." + +"Yes; of course," she answered hastily. + +"No--none," he replied simply. "It's rather ungallant, Miss Santoine, +but I'm afraid I wasn't thinking much about Miss Furden." + +She felt that his denial was the truth, for his words confirmed the +impression she had had when singing with him the night before. She +drove on--or rather let the horse take them on--for a few moments +during which neither spoke. They had come about a bend in the road, +and the great house of her father loomed ahead. A motor whizzed past +them, coming from behind. It was only Avery's car on the way home; but +Harriet had jumped a little in memory of the day before, and her +companion's head had turned quickly toward the car. She looked up at +him swiftly; his lips were set and his eyes gazed steadily ahead after +Avery, and he drew a little away from her. A catch in her +breath--almost an audible gasp--surprised her, and she fought a warm +impulse which had all but placed her hand on his. + +"Will you tell me something, Miss Santoine?" he asked suddenly. + +"What?" + +"I suppose, when I was with Mr. Avery this afternoon, that if I had +attempted to escape, he and the chauffeur would have combined to detain +me. But on the way back here--did you assume that when you took me in +charge you had my parole not to try to depart?" + +"No," she said. "I don't believe Father depended entirely on that." + +"You mean that he has made arrangements so that if I--exceeded the +directions given me, I would be picked up?" + +"I don't know exactly what they are, but you may be sure that they are +made if they are necessary." + +"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged. + +She was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Do you mean that you have +been considering this afternoon the possibilities of escape?" + +"It would be only natural for me to do that, would it not?" he parried. + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't mean that you might not try to exceed the limits Father has +set for you; you might try that, and of course you would be prevented. +But you will not" (she hesitated, and when she went on she was quoting +her father) "--sacrifice your position here." + +"Why not?" + +"Because you tried to gain it--or--or if not exactly that, at least you +had some object in wanting to be near Father which you have not yet +gained." She hesitated once more, not looking at him. Her words were +unconvincing to herself; that morning, when her father had spoken them, +they had been quite convincing, but since this afternoon she was no +longer sure of their truth. What it was that had happened during the +afternoon she could not make out; instinctively, however, she felt that +it had so altered Eaton's relations with them that now he might attempt +to escape. + +They had reached the front of the house, and a groom sprang to take the +horse. She let Eaton help her down; as they entered the house, +Avery--who had reached the house only a few moments before them--was +still in the hall. And again she was startled in the meeting of the +two men by Avery's triumph and the swift flare of defiance on Eaton's +face. + +As she went up to her apartments, her maid met her at the door. + +"Mr. Santoine wishes you to dine with him, Miss Santoine," the maid +announced. + +"Very well," she answered. + +She changed from her afternoon dress slowly. As she did so, she +brought swiftly in review the events of the day. Chiefly it was to the +polo practice and to Eaton's dismay at his one remarkable stroke that +her mind went. Had Donald Avery seen something in that which was not +plain to herself? + +Harriet Santoine knew polo from watching many games, but she was aware +that--as with any one who knows a game merely as a spectator--she was +unacquainted with many of the finer points of play. Donald had played +almost since a boy, he was a good, steady, though not a brilliant +player. Had Donald recognized in Eaton something more than merely a +good player trying to pretend ignorance of the game? The thought +suddenly checked and startled her. For how many great polo players +were there in America? Were there a hundred? Fifty? Twenty-five? +She did not know; but she did know that there were so few of them that +their names and many of the particulars of their lives were known to +every follower of the sport. + +She halted suddenly in her dressing, perplexed and troubled. Her +father had sent Eaton to the country club with Avery; there Avery, +plainly, had forced Eaton into the polo game. By her father's +instructions? Clearly there seemed to have been purpose in what had +been done, and purpose which had not been confided to herself either by +her father or Avery. For how could they have suspected that Eaton +would betray himself in the game unless they had also suspected that he +had played polo before? To suspect that, they must at least have some +theory as to who Eaton was. But her father had no such theory; he had +been expending unavailingly, so far, every effort to ascertain Eaton's +connections. So her thoughts led her only into deeper and greater +perplexity, but with them came sudden--and unaccountable--resentment +against Avery. + +"Will you see what Mr. Avery is doing?" she said to the maid. + +The girl went out and returned in a few moments. "He is with Mr. +Santoine." + +"Thank you." + +At seven Harriet went in to dinner with her father. The blind man was +now alone; he had been awaiting her, and they were served at once. All +through the dinner she was nervous and moody; for she knew she was +going to do something she had never done before: she was going to +conceal something from her father. She told herself it was not really +concealment, for Donald must have already told him. It was no more, +then, than that she herself would not inform upon Eaton, but would +leave that to Avery. So she told of Eaton's reception at the country +club, and of his taking part in the polo practice and playing badly; +but of her own impression that Eaton knew the game and her present +conviction that Donald Avery had seen even more than that, she said +nothing. She watched her father's face, but she could see there no +consciousness that she was omitting anything in her account. + +An hour later, when after reading aloud to him for a time, he dismissed +her, she hesitated before going. + +"You've seen Donald?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"What did he tell you?" + +"The same as you have told, though not quite so fully." + +She was outside the door and in the hall before realization came to her +that her father's reply could mean only that Donald, like herself, had +concealed his discovery of Eaton's ability to play polo. She turned +back suddenly to return to her father; then again she hesitated, +stopped with her hand upon the blind man's door by her recollection of +Donald's enmity to Eaton. Why Donald had not told, she could not +imagine; the only conclusion she could reach was that Donald's silence +in some way menaced Eaton; for--suddenly now--it came to her what this +must mean to Eaton. All that Eaton had been so careful to hide +regarding himself and his connections must be obtainable by Avery now. +Why Eaton had played at all; why he had been afraid to refuse the +invitation to play, she could not know; but sympathy and fear for him +swept over her, as she comprehended that it was to Avery the betrayal +had been made and that Avery, for some purpose of his own, was +withholding this betrayal to make use of it as he saw fit. + +She moved once more to return to her father; again she stopped; then, +swiftly, she turned and went downstairs. + +As she descended, she saw in the lower hall the stenographer, Miss +Davis, sitting waiting. There was no adequate reason for the girl's +being there at that hour; she had come--she said, as she rose to greet +Harriet--to learn whether she would be wanted the next day; she had +already seen Mr. Avery, and he would not want her. Harriet, telling +her she would not need her, offered to send a servant home with her, as +the roads were dark. Miss Davis refused this and went out at once. +Harriet, as the door was closed behind the girl, looked hurriedly about +for Avery. She did not find him, nor at first did she find Eaton +either. She discovered him presently in the music-room with +Blatchford. Blatchford at once excused himself, tired evidently of his +task of watching over Eaton. + +Harriet caught herself together and controlled herself to her usual +manner. + +"What shall it be this evening, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. "Music? +Billiards?" + +"Billiards, if you like," he responded. + +They went up to the billiard room, and for an hour played steadily; but +her mind was not upon the game--nor, she saw, was his. Several times +he looked at his watch; he seemed to her to be waiting. Finally, as +they ended a game, he put his cue back in the rack and faced her. + +"Miss Santoine," he said, "I want to ask a favor." + +"What is it?" + +"I want to go out--unaccompanied." + +"Why?" + +"I wish to speak to a friend who will be waiting for me." + +"How do you know?" + +"He got word to me at the country club to-day. Excuse me--I did not +mean to inform on Mr. Avery; he was really most vigilant. I believe he +only made one slip." + +"He was not the only one observing you." + +"I suppose not. In fact, I was certain of it. However, I received a +message which was undoubtedly authentic and had not been overseen." + +"But you were not able to make reply." + +"I was not able to receive all that was necessary." + +She considered for a moment. "What do you want me to do?" + +"Either because of my presence or because of what has happened--or +perhaps normally--you have at least four men about the grounds, two of +whom seem to be constantly on duty to observe any one who may approach." + +"Or try to leave." + +"Precisely." + +"There are more than two." + +"I was stating the minimum." + +"Well?" + +"I wish you to order them to let me pass and go to a place perhaps ten +minutes' walk from here. If you do so, I will return at the latest +within half an hour" (he glanced at his watch) "--to be definite, +before a quarter of eleven." + +"Why should I do this?" + +He came close to her and faced her. "What do you think of me now, Miss +Santoine?" + +"Why--" + +"You are quite certain now, are you not, that I had nothing to do with +the attack on your father--that is, in any other connection than that +the attack might be meant for me. I denied yesterday that the men in +the automobile meant to run me down; you did not accept that denial. I +may as well admit to you that I know perfectly well they meant to kill +me; the man on the train also meant to kill me. They are likely to try +again to kill me." + +"We recognize that too," she answered. "The men on watch about the +house are warned to protect you as well as watch you." + +"I appreciate that." + +"But are they all you have to fear, Mr. Eaton?" She was thinking of +Donald Avery. + +He seemed to recognize what was in her mind; his eyes, as he gazed +intently at her, clouded, then darkened still more with some succeeding +thought. "No, not all." + +"And it will aid you to--to protect yourself if you see your friend +to-night?" + +"Yes." + +"But why should not one of Father's men be with you?" + +"Unless I were alone, my friend would not appear." + +"I see." + +He moved away from her, then came back; the importance to him of what +he was asking was very plain to her--he was shaking nervously with it. +"Miss Santoine," he said intently, "you do not think badly of me now. +I do not have to doubt that; I can see it; you have wanted me to see +it. I ask you to trust me for a few minutes to-night. I cannot tell +you whom I wish to see or why, except that the man comes to do me a +service and to endanger no one--except those trying to injure me." + +She herself was trembling with her desire to help him, but recollection +of her father held her back; then swiftly there came to her the thought +of Gabriel Warden; because Warden had tried to help him--in some way +and for some reason which she did not know--Warden had been killed. +And feeling that in helping him there might be danger to herself, she +suddenly and eagerly welcomed that danger, and made her decision. +"You'll promise, Mr. Eaton, not to try to--leave?" + +"Yes." + +"Let us go out," she said. + +She led the way downstairs and, in the hall, picked up a cape; he threw +it over her shoulders and brought his overcoat and cap. But in his +absorption he forgot to put them on until, as they went out into the +garden together, she reminded him; then he put on the cap. The night +was clear and cool, and no one but themselves seemed to be about the +house. + +"Which way do you want to go?" she asked. + +He turned toward the forested acres of the grounds which ran down to a +ravine at the bottom of which a little stream trickled toward the lake. +As they approached the side of this ravine, a man appeared and +investigated them. He recognized the girl's figure and halted. + +"It's all right, Willis," she said quietly. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +They passed the man and went down the path into the ravine and up the +tiny valley. Eaton halted. + +"Your man's just above there?" he asked her. + +"Yes." + +"He'll stay there?" + +"Yes; or close by." + +"Then you don't mind waiting here a few moments for me?" + +"No," she said. "You will return here?" + +"Yes," he said; and with that permission, he left her. + +Both had spoken so that the man above could not have heard; and Harriet +now noticed that, as her companion hurried ahead, he went almost +noiselessly. As he disappeared, the impulse to call him back almost +controlled her; then she started to follow him; but she did not. She +stood still, shivering a little now in the cold; and as she listened, +she no longer heard his footsteps. What she had done was done; then +just as she was telling herself that it must be many moments before she +would know whether he was coming back, she heard him returning; at some +little distance, he spoke her name so as not to frighten her. She knew +at once it was he, but a change in the tone surprised her. She stepped +forward to meet him. + +"You found your friend?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he tell you?" Her hand caught his sleeve in an impulse of +concern, but she tried to make it seem as though she grasped him to +guide her through the trees of the ravine. "I mean what is wrong that +you did not expect?" + +She heard his breath come fast. + +"Nothing," he denied. + +"No; you must tell me!" Her hand was still on his arm. + +"I cannot." + +"Why can you not?" + +"Why?" + +"Can't you trust me?" + +"Trust you!" he cried. He turned to her and seized her hands. "You +ask me to--trust you!" + +"Yes; I've trusted you. Can't you believe as much in me?" + +"Believe in you, Miss Santoine!" He crushed her fingers in his grasp. +"Oh, my God, I wish I could!" + +"You wish you could?" she echoed. The tone of it struck her like a +blow, and she tore her hands away. "What do you mean by that?" + +He made no reply but stood staring at her through the dark. "We must +go back," he said queerly. "You're cold." + +She did not answer but started back up the path to the house. He +seemed to have caught himself together against some impulse that +stirred him strongly. "The man out there who saw us? He will report +to your father, Miss Santoine?" he asked unsteadily. + +"Reports for Father are first made to me." + +"I see." He did not ask her what she was going to do; if he was +assuming that her permission to exceed his set limits bound her not to +report to her father, she did not accept that assumption, though she +would not report to the blind man to-night, for she knew he must now be +asleep. But she felt that Eaton was no longer thinking of this. As +they entered the house and he helped her lay off her cape, he suddenly +faced her. + +"We are in a strange relation to each other, Miss Santoine--stranger +than you know," he said unevenly. + +She waited for him to go on. + +"We have talked sometimes of the likeness of the everyday life to war," +he continued. "In war men and women sometimes do or countenance things +they know to be evil because they believe that by means of them there +is accomplished some greater good; in peace, in life, men--and +women--sometimes do the same. When the time comes that you comprehend +what our actual relation is, I--I want you to know that I understand +that whatever you have done was done because you believed it might +bring about the greater good. I--I have seen in you--in your +father--only kindness, high honor, sympathy. If I did not know--" + +She started, gazing at him; what he said had absolutely no meaning for +her. "What is it that you know?" she demanded. + +He did not reply; his hand went out to hers, seized it, crushed it, and +he started away. As he went up the stair--still, in his absorption, +carrying cap and overcoat--she stood staring after him in perplexity. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE FIGHT IN THE STUDY + +Eaton dismissed the man who had been waiting in his rooms for him; he +locked the door and carefully drew down all the window-shades. Then he +put his overcoat, folded as he had been carrying it under his arm, on +the writing table in the center of the room, and from its folds and +pockets took a "breast-drill" such as iron workers use in drilling +steel, an automatic pistol with three clips of cartridges, an electric +flashlight and a little bottle of nitroglycerine. He loaded the pistol +and put it in his pocket; then he carefully inspected the other things. + +The room he was in, the largest of his suite, resembled Santoine's +study on the floor below in the arrangement of its windows, though it +was smaller than the study. The writing-desk in its center occupied +much the position of Santoine's large desk; he moved it slightly to +make the relative positions coincide. The couch against the end wall +represented the position of the study's double doors. Eaton switched +out the lights, and starting at the windows, he crossed the room in the +darkness, avoiding the desk, and stopping a few feet to the right of +the couch; here he flashed his light upon the wall at the height of the +little wall-safe to the right of the doors in the study below. A dozen +times he did this, passing from the windows to the position of the +wall-safe and only momentarily flashing his light. + +He assured himself thus of being able to pass in the dark from the +windows of Santoine's study to the wall-safe. As the study was larger +than this room, he computed that he must add two steps to what he took +here in each direction. He paid no attention to the position of the +safe to the left of the doors, for he had kept watch of the vase on the +table in the lower hall, and the only sign he had found there had told +him that what he wanted was in the safe to the right. + +He raised a shade and window, then, and sat in the dark. The night was +cloudy and very dark; and the lake was smooth with barely a ripple. +Near at hand a steamer passed, blazing with lights, and further out he +saw the mast-head light of some other steamer. The lake was still +ice-locked at its northern end, and so the farther of these steamers, +he knew, was bound to some southern Michigan port; the nearer was one +of the Chicago-Milwaukee boats. For some moments after it had passed, +the waves of its wake washed in and sounded on the shore at the foot of +the bluff. Next Eaton made out the hum of a motor-car approaching the +house. It was Avery, who evidently had been out and was now returning; +the chauffeur spoke the name in his reply to some question as the car +swung away to the garage. Eaton still sat in the dark. By degrees all +noises ceased in the house, even in the servants' quarters. Twice +Eaton leaned forward looking out of the window and found all quiet; but +both times he settled back in his chair and waited. + +The wash of waves, as from a passing boat, sounded again on the shore. +Eaton leaned nearer the window and stared out. There was no light in +sight showing any boat; but the waves on the shore were distinct; +indeed, they had been more distinct than those from the steamer. They +must have been made by a large vessel or from a small ship close in and +moving fast. The waves came in first on the north and swept south; +Eaton strained his eyes and now saw a vague blur off to the south and +within half a mile of shore--a boat without lights. If it had passed +at high speed, it had stopped now. He watched this for some time; but +he could make out no more, and soon he could not be sure even that the +blur was there. + +He gazed at the south wing of the house; it was absolutely dark and +quiet; the windows of the first floor were closed and the curtains +drawn; but to-night there was no light in the room. The windows of the +room on the second floor were open; Basil Santoine was undoubtedly +asleep. Eaton gazed again at the lower room. Then in the dark he +moved to the table where he had left his overcoat, and distributed in +his pockets and within his clothing the articles he had brought; and +now he felt again in the overcoat and brought out a short, strong bar +of steel curved and flattened at one end--a "jimmy" for forcing the +windows. + +Eaton slipped off his shoes and went to his room door; he opened the +door and found the hall dark and quiet. He stepped out, closing his +door carefully behind him, and with great caution he descended the +stairs. Below, all was quiet; the red embers and glowing charcoal of +wood fires which had blazed on the hearths gave the only light. Eaton +crept to the doors of the blind man's study and softly tried them. +They were, as he had expected, locked. He went to a window in the +drawing-room which was set in a recess and so placed that it was not +visible from other windows in the house. He opened this window and let +himself down upon the lawn. + +There he stood still for a moment, listening. There was no alarm of +any sort. He crept along beside the house till he came to the first +windows of the south wing. He tried these carefully and then went on. +He gained the south corner of the wing, unobserved or at least without +sign that he had been seen, and went on around it. + +He stopped at the first high French window on the south. It was partly +hidden from view from south and west by a column of the portico, and +was the one he had selected for his operations; as he tried to slip his +jimmy under the bottom of the sash, the window, to his amazement, +opened silently upon its hinges; it had not been locked. The heavy +curtains within hung just in front of him; he put out his hand and +parted them. Then he started back in astonishment and crouched close +to the ground; inside the room was a man moving about, flashing an +electric torch before him and then exploring an instant in darkness and +flashing his torch again. + +The unexpectedness of this sight took for an instant Eaton's breath and +power of moving; he had not been at all prepared for this; now he knew +suddenly that he ought to have been prepared for it. If the man within +the room was not the one who had attacked him with the motor, he was +closely allied with that man, and what he was after now was the same +thing Eaton was after. Eaton looked about behind him; no one +apparently had been left on watch outside. He drew his pistol, and +loosing the safety, he made it ready to fire; with his left hand, he +clung to the short, heavy jimmy. He stepped into the great room +through the curtains, taking care they did not jingle the rings from +which they hung; he carefully let the curtains fall together behind +him, and treading noiselessly in his stocking feet, he advanced upon +the man, moving forward in each period of darkness between the flashes +of the electric torch. + +The man, continuing to flash his light about, plainly had heard +nothing, and the curtains had prevented him from being warned by the +chill of the night air that the window was open; but now, at the +further side of the room, another electric torch flashed out. Another +man had been in the room; he neither alarmed nor was alarmed by the man +flashing the first light; each had known the other's presence before. +There were at least two men in the room, working together--or rather, +one was working, the other supervising; for Eaton heard now a steady, +almost inaudible grinding noise as the second man worked. Eaton halted +again and waited; if there were two, there might be others. + +The discovery of the second man had not made Eaton afraid; his pulses +were beating faster and hotter, and he felt the blood rushing to his +head and his hands growing cold with his excitement; but he was +conscious of no fear. He crouched and crept forward noiselessly again. +No other light appeared in the room, and there was no sound elsewhere +from the darkness; but the man who supervised had moved closer to the +other. The grinding noise had stopped; it was followed by a sharp +click; the men, side by side, were bending over something; and the +light of the man who had been working, for a fraction of a second shot +into the face of the other. It did not delay at all; it was a purely +accidental flash and could not have been said to show the features at +all--only a posture, an expression, a personality of a strong and cruel +man. He muttered some short, hoarse imprecation at the other; but +before Eaton heard the voice, he had stopped as if struck, and his +breath had gone from him. + +His instant's glimpse of that face astounded, stunned, stupefied him. +He could not have seen that man! The fact was impossible! He must +have been mad; his mind must have become unreliable to let him even +imagine it. Then came the sound of the voice--the voice of the man +whose face he had seen! It was he! And, in place of the paralysis of +the first instant, now a wild, savage throe of passion seized Eaton; +his pulses leaped so it seemed they must burst his veins, and he gulped +and choked. He had not filled in with insane fancy the features of the +man whom he had seen; the voice witnessed too that the man in the dark +by the wall was he whom Eaton--if he could have dreamed such a fact as +now had been disclosed--would have circled the world to catch and +destroy; yet now with the destruction of that man in his power--for he +had but to aim and empty his automatic pistol at five paces--such +destruction at this moment could not suffice; mere shooting that man +would be petty, ineffectual. Eaton's fingers tightened on the handle +of his pistol, but he held it now not as a weapon to fire but as a dull +weight with which to strike. The grip of his left hand clamped onto +the short steel bar, and with lips parted--breathing once, it seemed, +for each heartbeat and yet choking, suffocating--he leaped forward. + +At the same instant--so that he could not have been alarmed by Eaton's +leap--the man who had been working moved his torch, and the light fell +upon Eaton. + +"Look out!" the man cried in alarm to his companion; with the word the +light of the torch vanished. + +The man toward whom Eaton rushed did not have time to switch off his +light; he dropped it instead; and as Eaton sprang for him, he crouched. +Eaton, as he struck forward, found nothing; but below his knees, Eaton +felt a man's powerful arms tackling him; as he struggled to free +himself, a swift, savage lunge lifted him from his feet; he was thrown +and hurled backwards. + +Eaton ducked his head forward and struggled to turn, as he went down, +so that a shoulder and not his head or back would strike the floor +first. He succeeded in this, though in his effort he dropped the +jimmy. He clung with his right hand to the pistol, and as he struck +the floor, the pistol shot off; the flash of flame spurted toward the +ceiling. Instantly the grip below his knees was loosed; the man who +had tackled him and hurled him back had recoiled in the darkness. +Eaton got to his feet but crouched and crept about behind a table, +aiming his pistol over it in the direction in which he supposed the +other men must be. The sound of the shot had ceased to roar through +the room; the gases from the powder only made the air heavier. The +other two men in the room also waited, invisible and silent. The only +light, in the great curtained room, came from the single electric torch +lying on the floor. This lighted the legs of a chair, a corner of a +desk and a circle of books in the cases on the wall. As Eaton's eyes +became more accustomed to the darkness, he could see vague shapes of +furniture. If a man moved, he might be made out; but if he stayed +still, probably he would remain indistinguishable. + +The other men seemed also to have recognized this; no one moved in the +room, and there was complete silence. + +Eaton knelt on one knee behind his table; now he was wildly, exultantly +excited; his blood leaped hotly to his hand pointing his pistol; he +panted, almost audibly, for breath, but though his pulse throbbed +through his head too, his mind was clear and cool as he reckoned his +situation and his chances. He had crossed the Pacific, the Continent, +he had schemed and risked everything with the mere hope of getting into +this room to discover evidence with which to demand from the world +righting of the wrong which had driven him as a fugitive for five +years; and here he found the man who was the cause of it all, before +him in the same room a few paces away in the dark! + +For it was impossible that this was not that man; and Eaton knew now +that this was he who must have been behind and arranging and directing +the attacks upon him, Eaton had not only seen him and heard his voice, +but he had felt his grasp; that sudden, instinctive crouch before a +charge, and the savage lunge and tackle were the instant, natural acts +of an old linesman on a championship team in the game of football as it +was played twenty years before. That lift of the opponent off his feet +and the heavy lunge hurling him back to fall on his head was what one +man--in the rougher, more cruel days of the college game--had been +famous for. On the football field that throw sufficed to knock a +helmeted opponent unconscious; here it was meant, beyond doubt, to do +more. + +Upon so much, at least, Eaton's mind at once was clear; here was his +enemy whom he must destroy if he himself were not first destroyed. +Other thoughts, recasting of other relations altered or overturned in +their bearing by the discovery of this man here--everything else could +and must wait upon the mighty demand of that moment upon Eaton to +destroy this enemy now or be himself destroyed. + +Eaton shook in his passion; yet coolly he now realized that his left +shoulder, which had taken the shock of his fall, was numb. He shifted +his pistol to cover a vague form which had seemed to move; but, if it +had stirred, it was still again now. Eaton strained to listen. + +It seemed certain that the noise of the shot, if not the sound of the +struggle which preceded it, must have raised an alarm, though the room +was in a wing and shut off by double doors from the main part of the +house; it was possible that the noise had not gone far; but it must +have been heard in the room directly above and connected with the study +by a staircase at the head of which was a door. Basil Santoine, as +Eaton knew, slept above; a nurse must be waiting on duty somewhere +near. Eaton had seen the row of buttons which the blind man had within +arm's-length with which he must be able to summon every servant in the +house. So it could not last much longer now--this deadlock in the +dark--the two facing one, and none of them daring to move. And one of +the two, at least, seemed to have recognized that. + +Eaton had moved, warily and carefully, but he had moved; a revolver +flashed before him. Instantly and without consciousness that his +finger pulled the trigger, Eaton's pistol flashed back. In front of +him, the flame flashed again, and another spurt of fire spat at one +side. + +Eaton fired back at this--he was prostrate on the floor now, and +whether he had been hit or not he did not yet know, or whether the +blood flowing down his face was only from a splinter sprayed from the +table behind which he had hid. He fired again, holding his pistol far +out to one side to confuse the aim of the others; he thought that they +too were doing the same and allowed for it in his aim. He pulled his +trigger a ninth time--he had not counted his shots, but he knew he had +had seven cartridges in the magazine and one in the barrel--and the +pistol clicked without discharging. He rolled over further away from +the spot where he had last fired and pulled an extra clip of cartridges +from his pocket. + +The blood was flowing hot over his face. He made no effort to staunch +it or even to feel with his fingers to find exactly where or how badly +he had been hit. He jerked the empty cartridge clip from his pistol +butt and snapped in the other. He swept his sleeve over his face to +clear the blood from his brows and eyes and stared through the dark +with pistol at arm's-length loaded and ready. Blood spurted over his +face again; another sweep of his sleeve cleared it; and he moved his +pistol-point back and forth in the dark. The flash of the firing from +the other two revolvers had stopped; the roar of the shots had ceased +to deafen. Eaton had not counted the shots at him any better than he +had kept track of his own firing; but he knew now that the other two +must have emptied their magazines as well as he. It was possible, of +course, that he had killed one of them or wounded one mortally; but he +had no way to know that. He could hear the click as one of the men +snapped his revolver shut again after reloading; then another click +came. Both the others had reloaded. + +"All right?" the voice which Eaton knew questioned the other. + +"All right," came the reply. + +But, if they were all right, they made no offer to fire first again. +Nor yet did they dare to move. Eaton knew they lay on the floor like +himself. They lay with fingers on trigger, as he also lay, waiting +again for him to move so they could shoot at him. But surely now the +sound of the firing in that room must have reached the man in the room +above; surely he must be summoning his servants! + +Eaton listened; there was still no sound from the rest of the house. +But overhead now, he heard an almost imperceptible pattering--the sound +of a bare-footed man crossing the floor; and he knew that the blind man +in the bedroom above was getting up. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS + +Basil Santoine was oversensitive to sound, as are most of the blind; in +the world of darkness in which he lived, sounds were by far the most +significant--and almost the only--means he had of telling what went on +around him; he passed his life in listening for or determining the +nature of sounds. So the struggle which ended in Eaton's crash to the +floor would have waked him without the pistol-shot immediately +following. That roused him wide-awake immediately and brought him +sitting up in bed, forgetful of his own condition. + +Santoine at once recognized the sound as a shot; but in the instant of +waking, he had not been able to place it more definitely than to know +that it was close. His hand went at once to the bellboard, and he rang +at the same time for the nurse outside his door and for the steward. +But for a few moments after that first shot, nothing followed; there +was silence. Santoine was not one of those who doubt their hearing; +that was the sense in which the circumstances of his life made him +implicitly trust; he had heard a shot near by; the fact that nothing +more followed did not make him doubt it; it made him think to explain +it. + +It was plain that no one else in the house had been stirred by it; for +his windows were open and other windows in bedrooms in the main part of +the house were open; no one had raised any cry of alarm. So the shot +was where he alone had heard it; that meant indoors, in the room below. + +Santoine pressed the bells quickly again and sat up straighter and more +strained; no one breaking into the house for plate or jewelry would +enter through that room; he would have to break through double doors to +reach any other part of the house; Santoine did not consider the +possibility of robbery of that sort long enough to have been said to +consider it at all; what he felt was that the threat which had been +hanging vaguely over himself ever since Warden's murder was being +fulfilled. But it was not Santoine himself that was being attacked; it +was something Santoine possessed. There was only one sort of valuable +article for which one might enter that room below. And those articles-- + +The blind man clenched his jaw and pressed the bells to call all the +men-servants in the house and Avery also. But still he got no response. + +A shot in the room below meant, of course, that in addition to the +intruder there must be a defender; the defender might have been the one +who fired or the one who was killed. For it seemed likely, in the +complete silence now, that whoever had fired had disposed of his +adversary and was undisturbed. At that moment the second shot--the +first fired at Eaton--rang out below; Eaton's return fire followed +nearly simultaneously, and then the shot of the third man. These +explosions and the next three the blind man in bed above was able to +distinguish; there were three men, at least, in the room below firing +at each other; then, as the automatic revolvers roared on, he no longer +could separate attack and reply; there might be three men, there might +be half a dozen; the fusillade of the automatics overlapped; it was +incessant. Then all at once the firing stopped; there was no sound or +movement of any sort; everything seemed absolutely still below. + +The blind man pressed and pressed the buttons on his bellboard. Any +further alarm, after the firing below, seemed superfluous. But his +wing of the house had been built for him proof against sound in the +main portion of the building; the house, therefore, was deadened to +noise within the wing. Santoine, accustomed to considering the manner +in which sounds came to himself, knew how these sounds would come to +others. Coming from the open windows of the wing and entering the open +windows of the other parts of the house, they would not appear to the +household to come from within the house at all; they would appear to +come from some part of the grounds or from the beach. + +Yet some one or more than one from his house must be below or have been +there. Santoine pressed all the bells again and then got up. He had +heard absolutely no sound outside, as must be made by any one escaping +from the room below; but the battle seemed over. One side must have +destroyed the other. From the character of the fighting, it was most +probable that some one had secretly entered the room--Santoine thought +of that one definitely now as the man he was entertaining as Eaton; a +servant, or some one else from the house, had surprised him in the room +and was shot; other servants, roused by the alarm, rushed in and were +shot. Santoine counted that, if his servants had survived, one of them +must be coming to tell him what had happened. But there was no noise +now nor any movement at all below. His side had been beaten, or both +sides had ceased to exist. Those alternatives alone occurred to the +blind man; the number of shots fired within the confines of the room +below precluded any other explanation. He did not imagine the fact +that the battle had been fought in the dark; himself perpetually in the +dark, he thought of others always in the light. + +The blind man stood barefooted on the floor, his hands clasping in one +of the bitterest moments of his rebellion against, and defiance of, his +helplessness of blindness. Below him--as he believed--his servants had +been sacrificing life for him; there in that room he held in trust that +which affected the security, the faith, the honor of others; his +guarding that trust involved his honor no less. And particularly, now, +he knew he was bound, at whatever cost, to act; for he did not doubt +now but that his half-prisoned guest, whom Santoine had not +sufficiently guarded, was at the bottom of the attack. The blind man +believed, therefore, that it was because of his own retention here of +Eaton that the attack had been made, his servants had been killed, the +private secrets of his associates were in danger. Santoine crossed to +the door of the hall and opened it and called. No one answered +immediately; he started to call again; then he checked himself and shut +the door, and opened that to the top of the stairs descending to his +study below. + +The smoke and fumes of the firing rushed into his face; it half choked +him; but it decided him. He was going to go down. Undoubtedly there +was danger below; but that was why he did not call again at the other +door for some one else to run a risk for him. Basil Santoine, always +held back and always watched and obliged to submit to guard even of +women in petty matters because of his blindness, held one thing dearer +far than life--and that thing was the trust which other men reposed in +him. Since it was that trust which was threatened, the impulse now, in +that danger, to act for himself and not be protected and pushed back by +any one who merely could see, controlled him. + +He put his hand on the rail and started to descend the stairs. He was +almost steady in step and he had firm grasp on the rail; he noticed +that now to wonder at it. When he had aroused at the sound of firing, +his blindness, as always when something was happening about him, was +obtruded upon him. He felt helpless because he was blind, not because +he had been injured. He had forgotten entirely that for almost two +weeks he had not stirred from bed; he had risen and stood and walked, +without staggering, to the door and to the top of the stairs before, +now, he remembered. So what he already had done showed him that he had +merely again to put his injury from his mind and he could go on. He +went down the stairs almost steadily. + +There was still no sound or any evidence of any one below. The gases +of the firing were clearing away; the blind man could feel the slight +breeze which came in through the windows of his bedroom and went with +him down the stairs; and now, as he reached the lower steps, there was +no other sound in the room but the tread of the blind man's bare feet +on the stairs. This sound was slight, but enough to attract attention +in the silence there. Santoine halted on the next to the last +step--the blind count stairs, and he had gone down twenty-one--and +realized fully his futility; but now he would not retreat or merely +call for help. + +"Who is here?" he asked distinctly. "Is any one here? Who is here?" + +No one answered. And now Santoine knew by the sense which let him feel +whether it was night or day, that the room was really dark--dark for +others as well as for himself; the lights were not burning. So an +exaltation, a sense of physical capability, came to Santoine; in the +dark he was as fit, as capable as any other man--not more capable, for, +though he was familiar with the room, the furniture had been moved in +the struggle; he had heard the overturning of the chairs. + +Santoine stepped down on the floor, and in his uncertainty as to the +position of the furniture, felt along the wall. There were bookcases +there, but he felt and passed along them swiftly, until he came to the +case which concealed the safe at the left side of the doors. The books +were gone from that case; his bare toes struck against them where they +had been thrown down on the floor. The blind man, his pulse beating +tumultuously, put his hand through the case and felt the panel behind. +That was slid back exposing the safe; and the door of the safe stood +open. Santoine's hands felt within the safe swiftly. The safe was +empty. + +He recoiled from it, choking back an ejaculation. The entry to this +room had been made for the purpose which he supposed; and the thieves +must have succeeded in their errand. The blind man, in his uselessness +for pursuit, could delay calling others to act for him no longer. He +started toward the bell, when some scrape on the floor--not of the sort +to be accounted for by an object moved by the wind--sounded behind him. +Santoine swung toward the sound and stood listening again; and then, +groping with his hands stretched out before him, he left the wall and +stepped toward the center of the room. He took two steps--three, +four--with no result; then his foot trod into some fluid, thick and +sticky and not cold. + +Santoine stooped and put a finger-tip into the fluid and brought it +near his nose. It was what he supposed it must be--blood. He raised +his foot and with his great toe traced the course of the blood; it led +to one side, and then the blind man's toe touched some hard, metal +object which was warm. He stooped and picked it up and felt over it +with his fingers. It was an electric torch with the light turned on. +Santoine stood holding it with the warm end--the lighted end--turned +away from him; he swiftly switched it off; what put Santoine at a +disadvantage with other men was light. But since there had been this +light, there might be others; there had been at least three men, +perhaps, therefore, three lights. Santoine's senses could not perceive +light so dim and soft; he stood trying fruitlessly to determine whether +there were other lights. + +He could hear now some one breathing--more than one person. From the +house, still shut off by its double, sound-proof doors, he could hear +nothing; but some one outside the house was hurrying up to the open +window at the south end of the room. + +That one came to, or just inside the window, parting the curtains. He +was breathing hard from exertion or from excitement. + +"Who is it?" Santoine challenged clearly. + +"Basil!" Blatchford's voice exclaimed his recognition in amazement. +"Basil; that is you! What are you doing down here?" Blatchford +started forward. + +"Wait!" Santoine ordered sharply. "Don't come any further; stand +there!" + +Blatchford protested but obeyed. "What is it? What are you doing down +here, Basil? What is the matter here? What has happened?" + +"What brought you here?" Santoine demanded instead of reply. "You were +running outside; why? What was out there? What did you see?" + +"See? I didn't see anything--except the window here open when I came +up. But I heard shots, Basil. I thought they were toward the road. I +went out there; but I found nothing. I was coming back when I saw the +window open. I'm sure I heard shots." + +"They were here," Santoine said. "But you can see; and you just heard +the shots. You didn't see anything!" the blind man accused. "You +didn't see any one going away from here!" + +"Basil, what has happened here?" + +Santoine felt again the stickiness at his feet. "Three or four persons +fought in this room, Wallace. Some--or one was hurt. There's blood on +the floor. There are two here I can hear breathing; I suppose they're +hurt. Probably the rest are gone. The room's all dark, isn't it? +That is you moving about now, Wallace?" + +"Yes." + +"What are you doing?" + +"Looking for the light." + +"Don't." + +"Why, Basil?" + +"Get help first. I think those who aren't hurt are gone. They must be +gone. But--get help first, Wallace." + +"And leave you here?" Blatchford rejoined. He had not halted again; +the blind man heard his cousin still moving along the wall. The +electric switch clicked, and Santoine knew that the room was flooded +with light. Santoine straightened, strained, turning his head a little +to better listen. With the flashing on of the light, he had heard the +sharp, involuntary start of Blatchford as he saw the room; and, besides +that, Santoine heard movement now elsewhere in the room. Then the +blind man heard his friend's cry. "Good God!" + +It was not, Santoine instantly sensed, from mere surprise or fright at +finding some intruder in the room; that must have been expected. This +was from something more astounding, from something incredible. + +"What is it?" Santoine cried. + +"Good God! Basil!" + +"Who is it, Wallace?" the blind man knew now that his friend's +incoherence came from recognition of some one, not alone from some +sight of horror. "Who is it, Wallace?" he repeated, curbing himself. + +"Basil! It is---it must be--I know him! It is--" + +A shot roared in front of Santoine. The blind man, starting back at +the shock of it, drew in the powder-gas with his breath; but the bullet +was not for him. Instead, he heard his friend scream and choke and +half call, half cough. + +"Wallace!" Santoine cried out; but his voice was lost in the roar of +another shot. This was not fired by the same one who had just fired; +at least, it was not from the same part of the room; and instantly, +from another side, a third shot came. Then, in the midst of rush and +confusion, another shot roared; the light was out again; then all was +gone; the noise was outside; the room was still except for a cough and +choke as Blatchford--somewhere on the floor in front of the blind +man--tried again to speak. + +Basil Santoine, groping with his hands, found him. The blind man knelt +and with his fingers went over his cousin's face; he found the wound on +the neck where Blatchford's life was running away. He was still +conscious. Santoine knew that he was trying his best to speak, to say +just one word--a name--to tell whom he had seen and who had shot him; +but he could not. + +Santoine put his hand over a hand of his cousin. "That's all right, +Wally; that's all right," he assured him. And now he knew that +Blatchford's consciousness was going forever. Santoine knew what must +be most on his friend's mind at that last moment as it had been most on +his mind during more than thirty years. "And about my blindness, +Wallace, that was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd never +have done what I have if I hadn't been blind." + +Blatchford's fingers closed tightly on Santoine's; they did not relax +but now remained closed, though without strength. The blind man bowed +and then lifted his head. His friend was dead, and others were rushing +into the room--the butler, one of the chauffeurs, Avery, more +menservants; the light was on again, and amid the tumult and alarms of +the discoveries shown by the light, some rushed to the windows to the +south in pursuit of those who had escaped from the room. Avery and one +or two others rushed up to Santoine; now the blind man heard, above +their cries and alarms, the voice of his daughter. She was beside him, +where he knelt next the body of Blatchford, and she put back others who +crowded about. + +"Father! What has happened? Why are you here? Oh, Father, Cousin +Wallace!" + +"He is dead," Santoine said. "They shot him!" + +"Father; how was it? You--" + +"There are none of them in the room?" he asked her in reply. + +"None of them?" + +Her failure to understand answered him. If any of the men who fought +there had not got away, she would have understood. "They were not all +together," he said. "They were three, at least. One was not with the +others. They fired at each other, I believe, after one shot him." +Santoine's hand was still in Blatchford's. "I heard them below." He +told shortly how he had gone down, how Blatchford had entered and been +shot. + +The blind man, still kneeling, heard the ordering and organizing of +others for the pursuit; now women servants from the other part of the +house were taking charge of affairs in the room. He heard Avery +questioning them; none of the servants had had part in the fight in the +room; there had been no signal heard, Santoine was told, upon any of +the bells which he had tried to ring from his room. Eaton was the only +person from the house who was missing. Harriet had gone for a moment; +the blind man called her back and demanded that she stay beside him; he +had not yet moved from Blatchford's body. His daughter returned; her +hand on his shoulder was trembling and cold--he could feel it cold +through the linen of his pajama jacket. + +"Father, you must go back to bed!" she commanded uselessly. He would +not stir yet. A servant, at her call, brought a robe which she put +over him, and she drew slippers on his feet. + +"They came, at least some of them came,"--Santoine had risen, fighting +down his grief over his cousin's death; he stood holding the robe about +him--"for what was in your safe, Harriet." + +"I know; I saw it open." + +"What is gone?" Santoine demanded. + +He heard her picking up the contents of the safe from the floor and +carrying them to the table and examining them; he was conscious that, +having done this, she stood staring about the room as though to see +whether anything had escaped her search. + +"What is gone?" Santoine repeated. + +"Why--nearly all the formal papers seem to be gone; lists and +agreements relating to a dozen different things." + +"None of the correspondence?" + +"No; that all seems to be here." + +Santoine was breathing quickly; the trust for which he had been ready +to die--for which Blatchford had died--seemed safe; but recognition of +this only emphasized and deepened his perplexity as to what the meaning +had been of the struggle which an instant before had been going on +around him. + +"We don't know whether he got it, then, or not!" It was Avery's voice +which broke in upon him; Santoine merely listened. + +"He? Who?" He heard his daughter's challenge. + +"Why, Eaton. It is plain enough what happened here, isn't it?" Avery +answered. "He came here to this room for what he was after--for what +he has been after from the first--whatever that may have been! He came +prepared to force the safe and get it! But he was surprised--" + +"By whom?" the blind man asked. + +"By whomever it is that has been following him. I don't attempt to +explain who they were, Mr. Santoine; for I don't know. But--whoever +they were--in doing this, he laid himself open to attack by them. They +were watching--saw him enter here. They attacked him here. Wallace +switched on the light and recognized him; so he shot Wallace and ran +with whatever he could grab up of the contents of the safe, hoping that +by luck he'd get what he was after." + +"It isn't so--it isn't so!" Harriet denied. + +Her father checked her; he stood an instant thoughtful. "Who is +directing the pursuit, Donald?" he asked. + +Avery went out at once. The window to the south, which stood open, was +closed. The blind man turned to his daughter. + +"Now, Harriet," he commanded. He put a hand out and touched Harriet's +clothing; he found she had on a heavy robe. She understood that her +father would not move till she had seen the room for him. She gazed +about again, therefore, and told him what she saw. + +"There was some sort of a struggle near my safe," she said. +"Chairs--everything there is knocked about." + +"Yes." + +"There is also blood there--a big spot of it on the floor." + +"I found that," said Santoine. + +"There is blood behind the table near the middle of the room." + +"Ah! A man fired from near there, too!" + +"There are cartridges on the floor--" + +"Cartridges?" + +"Cartridge shells, I mean, empty, near both those spots of blood. +There are cartridge shells near the fireplace; but no blood there." + +"Yes; the bullets?" + +"There are marks everywhere--above the mantel, all about." + +"Yes." + +"There is a bar of iron with a bent end near the table--between it and +the window; there are two flashlights, both extinguished." + +"How was the safe opened?" + +"The combination has been cut completely away; there is an--an +instrument connected with the electric-light fixture which seems to +have done the cutting. There is a hand-drill, too--I think it is a +hand-drill. The inner door has been drilled through, and the catches +drawn back." + +"Who is this?" + +The valet, who had been sent to Eaton's room, had returned with his +report. "Mr. Eaton went from his room fully dressed, sir," he said to +Santoine, "except for his shoes. I found all his shoes in his room." + +During the report, the blind man felt his daughter's grasp on his arm +become tense and relax and tighten again. Then, as though she realized +she was adding to his comprehension of what she had already betrayed, +she suddenly took her hand from her father's arm. Santoine turned his +face toward his daughter. Another twinge racked the tumult of his +emotions. He groped and groped again, trying to catch his daughter's +hand; but she avoided him. She directed servants to lift Blatchford's +body and told them where to bear it. After that, Santoine resisted no +longer. He let the servants, at his daughter's direction, help him to +his room. His daughter went with him and saw that he was safe in bed; +she stood beside him while the nurse washed the blood-splotches from +his hands and feet. When the nurse had finished, he still felt his +daughter's presence; she drew nearer to him. + +"Father?" she questioned. + +"Yes." + +"You don't agree with Donald, do you?--that Mr. Eaton went to the study +to--to get something, and that whoever has been following him found him +there and--and interrupted him and he killed Cousin Wallace?" + +Santoine was silent an instant. "That seems the correct explanation, +Harriet," he evaded. "It does not fully explain; but it seems correct +as far as it goes. If Donald asks you what my opinion is, tell him it +is that." + +He felt his daughter shrink away from him. + +The blind man made no move to draw her back to him; he lay perfectly +still; his head rested flat upon the pillows; his hands were clasped +tightly together above the coverlet. He had accused himself, in the +room below, because, by the manner he had chosen to treat Eaton, he had +slain the man he loved best and had forced a friendship with Eaton on +his daughter which, he saw, had gone further than mere friendship; it +had gone, he knew now, even to the irretrievable between man and +woman--had brought her, that is, to the state where, no matter what +Eaton was or did, she must suffer with him! But Santoine was not +accusing himself now; he was feeling only the fulfillment of that +threat against those who had trusted him with their secrets, which he +had felt vaguely after the murder of Gabriel Warden and, more plainly +with the events of each succeeding day, ever since. For that threat, +just now, had culminated in his presence in purposeful, violent action; +but Santoine in his blindness had been unable--and was still +unable---to tell what that action meant. + +Of the three men who had fought in his presence in the room below--one +before the safe, one at the fireplace, one behind the table--which had +been Eaton? What had he been doing there? Who were the others? What +had any of them--or all of them--wanted? For Santoine, the answer to +these questions transcended now every personal interest. So, in his +uncertainty, Santoine had drawn into himself--withdrawn confidence in +his thoughts from all around, from Donald Avery, even from his +daughter--until the answer should be found. His blind eyes were turned +toward the ceiling, and his long, well-shaped fingers trembled with the +intensity of his thought. But he realized, even in his absorption, +that his daughter had drawn away from him. So, presently, he stirred. + +"Harriet," he said. + +It was the nurse who answered him. "Miss Santoine has gone downstairs. +What is it you want of her, Mr. Santoine?" + +The blind man hesitated, and checked the impulse he had had. +"Nothing," he replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +PURSUIT + +Harriet Santoine, still clad only in the heavy robe over her nightdress +and in slippers, went from her father's bedroom swiftly down into the +study again; what she was going to do there she did not definitely +know. She heard, as she descended the stairs, the steward in the hall +outside the study calling up the police stations of the neighboring +villages and giving news of what had happened and instructions to watch +the roads; but as she reached the foot of the stairs, a servant closed +the study doors. The great, curtained room in its terrifying disorder +was brightly lighted, empty, absolutely still. She had given +directions that, except for the removal of Blatchford's body, all must +be left as it was in the room till the arrival of the police. She +stood an instant with hands pressed against her breast, staring down at +the spots upon the floor. + +There were three of these spots now--one where Blatchford's body had +lain. They were soaking brownly into the rugs but standing still red +and thick upon the polished floor. Was one of them Eaton's? + +Something within her told her that it was, and the fierce desire to go +to him, to help him, was all she felt just now. It was Donald Avery's +and her father's accusation of Eaton that had made her feel like this. +She had been feeling, the moment before Donald had spoken, that Philip +Eaton had played upon her that evening in making her take him to his +confederate in the ravine in order to plan and consummate something +here. Above her grief and horror at the killing of her cousin and the +danger to her father, had risen the anguish of her guilt with Eaton, +the agony of her betrayal. But their accusation that Eaton had killed +Wallace Blatchford, seeing him, knowing him--in the light--had swept +all that away; all there was of her seemed to have risen in denial of +that. Before her eyes, half shut, she saw again the body of her cousin +Wallace lying in its blood on the floor, with her father kneeling +beside it, his blind eyes raised in helplessness to the light; but she +saw now another body too--Eaton's--not here---lying somewhere in the +bare, wind-swept woods, shot down by those pursuing him. + +She looked at the face of the clock and then down to the pendulum to +see whether it had stopped; but the pendulum was swinging. The hands +stood at half past one o'clock; now she recalled that, in her first +wild gaze about the room when she rushed in with the others, she had +seen the hands showing a minute or so short of twenty minutes past one. +Not quite a quarter of an hour had passed since the alarm! The pursuit +could not have moved far away. She reopened the window through which +the pursuers had passed and stepped out onto the dark lawn. She stood +drawing the robe about her against the chill night air, dazed, stunned. +The house behind her, the stables, the chauffeurs' quarters above the +garages, the gardeners' cottages, all blazed now with light, but she +saw no one about. The menservants--except the steward--had joined the +pursuit; she heard them to the south beating the naked woods and +shrubbery and calling to each other. A half mile down the beach she +heard shouts and a shot; she saw dimly through the night in that +direction a boat without lights moving swiftly out upon the lake. + +Her hands clenched and pressed against her breast; she stood straining +at the sounds of the man-hunt. It had turned west, it seemed; it was +coming back her way, but to the west of the house. She staggered a +little and could not stand; she stepped away from the house in the +direction of the pursuit; following the way it seemed to be going, she +crossed the lawn toward the garage. A light suddenly shone out there, +and she went on. + +The wide door at the car driveway was pushed open, and some one was +within working over a car. His back was toward her, and he was bent +over the engine, but, at the glance, she knew him and recoiled, +gasping. It was Eaton. He turned at the same instant and saw her. + +"Oh; it's you!" he cried to her. + +Her heart, which almost had ceased to beat, raced her pulses again. At +the sound she had made on the driveway, he had turned to her as a +hunted thing, cornered, desperate, certain that whoever came must be +against him. His cry to her had recognized her as the only one who +could come and not be against him; it had hailed her with relief as +bringing him help. He could not have cried out so at that instant at +sight of her if he had been guilty of what they had accused. Now she +saw too, as he faced her, blood flowing over his face; blood soaked a +shoulder of his coat, and his left arm dangling at his side; but now, +as he threw back his head and straightened in his relief at finding it +was she who had surprised him, she saw in him an exultation and +excitement she had never seen before--something which her presence +alone could not have caused. To-night, she sensed vaguely, something +had happened to him which had changed his attitude toward her and +everything else. + +"Yes; it's I!" she cried quickly and rushed to him. "It's I! It's I!" +wildly she reassured him. "You're hurt!" She touched his shoulder. +"You're hurt! I knew you were!" + +He pushed her back with his right hand and held her away from him. +"Did they hurt your father?" + +"Hurt Father? No." + +"But Mr. Blatchford--" + +"Dead," she answered dully. + +"They killed him, then!" + +"Yes; they--" She iterated. He was telling her +now--unnecessarily--that he had had nothing to do with it; it was the +others who had done that. + +He released her and wiped the blood from his eyes with the heel of his +hand. "The poor old man," he said, "--the poor old man!" + +She drew toward him in the realization that he could find sympathy for +others even in such a time as this. + +"Where's the key?" he demanded of her. He stared over her again but +without surprise even in his eyes, at her state; if she was there at +all at that time, that was the only way she could have come. + +"The key?" + +"The key for the battery and magneto--the key you start the car with." + +She ran to a shelf and brought it to him; he used it and pressed the +starting lever. The engine started and he sprang to the seat. His +left arm still hanging useless at his side; he tried to throw in the +gears with his right hand; but the mechanism of the car was strange to +him. She leaped up beside him. + +"Move over!" she commanded. "It's this way!" + +He slipped to the side and she took the driving seat, threw in the +gears expertly, and the car shot from the garage. She switched on the +electric headlights as they dashed down the driveway and threw a bright +white glare upon the roadway a hundred yards ahead to the gates. +Beyond the gates the public pike ran north and south. + +"Which way?" she demanded of him, slowing the car. + +"Stop!" he cried to her. "Stop and get out! You mustn't do this!" + +"You could not pass alone," she said. "Father's men would close the +gates upon you." + +"The men? There are no men there now--they went to the beach--before! +They must have heard something there! It was their being there that +turned him--the others back. They tried for the lake and were turned +back and got away in a machine; I followed--back up here!" + +Harriet Santoine glanced at the face of the man beside her. She could +see his features only vaguely; she could see no expression; only the +position of his head. But now she knew that she was not helping him to +run away; he was no longer hunted--at least he was not only hunted; he +was hunting others too. As the car rolled down upon the open gates and +she strained forward in the seat beside her, she knew that what he was +feeling was a wild eagerness in this pursuit. + +"Right or left--quick!" she demanded of him. "I'll take one or the +other." + +"Right," he shot out; but already, remembering the direction of the +pursuit, she had chosen the road to the right and raced on. He caught +the driving wheel with his good hand and tried to take it from her; she +resisted and warned him: + +"I'm going to drive this car; if you try to take it, it'll throw us +both into the ditch." + +"If we catch up with them, they'll shoot; give me the car," he begged. + +"We'll catch up with them first." + +"Then you'll do what I say?" + +"Yes," she made the bargain. + +"There are their tracks!" he pointed for her. + +The road was soft with the rains that precede spring, and she saw in +the bright flare of the headlights, where some heavy car, fast driven, +had gouged deep into the earth at the roadside; she noted the pattern +of the tires. + +"How do you know those are their tracks?" she asked him. + +"I told you, I followed them to where they got their machine." + +"Who are they?" + +"The men who shot Mr. Blatchford." + +"Who are they?" she put to him directly again. + +He waited, and she knew that he was not going to answer her directly. +She was running the car now at very high speed; the tiny electric light +above the speedometer showed they were running at forty-five miles an +hour and the strip was still turning to higher figures. + +Suddenly he caught her arm. The road had forked, and he pointed to the +left; she swung the car that way, again seeing as they made the turn, +the tire-tracks they were following. She was not able now to watch +these tracks; she could watch only the road and car; but she was aware +that the way they were following had led them into and out of private +grounds. Plainly the men they were following knew the neighborhood +well and had chosen this road in advance as avoiding the more public +roads which might be watched. She noted they were turning always to +the left; now she understood that they were making a great circle to +west and north and returning toward, but well west of, her father's +house; thus she knew that those they were following had made this +circuit to confuse pursuit and that their objective was the great city +to the south. + +They were racing now over a little used road which bisected a forested +section still held as acreage; old, rickety wooden bridges spanned the +ravines. One of these appeared in the radiance of the headlight a +hundred yards ahead; the next instant the car was dashing upon it. +Harriet could feel the shake and tremble of the loosely nailed boards +as the driving wheels struck; there was a crash as some strut, below, +gave way; the old bridge bent but recoiled; the car bounded across it, +the rear wheels skidding in the moist earth as they swung off the +boards. + +Harriet felt Eaton grab her arm. + +"You mustn't do that again!" + +"Why?" + +"You mustn't do that again!" he repeated the order; it was too obvious +to tell her it was not safe. + +She laughed. Less than five minutes before, as she stood outside the +room where her father's cousin had just been murdered, it had seemed +she could never laugh again. The car raced up a little hill and now +again was descending; the headlights showed another bridge over a +ravine. + +"Slow! Stop!" her companion commanded. + +She paid no attention and raced the car on; he put his hand on the +wheel and with his foot tried to push hers from the accelerator; but +she fought him; the car swayed and all but ran away as they approached +the bridge. "Give it to me!" she screamed to him and wrenched the car +about. It was upon the bridge and across it; as they skidded upon the +mud of the road again, they could hear the bridge cracking behind. + +"Harriet!" he pleaded with her. + +She steered the car on, recklessly, her heart thumping with more than +the thrill of the chase. "They're the men who tried to kill you, +aren't they?" she rejoined. The speed at which they were going did not +permit her to look about; she had to keep her eyes on the road at that +moment when she knew within herself and was telling the man beside her +that she from that moment must be at one with him. For already she had +said it; as she risked herself in the pursuit, she thought of the men +they were after not chiefly as those who had killed her cousin but as +those who had threatened Eaton. "What do I care what happens to me, if +we catch them?" she cried. + +"Harriet!" he repeated her name again. + +"Philip!" + +She felt him shrink and change as she called the name. It had been +clear to her, of course, that, since she had known him, the name he had +been using was not his own. Often she had wondered what his name was; +now she had to know. "What should I call you?" she demanded of him. + +"My name," he said, "is Hugh." + +"Hugh!" she called it. + +"Yes." + +"Hugh--" She waited for the rest; but he told no more. "Hugh!" she +whispered to herself again his name now. "Hugh!" + +Her eyes, which had watched the road for the guiding of the car, had +followed his gesture from time to time pointing out the tracks made by +the machine they were pursuing. These tracks still ran on ahead; as +she gazed down the road, a red glow beyond the bare trees was lighting +the sky. A glance at Hugh told that he also had seen it. + +"A fire?" she referred to him. + +"Looks like it." + +They said no more as they rushed on; but the red glow was spreading, +and yellow flames soon were in sight shooting higher and higher; these +were clouded off for an instant only to appear flaring higher again, +and the breeze brought the smell of seasoned wood burning. + +"It's right across the road!" Hugh announced as they neared it. + +"It's the bridge over the next ravine," Harriet said. Her foot already +was bearing upon the brake, and the power was shut off; the car coasted +on slowly. For both could see now that the wooden span was blazing +from end to end; it was old wood, swift to burn and going like tinder. +There was no possible chance for the car to cross it. The girl brought +the machine to a stop fifty feet from the edge of the ravine; the fire +was so hot that the gasoline tank would not be safe nearer. She gazed +down at the tire-marks on the road. + +"They crossed with their machine," she said to Hugh. + +"And fired the bridge behind. They must have poured gasoline over it +and lighted it at both ends." + +She sat with one hand still straining at the driving wheel, the other +playing with the gear lever. + +"There's no other way across that ravine, I suppose," Hugh questioned +her. + +"The other road's back more than a mile, and two miles about." She +threw in the reverse and started to turn. Hugh shook his head. +"That's no use." + +"No," she agreed, and stopped the car again. Hugh stepped down on the +ground. A man appeared on the other side of the ravine. He stood and +stared at the burning span and, seeing the machine on the other side, +he scrambled down the slope of the ravine. Eaton met him as he came up +to the road again. The man was one of the artisans--a carpenter or +jack-of-all-work--who had little cottages, with patches for garden, +through the undivided acreage beyond the big estates. He had hastily +and only partly dressed; he stared at Eaton's hurt with astonishment +which increased as he gazed at the girl in the driving seat of the car. +He did not recognize her except as one of the class to whom he owed +employment; he pulled off his cap and stared back to Eaton with wonder. + +"What's happened, sir? What's the matter?" + +Eaton did not answer, but Harriet now recognized the man. "Mr. +Blatchford was shot to-night at Father's house, Dibley," she said. + +"Miss Santoine!" Dibley cried. + +"We think the men went this way," she continued. + +"Did you see any one pass?" Eaton challenged the man. + +"In a motor, sir?" + +"Yes; down this road in a motor." + +"Yes, sir." + +"When?" + +"Just now, sir." + +"Just now?" + +"Not five minutes ago. Just before I saw the bridge on fire here." + +"How was that?" + +"I live there just beyond, near the road. I heard my pump going." + +"Your pump?" + +"Yes, sir. I've a pump in my front yard. There's no water piped +through here, sir." + +"Of course. Go on, Dibley." + +"I looked out and saw a machine stopped out in the road. One man was +pumping water into a bucket for another." + +"Then what did you do?" + +"Nothing, sir. I just watched them. Motor people often stop at my +pump for water." + +"I see. Go on." + +"That's all about them, sir. I thought nothing about it--they wouldn't +wake me to ask for water; they'd just take it. Then I saw the fire +over there--" + +"No; go back," Eaton interrupted. "First, how many men were there in +the car?" + +"How many? Three, sir." + +Eaton started. "Only three; you're sure?" + +"Yes, sir; I could see them plain. There was the two at the pump; one +more stayed in the car." + +Eaton seized the man in his intentness. "You're sure there weren't any +more, Dibley? Think; be sure! There weren't three more or even one +more person hidden in the tonneau of the car?" + +"The tonneau, sir?" + +"The back seats, I mean." + +"No, sir; I could see into the car. It was almost right below me, sir. +My house has a room above; that's where I was sleeping." + +"Then did you watch the men with the water?" + +"Watch them, sir?" + +"What they did with it; you're sure they didn't take it to the rear +seat to give it to some one there. You see, we think one of the men +was hurt," Eaton explained. + +"No, sir. I'd noticed if they did that." + +"Then did they put it into the radiator--here in front where motorists +use water?" + +Dibley stared. "No, sir; I didn't think of it then, but they didn't. +They didn't put it into the car. They took it in their bucket with +them. It was one of those folding buckets motor people have." + +Eaton gazed at the man. "Only three, you are sure!" he repeated. "And +none of them seemed to be hurt!" + +"No, sir." + +"Then they went off in the other direction from the bridge?" + +"Yes, sir. I didn't notice the bridge burning till after they went. +So I came down here." + +Eaton let the man go. Dibley looked again at the girl and moved away a +little. She turned to Eaton. + +"What does that mean?" she called to him. "How many should there have +been in the machine? What did they want with the water?" + +"Six!" Eaton told her. "There should have been six in the machine, and +one, at least, badly hurt!" + +Dibley stood dully apart, staring at one and then at the other and next +to the flaming bridge. He looked down the road. "There's another car +coming," he announced. "Two cars!" + +The double glare from the headlights of a motor shone through the +tree-trunks as the car topped and came swiftly down a rise three +quarters of a mile away and around the last turn back on the road; +another pair of blinding lights followed. There was no doubt that this +must be the pursuit from Santoine's house. Eaton stood beside Harriet, +who had stayed in the driving-seat of the car. + +"You know Dibley well, Harriet?" he asked. + +"He's worked on our place. He's dependable," she answered. + +Eaton put his hand over hers which still clung to the driving wheel. +"I'm going just beside the road here," he said to her, quietly. "I'm +armed, of course. If those are your people, you'd better go back with +them. I'm sure they are; but I'll wait and see." + +She caught at his hand. "No; no!" she cried. "You must get as far +away as you can before they come! I'm going back to meet and hold +them." She threw the car into the reverse, backed and turned it and +brought it again onto the road. He came beside her again, putting out +his hand; she seized it. Her hands for an instant clung to it, his to +hers. + +"You must go--quick!" she urged; "but how am I to know what becomes of +you--where you are? Shall I hear from you--shall I ever see you?" + +"No news will be good news," he said, "until--" + +"Until what?" + +"Until--" And again that unknown something which a thousand times--it +seemed to her--had checked his word and action toward her made him +pause; but nothing could completely bar them from one another now. +"Until they catch and destroy me, or--until I come to you as--as you +have never known me yet!" + +An instant more she clung to him. The double headlights flared into +sight again upon the road, much nearer now and coming fast. She +released him; he plunged into the bushes beside the road, and the damp, +bare twigs lashed against one another at his passage; then she shot her +car forward. But she had made only a few hundred yards when the first +of the two cars met her. It turned to its right to pass, she turned +the same way; the approaching car twisted to the left, she swung hers +to oppose it. The two cars did not strike; they stopped, radiator to +radiator, with rear wheels locked. The second car drew up behind the +first. The glare of her headlights showed her both were full of armed +men. Their headlights, revealing her to them, hushed suddenly their +angry ejaculations. She recognized Avery in the first car; he leaped +out and ran up to her. + +"Harriet! In God's name, what are you doing here?" + +She sat unmoved in her seat, gazing at him. Men leaping from the cars, +ran past her down the road toward the ravine and the burning bridge. +She longed to look once more in the direction in which Eaton had +disappeared, but she did not. Avery reached up and over the side of +the car and caught her arm, repeating his demand for an explanation. +She could see, turning in her seat, the men who had run past +surrounding Dibley on the road and questioning him. Avery, gaining no +satisfaction from her, let go her arm; his hand dropped to the back of +the seat and he drew it up quickly. + +"Harriet, there's blood here!" + +She did not reply. He stared at her and seemed to comprehend. + +He shouted to the men around Dibley and ran toward them. They called +in answer to his shout, and she could see Dibley pointing out to them +the way Eaton had gone. The men, scattering themselves at intervals +along the edge of the wood and, under Avery's direction, posting others +in each direction to watch the road, began to beat through the bushes +after Eaton. She sat watching; she put her cold hands to her face; +then, recalling how just now Eaton's hand had clung to hers, she +pressed them to her lips. Avery came running back to her. + +"You drove him out here, Harriet!" he charged. "Dibley says so." + +"Him? Who?" she asked coolly. + +"Eaton. Dibley did not know him, but describes him. It can have been +no one else. He was hurt!" The triumph in the ejaculation made her +recoil. "He was hurt and could not drive, and you drove him out"--his +tone changed suddenly--"like this!" + +For the first time since she had left the garage she was suddenly +conscious that she was in her night-dress with only a robe and +slippers. She drew the robe quickly about her, shrinking and staring +at him. In all the miles she had driven that night with Eaton at her +side, she never a moment had shrunk from her companion or thought how +she was dressed. It was not the exaltation and excitement of what she +was doing that had prevented her; it went deeper than that; it was the +attitude of her companion toward her. But Avery had thought of it, and +made her think of it, at once, even in the excitement under which he +was laboring. + +He left her again, running after the men into the woods. She sat in +the car, listening to the sounds of the hunt. She could see, back of +her, in the light of the burning bridge, one of the armed men standing +to watch the road; ahead of her, but almost indistinguishable in the +darkness, was another. The noise of the hunt had moved further into +the woods; she had no immediate fear that they would find Eaton; her +present anxiety was over his condition from his hurts and what might +happen if he encountered those he had been pursuing. In that +neighborhood, with its woods and bushes and ravines to furnish cover, +the darkness made discovery of him by Avery and his men impossible if +Eaton wished to hide himself. Avery appeared to have realized this; +for now the voices in the woods ceased and the men began to straggle +back toward the cars. A party was sent on foot across the ravine, +evidently to guard the road beyond. The rest began to clamber into the +cars. She backed her car away from the one in front of it and started +home. + +She had gone only a short distance when the cars again passed her, +traveling at high speed. She began then to pass individual men left by +those in the cars to watch the road. At the first large house she saw +one of the cars again, standing empty. She passed it without stopping. +A mile farther, a little group of men carrying guns stopped her, +recognized her and let her pass. They had been called out, they told +her, by Mr. Avery over the telephone to watch the roads for Eaton; they +had Eaton's description; members of the local police were to take +charge of them and direct them. She comprehended that Avery was +surrounding the vacant acreage where Eaton had taken refuge to be +certain that Eaton did not get away until daylight came and a search +for him was possible. + +Lights gleamed at her across the broad lawns of the houses near her +father's great house as she approached it; at the sound of her car, +people came to the windows and looked out. She understood that news of +the murder at Basil Santoine's had aroused the neighbors and brought +them from their beds. + +As she left her motor on the drive beside the house--for to-night no +one came from the garages to take it--the little clock upon its dash +marked half past two. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +WAITING + +Harriet went into the house and toward her own rooms; a maid met and +stopped her on the stairs. + +"Mr. Santoine sent word that he wishes to see you as soon as you came +in, Miss Santoine." + +Harriet went on toward her father's room, without stopping at her +own--wet with the drive through the damp night and shivering now with +its chill. Her father's voice answered her knock with a summons to +come in. As she obeyed, pushing the doors open, he dismissed the +nurse; the girl, passing Harriet as she went out, returned Harriet's +questioning look with a reassuring nod; Basil Santoine had endured the +shock and excitement of the night better than could have been expected; +he was quite himself. + +As Harriet went toward the bed, her father's blind eyes turned toward +her; he put out his hand and touched her, seeming startled to find her +still in the robe she had worn an hour before and to feel that the robe +was wet. + +"Where have you been, Daughter?" he asked. + +She hesitated, drawing the robe out of his hand. "I--I have been +driving Mr. Eaton in a motor," she said. + +"Helping him to escape?" A spasm crossed the blind man's face. + +"He said not; he--he was following the men who shot Cousin Wallace." + +The blind man lay for an instant still. "Tell me," he commanded +finally. + +She told him, beginning with her discovery of Eaton in the garage and +ending with his leaving her and with Donald Avery's finding her in the +motor; and now she held back one word only--his name which he had told +her, Hugh. Her father listened intently; when she had finished, he +made no move, no comment, no reproach. She had seated herself on the +chair beside his bed; she looked away, then back to him. + +"That is not all," she said; and she told him of her expedition with +Eaton to the ravine before the attack in the house. + +Again she waited. + +"You and Mr. Eaton appear to have become rather well acquainted, +Harriet," he said. "Has he told you nothing about himself which you +have not told me? You have seen nothing concerning him, which you have +not told?" + +Her mind went quickly back to the polo game; she felt a flush, which +his blind eyes could not see, dyeing her cheeks and forehead. + +"No," she answered. She was aware that he did not accept the denial, +that he knew she was concealing something. + +"Nothing?" he asked again. + +She put her hands to her face; then she drew them quickly away. +"Nothing," she said steadily. + +The blind man waited for a moment; he put out his hand and pressed the +bell which called the steward. Neither spoke until the steward had +come. + +"Fairley," Santoine said then, quietly, "Miss Santoine and I have just +agreed that for the present all reports regarding the pursuit of the +men who entered the study last night are to be made direct to me, not +through Miss Santoine or Mr. Avery." + +"Very well, sir." + +She still sat silent after the steward had gone; she thought for an +instant her father had forgotten her presence; then he moved slightly. + +"That is all, dear," he said quietly. + +She got up and left him, and went to her own rooms; she did not pretend +to herself that she could rest. She bathed and dressed and went +downstairs. The library had windows facing to the west; she went in +there and stood looking out. Somewhere to the west was Eaton, alone, +wounded; she knew she need not think of him yet as actively hunted, +only watched; with daylight the hunt would begin. Would he be able to +avoid the watchers and escape before the actual hunt for him began? + +She went out into the hall to the telephone. She could not get the use +of the 'phone at once; the steward was posted there; the calls upon the +'phone were continual--from neighbors who, awakened to learn the news +of Blatchford's death and the hunt for his murderer, called to offer +what help they could, and from the newspapers, which somehow had been +notified. The telephones in the bedrooms all were on this wire. There +was a private telephone in the library; somehow she could not bring +herself to enter that room, closed and to be left with everything in +its disorder until the arrival of the police. The only other telephone +was in her father's bedroom. + +She took advantage of a momentary interruption in the calls to call up +the local police station. Hearing her name, the man at the other end +became deferential at once; he told her what was being done, confirming +what she already knew; the roads were being watched and men had been +posted at all near-by railway stations and at the stopping points of +the interurban line to prevent Eaton from escaping that way. The man +spoke only of Eaton; he showed the conviction--gathered, she felt sure, +by telephone conversation with Donald Avery--that Eaton was the +murderer. + +"He ain't likely to get away, Miss Santoine," he assured her. "He's +got no shoes, I understand, and he has one or maybe two shots through +him." + +She shrunk back and nearly dropped the 'phone at the vision which his +words called up; yet there was nothing new to her in that vision--it +was continually before her eyes; it was the only thing of which she +could think. + +"You'll call me as soon as you know anything more," she requested; +"will you call me every hour?" + +She hung up, on receiving assurance of this. + +A servant brought a written paper. She took it before she recognized +that it was not for her but for the steward. It was a short statement +of the obvious physical circumstances of the murder, evidently dictated +by her father and intended for the newspapers. She gave it to Fairley, +who began reading it over the telephone to the newspapers. She +wandered again to the west windows. She was not consciously listening +to the telephone conversation in the hall; yet enough reached her to +make her know that reporters were rushing from the city by train and +automobile. The last city editions of the morning papers would have at +least the fact of the murder; there would be later extras; the +afternoon papers would have it all. There was a long list of relatives +and friends to whom it was due that telegraphic announcement of Wallace +Blatchford's death reach them before they read it as a sensation +publicly printed. Recollection of these people at least gave her +something to do. + +She went up to her own room, listed the names and prepared the +telegrams for them; she came down again and gave the telegrams to +Fairley to transmit by telephone. As she descended the stairs, the +great clock in the lower hall struck once; it was a quarter past three. + +There was a stir in these lower rooms now; the officers of the local +police had arrived. She went with them to the study, where they +assumed charge nervously and uncertainly. She could not bear to be in +that room; nevertheless she remained and answered their questions. She +took them to Eaton's rooms on the floor above, where they searched +through and took charge of all his things. She left them and came down +again and went out to the front of the house. + +The night was sharp with the chill preceding the day; it had cleared; +the stars were shining. As she stood looking to the west, the lights +of a motor turned into the grounds. She ran toward it, thinking it +must be bringing word of some sort; but the men who leaped from it were +strangers to her--they were the first of the reporters to arrive. They +tried to question her, but she ran from them into the house. She +watched from the windows and saw other reporters arriving. To Harriet +there seemed to be scores of them. Every morning paper in Chicago, +immediately upon receipt of the first flash, had sent at least three +men; every evening paper seemed to have aroused half its staff from +their beds and sent them racing to the blind millionaire's home on the +north shore. Even men from Milwaukee papers arrived at four o'clock. +Forbidden the house, they surrounded it and captured servants. They +took flashlights till, driven from the lawn, they went away--many of +them--to see and take part in the search through the woods for +Blatchford's murderer. The murder of Santoine's cousin--the man, +moreover, who had blinded Santoine--in the presence of the blind man +was enough of itself to furnish a newspaper sensation; but, following +so closely Santoine's visit to the Coast because of the murder of +Gabriel Warden, the newspaper men sensed instantly in it the +possibility of some greater sensation not yet bared. + +Harriet was again summoned. A man--a stranger--was awaiting her in the +hall; he was the precursor of those who would sit that day upon Wallace +Blatchford's death and try to determine, formally, whose was the hand +that had done it--the coroner's man. He too, she saw, was already +convinced what hand it had been--Eaton's. She took him to the study, +then to the room above where Wallace Blatchford lay dead. She stood by +while he made his brief, conventional examination. She looked down at +the dead man's face. Poor Cousin Wallace! he had destroyed his own +life long before, when he had destroyed her father's sight; from that +time on he had lived only to recompense her father for his blindness. +Cousin Wallace's life had been a pitiable, hopeless, loving +perpetuation of his penance; he had let himself hold nothing of his own +in life; he had died, as she knew he would have wished to die, giving +his life in service to his cousin; she was not unduly grieving over him. + +She answered the man's questions, calmly and collectedly; but her mind +was not upon what she was saying. Her mind was upon only one +thing--even of that she could not think connectedly. Some years ago, +something--she did not know what--had happened to Hugh; to-night, in +some strange way unknown to her, it had culminated in her father's +study. He had fought some one; he had rushed away to follow some one. +Whom? Had he heard that some one in the study and gone down? Had he +been fighting their battle--her father's and hers? She knew that was +not so. Hugh had been fully dressed. What did it mean that he had +said to her that these events would either destroy him or would send +him back to her as--as something different? Her thought supplied no +answer. + +But whatever he had done, whatever he might be, she knew his fate was +hers now; for she had given herself to him utterly. She had told that +to herself as she fled and pursued with him that night; she had told it +to him; she later had told it--though she had not meant to yet--to her +father. She could only pray now that out of the events of this night +might not come a grief to her too great for her to bear. + +She went to the rooms that had been Eaton's. The police, in stripping +them of his possessions, had overlooked his cap; she found the bit of +gray cloth and hugged it to her. She whispered his name to +herself--Hugh--that secret of his name which she had kept; she gloried +that she had that secret with him which she could keep from them all. +What wouldn't they give just to share that with her--his name, Hugh! + +She started suddenly, looking through the window. The east, above the +lake, was beginning to grow gray. The dawn was coming! It was +beginning to be day! + +She hurried to the other side of the house, looking toward the west. +How could she have left him, hurt and bleeding and alone in the night! +She could not have done that but that his asking her to go had told +that it was for his safety as well as hers; she could not help him any +more then; she would only have been in the way. But now-- She started +to rush out, but controlled herself; she had to stay in the house; that +was where the first word would come if they caught him; and then he +would need her, how much more! The reporters on the lawn below her, +seeing her at the window, called up to her to know further particulars +of what had happened and what the murder meant; she could see them +plainly in the increasing light. She could see the lawn and the road +before the house. + +Day had come. + +And with the coming of day, the uncertainty and disorder within and +about the house seemed to increase.... But in the south wing, with its +sound-proof doors and its windows closed against the noises from the +lawn, there was silence; and in this silence, an exact, compelling, +methodic machine was working; the mind of Basil Santoine was striving, +vainly as yet, but with growing chances of success, to fit together +into the order in which they belonged and make clear the events of the +night and all that had gone before--arranging, ordering, testing, +discarding, picking up again and reordering all that had happened since +that other murder, of Gabriel Warden. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +WHAT ONE CAN DO WITHOUT EYES + +The blind man, lying on his bed in that darkness in which he had lived +since his sixteenth year and which no daylight could lessen, felt the +light and knew that day had come; he stirred impatiently. The nurse, +the only other occupant of the room, moved expectantly; then she sank +back; Santoine had moved but had not roused from that absorption in +which he had been ever since returning to his bed. He had not slept. +The connections of the electric bells had been repaired,--the wires had +been found pulled from their batteries,--but Santoine had not moved a +hand to touch a button. He had disregarded the warning of the doctor +who had been summoned at once after the murder and had come to his room +again just before dawn to warn him that after his recklessness of the +night he must expect a reaction. He had given such injunctions in +regard to any new development that he was certain that, even if his +servants believed him asleep, they would report to him. But there had +been no report; and Santoine expected none immediately. He had not +lain awake awaiting anything; he felt that so much had happened, so +many facts were at his command, that somewhere among them must be the +key to what they meant. + +The blind man knew that his daughter was concealing something from him. +He could not tell what the importance of the thing she was concealing +might be; but he knew his daughter was enough like himself for it to be +useless for him to try to force from her something she did not mean to +tell. The new intimacy of the relation between his daughter and Eaton +was perfectly plain to Santoine; but it did not cause him to try to +explain anything in Eaton's favor; nor did it prejudice him against +him. He had appeared to accept Avery's theory of what had happened in +the study because by doing so he concealed what was going on in his own +mind; he actually accepted it only to the point of agreeing that Eaton +must have met in the study those enemies--or some one representing the +enemies--who had attacked him with the motor-car and had before +attempted to attack him on the train. + +Three men--at least three men--had fought in the study in Santoine's +presence. Eaton, it was certain, had been the only one from the house +present when the first shots were fired. Had Eaton been alone against +the other two? Had Eaton been with one of the other two against the +third? It appeared probable to Santoine that Eaton had been alone, or +had come alone, to the study and had met his enemies there. Had these +enemies surprised Eaton in the study or had he surprised them? +Santoine was inclined to believe that Eaton had surprised them. The +contents taken from the safe had certainly been carried away, and these +would have made rather a bulky bundle. Eaton could not have carried it +without Harriet knowing it. Santoine believed that, whatever knowledge +his daughter might be concealing from him, she would not have concealed +this. It was certain that some time had been necessary for opening the +safe, before those opening it suffered interruption. + +Santoine felt, therefore, that the probabilities were that Eaton's +enemies had opened the safe and had been surprised by Eaton. But if +they had opened the safe, they were not only Eaton's enemies; they were +also Santoine's; they were the men who threatened Santoine's trust. + +Those whom Eaton had fought in the room had had perfect opportunity for +killing Santoine, if they wished. He had stood first in the dark with +the electric torch in his hand; then he had been before them in the +light after Blatchford had entered. But Santoine felt certain no one +had made any attack upon him at any moment in the room; he had had no +feeling, at any instant, that any of the shots fired had been directed +at him. Blatchford, too, had been unattacked until he had made it +plain that he had recognized one of the intruders; then, before +Blatchford could call the name, he had been shot down. + +It was clear, then, that what had protected Santoine was his blindness; +he had no doubt that, if he had been able to see and recognize the men +in the room after the lights were turned on, he would have been shot +down also. But Santoine recognized that this did not fully account for +his immunity. Two weeks before, an attack which had been meant for +Eaton had struck down Santoine instead; and no further attempt against +Eaton had been made until it had become publicly known that Santoine +was not going to die. If Santoine's death would have served for +Eaton's death two weeks before, why was Santoine immune now? Did +possession of the contents of Santoine's safe accomplish the same thing +as Santoine's death? Or more than his death for these men? For what +men? + +It was not, Santoine was certain, Eaton's presence in the study which +had so astounded Blatchford; Wallace and Eaton had passed days +together, and Blatchford was accustomed to Eaton's presence in the +house. Some one whom Blatchford knew and whose name Santoine also +would know and whose presence in the room was so strange and +astonishing that Blatchford had tried to prepare Santoine for the +announcement, had been there. The man whose name was on Blatchford's +tongue, or the companion of that man, had shot Blatchford rather than +let Santoine hear the name. + +The blind man stirred upon his bed. + +"Do you want something, Mr. Santoine?" the nurse asked. The blind man +did not answer. He was beginning to find these events fit themselves +together; but they fitted imperfectly as yet. + +Santoine knew that he lacked the key. Many men could profit by +possessing the contents of Santoine's safe and might have shot +Blatchford rather than let Santoine know their presence there; it was +impossible for Santoine to tell which among these many the man who had +been in the study might be. Who Eaton's enemies were was equally +unknown to Santoine. But there could be but one man--or at most one +small group of men--who could be at the same time Eaton's enemy and +Santoine's. To have known who Eaton was would have pointed this man to +Santoine. + +The blind man lay upon his back, his open, sightless eyes unwinking in +the intensity of his thought. + +Gabriel Warden had had an appointment with a young man who had come +from Asia and who--Warden had told his wife--he had discovered lately +had been greatly wronged. Eaton, under Conductor Connery's +questioning, had admitted himself to be that young man; Santoine had +verified this and had learned that Eaton was, at least, the young man +who had gone to Warden's house that night. But Gabriel Warden had not +been allowed to help Eaton; so far from that, he had not even been +allowed to meet and talk with Eaton; he had been called out, plainly, +to prevent his meeting Eaton, and killed. + +Eaton disappeared and concealed himself at once after Warden's murder, +apparently fearing that he would also be attacked. But Eaton was not a +man whom this personal fear would have restrained from coming forward +later to tell why Warden had been killed. He had been urged to come +forward and promised that others would give him help in Warden's place; +still, he had concealed himself. This must mean that others than +Warden could not help Eaton; Eaton evidently did not know, or else +could not hope to prove, what Warden had discovered. + +Santoine held this thought in abeyance; he would see later how it +checked with the facts. + +Eaton had remained in Seattle--or near Seattle--eleven days; apparently +he had been able to conceal himself and to escape attack during that +time. He had been obliged, however, to reveal himself when he took the +train; and as soon as possible a desperate attempt had been made +against him, which, through mistake, had struck down Santoine instead +of Eaton. This attack had been made under circumstances which, if it +had been successful, would have made it improbable that Eaton's +murderer could escape. It had not been enough, then, to watch Eaton +and await opportunity to attack him; it had been necessary to attack +him at once, at any cost. + +The attack having reached Santoine instead of Eaton, the necessity for +immediate attack upon Eaton, apparently, had ceased to exist; those who +followed Eaton had thought it enough to watch him and wait for more +favorable opportunity. But as soon as it was publicly known that +Santoine had not been killed but was getting well, then Eaton had again +been openly and daringly attacked. The reason for the desperate +chances taken to attack Eaton, then, was that he was near Santoine. + +Santoine's hands clenched as he recognized this. Eaton had taken the +train at Seattle because Santoine was on it; he had done this at great +risk to himself. Santoine had told Eaton that there were but four +possible reasons why he could have taken the train in the manner he +did, and two of those reasons later had been eliminated. The two +possibilities which remained were that Eaton had taken the train to +inform Santoine of something or to learn something from him. But Eaton +had had ample opportunity since to inform Santoine of anything he +wished; and he had not only not informed him of anything, but had +refused consistently and determinedly to answer any of Santoine's +questions. It was to learn something from Santoine, then, that Eaton +had taken the train. + +The blind man turned upon his bed; he was finding that these events +fitted together perfectly. He felt certain now that Eaton had gone to +Gabriel Warden expecting to get from Warden some information that he +needed, and that to prevent Warden's giving him this, Warden had been +killed. Then Warden's death had caused Santoine to go to Seattle and +take charge of many of Warden's affairs; Eaton had thought that the +information which had been in Warden's possession might now be in +Santoine's; Eaton, therefore, had followed Santoine onto the train. + +Santoine had not had the information Eaton required, and he could not +even imagine yet what the nature of that information could be. This +was not because he was not familiar enough with Warden's affairs; it +was because he was too familiar with them. Warden had been concerned +in a hundred enterprises; Santoine had no way of telling which of this +hundred had concerned Eaton. He certainly could recall no case in +which a man of Eaton's age and class had been so terribly wronged that +double murder would have been resorted to for the concealment of the +facts. But he understood that, in his familiarity with Warden's +affairs, he had probably been in a position to get the information, if +he had known what specific matters it concerned. That, then, had been +the reason why his own death would have served for the time being in +place of Eaton's. + +Those who had followed Eaton had known that Santoine could get this +information; that accounted for all that had taken place on the train. +It accounted for the subsequent attack on Eaton when it became known +that Santoine was getting well. It accounted also--Santoine was +breathing quickly as he recognized this--for the invasion of his study +and the forcing of the safe last night. + +The inference was plain that something which would have given Santoine +the information Warden had had and which Eaton now required had been +brought into Santoine's house and put in Santoine's safe. It was to +get possession of this "something" before it had reached Santoine that +the safe had been forced. + +Santoine put out his hand and pressed a bell. A servant came to the +door. + +"Will you find Miss Santoine," the blind man directed, "and ask her to +come here?" + +The servant withdrew. + +Santoine waited. Presently the door again opened, and he heard his +daughter's step. + +"Have you listed what was taken from the safe, Harriet?" Santoine asked. + +"Not yet, Father." + +The blind man thought an instant. "Day before yesterday, when I asked +you to take charge for the present of the correspondence Avery has +looked after for me, what did you do?" + +"I put it in my own safe--the one that was broken into last night. But +none of it was taken; the bundles of letters were pulled out of the +safe, but they had not been opened or even disturbed." + +"I know. It was not that I meant." Santoine thought again. "Harriet, +something has been brought into the house--or the manner of keeping +something in the house had been changed--within a very few days--since +the time, I think, when the attempt to run Eaton down with the +motor-car was made. What was that 'something'?" + +His daughter reflected. "The draft of the new agreement about the +Latron properties and the lists of stockholders in the properties which +came through Mr. Warden's office," she replied. + +"Those were in the safe?" + +"Yes; you had not given me any instructions about them, so I had put +them in the other safe; but when I went to get the correspondence I saw +them there and put them with the correspondence in my own safe." + +Santoine lay still. + +"Who besides Donald knew that you did that, daughter?" he asked. + +"No one." + +"Thank you." + +Harriet recognized this as dismissal and went out. The blind man felt +the blood beating fiercely in his temples and at his finger-tips. It +amazed, astounded him to realize that Warden's murder and all that had +followed it had sprung from the Latron case. The coupling of Warden's +name with Latron's in the newspapers after Warden's death had seemed to +him only flagrant sensationalism. He himself had known--or had thought +he had known--more about the Latron case than almost any other man; he +had been a witness at the trial; he had seen--or had thought he had +seen--even-handed justice done there. Now, by Warden's evidence, but +more still by the manner of Warden's death, he was forced to believe +that there had been something unknown to him and terrible in what had +been done then. + +And as realization of this came to him, he recollected that he had been +vaguely conscious ever since Latron's murder of something strained, +something not wholly open, in his relations with those men whose +interests had been most closely allied with Latron's. It had been +nothing open, nothing palpable; it was only that he had felt at times +in them a knowledge of some general condition governing them which was +not wholly known to himself. As he pressed his hands upon his blind +eyes, trying to define this feeling to himself, his thought went +swiftly back to the events on the train and in the study. + +He had had investigated the accounts of themselves given by the +passengers to Conductor Connery; two of these accounts had proved to be +false. The man who under the name of Lawrence Hillward had claimed the +cipher telegram from Eaton had been one of these; it had proved +impossible to trace this man and it was now certain that Hillward was +not his real name; the other, Santoine had had no doubt, was the +heavy-set muscular man who had tried to run Eaton down with the motor. +These men, Santoine was sure, had been acting for some principal not +present. One or both of these men might have been in the study last +night; but the sight of neither of these could have so startled, so +astounded Blatchford. Whomever Blatchford had seen was some one well +known to him, whose presence had been so amazing that speech had failed +Blatchford for the moment and he had feared the effect of the +announcement on Santoine. This could have been only the principal +himself. + +Some circumstance which Santoine comprehended only imperfectly as yet +had forced this man to come out from behind his agents and to act even +at the risk of revealing himself. It was probably he who, finding +Blatchford's presence made revealment inevitable, had killed +Blatchford. But these circumstances gave Santoine no clew as to who +the man might be. The blind man tried vainly to guess. The rebellion +against his blindness, which had seized him the night before, again +stirred him. The man had been in the light just before his face; a +second of sight then and everything would have been clear; or another +word from Blatchford, and he would have known. But Santoine recalled +that if he had had that second of sight, and the other man had known +it, or if Blatchford had spoken that next word, Santoine too would +probably be dead. + +The only circumstance regarding the man of which Santoine now felt sure +was that he was one of the many concerned in the Latron case or with +the Latron properties. Had the blood in which Santoine had stepped +upon the study floor been his, or that of one of the others? + +"What time is it?" the blind man suddenly asked the nurse. + +"It is nearly noon, Mr. Santoine, and you have eaten nothing." + +The blind man did not answer. He recalled vaguely that, several hours +before, breakfast had been brought for him and that he had impatiently +waved it away. In his absorption he had felt no need then for food, +and he felt none now. + +"Will you leave me alone for a few moments?" he directed. + +He listened till he heard the door close behind the nurse; then he +seized the private 'phone beside his bed and called his broker. +Instinctively, in his uncertainty, Santoine had turned to that +barometer which reflects day by day, even from hour to hour, the most +obscure events and the most secret knowledge. + +"How is the market?" he inquired. + +There was something approaching to a panic on the stock-exchange, it +appeared. Some movement, arising from causes not yet clear, had +dropped the bottom out of a score of important stocks. The broker was +only able to relate that about an hour after the opening of the +exchange, selling had developed in certain issues and prices were going +down in complete lack of support. + +"How is Pacific Midlands?" Santoine asked. + +"It led the decline." + +Santoine felt the blood in his temples. "M. and N. Smelters?" he asked. + +"Down seven points." + +"S. F. and D.?" + +"Eight points off." + +Santoine's hand, holding the telephone, shook in its agitation; his +head was hot from the blood rushing through it, his body was chilled. +An idea so strange, so astounding, so incredible as it first had come +to him that his feelings refused it though his reason told him it was +the only possible condition which could account for all the facts, now +was being made all but certain. He named stock after stock; all were +down--seriously depressed or had been supported only by a desperate +effort of their chief holders. + +"A. L. & M. is down too," the broker volunteered. + +"That is only sympathetic," Santoine replied. + +He hung up. His hand, straining to control its agitation, reached for +the bell; he rang; a servant came. + +"Get me note-paper," Santoine commanded. + +The servant went out and returned with paper. The nurse had followed +him in; she turned the leaf of the bed-table for Santoine to write. +The blind man could write as well as any other by following the +position of the lines with the fingers of his left hand. He wrote a +short note swiftly now, folded, sealed and addressed it and handed it +to the servant. + +"Have that delivered by a messenger at once," he directed. "There will +be no written answer, I think; only something sent back--a photograph. +See that it is brought to me at once." + +He heard the servant's footsteps going rapidly away. He was shaking +with anger, horror, resentment; he was almost--not quite--sure now of +all that had taken place; of why Warden had been murdered, of what +vague shape had moved behind and guided all that had happened since. +He recalled Eaton's voice as he had heard it first on the train at +Seattle; and now he was almost sure--not quite--that he could place +that voice, that he knew where he had heard it before. + +He lay with clenched hands, shaking with rage; then by effort of his +will he put these thoughts away. The nurse reminded him again of his +need for food. + +"I want nothing now," he said. "Have it ready when I wake up. When +the doctor comes, tell him I am going to get up to-day and dress." + +He turned and stretched himself upon his bed; so, finally, he slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE MAN HUNT + +The rolling, ravine-gullied land where Harriet had left Eaton was +wooded thickly with oaks, maples and ash; the ground between these +trees was clear of undergrowth upon the higher parts of the land, but +its lower stretches and the ravines themselves were shrouded with +closely growing bushes rising higher than a man's waist, and, where +they grew rankest, higher than a man's head. In summer, when trees and +bushes were covered with leaves, this underbrush offered cover where a +man could conceal himself perfectly; now, in the early spring before +the trees had even budded, that man would be visible for some distance +by day and nearly as clearly visible by night if the headlights of the +motor-cars chanced to shine into the woods. + +Eaton, fully realizing this chance as he left Harriet, had plunged +through the bushes to conceal himself in the ravine. The glare from +the burning bridge lighted the ravine for only a little way; Eaton had +gained the bottom of the ravine beyond the point where this light would +have made him visible and had made the best speed he could along it +away from the lights and voices on the road. This speed was not very +great; his stockinged feet sank to their ankles in the soft mud of the +ravine; and when, realizing that he was leaving a trace easily followed +even by lantern-light, he clambered to the steep side and tried to +travel along its slope, he found his progress slower still. In the +darkness he crashed sometimes full against the tree-trunks; bushes +which he could not see seized and held him, ripping and tearing at his +clothes; invisible, fallen saplings tripped him, and he stepped into +unseen holes which threw him headlong, so that twice he rolled clear to +the bottom of the ravine with fierce, hot pains which nearly deprived +him of his senses shooting through his wounded shoulder. + +When he had made, as he thought, fully three quarters of a mile in this +way and must be, allowing for the winding of the ravine, at least half +a mile from his pursuers, he climbed to the brink of the bank and +looked back. He was not, as he had thought, half a mile from the road; +he was not a quarter of a mile; he could still see plainly the lights +of the three motor-cars upon the road and men moving in the flare of +these lights. He was certain that he had recognized the figure of +Avery among these men. Pursuit of him, however, appeared to have been +checked for the moment; he heard neither voices nor any movement in the +woods. Eaton, panting, threw himself down to recover breath and +strength to think. + +There was no question in Eaton's mind what his fate would be if he +surrendered to, or was captured by, his pursuers. What he had seen in +Santoine's study an hour before was so unbelievable, so completely +undemonstrable unless he himself could prove his story that he felt +that he would receive no credence. Blatchford, who had seen it in the +light in the study, was dead; Santoine, who would have seen it if he +had had eyes, was blind. Eaton, still almost stunned and yet wildly +excited by that sight, felt only, in the mad confusion of his senses, +the futility of telling what he had seen unless he were in a position +to prove it. Those opposed to him would put his statement aside with +the mere answer that he was lying; the most charitably inclined would +think only that what he had been through had driven him insane. + +Besides, Eaton was not at all sure that even if he had attempted to +tell what he had seen he would be allowed to tell it, or, if he +attempted to surrender to the men now pursuing him, he would be allowed +to surrender. Donald Avery was clearly in command of those men and was +directing the pursuit; in Avery, Eaton had recognized an instinctive +enemy from the first; and now, since the polo game, he sensed vaguely +in Avery something more than that. What Avery's exact position was in +regard to himself Eaton was not at all sure; but of Avery's active +hostility he had received full evidence; and he knew now--though how he +knew it was not plain even to himself--that Avery would not allow him +to surrender but that, if he tried to give himself up, the men under +Avery's orders would shoot him down. + +As Eaton watched, the motor, which from its position on the road he +knew must be Harriet's, backed out from the others and went away. The +other motors immediately afterward were turned and followed it. But +Eaton could see that they left behind them a man standing armed near to +the bridge, and that other men, also armed, passed through the light as +they scrambled across the ravine and gained the road on its opposite +side. The motors, too, stopped at intervals and then went on; he +understood that they were posting men to watch the road. He traced the +motor headlights a long way through the dark; one stopped, the other +went on. He remembered vaguely a house near the place where the car he +watched had stopped, and understanding that where there was a house +there was a telephone, he knew that the alarm must be given still more +widely now; men on all sides of him must be turning out to watch the +roads. He knew they did turn out like that when the occasion demanded. + +These waste places bordering upon the lake to north and south of +Chicago, and within easy car-ride of the great city, had been the scene +of many such man-hunts. Hobos, gypsies, broken men thrown off by the +seething city, wandered through them and camped there; startling crimes +took place sometimes in these tiny wildernesses; fugitives from the +city police took refuge there and were hunted down by the local police, +by armed details of the city police, by soldiers from Fort Sheridan. +These fugitives might much better have stayed in the concealment of the +human jungle of the city; these rolling, wooded, sandy vacant lands +which seemed to offer refuge, in reality betrayed only into certain +capture. The local police had learned the method of hunting, they had +learned to watch the roads and railways to prevent escape. + +Eaton understood, therefore, that his own possibility of escape was +very small, even if escape had been his only object; but Eaton's +problem was not one of escape--it was to find those he pursued and make +certain that they were captured at the same time he was; and, as he +crouched panting on the damp earth, he was thinking only of that. + +The man at the bridge--Dibley--had told enough to let Eaton know that +those whom Eaton pursued were no longer in the machine he had followed +with Harriet. As Eaton had rushed out of Santoine's study after the +two that he had fought there, he had seen that one of these men was +supporting and helping the other; he had gained on them because of +that. Then other men had appeared suddenly, to give their help, and he +had no longer been able to gain; but he had been close enough to see +that the one they dragged along and helped into the car was that enemy +whose presence in the study had so amazed him. Mad exultation had +seized Eaton to know that he had seriously wounded his adversary. He +knew now that the man could not have got out of the car by himself--he +was too badly wounded for that; he had been taken out of the car, and +the other men who were missing had him in charge. The three men who +had gone on in the machine had done so for their own escape, but with +the added object of misleading the pursuit; the water they had got at +Dibley's had been to wash the blood from the car. + +And now, as Eaton recalled and realized all this, he knew where the +others had left the machine. Vaguely, during the pursuit, he had +sensed that Harriet was swinging their motor-car in a great circle, +first to the north, then west, then to the south. Two or three miles +back upon the road, before they had made their turn to the south, Eaton +had lost for a few moments the track of the car they had been +following. He had picked it up again at once and before he could speak +of it to Harriet; but now he knew that at that point the car they were +following had left the road, turning off onto the turf at the side and +coming back onto the road a hundred yards beyond. + +This place must be nearly due north of him. The road where he had left +Harriet ran north and south; to go north he must parallel this road, +but it was dangerous to move too near to it because it was guarded. +The sky was covered with clouds hiding the stars; the night in the +woods was intensely black except where it was lighted by the fire at +the bridge. To the opposite side, a faint gray glow against the +clouds, which could not be the dawn but must be the reflection of the +electric lights along the public pike which followed the shore of the +lake, gave Eaton inspiration. If he kept this grayness of the clouds +always upon his right, he would be going north. + +The wound in Eaton's shoulder still welled blood each time he moved; he +tore strips from the front of his shirt, knotted them together and +bound his useless left arm tightly to his side. He felt in the +darkness to be sure that there was a fresh clip of cartridges in his +automatic pistol; then he started forward. + +For the first time now he comprehended the almost impossibility of +traveling in the woods on a dark night. To try to walk swiftly was to +be checked after only two or three steps by sharp collision with some +tree-trunk which he could not see before he felt it, or brought to a +full stop by clumps of tangled, thorny bushes which enmeshed him, or to +be tripped or thrown by some inequality of the ground. When he went +round any of these obstacles he lost his sense of direction and wasted +minutes before he could find again the dim light against the eastern +sky which gave him the compass-points. + +As he struggled forward, impatient at these delays, he came several +times upon narrow, unguarded roads and crossed them; at other times the +little wilderness which protected him changed suddenly to a well-kept +lawn where some great house with its garages and out-buildings loomed +ahead, and afraid to cross these open places, he was obliged to retrace +his steps and find a way round. The distance from the bridge to the +place where the three men he was following had got out of their motor, +he had thought to be about two miles; but when he had been traveling +more than an hour, he had not yet reached it. Then, suddenly he came +upon the road for which he was looking; somewhere to the east along it +was the place he sought. He crouched as near to the road as he dared +and where he could look up and down it. This being a main road, was +guarded. A motor-car with armed men in it passed him, and presently +repassed, evidently patroling the road; its lights showed him a man +with a gun standing at the first bend of the road to the east. Eaton +drew further back and moved parallel to the road but far enough away +from it to be hidden. A quarter of a mile further he found a second +man. The motor-car, evidently, was patroling only to this point; +another car was on duty beyond this. As Eaton halted, this second car +approached, and was halted, backed and turned. + +Its headlights, as it turned, swept through the woods and revealed +Eaton. The man standing in the road cried out the alarm and fired at +Eaton point blank; he fired a second and third time. Eaton fled madly +back into the shadow; as he did so, he heard the men crying to one +another and leaping from the car and following him. He found low +ground less thickly wooded, and plunged along it. It was not difficult +to avoid the men in the blackness of the woods; he made a wide circuit +and came back again to the road further on. He could still hear for a +time the sounds of the hunt on the turf. Apparently he had not yet +reached the right spot; he retreated to the woods, went further along +and came back to the road, lying flat upon his face again and waiting +till some other car in passing should give him light to see. + +Eaton, weak and dizzy from his wounds and confused by darkness and his +struggle through the woods, had no exact idea how long it had taken him +to get to this place; but he knew that it could have been hardly less +than two hours since he had left Harriet. The men he was following, +therefore, had that much start of him, and this made him wild with +impatience but did not discourage him. His own wounds, Eaton +understood, made his escape practically impossible, because any one who +saw him would at once challenge and detain him; and the other man was +still more seriously wounded. It was not his escape that Eaton feared; +it was concealment of him. The man had been taken from the car because +his condition was so serious that there was no hope of hiding it; Eaton +thought he must be dead. He expected to find the body concealed under +dead leaves, hurriedly hidden. + +The night had cleared a little; to the north, Eaton could see stars. +Suddenly the road and the leafless bushes at its sides flashed out in +the bright light of a motor-car passing. Eaton strained forward. He +had found the place; there was no doubt a car had turned off the road +some time before and stopped there. The passing of many cars had so +tracked the road that none of the men in the motors seemed to have +noticed anything of significance there; but Eaton saw plainly in the +soft ground at the edge of the woods the footmarks of two men walking +one behind the other. When the car had passed, he crept forward in the +dark and I fingered the distinct heel and toe marks in the soft soil. +For a little distance he could follow them by feeling; then as they led +him into the edge of the woods the ground grew harder and he could no +longer follow them in that way. + +It was plain to him what had occurred; two men had got out of the car +here and had lifted out and carried away a third. He knelt where he +could feel the last footsteps he could detect and looked around. The +gray of the electric lights to the east seemed growing, spreading; +against this lightness in the sky he could see plainly the branches of +the trees; he recognized then that the grayness was the coming of the +dawn. It would be only a few minutes before he could see plainly +enough to follow the tracks. He drew aside into the deeper cover of +some bushes to wait. + +The wound in his shoulder no longer bled, but the pain of it twinged +him through and through; his head throbbed with the hurt there; his +feet were raw and bleeding where sharp roots and branches had cut +through his socks and torn the flesh; his skin was hot and dry with +fever, and his head swam. He followed impatiently the slow whitening +of the east; as soon as he could make out the ground in front of him, +he crept forward again to the tracks. + +There was not yet light enough to see any distance, but Eaton, +accustomed to the darkness and bending close to the ground, could +discern the footmarks even on the harder soil. They led away from the +road into the woods. On the rotted leaves and twigs was a dark stain; +a few steps beyond there was another. The stains had sunk into the +damp ground but were plainer on the leaves; Eaton picking up a leaf and +fingering it, knew that they were blood. So the man was not dead when +he had been lifted from the car. But he had been hurt desperately, was +unable to help himself, was probably dying; if there had been any hope +for him, his companions would not be carrying him in this way away from +any chance of surgical attention. + +Eaton followed, as the tracks led through the woods. The men had gone +very slowly, carrying this heavy weight; they had been traveling, as he +himself had traveled, in the dark, afraid to show a light and avoiding +chance of being seen by any one on the roads. They had been as +uncertain of their road as he had been of his, but the general trend of +their travel was toward the east, and this evidently was the direction +in which they wished to go. They had stopped frequently to rest and +had laid their burden down. Then suddenly he came to a place where +plainly a longer halt had been made. + +The ground was trampled around this spot; when the tracks went on they +were changed in character. The two men were still carrying the +third--a heavy man whose weight strained them and made their feet sink +in deeply where the ground was soft. But now they were not careful how +they carried him, but went forward merely as though bearing a dead +weight. Now, too, no more stains appeared on the brown leaves where +they had passed; their burden no longer bled. Eaton, realizing what +this meant, felt neither exultation nor surprise. He had known that +the man they carried, though evidently alive when taken from the car, +was dying. But now he watched the tracks more closely even than +before, looking for them to show him where the men had got rid of their +burden. + +It had grown easier to follow the tracks with the increase of the +light, but the danger that he would be seen had also grown greater. He +was obliged to keep to the hollows; twice, when he ventured onto the +higher ground, he saw motor-cars passing at a distance, but near enough +so that those in them could have seen him if they had been looking his +way. Once he saw at the edge of the woods a little group of armed men. +His dizziness and weakness from the loss of blood was increasing; he +became confused at times and lost the tracks. He went forward slowly +then, examining each clump of bushes, each heap of dead leaves, to see +whether the men had hidden in them that of which he was in search; but +always when he found the tracks again their character showed him that +the men were still carrying their burden. The tracks seemed fresher +now; in spite of his weakness he was advancing much faster than the +others had been able to do in the darkness and heavily laden. As near +as he could tell, the men had passed just before dawn. Suddenly he +came upon the pike which ran parallel to the line of the lake, some +hundred yards back from the shore. + +He shrank back, throwing himself upon his face in the bushes; the men +evidently had crossed this pike. Full day had come, and as Eaton +peered out and up and down the road, he saw no one; this road appeared +unguarded. Eaton, assured no one was in sight, leaped up and crossed +the road. As he reached its further side, a boy carrying a fishpole +appeared suddenly from behind some bushes. He stared at Eaton; then, +terrified by Eaton's appearance, he dropped the fishpole and fled +screaming up the road. Eaton stared dazedly after him for a fraction +of an instant, then plunged into the cover. He found the tracks again, +and followed them dizzily. + +But the boy had given the alarm. Eaton heard the whirring of motors on +the road and men shouting to one another; then he heard them beating +through the bushes. The noise was at some distance; evidently the boy +in his fright and confusion had not directed the men to the exact spot +where Eaton had entered the woods or they in their excitement had +failed to understand him. But the sounds were drawing nearer. Eaton, +exhausted and dizzy, followed feverishly the footmarks on the ground. +It could not be far now--the men could not have carried their burden +much further than this. They must have hidden it somewhere near here. +He would find it near by--must find it before these others found him. +But now he could see men moving among the tree-trunks. He threw +himself down among some bushes, burrowing into the dead leaves. The +men passed him, one so close that Eaton could have thrown a twig and +hit him. Eaton could not understand why the man did not see him, but +he did not; the man stopped an instant studying the footmarks imprinted +in the earth; evidently they had no significance for him, for he went +on. + +When the searchers had passed out of sight, Eaton sprang up and +followed the tracks again. They were distinct here, plainly printed, +and he followed easily. He could hear men all about him, out of sight +but calling to one another in the woods. All at once he recoiled, +throwing himself down again upon the ground. The clump of bushes +hiding him ended abruptly only a few yards away; through their bare +twigs, but far below him, the sunlight twinkled, mockingly, at him from +the surface of water. It was the lake! + +Eaton crept forward to the edge of the steep bluff, following the +tracks. He peered over the edge. The tracks did not stop at the edge +of the bluff; they went on down it. The steep sandy precipice was +scarred where the men, still bearing their burden, had slipped and +scrambled down it. The marks crossed the shingle sixty feet below; +they were deeply printed in the wet sand down to the water's very edge. +There they stopped. + +Eaton had not expected this. He stared, worn out and with his senses +in confusion, and overcome by his physical weakness. The sunlit water +only seemed to mock and laugh at him--blue, rippling under the breeze +and bearing no trail. It was quite plain what had occurred; the wet +sand below was trampled by the feet of three or four men and cut by a +boat's bow. They had taken the body away with them in the boat. To +sink it somewhere weighted with heavy stones in the deep water? Or had +it been carried away on that small, swift vessel Eaton had seen from +Santoine's lawn? In either case, Eaton's search was hopeless now. + +But it could not be so; it must not be so! Eaton's eyes searched +feverishly the shore and the lake. But there was nothing in sight upon +either. He crept back from the edge of the bluff, hiding beside a +fallen log banked with dead leaves. What was it he had said to +Harriet? "I will come back to you--as you have never known me before!" +He rehearsed the words in mockery. How would he return to her now? As +he moved, a fierce, hot pain from the clotted wound in his shoulder +shot him through and through with agony and the silence and darkness of +unconsciousness overwhelmed him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +NOT EATON--OVERTON + +Santoine awoke at five o'clock. The messenger whom he had despatched a +few hours earlier had not yet returned. The blind man felt strong and +steady; he had food brought him; while he was eating it, his messenger +returned. Santoine saw the man alone and, when he had dismissed him, +he sent for his daughter. + +Harriet had waited helplessly at the house all day. All day the house +had been besieged. The newspaper men--or most of them--and the crowds +of the curious could be kept off; but others--neighbors, friends of her +father's or their wives or other members of their families--claimed +their prerogative of intrusion and question in time of trouble. Many +of those who thus gained admittance were unused to the flattery of +reporter's questions; and from their interviews, sensations continued +to grow. + +The stranger in Santoine's house--the man whom no one knew and who had +given his name as Philip Eaton--in all the reports was proclaimed the +murderer. The first reports in the papers had assailed him; the +stories of the afternoon papers became a public clamour for his quick +capture, trial and execution. The newspapers had sent the idle and the +sensation seekers, with the price of carfare to the country place, to +join the pack roaming the woods for Eaton. Harriet, standing at a +window, could see them beating through the trees beyond the house; and +as she watched them, wild, hot anger against them seized her. She +longed to rush out and strike them and shame them and drive them away. + +The village police station called her frequently on the telephone to +inform her of the progress of the hunt. Twice, they told her, Eaton +had been seen, but both times he had avoided capture; they made no +mention of his having been fired upon. Avery, in charge of the pursuit +in the field, was away all day; he came in only for a few moments at +lunch time and then Harriet avoided him. As the day progressed, the +pursuit had been systematized; the wooded spots which were the only +ones that Eaton could have reached unobserved from the places where he +had been seen, had been surrounded. They were being searched carefully +one by one. Through the afternoon, Harriet kept herself informed of +this search; there was no report that Eaton had been seen again, but +the places where he could be grew steadily fewer. + +The day had grown toward dusk, when a servant brought her word that her +father wished to see her. Harriet went up to him fearfully. The blind +man seemed calm and quiet; a thin, square packet lay on the bed beside +him; he held it out to her without speaking. + +She snatched it in dread; the shape of the packet and the manner in +which it was fastened told her it must be a photograph. "Open it," her +father directed. + +She snapped the string and tore off the paper. + +She stared at it, and her breath left her; she held it and stared and +stared, sobbing now as she breathed. The photograph was of Hugh, but +it showed him as she had never seen or known him; the even, direct +eyes, the good brow, the little lift of the head were his; he was +younger in the picture--she was seeing him when he was hardly more than +a boy. But it was a boy to whom something startling, amazing, horrible +had happened, numbing and dazing him so that he could only stare out +from the picture in frightened, helpless defiance. That oppression +which she had felt in him had just come upon him; he was not yet used +to bearing what had happened; it seemed incredible and unbearable to +him; she felt instinctively that he had been facing, when this picture +was taken, that injustice which had changed him into the +self-controlled, watchful man that she had known. + +So, as she contrasted this man with the boy that he had been, her love +and sympathy for him nearly overpowered her. She clutched the picture +to her, pressed it against her cheek; then suddenly conscious that her +emotion might be audible to her father, she quickly controlled herself. + +"What is it you want to know, Father?" she asked. + +"You have answered me already what I was going to ask, my dear," he +said to her quietly. + +"What, Father?" + +"That is the picture of Eaton?" + +"Yes." + +"I thought so." + +She tried to assure herself of the shade of the meaning in her father's +tone; but she could not. She understood that her recognition of the +picture had satisfied him in regard to something over which he had been +in doubt; but whether this was to work in favor of Hugh and +herself--she thought of herself now inseparably with Hugh--or whether +it threatened them, she could not tell. + +"Father, what does this mean?" she cried to him. + +"What, dear?" + +"Your having the picture. Where did you get it?" + +Her father made no reply; she repeated it till he granted, "I knew +where it might be. I sent for it." + +"But--but, Father--" It came to her now that her father must know who +Hugh was. "Who--" + +"I know who he is now," her father said calmly. "I will tell you when +I can." + +"When you can?" + +"Yes," he said. He was still an instant; she waited. "Where is +Avery?" he asked her, as though his mind had gone to another subject +instantly. + +"He has not been in, I believe, since noon." + +"He is overseeing the search for Eaton?" + +"Yes." + +"Send for him. Tell him I wish to see him here at the house; he is to +remain within the house until I have seen him." + +Something in her father's tone startled and perplexed her; she thought +of Donald now only as the most eager and most vindictive of Eaton's +pursuers. Was her father removing Donald from among those seeking +Eaton? Was he sending for him because what he had just learned was +something which would make more rigorous and desperate the search? The +blind man's look and manner told her nothing. + +"You mean Donald is to wait here until you send for him, Father?" + +"That is it." + +It was the blind man's tone of dismissal. He seemed to have forgotten +the picture; at least, as his daughter moved toward the door, he gave +no direction concerning it. She halted, looking back at him. She +would not carry the picture away, secretly, like this. She was not +ashamed of her love for Eaton; whatever might be said or thought of +him, she trusted him; she was proud of her love for him. + +"May I take the picture?" she asked steadily. + +"Do whatever you want with it," her father answered quietly. + +And so she took it with her. She found a servant of whom she inquired +for Avery; he had not returned so she sent for him. She went down to +the deserted library and waited there with the picture of Hugh in her +hand. The day had drawn to dusk. She could no longer see the picture +in the fading light; she could only recall it; and now, as she recalled +it, the picture itself---not her memory of her father's manner in +relation to it--gave her vague discomfort. She got up suddenly, +switched on the light and, holding the picture close to it, studied it. +What it was in the picture that gave her this strange uneasiness quite +separate and distinct from all that she had felt when she first looked +at it, she could not tell; but the more she studied it, the more +troubled and frightened she grew. + +The picture was a plain, unretouched print pasted upon common square +cardboard without photographer's emboss or signature; and printed with +the picture, were four plain, distinct numerals--8253. She did not +know what they meant or if they had any real significance, but somehow +now she was more afraid for Hugh than she had been. She trembled as +she held the picture again to her cheek and then to her lips. + +She turned; some one had come in from the hall; it was Donald. He was +in riding clothes and was disheveled and dusty from leading the men on +horseback through the woods. She saw at her first glance at him that +his search had not yet succeeded and she threw her head back in relief. +Donald seemed to have returned without meeting the servant sent for him +and, seeing the light, he had looked into the library idly; but when he +saw her, he approached her quickly. + +"What have you there?" he demanded of her. + +She flushed at the tone. "What right have you to ask?" Her instant +impulse had been to conceal the picture, but that would make it seem +she was ashamed of it; she held it so Donald could see it if he looked. +He did look and suddenly seized the picture from her. + +"Don!" she cried at him. + +He stared at the picture and then up at her. "Where did you get this, +Harriet?" + +"Don!" + +"Where did you get it?" he repeated. "Are you ashamed to say?" + +"Ashamed? Father gave it to me!" + +"Your father!" Avery started; but if anything had caused him +apprehension, it instantly disappeared. "Then didn't he tell you who +this man Eaton is?" + +His tone terrified her, made her confused; she snatched for the picture +but he held it from her. "Didn't he tell you what this picture is?" + +"What?" she repeated. + +"What did he say to you?" + +"He got the picture and had me see it; he asked me if it was--Mr. +Eaton. I told him yes." + +"And then didn't he tell you who Eaton was?" Avery iterated. + +"What do you mean, Don?" + +He put the picture down on the table beside him and, as she rushed for +it, he seized both her hands and held her before him. "Harry, dear!" +he said to her. "Harry, dear--" + +"Don't call me that! Don't speak to me that way!" + +"Why not?" + +"I don't want you to." + +"Why not?" + +She struggled to free herself from him. + +"I know, of course," he said. "It's because of him." He jerked his +head toward the picture on the table; the manner made her furious. + +"Let me go, Don!" + +"I'm sorry, dear." He drew her to him, held her only closer. + +"Don; Father wants to see you! He wanted to know when he came in; he +will let you know when you can go to him." + +"When did he tell you that?" + +"Just now." + +"When he gave you the picture?" + +"Yes." + +Avery had almost let her go; now he held her hard again. "Then he +wanted me to tell you about this Eaton." + +"Why should he have you tell me about--Mr. Eaton?" + +"You know!" he said to her. + +She shrank and turned her head away and shut her eyes not to see him. +And he was the man whom, until some strange moment a few days ago, she +had supposed she was some time to marry. Amazement burned through her +now at the thought; because this man had been well looking, fairly +interesting and amusing and got on well both with her father and +herself and because he cared for her, she had supposed she could marry +him. His assertion of his right to intimacy with her revolted her, and +his confidence that he had ability, by something he might reveal, to +take her from Eaton and bring her back within reach of himself. + +Or wasn't it merely that? She twisted in his arms until she could see +his face and stared at him. His look and manner were full of purpose; +he was using terms of endearment toward her more freely than he ever +had dared to use them before; and it was not because of love for her, +it was for some purpose or through some necessity of his own that he +was asserting himself like this. + +So she ceased to struggle against him, only drawing away from him as +far as she could and staring at him, prepared, before she asked her +question, to deny and reject his answer, no matter what it was. + +"What have you to say about him, Donald?" + +"Harry, you haven't come to really care for him; it was just madness, +dear, only a fancy, wasn't it?" + +"What have you to say about him?" + +"You must never think of him again, dear; you must forget him forever!" + +"Why?" + +"Harry--" + +"Donald, I am not a child. If you have something to say which you +consider hard for me to hear, tell it to me at once." + +"Very well. Perhaps that is best. Dear, either this man whom you have +known as Eaton will never be found or, if he is found, he cannot be let +to live. You understand?" + +"Why? For the shooting of Cousin Wallace? He never did that! I don't +believe that; I don't think Father believes that; you'll never make any +jury believe that. So if that's all you have to tell me, let me go!" + +She struggled again but Avery held her. "I was not talking about that; +that's not necessary--to bring that against him." + +"Necessary?" + +"No; nor is it necessary, if he is caught, even to bring him before a +jury. That's been done already, you see." + +"Done already?" + +Avery nodded again toward the photograph on the table. "Yes, Harry, +have you never seen a picture with the numbers printed in below like +that? Can't you guess yet where your father must have sent for that +picture? Don't you know what those numbers mean?" + +"What do they mean?" + +"They are the figures of his number in what is called 'The Rogue's +Gallery'; now have you heard of it?" + +"Go on." + +"And they mean he has committed a crime and been tried and convicted of +it; they mean in this case that he has committed a murder!" + +"A murder!" + +"For which he was convicted and sentenced." + +"Sentenced!" + +"Yes; and is alive now only because before the sentence could be +carried out, he escaped. That man, Philip Eaton, is Hugh--" + +"Hugh!" + +"Hugh Overton, Harry!" + +"Hugh Overton!" + +"Yes; I found it out to-day. The police have just learned it, too. I +was coming to tell your father. He's Hugh Overton, the murderer of +Matthew Latron!" + +Harriet fought herself free. Denial, revolt stormed in her. "It isn't +so!" she cried. "He is not that man! Hugh--his name is Hugh; but he +is not Hugh Overton. Mr. Warden said Hugh--this Hugh had been greatly +wronged--terribly wronged. Mr. Warden tried to help Hugh even at the +risk of his own life. He would not--nobody would have tried to help +Hugh Overton!" + +"Mr. Warden probably had been deceived." + +"No; no!" + +"Yes, Harry; for this man is certainly Hugh Overton." + +"It isn't so! I know it isn't so!" + +"You mean he told you he was--some one else, Harry?" + +"No; I mean--" She faced him defiantly. "Father let me keep the +photograph! I asked him, and he said, 'Do whatever you wish with it.' +He knew I meant to keep it! He knows who Hugh is, so he would not have +said that, if--if--" + +She heard a sound behind her and turned. Her father had come into the +room. And as she saw his manner and his face she knew that what Avery +had just told her was the truth. She shrank away from them. Her hands +went to her face and hid it. + +So this was that unknown thing which had stood between herself and +Hugh--that something which she had seen a hundred times check the +speech upon his lips and chill his manner toward her! Hadn't Hugh +himself told her--or almost told her it was something of that sort? He +had said to her on the train, when she urged him to defend himself +against the charge of having attacked her father, "If I told them who I +am, that would make them only more certain their charge is true; it +would condemn me without a hearing!" And his being Hugh Overton +explained everything. + +She knew now why it was that her father, on hearing Hugh's voice, had +become curious about him, had tried to place the voice in his +recollection--the voice of a prisoner on trial for his life, heard only +for an instant but fixed upon his mind by the circumstances attending +it, though those circumstances afterward had been forgotten. She knew +why she, when she had gazed at the picture a few minutes before, had +been disturbed and frightened at feeling it to be a kind of picture +unfamiliar to her and threatening her with something unknown and +terrible. She knew the reason now for a score of things Hugh had said +to her, for the way he had looked many times when she had spoken to +him. It explained all that! It seemed to her, in the moment, to +explain everything--except one thing. It did not explain Hugh himself; +the kind of man he was, the kind of man she knew him to be--the man she +loved--he could not be a murderer! + +Her hands dropped from her face; she threw her head back proudly and +triumphantly, as she faced now both Avery and her father. + +"He, the murderer of Mr. Latron!" she cried quietly. "It isn't so!" + +The blind man was very pale; he was fully dressed. A servant had +supported him and helped him down the stairs and still stood beside him +sustaining him. But the will which had conquered his disability of +blindness was holding him firmly now against the disability of his +hurts; he seemed composed and steady. She saw compassion for her in +his look; and compassion--under the present circumstances--terrified +her. Stronger, far more in control of him than his compassion for her, +she saw purpose. She recognized that her father had come to a decision +upon which he now was going to act; she knew that nothing she or any +one else could say would alter that decision and that he would employ +his every power in acting upon it. + +The blind man seemed to check himself an instant in the carrying out of +his purpose; he turned his sightless eyes toward her. There was +emotion in his look; but, except that this emotion was in part pity for +her, she could not tell exactly what his look expressed. + +"Will you wait for me outside, Harriet?" he said to her. "I shall not +be long." + +She hesitated; then she felt suddenly the futility of opposing him and +she passed him and went out into the hall. The servant followed her, +closing the door behind him. She stood just outside the door +listening. She heard her father--she could catch the tone; she could +not make out the words--asking a question; she heard the sound of +Avery's response. She started back nearer the door and put her hand on +it to open it; inside they were still talking. She caught Avery's tone +more clearly now, and it suddenly terrified her. She drew back from +the door and shrank away. There had been no opposition to Avery in her +father's tone; she was certain now that he was only discussing with +Avery what they were to do. + +She had waited nearly half an hour, but the library door had not been +opened again. The closeness of the hall seemed choking her; she went +to the front door and threw it open. The evening was clear and cool; +but it was not from the chill of the air that she shivered as she gazed +out at the woods through which she had driven with Hugh the night +before. There the hunt for him had been going on all day; there she +pictured him now, in darkness, in suffering, alone, hurt, hunted and +with all the world but her against him! + +She ran down the steps and stood on the lawn. The vague noises of the +house now no longer were audible. She stood in the silence of the +evening strained and fearfully listening. At first there seemed to be +no sound outdoors other than the gentle rush of the waves on the beach +at the foot of the bluff behind her; then, in the opposite direction, +she defined the undertone of some faraway confusion. Sometimes it +seemed to be shouting, next only a murmur of movement and noise. She +ran up the road a hundred yards in its direction and halted again. The +noise was nearer and clearer--a confusion of motor explosions and +voices; and now one sound clattered louder and louder and leaped nearer +rapidly and rose above the rest, the roar of a powerful motor car +racing with "cut-out" open. The rising racket of it terrified Harriet +with its recklessness and triumph. Yes; that was it; triumph! The +far-off tumult was the noise of shouts and cries of triumph; the racing +car, blaring its way through the night, was the bearer of news of +success of the search. + +Harriet went colder as she knew this; then she ran up the road to meet +the car coming. She saw the glare of its headlights through the trees +past a bend in the road; she ran on and the beams of the car's +headlight straightened and glared down the road directly upon her. The +car leaped at her; she ran on toward it, arms in the air. The clatter +of the car became deafening and the machine was nearly upon her when +the driver recognized that the girl in the road was heedless and might +throw herself before him unless he stopped. He brought his car up +short and skidding. "What is it?" he cried, as he muffled the engine. + +"What is it? What is it?" she cried in return. + +The man recognized her. "Miss Santoine!" + +"What is it?" + +"We've got him!" the man cried. "We've got him!" + +"Him?" + +"Him! Hugh Overton! Eaton, Miss Santoine. He's Hugh Overton; hadn't +you heard? And we've got him!" + +"Got him!" + +She seemed to the man not to understand; and he had not time to explain +further even to her. "Where is Mr. Avery?" he demanded. "I've got to +tell Mr. Avery." + +She made no response but threw herself in front of the car and clasped +a wheel as the man started to throw in his gear. He cried to her and +tried to get her off; but she was deaf to him. He looked in the +direction of the house, shut off his power and leaped down. He left +the machine and ran on the road toward the house. Harriet waited until +he was away, then she sprang to the seat; she started the car and +turned it back in the direction from which it had come. She speeded +and soon other headlights flared at hers--a number of them; four or +five cars, at least, were in file up the road and men were crowding and +horsemen were riding beside them. + +The captors of Hugh were approaching in triumphal procession. Harriet +felt the wild, savage impulse to hurl her racing car headlong and at +full speed among them. She rushed on so close that she saw she alarmed +them; they cried a warning; the horsemen and the men on foot jumped +from beside the road and the leading car swung to one side; but Harriet +caught her car on the brakes and swung it straight across the road and +stopped it; she closed the throttle and pulled the key from the +starting mechanism and flung it into the woods. So she sat in the car, +waiting for the captors of Hugh to come up. + +These appreciated the hostility of her action without yet recognizing +her. The motors stopped; the men on foot closed around. One of them +cried her name and men descended from the leading car. Harriet got +down from her machine and met them. The madness of the moments past +was gone; as the men addressed her with astonishment but with respect, +she gazed at them coolly. + +"Where is he?" she asked them. "Where is he?" + +They did not tell her; but reply was unnecessary. Others' eyes pointed +hers to Hugh. He was in the back seat of the second machine with two +men, one on each side of him. The lights from the car following and +the refractions from the other lights showed him to her. He was +sitting, or was being held, up straight; his arms were down at his +sides. She could not see whether they were tied or not. The light did +not shine so as to let her see his face clearly; but his bearing was +calm, he held his head up. She looked for his hurts; there seemed to +be bandages on his head but some one had given him a large cap which +was pulled down so as to conceal the bandages. Plainly there had been +no other capture; excitement was all centered upon him. Harriet heard +people telling her name to others; and the newspaper men, who seemed to +be all about, pushed back those who would interfere with her reaching +the second machine. + +She disregarded them and every one else but Hugh, who had seen her and +had kept his gaze steadily upon her as she approached. She stopped at +the side of the car where he was and she put her hand on the edge of +the tonneau. + +"You have been hurt again, Hugh?" she managed steadily. + +"Hurt? No," he said as constrainedly. "No." + +A blinding flare and an explosion startled her about. It was only a +flashlight fired by one of the newspaper photographers who had placed +his camera during the halt. Harriet opened the door to the tonneau. +Two men occupied the seats in the middle of the car; it was a large, +seven passenger machine. "I will take this seat, please," she said to +the man nearer. He got out and she sat down. Those who had been +trying to start the car which she had driven across the road, had given +up the task and were pushing it away to one side. Harriet sat down in +front of Eaton--it was still by that name she thought of him; her +feelings refused the other name, though she knew now it was his real +one. She understood now her impulse which had driven her to try to +block the road to her father's house if only for a moment; they were +taking him there to deliver him up to Avery--to her father--who were +consulting there over what his fate was to be. + +She put her hand on his; his fingers closed upon it, but after his +first response to her grasp he made no other; and now, as the lights +showed him to her more clearly, she was terrified to see how unable he +was to defend himself against anything that might be done to him. His +calmness was the calmness of exhaustion; his left arm was bound tightly +to his side; his eyes, dim and blank with pain and weariness, stared +only dully, dazedly at all around. + +The car started, and she sat silent, with her hand still upon his, as +they went on to her father's house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE FLAW IN THE LEFT EYE + +Santoine, after Harriet had left the library, stood waiting until he +heard the servant go out and close the door; he had instructed the man +and another with him to remain in the hall. The blind man felt no +physical weakness; he was wholly absorbed in the purpose for which he +had dressed and come downstairs; now, as he heard Avery start forward +to help him, he motioned him back. It was the rule in Santoine's house +that the furniture in the rooms he frequented should be kept always in +the same positions; the blind man could move about freely, therefore, +in these rooms. + +He walked slowly now to a large chair beside the table in the center of +the room and sat down, resting his arm on the table; when he felt the +familiar smoothness of the table under his finger-tips he knew he was +facing the part of the room where the sound he had just heard had told +him Avery must be. + +"When did you learn that Eaton was Hugh Overton, Avery?" he asked. + +"To-day." + +"How did you discover it?" + +He heard Avery, who had been standing, come forward and seat himself on +the arm of the chair across the table from him; the blind man turned to +face this place directly. + +"It was plain from the first there was something wrong with the man," +Avery replied; "but I had, of course, no way of placing him until he +gave himself away at polo the other day." + +"At polo? Then you knew about it the other day?" + +"Oh, no," Avery denied. "I saw that he was pretending not to know a +game which he did know; when he put over one particular stroke I was +sure he knew the game very well. The number of men in this country +who've played polo at all isn't very large and those who can play great +polo are very few. So I sent for the polo annuals for a few years +back; the ones I wanted came to the club to-day. His picture is in the +group of the Spring Meadows Club; he played 'back' for them five years +ago. His name was under the picture, of course." + +"You didn't tell me, however, that he could play polo when you first +found it out." + +"No; I wanted to be sure of him before I spoke; besides, Harriet had +seen it as well as I; I supposed she had told you." + +"I understand. I am glad to know how it was. One less certain of your +fidelity than I am might have put another construction on your silence; +one less certain, Avery, might have thought that, already knowing +Eaton's identity, you preferred instead of telling it to me to have me +discover it for myself and so, for that reason, you trapped him into a +polo game in Harriet's presence. I, myself, do not think that. The +other possibility which might occur to one not certain of your fidelity +we will not now discuss." + +For a moment Santoine paused; the man across from him did not speak, +but--Santoine's intuition told him--drew himself suddenly together +against some shock; the blind man felt that Avery was watching him now +with tense questioning. + +"Of course," said Santoine, "knowing who Eaton is, gives us no aid in +determining who the men were that fought with him in my study last +night?" + +"It gives none to me, Mr. Santoine," Avery said steadily. + +"It gives none to you," Santoine repeated; "and the very peculiar +behavior of the stock exchange to-day, I suppose that gives you no help +either. All day they have been going down, Avery--the securities, the +stocks and bonds of the properties still known as the Latron +properties; the very securities which five years ago stood staunch +against even the shock of the death of the man whose coarse but +powerful personality had built them up into the great properties they +are to-day--of Matthew Latron's death. To-day, without apparent +reason, they have been going down, and that gives you no help either, +Avery?" + +"I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir." + +"Yet you are a very clever man, Avery; there is no question about that. +Your friend and my friend who sent you to me five years ago was quite +correct in calling you clever; I have found you so; I have been willing +to pay you a good salary--a very good salary--because you are clever." + +"I'm glad if you have found my work satisfactory, Mr. Santoine." + +"I have even found it worth while at times to talk over with you +matters--problems--which were troubling me; to consult with you. Have +I not?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well; I am going to consult with you now. I have an infirmity, +as you know, Avery; I am blind. I have just found out that for several +years--for about five years, to be exact; that is, for about the same +length of time that you have been with me--my blindness has been used +by a certain group of men to make me the agent of a monstrous and +terrible injustice to an innocent man. Except for my blindness--except +for that, Avery, this injustice never could have been carried on. If +you find a certain amount of bitterness in my tone, it is due to that; +a man who has an infirmity, Avery, cannot well help being a little +sensitive in regard to it. You are willing I should consult with you +in regard to this?" + +"Of course I am at your service, Mr. Santoine." Avery's voice was +harsh and dry. + +The blind man was silent for an instant. He could feel the uneasiness +and anxiety of the man across from him mounting swiftly, and he gave it +every opportunity to increase. He had told Eaton once that he did not +use "cat and mouse" methods; he was using them now because that was the +only way his purpose could be achieved. + +"We must go back, then, Avery, to the quite serious emergency to which +I am indebted for your faithful service. It is fairly difficult now +for one contemplating the reverence and regard in which 'big' men are +held by the public in these days of business reconstruction to recall +the attitude of only a few years ago. However, it is certainly true +that five years ago the American people appeared perfectly convinced +that the only way to win true happiness and perpetuate prosperity was +to accuse, condemn and jail for life--if execution were not legal--the +heads of the important groups of industrial properties. Just at that +time, one of these men--one of the most efficient but also, perhaps, +the one personally most obnoxious or unpopular--committed one of his +gravest indiscretions. It concerned the private use of deposits in +national banks; it was a federal offense of the most patent and +provable kind. He was indicted. Considering the temper of any +possible jury at that time, there was absolutely no alternative but to +believe that the man under indictment must spend many succeeding years, +if not the rest of his life, in the Federal penitentiary at Atlanta or +Leavenworth. + +"Now, not only the man himself but his closest associates contemplated +this certainty with dismay. The man was in complete control of a group +of the most valuable and prosperous properties in America. Before his +gaining control, the properties had been almost ruined by differences +between the minor men who tried to run them; only the calling of +Matthew Latron into control saved those men from themselves; they +required him to govern them; his taking away would bring chaos and ruin +among them again. They knew that. There were a number of important +people, therefore, who held hope against hope that Latron would not be +confined in a prison cell. Just before he must go to trial, Latron +himself became convinced that he faced confinement for the rest of his +life; then fate effectively intervened to end all his troubles. His +body, charred and almost consumed by flames--but nevertheless the +identified body of Matthew Latron--was found in the smoking ruins of +his shooting lodge which burned to the ground two days before his +trial. I have stated correctly these particulars, have I not, Avery?" + +"Yes." Avery was no longer sitting on the arm of the chair; he had +slipped into the seat--he was hunched in the seat watching the blind +man with growing conviction and fear. + +"There were, of course," Santoine went on, "many of the violent and +passion-inflamed who carped at this timely intervention of fate and +criticised the accident which delivered Latron at this time. But these +were silenced when Latron's death was shown to have been, not accident, +but murder. A young man was shown to have followed Latron to the +shooting lodge; a witness appeared who had seen this young man shoot +Latron; a second witness had seen him set fire to the lodge. The young +man--Hugh Overton--was put on trial for his life. I, myself, as a +witness at the trial, supplied the motive for the crime; for, though I +had never met Overton, I knew that he had lost the whole of a large +fortune through investments recommended to him by Latron. Overton was +convicted, sentenced to death; he escaped before the sentence was +carried out--became a fugitive without a name, who if he ever +reappeared would be handed over for execution. For the evidence had +been perfect--complete; he had shot Latron purely for revenge, killed +him in the most despicable manner. For there was no doubt Latron was +dead, was there, Avery?" + +Santoine waited for reply. + +"What?" Avery said huskily. + +"I say there was no doubt Latron was dead?" + +"None." + +"That was the time you came into my employ, Avery, recommended to me by +one of the men who had been closest to Latron. I was not connected +with the Latron properties except as an adviser; but many papers +relating to them must go inevitably through my hands. I was rather on +the inside in all that concerned those properties. But I could not +myself see the papers; I was blind; therefore, I had to have others +serve as eyes for me. And from the first, Avery, you served as my eyes +in connection with all papers relating to the Latron properties. If +anything ever appeared in those papers which might have led me to +suspect that any injustice had been done in the punishment of Latron's +murderer, it could reach me only through you. Nothing of that sort +ever did reach me, Avery. You must have made quite a good thing out of +it." + +"What?" + +"I say, your position here must have been rather profitable to you, +Avery; I have not treated you badly myself, recognizing that you must +often be tempted by gaining information here from which you might make +money; and your other employers must have overbid me." + +"I don't understand; I beg your pardon, Mr. Santoine, but I do not +follow what you are talking about." + +"No? Then we must go a little further. This last year a minor +reorganization became necessary in some of the Latron properties. My +friend, Gabriel Warden--who was an honest man, Avery--had recently +greatly increased his interest in those properties; it was inevitable +the reorganization should be largely in his hands. I remember now +there was opposition to his share in it; the fact made no impression on +me at the time; opposition is common in all things. During his work +with the Latron properties, Warden--the honest man, Avery--discovered +the terrible injustice of which I speak. + +"I suspect there were discrepancies in the lists of stockholders, +showing a concealed ownership of considerable blocks of stock, which +first excited his suspicions. Whatever it may have been Warden +certainly investigated further; his investigation revealed to him the +full particulars of the injustice done to the nameless fugitive who had +been convicted as the murderer of Matthew Latron. Evidently this +helpless, hopeless man had been thought worth watching by some one, for +Warden's discoveries gave him also Overton's address. Warden risked +and lost his life trying to help Overton. + +"I do not need to draw your attention, Avery, to the very peculiar +condition which followed Warden's death. Warden had certainly had +communication with Overton of some sort; Overton's enemies, therefore, +were unable to rid themselves of him by delivering him up to the police +because they did not know how much Overton knew. When I found that +Warden had made me his executor and I went west and took charge of his +affairs, their difficulties were intensified, for they did not dare to +let suspicion of what had been done reach me. There was no course open +to them, therefore, but to remove Overton before my suspicions were +aroused, even if it could be done only at desperate risk to themselves. + +"What I am leading up to, Avery, is your own connection with these +events. You looked after your own interests rather carefully, I think, +up to a certain point. When--knowing who Eaton was--you got him into a +polo game, it was so that, if your interests were best served by +exposing him, you could do so without revealing the real source of your +knowledge of him. But an unforeseen event arose. The drafts and lists +relating to the reorganization of the Latron properties--containing the +very facts, no doubt, which first had aroused Warden's suspicions--were +sent me through Warden's office. At first there was nothing +threatening to you in this, because their contents could reach me only +through you. But in the uncertainty I felt, I had my daughter take +these matters out of your hands; you did not dare then even to ask me +to give them back, for fear that would draw my attention to them and to +you. + +"That night, Avery, you sent an unsigned telegram from the office in +the village; almost within twenty-four hours my study was entered, the +safe inaccessible to you was broken open, the contents were carried +away. The study window had not been forced; it had been left open from +within. Do you suppose I do not know that one of the two men in the +study last night was the principal whose agents had failed in two +attempts to get rid of Overton for him, whose other agent--yourself, +Avery--had failed to intercept the evidence which would have revealed +the truth to me, so that, no longer trusting to agents, he himself had +come in desperation to prevent my learning the facts? I realize fully, +Avery, that by means of you my blindness and my reputation have been +used for five years to conceal from the public the fact that Matthew +Latron had not been murdered, but was still alive!" + +The blind man halted; he had not gone through this long conversation, +with all the strain that it entailed upon himself, without a definite +object; and now, as he listened to Avery's quick breathing and the +nervous tapping of his fingers against the arm of his chair, he +realized that this object was accomplished. Avery not only realized +that the end of deception and concealment had come; he recognized +thoroughly that Santoine would not have spoken until he had certain +proof to back his words. Avery might believe that, as yet, the blind +man had not all the proof in his possession; but Avery knew--as he was +aware that Santoine also knew--that exposure threatened so many men +that some one of them now was certain to come forward to save himself +at the expense of the others. And Avery knew that only one--and the +first one so to come forward--could be saved. + +So Santoine heard Avery now get up; he stood an instant and tried to +speak, but his breath caught nervously; he made another effort. + +"I don't think you have much against me, Mr. Santoine," he managed; it +was--as the blind man had expected--only of himself that Avery was +thinking. + +"No?" Santoine asked quietly. + +"I didn't have anything to do with convicting Overton, or know anything +about it until that part was all over; I never saw him till I saw him +on the train. I didn't know Warden was going to be killed." + +"But you were accessory to the robbery of my house last night and, +therefore, accessory to the murder of Wallace Blatchford. Last night, +too, knowing Overton was innocent of everything charged against him, +you gave orders to fire upon him at sight and he was fired upon. And +what were you telling Harriet when I came in? You have told the police +that Overton is the murderer of Latron. Isn't that so the police will +refuse to believe anything he may say and return him to the death cell +for the sentence to be executed upon him? The law will call these +things attempted murder, Avery." + +The blind man heard Avery pacing the floor, and then heard him stop in +front of him. + +"What is it you want of me, Mr. Santoine?" + +"The little information I still require." + +"You mean you want me to sell the crowd out?" + +"Not that; because I offer you nothing. A number of men are going to +the gallows or the penitentiary for this, Avery, and you--I +suspect--among them; though I also suspect--from what I have learned +about your character in the last few days--that you'll take any means +open to you to avoid sharing their fate." + +"I suppose you mean by that that I'll turn State's evidence if I get a +chance, and that I might as well begin now." + +"That, I should say, is entirely up to you. The charge of what I +know--with the simultaneous arrest of a certain number of men in +different places whom I know must be implicated--will be made +to-morrow. You, perhaps, are a better judge than I of the cohesion of +your group in the contingencies which it will face to-morrow morning. +I offer you nothing now, Avery--no recommendation of clemency--nothing. +If you prefer to have me learn the full facts from the first of another +who breaks, very well." + +Santoine waited. He heard Avery take a few more steps up and down; +then he halted; now he walked again; they were uneven steps as Santoine +heard them; then Avery stopped once more. + +"What is it you want to know, sir?" + +"Who killed Warden?" + +"John Yarrow is his name; he was a sort of hanger-on of Latron's. I +don't know where Latron picked him up." + +"Was it he who also made the attack on the train?" + +"Yes." + +"Who was the other man on the train--the one that claimed the telegram +addressed to Lawrence Hillward?" + +"His name's Hollock. He's the titular owner of the place on the +Michigan shore where Latron has been living. The telegram I sent night +before last was addressed to his place, you know. He's been a sort of +go-between for Latron and the men--those who knew--who were managing +the properties. I'd never met him, though, Mr. Santoine, and I didn't +know either him or Hollock on the train. As I said, I wasn't in the +know about killing Warden." + +"When did you learn who Eaton was, Avery?" + +"The day after we got back here from the West I got word from Latron; +they didn't tell me till they needed to use me." Avery hesitated; then +he went on--he was eager now to tell all he knew in his belief that by +doing so he was helping his own case. "You understand, sir, about +Latron's pretended death--a guide at the shooting lodge had been killed +by a chance shot in the woods; purely accidental; some one of the party +had fired at a deer, missed, and never knew he'd killed a man with the +waste shot. When the guide didn't come back to camp, they looked for +him and found his body. He was a man who never would be missed or +inquired for and was very nearly Latron's size; and that gave Latron +the idea. + +"At first there was no idea of pretending he had been murdered; it was +the coroner who first suggested that. Things looked ugly for a while, +under the circumstances, as they were made public. Either the scheme +might come out or some one else be charged as the murderer. That put +it up to Overton. He'd actually been up there to see Latron and had +had a scene with him which had been witnessed. That part--all but the +evidence which showed that he shot Latron afterwards--was perfectly +true. He thought that Latron, as he was about to go to trial, might be +willing to give him information which would let him save something from +the fortune he'd lost through Latron's manipulations. The +circumstances, motive, everything was ready to convict Overton; it +needed very little more to complete the case against him." + +"So it was completed." + +"But after Overton was convicted, he was not allowed to be punished, +sir." + +Santoine's lips straightened in contempt. "He was not allowed to be +punished?" + +"Overton didn't actually escape, you know, Mr. Santoine--that is, he +couldn't have escaped without help; Latron was thoroughly frightened +and he wanted it carried through and Overton executed; but some of the +others rebelled against this and saw that Overton got away; but he +never knew he'd been helped. I understand it was evidence of Latron's +insistence on the sentence being carried out that Warden found, after +his first suspicions had been aroused, and that put Warden in a +position to have Latron tried for his life, and made it necessary to +kill Warden." + +"Latron is dead, of course, Avery, or fatally wounded?" + +"He's dead. Over--Eaton, that is, sir--hit him last night with three +shots." + +"As a housebreaker engaged in rifling my safe, Avery." + +"Yes, sir. Latron was dying when they took him out of the car last +night. They got him away, though; put him on the boat he'd come on. I +saw them in the woods last night. They'll not destroy the body or make +away with it, sir, at present." + +"In other words, you instructed them not to do so until you had found +out whether Overton could be handed over for execution and the facts +regarding Latron kept secret, or whether some other course was +necessary." + +The blind man did not wait for any answer to this; he straightened +suddenly, gripping the arms of his chair, and got up. There was more +he wished to ask; in the bitterness he felt at his blindness having +been used to make him an unconscious agent in these things of which +Avery spoke so calmly, he was resolved that no one who had shared +knowingly in them should go unpunished. But now he heard the noise +made by approach of Eaton's captors. He had noted it a minute or more +earlier; he was sure now that it was definitely nearing the house. He +crossed to the window, opened it and stood there listening; the people +outside were coming up the driveway. Santoine went into the hall. + +"Where is Miss Santoine?" he inquired. + +The servant who waited in the hall told him she had gone out. As +Santoine stood listening, the sounds without became coherent to him. + +"They have taken Overton, Avery," he commented. "Of course they have +taken no one else. I shall tell those in charge of him that he is not +the one they are to hold prisoner but that I have another for them +here." + +The blind man heard no answer from Avery. Those having Overton in +charge seemed to be coming into the house; the door opened and there +were confused sounds. Santoine stood separating the voices. + +"What is it?" he asked the servant. + +"Mr. Eaton--Mr. Overton, sir--fainted as they were taking him out of +the motor-car, sir. He seems much done up, sir." + +Santoine recognized that four or five men, holding or carrying their +prisoner between them, had come in and halted in surprise at sight of +him. + +"We have him!" he heard one of them cry importantly to him. "We have +him, sir! and he's Hugh Overton, who killed Latron!" + +Then Santoine heard his daughter's voice in a half cry, half sob of +hopeless appeal to him; Harriet ran to him; he felt her cold, trembling +fingers clasping him and beseeching him. "Father! Father! They +say--they say--they will--" + +He put his hands over hers, clasping hers and patting it, "My dear," he +said, "I thought you would wait for me; I told you to wait." + +He heard others coming into the house now; and he held his daughter +beside him as he faced them. + +"Who is in charge here?" he demanded. + +The voice of one of those who had just come in answered him. "I, +sir--I am the chief of police." + +"I wish to speak to you; I will not keep you long. May I ask you to +have your prisoner taken to the room he occupied here in my house and +given attention by a doctor? You can have my word that it is not +necessary to guard him. Wait! Wait!" he directed, as he heard +exclamations and ejaculations to correct him. "I do not mean that you +have mistaken who he is. He is Hugh Overton, I know; it is because he +is Hugh Overton that I say what I do." + +Santoine abandoned effort to separate and comprehend or to try to +answer the confusion of charge and questioning around him. He +concerned himself, at the moment, only with his daughter; he drew her +to him, held her and said gently, "There, dear; there! Everything is +right. I have not been able to explain to you, and I cannot take time +now; but you, at least, will take my word that you have nothing to fear +for him--nothing!" + +He heard her gasp with incredulity and surprise; then, as she drew back +from him, staring at him, she breathed deep with relief and clasped +him, sobbing. He still held her, as the hall was cleared and the +footsteps of those carrying Overton went up the stairs; then, knowing +that she wished to follow them, he released her. She drew away, then +clasped his hand and kissed it; as she did so, she suddenly stiffened +and her hand tightened on his spasmodically. + +Some one else had come into the hall and he heard another voice--a +woman's, which he recognized as that of the stenographer, Miss Davis. + +"Where is he? Hugh! Hugh! What have you done to him? Mr. Santoine! +Mr. Santoine! where is he?" + +The blind man straightened, holding his daughter to him; there was +anxiety, horror, love in the voice he heard; Harriet's perplexity was +great as his own. "Is that you, Miss Davis?" he inquired. + +"Yes; yes," the girl repeated. "Where is--Hugh, Mr. Santoine?" + +"You do not understand," the voice of a young man--anxious and strained +now, but of pleasing timbre--broke in on them. + +"I'm afraid I don't," Santoine said quietly. + +"She is Hugh's sister, Mr. Santoine--she is Edith Overton." + +"Edith Overton? And who are you?" + +"You do not know me. My name is Lawrence Hillward." + +Santoine asked nothing more for the moment. His daughter had left his +side. He stood an instant listening to the confusion of question and +answer in the hall; then he opened the door into the library and held +it for the police chief to enter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +"IT'S ALL RIGHT, HUGH"--AT LAST + +Eaton--he still, with the habit of five years of concealment, even +thought of himself by that name--awoke to full consciousness at eight +o'clock the next morning. He was in the room he had occupied before in +Santoine's house; the sunlight, reflected from the lake, was playing on +the ceiling. His wounds had been dressed; his body was comfortable and +without fever. He had indistinct memories of being carried, of people +bending over him, of being cared for; but of all else that had happened +since his capture he knew nothing. + +He saw and recognized, against the lighted square of the window, a man +standing looking out at the lake. + +"Lawrence," he said. + +The man turned and came toward the bed. "Yes, Hugh." + +Eaton raised himself excitedly upon his pillows. "Lawrence, that was +he--last night--in the study. It was Latron! I saw him! You'll +believe me, Lawrence--you at least will. They got away on a boat--they +must be followed--" With the first return of consciousness he had +taken up again that battle against circumstances which had been his +only thought for five years. + +But now, suddenly he was aware that his sister was also in the room, +sitting upon the opposite side of the bed. Her hand came forward and +clasped his; she bent over him, holding him and fondling him. + +"It is all right, Hugh," she whispered--"Oh, Hugh! it is all right now." + +"All right?" he questioned dazedly. + +"Yes; Mr. Santoine knows; he--he was not what we thought him. He +believed all the while that you were justly sentenced. Now he knows +otherwise--" + +"He--Santoine--believed that?" Eaton asked incredulously. + +"Yes; he says his blindness was used by them to make him think so. So +now he is very angry; he says no one who had anything to do with it +shall escape. He figured it all out--most wonderfully--that it must +have been Latron in the study. He has been working all night--they +have already made several arrests and every port on the lake is being +watched for the boat they got away on." + +"Is that true, Edith? Lawrence, is it true?" + +"Yes; quite true, Hugh!" Hillward choked and turned away. + +Eaton sank back against his pillows; his eyes--dry, bright and filled +still with questioning for a time, as, he tried to appreciate what he +just had heard and all that it meant to him--dampened suddenly as he +realized that it was over now, that long struggle to clear his name +from the charge of murder--the fight which had seemed so hopeless. He +could not realize it to the full as yet; concealment, fear, the sense +of monstrous injustice done him had marked so deeply all his thoughts +and feelings that he could not sense the fact that they were gone for +good. So what came to him most strongly now was only realization that +he had been set right with Santoine--Santoine, whom he himself had +misjudged and mistrusted. And Harriet? He had not needed to be set +right with her; she had believed and trusted him from the first, in +spite of all that had seemed against him. Gratitude warmed him as he +thought of her--and that other feeling, deeper, stronger far than +gratitude, or than anything else he ever had felt toward any one but +her, surged up in him and set his pulses wildly beating, as his thought +strained toward the future. + +"Where is--Miss Santoine?" he asked. + +His sister answered. "She has been helping her father. They left word +they were to be sent for as soon as you woke up, and I've just sent for +them." + +Eaton lay silent till he heard them coming. The blind man was +unfamiliar with this room; his daughter led him in. Her eyes were very +bright, her cheeks which had been pale flushed as she met Eaton's look, +but she did not look away. He kept his gaze upon her. + +Santoine, under her guidance, took the chair Hillward set beside the +bed for him. The blind man was very quiet; he felt for and found +Eaton's hand and pressed it. Eaton choked, as he returned the +pressure. Then Santoine released him. + +"Who else is here?" the blind man asked his daughter. + +"Miss Overton and Mr. Hillward," she answered. + +Santoine found with his blind eyes their positions in the room and +acknowledged their presence; afterward he turned back to Eaton. + +"I understand, I think, everything now, except some few particulars +regarding yourself," he said. "Will you tell me those?" + +"You mean---" Eaton spoke to Santoine, but he looked at Harriet. "Oh, +I understand, I think. When I--escaped, Mr. Santoine of course, my +picture had appeared in all the newspapers and I was not safe from +recognition anywhere in this country. I got into Canada and, from +Vancouver, went to China. We I had very little money left, Mr. +Santoine; what had not been--lost through Latron had been spent in my +defense. I got a position in a mercantile house over there. It was a +good country for me; people over there don't ask questions for fear +some one will ask questions about them. We had no near relatives for +Edith to go to and she had to take up stenography to support herself +and--and change her name, Mr. Santoine, because of me." + +Eaton's hand went out and clasped his sister's. + +"Oh, Hugh; it didn't matter--about me, I mean!" she whispered. + +"Hillward met her and asked her to marry him and she--wouldn't consent +without telling him who she was. He--Lawrence--believed her when she +said I hadn't killed Latron; and he suggested that she come out here +and try to get employed by you. We didn't suspect, of course, that +Latron was still alive. We thought he had been killed by some of his +own crowd--in some quarrel or because his trial was likely to involve +some one else so seriously that they killed him to prevent it; and that +it was put upon me to--to protect that person and that you--" + +Eaton hesitated. + +"Go on," said Santoine. "You thought I knew who Latron's murderer was +and morally, though not technically, perjured myself at your trial to +convict you in his place. What next?" + +"That was it," Eaton assented. "We thought you knew that and that some +of those around you who served as your eyes must know it, too." + +Harriet gasped. Eaton looking at her, knew that she understood now +what had come between them when she had told him that she herself had +served as her father's eyes all through the Latron trial. He felt +himself flushing as he looked at her; he could not understand now how +he could have believed that she had aided in concealing an injustice +against him, no matter what influence had been exerted upon her. She +was all good; all true! + +"At first," Eaton went on, "Edith did not find out anything. Then, +this year, she learned that there was to be a reorganization of some of +the Latron properties. We hoped that, during that, something would +come out which might help us. I had been away almost five years; my +face was forgotten, and we thought I could take the chance of coming +back to be near at hand so I could act if anything did come out. +Lawrence met me at Vancouver. We were about to start East when I +received a message from Mr. Warden. I did not know Warden and I don't +know now how he knew who I was or where he could reach me. His message +merely said he knew I needed help and he was prepared to give it and +made an appointment for me to see him at his house. He was one of the +Latron crowd but, I found out, one of those least likely to have had a +hand in my conviction. I thought possibly Warden was going to tell me +the name of Latron's murderer and I decided to take the risk of seeing +him. You know what happened when I tried to keep the appointment. + +"Then you came to Seattle and took charge of Warden's affairs. I felt +certain that if there was any evidence among Warden's effects as to who +had killed Latron, you would take it back with you with the other +matters relating to the Latron reorganization. You could not recognize +me from your having been at my trial because you were blind; I decided +to take the train with you and try to get possession of the draft of +the reorganization agreement and the other documents with it which +Warden had been working on. I had suspected that I was being watched +by agents of the men protecting Latron's murderer while I was in +Seattle. I had changed my lodgings there because of that, but Lawrence +had remained at the old lodgings to find out for me. He found there +was a man following me who disappeared after I had taken the train, and +Lawrence, after questioning the gateman at Seattle decided the man had +taken the same train I did. He wired me in the cipher we had sometimes +used in communicating with each other, but not knowing what name I was +using on the train he addressed it to himself, confident that if a +telegram reached the train addressed to 'Lawrence Hillward' I would +understand and claim it. + +"Of course, I could not follow his instructions and leave the train; we +were snowed in. Besides, I could not imagine how anybody could have +followed me onto the train, as I had taken pains to prevent that very +thing by being the last passenger to get aboard it." + +"The man whom the gateman saw did not follow you; he merely watched you +get on the train and notified two others, who took the train at +Spokane. They had planned to get rid of you after you left Seattle so +as to run less risk of your death being connected with that of Warden. +It was my presence which made it necessary for them to make the +desperate attempt to kill you on the train." + +"Then I understand. The other telegram was sent me, of course, by +Edith from Chicago, when she learned here that you were using the name +of Dorne on your way home. I learned from her when I got here that the +documents relating to the Latron properties, which I had decided you +did not have with you, were being sent you through Warden's office. +Through Edith I learned that they had reached you and had been put in +the safe. I managed to communicate with Hillward at the country club, +and that night he brought me the means of forcing the safe." + +Eaton felt himself flushing again, as he looked at Harriet. Did she +resent his having used her in that way? He saw only sympathy in her +face. + +"My daughter told me that she helped you to that extent," Santoine +offered, "and I understood later what must have been your reason for +asking her to take you out that night." + +"When I reached the study," Eaton continued, "I found others already +there. The light of an electric torch flashed on the face of one of +them and I recognized the man as Latron--the man for whose murder I had +been convicted and sentenced! Edith tells me that you know the rest." + +There was silence in the room for several minutes. Santoine again felt +for Eaton's hand and pressed it. "We've tired you out," he said. "You +must rest." + +"You must sleep, Hugh, if you can," Edith urged. + +Eaton obediently closed his eyes, but opened them at once to look for +Harriet. She had moved out of his line of vision. + +Santoine rose; he stood an instant waiting for his daughter, then +suddenly he comprehended that she was no longer in the room. "Mr. +Hillward, I must ask your help," he said, and he went out with Hillward +guiding him. + +Eaton, turning anxiously on his pillow and looking about the room, saw +no one but his sister. He had known when Harriet moved away from +beside the bed; but he had not suspected that she was leaving the room. +Now suddenly a great fear filled him. + +"Why did Miss Santoine go away? Why did she go, Edith?" he questioned. + +"You must sleep, Hugh," his sister answered only. + +Harriet, when she slipped out of the room, had gone downstairs. She +could not have forced herself to leave before she had heard Hugh's +story, and she could not define definitely even to herself what the +feeling had been that had made her leave as soon as he had finished; +but she sensed the reason vaguely. Hugh had told her two days before, +"I will come back to you as you have never known me yet"--and it had +proved true. She had known him as a man in fear, constrained, +carefully guarding himself against others and against betrayal by +himself; a man to whom all the world seemed opposed; so that her +sympathy--and afterward something more than her sympathy--had gone out +to him. To that repressed and threatened man, she had told all she +felt toward him, revealing her feelings with a frankness that would +have been impossible except that she wanted him to know that she was +ready to stand against the world with him. + +Now the world was no longer against him; he had friends, a place in +life was ready to receive him; he would be sought after, and his name +would be among those of the people of her own sort. She had no shame +that she had let him--and others--know all that she felt toward him; +she gloried still in it; only now--now, if he wished her, he must make +that plain; she could not, of herself, return to him. + +So unrest possessed her and the suspense of something hoped for but +unfulfilled. She went from room to room, trying to absorb herself on +her daily duties; but the house--her father's house--spoke to her now +only of Hugh and she could think of nothing but him. Was he awake? +Was he sleeping? Was he thinking of her? Or, now that the danger was +over through which she had served him, were his thoughts of some one +else? + +Her heart halted at each recurrence of that thought; and again and +again she repeated his words to her at parting from her the night +before. "I will come back to you as you have never known me yet!" To +her he would come back, he said; to her, not to any one else. But his +danger was not over then; in his great extremity and in his need of +her, he might have felt what he did not feel now. If he wanted her, +why did he not send for her? + +She stood trembling as she saw Edith Overton in the hall. + +"Hugh has been asking for you continually, Miss Santoine. If you can +find time, please go in and see him." + +Harriet did not know what answer she made. She went upstairs: she ran, +as soon as she was out of sight of Hugh's sister; then, at Hugh's door, +she had to halt to catch her breath and compose herself before she +opened the door and looked in upon him. He was alone and seemed +asleep; at least his eyes were closed. Harriet stood an instant gazing +at him. + +His face was peaceful now but worn and his paleness was more evident +than when he had been talking to her father. As she stood watching +him, she felt her blood coursing through her as never before and +warming her face and her fingertips; and fear--fear of him or of +herself, fear of anything at all in the world--fled from her; and +love--love which she knew that she need no longer try to +deny--possessed her. + +"Harriet!" She heard her name from his lips and she saw, as he opened +his eyes and turned to her, there was no surprise in his look; if he +had been sleeping, he had been dreaming she was there; if awake, he had +been thinking of her. + +"What is it, Hugh?" She was beside him and he was looking up into her +eyes. + +"You meant it, then?" + +"Meant it, Hugh?" + +"All you said and--and all you did when we--you and I--were alone +against them all! It's so, Harriet! You meant it!" + +"And you did too! Dear, it was only to me that you could come +back--only to me?" + +"Only to you!" He closed his eyes in his exaltation. "Oh, my dear, I +never dreamed--Harriet in all the days and nights I've had to plan and +wonder what might be for me if everything could come all right, I've +never dreamed I could win a reward like this." + +"Like this?" + +He opened his eyes again and drew her down toward him. "Like you!" + +She bent until her cheek touched his and his arms were about her. He +felt her tears upon his face. + +"Not that; not that--you mustn't cry, dear," he begged. "Oh, Harriet, +aren't you happy now?" + +"That's why. Happy! I didn't know before there could be anything like +this." + +"Nor I.... So it's all right, Harriet; everything is all right now?" + +"All right? Oh, it's all right now, if I can make it so for you," she +answered. + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +Popular Copyright Novels + +_AT MODERATE PRICES_ + +Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of + +A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction + + + Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard. + Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. + After House, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. + Ailsa Paige. By Robert W. Chambers. + Alton of Somasco. By Harold Bindloss. + Amateur Gentleman, The. By Jeffery Farnol. + Anna, the Adventuress. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Anne's House of Dreams. By L. M. Montgomery. + Around Old Chester. By Margaret Deland. + Athalie. By Robert W. Chambers. + At the Mercy of Tiberius. By Augusta Evans Wilson. + Auction Block, The. By Rex Beach. + Aunt Jane of Kentucky. By Eliza C. Hall. + Awakening of Helena Richie. By Margaret Deland. + + Bab: a Sub-Deb. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. + Barrier, The. By Rex Beach. + Barbarians. By Robert W. 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By Booth Tarkington. + Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Court of Inquiry, A. By Grace S. Richmond. + Cow Puncher, The. By Robert J. C. Stead. + Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. By Rex Beach. + Cross Currents. By Author of "Pollyanna." + Cry in the Wilderness, A. By Mary E. Waller. + + Danger, And Other Stories. By A. Conan Doyle. + Dark Hollow, The. By Anna Katharine Green. + Dark Star, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Daughter Pays, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. + Day of Days, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. + Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Desired Woman, The. By Will N. Harben. + Destroying Angel, The. By Louis Jos. Vance. + Devil's Own, The. By Randall Parrish. + Double Traitor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Empty Pockets. By Rupert Hughes. + + Eyes of the Blind, The. By Arthur Somers Roche. + Eye of Dread, The. By Payne Erskine. + Eyes of the World, The. By Harold Bell Wright. + Extricating Obadiah. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + + Felix O'Day. 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By Rex Beach. + Ranch at the Wolverine, The. By B. M. Bower. + Ranching for Sylvia. By Harold Bindloss. + Ransom. By Arthur Somers Roche. + Reason Why, The. By Elinor Glyn. + Reclaimers, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter. + Red Mist, The. By Randall Parrish. + Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond. + Red Pepper's Patients. By Grace S. Richmond. + Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner. + Restless Sex, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer. + Return of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. + Riddle of Night, The. By Thomas W. Hanshew. + Rim of the Desert, The. By Ada Woodruff Anderson. + Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. By J. C. Lincoln. + Rising Tide, The. By Margaret Deland. + Rocks of Valpré, The. By Ethel M. Dell. + Rogue by Compulsion, A. By Victor Bridges. + Room Number 3. By Anna Katharine Green. + Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess. + Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond. + + Second Choice. By Will N. Harben. + Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond. + Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. + Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss. + Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris. + Shavings. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright. + Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Sherry. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Side of the Angels, The. By Basil King. + Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach. + Sin That Was His, The. By Frank L. Packard. + Sixty-first Second, The. By Owen Johnson. + Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. + Son of His Father, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Son of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. + Source, The. By Clarence Buddington Kelland. + Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson. + Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens. + Spirit of the Border, The. (New Edition.) By Zane Grey. + Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach. + Steele of the Royal Mounted. By James Oliver Curwood. + Still Jim. By Honoré Willsie. + Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter. + Strange Case of Cavendish, The. By Randall Parrish. + Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond. + Sudden Jim. By Clarence B. Kelland. + + Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. + Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs. + Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Blind Man's Eyes + +Author: William MacHarg + Edwin Balmer + +Illustrator: Wilson C. Dexter + +Release Date: July 3, 2010 [EBook #33064] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLIND MAN'S EYES *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-cover"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-cover.jpg" ALT="Cover art" BORDER="" WIDTH="368" HEIGHT="568"> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""Until I come to you as--as you have never known me yet!"" BORDER="2" WIDTH="391" HEIGHT="572"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 420px"> +"Until I come to you as—as you have never known me yet!" +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +By WILLIAM MACHARG & EDWIN BALMER +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +With Frontispiece +<BR> +By WILSON C. DEXTER +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A. L. BURT COMPANY +<BR> +Publishers —— New York +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Published by Arrangements with LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Copyright, 1916,</I> +<BR> +BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY +<BR><BR> +<I>All rights reserved</I> +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +To +<BR> +R. G. +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">CHAPTER</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">A FINANCIER DIES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">MISS DORNE MEETS EATON</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">TRUCE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">ARE YOU HILLWARD?</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">THE HAND IN THE AISLE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">"ISN'T THIS BASIL SANTOINE?"</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">SUSPICION FASTENS ON EATON</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">QUESTIONS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">THE BLIND MAN'S EYES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">PUBLICITY NOT WANTED</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">THE ALLY IN THE HOUSE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">IT GROWS PLAINER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">DONALD AVERY IS MOODY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">SANTOINE'S "EYES" FAIL HIM</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">THE FIGHT IN THE STUDY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">PURSUIT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">WAITING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">WHAT ONE CAN DO WITHOUT EYES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">THE MAN HUNT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">NOT EATON—OVERTON</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">THE FLAW IN THE LEFT EYE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">"IT'S ALL RIGHT, HUGH"—AT LAST</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +A FINANCIER DIES +</H4> + +<P> +Gabriel Warden—capitalist, railroad director, owner of mines and +timber lands, at twenty a cow-puncher, at forty-eight one of the +predominant men of the Northwest Coast—paced with quick, uneven steps +the great wicker-furnished living room of his home just above Seattle +on Puget Sound. Twice within ten minutes he had used the telephone in +the hall to ask the same question and, apparently to receive the same +reply—that the train from Vancouver, for which he had inquired, had +come in and that the passengers had left the station. +</P> + +<P> +It was not like Gabriel Warden to show nervousness of any sort; Kondo, +the Japanese doorman, who therefore had found something strange in this +telephoning, watched him through the portières which shut off the +living-room from the hall. Three times Kondo saw him—big, uncouth in +the careless fit of his clothes, powerful and impressive in his +strength of feature and the carriage of his well-shaped head—go to the +window and, watch in hand, stand staring out. It was a Sunday evening +toward the end of February—cold, cloudy and with a chill wind driving +over the city and across the Sound. Warden evidently saw no one as he +gazed out into the murk; but each moment, Kondo observed, his +nervousness increased. He turned suddenly and pressed the bell to call +a servant. Kondo, retreating silently down the hall, advanced again +and entered the room; he noticed then that Warden's hand, which was +still holding the watch before him, was shaking. +</P> + +<P> +"A young man who may, or may not, give a name, will ask for me in a few +moments. He will say he called by appointment. Take him at once to my +smoking-room, and I will see him there. I am going to Mrs. Warden's +room now." +</P> + +<P> +He went up the stairs, Kondo noticed, still absently holding his watch +in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +Warden controlled his nervousness before entering his wife's +room,—where she had just finished dressing to go out,—so that she did +not at first sense anything unusual. In fact, she talked with him +casually for a moment or so before she even sent away her maid. He had +promised a few days before to accompany her to a concert; she thought +he had come simply to beg off. When they were alone, she suddenly saw +that he had come to her to discuss some serious subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Cora," he said, when he had closed the door after the maid, "I want +your advice on a business question." +</P> + +<P> +"A business question!" She was greatly surprised. She was a number of +years younger than he; he was one of those men who believe all business +matters should be kept from their wives. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean it came to me through some business—discoveries." +</P> + +<P> +"And you cannot decide it for yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"I had decided it." He looked again at his watch. "I had quite +decided it; but now—It may lead to some result which I have suddenly +felt that I haven't the right to decide entirely for myself." +</P> + +<P> +Warden's wife for the first time felt alarmed. She could not well +describe his manner; it did not suggest fear for himself; she could not +imagine his feeling such fear; but she was frightened. She put her +hand on his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean it affects me directly?" +</P> + +<P> +"It may. For that reason I feel I must do what you would have me do." +</P> + +<P> +He seized both her hands in his and held her before him; she waited for +him to go on. +</P> + +<P> +"Cora," he said, "what would you have me do if you knew I had found out +that a young man—a man who, four or five years ago, had as much to +live for as any man might—had been outraged in every right by men who +are my friends? Would you have me fight the outfit for him? Or would +you have me—lie down?" +</P> + +<P> +His fingers almost crushed hers in his excitement. She stared at him +with only pride then; she was proud of his strength, of his ability to +fight, of the power she knew he possessed to force his way against +opposition. "Why, you would fight them!" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you want me to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't that what you had decided to do?" +</P> + +<P> +He only repeated. "You want me to fight them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course." +</P> + +<P> +"No matter what it costs?" +</P> + +<P> +She realized then that what he was facing was very grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Cora," he said, "I didn't come to ask your advice without putting this +squarely to you. If I go into this fight, I shall be not only an +opponent to some of my present friends; I shall be a threat to +them—something they may think it necessary to remove." +</P> + +<P> +"Remove?" +</P> + +<P> +"Such things have happened—to better men than I, over smaller matters." +</P> + +<P> +She cried out. "You mean some one might kill you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Should that keep me from going in?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated. He went on: "Would you have me afraid to do a thing +that ought to be done, Cora?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said; "I would not." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, then. That's all I had to know now. The young man is +coming to see me to-night, Cora. Probably he's downstairs. I'll tell +you all I can after I've talked with him." +</P> + +<P> +Warden's wife tried to hold him a moment more, but he loosed himself +from her and left her. +</P> + +<P> +He went directly downstairs; as he passed through the hall, the +telephone bell rang. Warden himself answered it. Kondo, who from his +place in the hall overheard Warden's end of the conversation, made out +only that the person at the other end of the line appeared to be a +friend, or at least an acquaintance, of Warden's. Kondo judged this +from the tone of the conversation; Warden spoke no names. Apparently +the other person wished to see Warden at once. Warden finished, "All +right; I'll come and get you. Wait for me there." Then he hung up. +</P> + +<P> +Turning to Kondo, he ordered his limousine car. Kondo transmitted the +order and brought Warden's coat and cap; then Kondo opened the house +door for him and the door of the limousine, which had been brought +under the porte-cochère. Kondo heard Warden direct the chauffeur to a +drug store near the center of the city; the chauffeur was Patrick +Corboy, a young Irishman who had been in Warden's employ for more than +five years; his faithfulness to Warden was never questioned. Corboy +drove to the place Warden had directed. As they stopped, a young man +of less than medium height, broad-shouldered and wearing a mackintosh, +came to the curb and spoke to Warden. Corboy did not hear the name, +but Warden immediately asked the man into the car; he directed Corboy +to return home. The chauffeur did this, but was obliged on the way to +come to a complete stop several times, as he met streetcars or other +vehicles on intersecting streets. +</P> + +<P> +Almost immediately after Warden had left the house, the door-bell rang +and Kondo answered it. A young man with a quiet and pleasant bearing +inquired for Mr. Warden and said he came by appointment. Kondo ushered +him into the smoking room, where the stranger waited. The Jap did not +announce this arrival to any one, for he had already received his +instructions; but several times in the next half hour he looked in upon +him. The stranger was always sitting where he had seated himself when +Kondo showed him in; he was merely waiting. In about forty minutes, +Corboy drove the car under the porte-cochère again and got down and +opened the door. Kondo had not heard the car at once, and the +chauffeur had not waited for him. There was no motion inside the +limousine. The chauffeur looked in and saw Mr. Warden lying back +quietly against the cushions in the back of the seat; he was alone. +</P> + +<P> +Corboy noticed then that the curtains all about had been pulled down; +he touched the button and turned on the light at the top of the car, +and then he saw that Warden was dead; his cap was off, and the top of +his head had been smashed in by a heavy blow. +</P> + +<P> +The chauffeur drew back, gasping; Kondo, behind him on the steps, cried +out and ran into the house calling for help. Two other servants and +Mrs. Warden, who had remained nervously in her room, ran down. The +stranger who had been waiting, now seen for the first time by Mrs. +Warden, came out from the smoking room to help them. He aided in +taking the body from the car and helped to carry it into the living +room and lay it on a couch; he remained until it was certain that +Warden had been killed and nothing could be done. When this had been +established and further confirmed by the doctor who was called, Kondo +and Mrs. Warden looked around for the young man—but he was no longer +there. +</P> + +<P> +The news of the murder brought extras out upon the streets of Seattle, +Tacoma, and Portland at ten o'clock that night; the news took the first +page in San Francisco, Chicago, and New York papers, in competition +with the war news, the next morning. Seattle, stirred at once at the +murder of one of its most prominent citizens, stirred still further at +the new proof that Warden had been a power in business and finance; +then, as the second day's dispatches from the larger cities came in, it +stirred a third time at the realization—for so men said—that this was +the second time such a murder had happened. +</P> + +<P> +Warden had been what was called among men of business and finance a +member of the "Latron crowd"; he had been close, at one time, to the +great Western capitalist Matthew Latron; the properties in which he had +made his wealth, and whose direction and administration had brought him +the respect and attention of other men, had been closely allied with or +even included among those known as the "Latron properties"; and Latron, +five years before, had been murdered. The parallel between the two +cases was not as great as the newspapers in their search for the +startling made it appear; nevertheless, there was a parallel. Latron's +murderer had been a man who called upon him by appointment, and +Warden's murderer, it appeared, had been equally known to him, or at +least equally recommended. Of this as much was made as possible in the +suggestion that the same agency was behind the two. +</P> + +<P> +The statement of Cora Warden, indicating that Warden's death might have +been caused by men with whom he was—or had been at one +time—associated, was compared with the fact that Latron's death had +occurred at a time of fierce financial stress and warfare. But in this +comparison Warden's statement to his wife was not borne out. Men of +high place in the business world appeared, from time to time during the +next few days, at Warden's offices and even at his house, coming from +other cities on the Coast and from as far east as Chicago; they felt +the need, many of them, of looking after interests of their own which +were involved with Warden's. All concurred in saying that, so far as +Warden and his properties were concerned, the time was one of peace; +neither attack nor serious disagreement had threatened him. +</P> + +<P> +More direct investigation of the murder went on unceasingly through +these days. The statements of Kondo and Corboy were verified; it was +even learned at what spot Warden's murderer had left the motor +unobserved by Corboy. Beyond this, no trace was found of him, and the +disappearance of the young man who had come to Warden's house and +waited there for three quarters of an hour to see him was also complete. +</P> + +<P> +No suspicion attached to this young man; Warden's talk with his wife +made it completely clear that, if he had any connection with the +murder, it was only as befriending him brought danger to Warden. His +disappearance seemed explicable therefore only in one way. Appeals to +him to come forward were published in the newspapers; he was offered +the help of influential men, if help was what he needed, and a money +reward was promised for revealing himself and explaining why Warden saw +inevitable danger in befriending him. To these offers he made no +response. The theory therefore gained ground that his appointment with +Warden had involved him in Warden's fate; it was generally credited +that he too must have been killed; or, if he was alive, he saw in +Warden's swift and summary destruction a warning of his own fate if he +came forward and sought to speak at this time. +</P> + +<P> +Thus after ten days no information from or about this mysterious young +man had been gained. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE +</H4> + +<P> +On the morning of the eleventh day, Bob Connery, special conductor for +the Coast division of one of the chief transcontinentals, was having +late breakfast on his day off at his little cottage on the shore of +Puget Sound, when he was treated to the unusual sight of a large +touring car stopping before his door. The car carried no one but the +chauffeur, however, and he at once made it plain that he came only as a +message-bearer when he hurried from the car to the house with an +envelope in his hand. Connery, meeting him at the door, opened the +envelope and found within an order in the handwriting of the president +of the railroad and over his signature. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Connery: +</P> + +<P> +No. 5 being held at Seattle terminal until nine o'clock—will run one +hour late. This is your authority to supersede the regular man as +conductor—prepared to go through to Chicago. You will facilitate +every desire and obey, when possible, any request even as to running of +the train, which may be made by a passenger who will identify himself +by a card from me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +H. E. JARVIS. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The conductor, accustomed to take charge of trains when princes, +envoys, presidents and great people of any sort took to travel publicly +or privately, fingered the heavy cream-colored note-paper upon which +the order was written and looked up at the chauffeur. +</P> + +<P> +The order itself was surprising enough even to Connery. Some passenger +of extraordinary influence, obviously, was to take the train; not only +the holding of the transcontinental for an hour told this, but there +was the further plain statement that the passenger would be incognito. +Astonishing also was the fact that the order was written upon private +note-paper. There had been a monogram at the top of the sheet, but it +had been torn off; that would not have been if Mr. Jarvis had sent the +order from home. Who could have had the president of the road call +upon him at half past seven in the morning and have told Mr. Jarvis to +hold the Express for an hour? +</P> + +<P> +Connery, having served for twenty of his forty-two years under Mr. +Jarvis, and the last five, at least, in almost a confidential capacity, +was certain of the distinctive characters of the president's +handwriting. The enigma of the order, however, had piqued him so that +he pretended doubt. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you get this?" he challenged the chauffeur. +</P> + +<P> +"From Mr. Jarvis." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course; but where?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you want to know where he was?" +</P> + +<P> +Connery smiled quietly. If he himself was trusted to be cautious and +circumspect, the chauffeur also plainly was accustomed to be in the +employ of one who required reticence. Connery looked from the note to +the bearer more keenly. There was something familiar in the +chauffeur's face—just enough to have made Connery believe, at first, +that probably he had seen the man meeting some passenger at the station. +</P> + +<P> +"You are—" Connery ventured more casually. +</P> + +<P> +"In private employ; yes, sir," the man cut off quickly. Then Connery +knew him; it was when Gabriel Warden traveled on Connery's train that +the conductor had seen this chauffeur; this was Patrick Corboy, who had +driven Warden the night he was killed. But Connery, having won his +point, knew better than to show it. "Waiting for a receipt from me?" +he asked as if he had abandoned his curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +The chauffeur nodded. Connery took a sheet of paper, wrote on it, +sealed it in an envelope and handed it over; the chauffeur hastened +back to his car and drove off. Connery, order in hand, stood at the +door watching the car depart. He whistled softly to himself. +Evidently his passenger was to be one of the great men in Eastern +finance who had been brought West by Warden's death. As the car +disappeared, Connery gazed off to the Sound. +</P> + +<P> +The March morning was windy and wet, with a storm blowing in from the +Pacific. East of the mountains—in Idaho and Montana—there was snow, +and a heavy fall of it, as the conductor well knew from the long list +of incoming trains yesterday stalled or badly overdue; but at Seattle, +so far, only rain or a soft, sloppy sleet had appeared. Through this +rose the smoke from tugs and a couple of freighters putting out in +spite of the storm, and from further up Eliot Bay reverberated the roar +of the steam-whistle of some large ship signaling its intention to pass +another to the left. The incoming vessel loomed in sight and showed +the graceful lines, the single funnel and the white- and red-barred +flag of the Japanese line, the Nippon Yusen Kaisha. Connery saw that +it was, as he anticipated, the <I>Tamba Maru</I>, due two days before, +having been delayed by bad weather over the Pacific. It would dock, +Connery estimated, just in time to permit a passenger to catch the +Eastern Express if that were held till nine o'clock. So, as he +hastened to the car-line, Connery smiled at himself for taking the +trouble to make his earlier surmises. More probably the train was +being held just for some party on the boat. Going to the chief +dispatcher's office to confirm understanding of his orders, he found +that Mr. Jarvis had sent simply the curt command, "Number Five will run +one hour late." Connery went down to the trainsheds. +</P> + +<P> +The Eastern Express, with its gleaming windows, shining brass and +speckless, painted steel, was standing between the sooty, +slush-splashed trains which had just struggled in from over the +mountain; a dozen passengers, tired of waiting on the warm, cushioned +seats of the Pullmans, sauntered up and down beside the cars, +commenting on the track-conditions which, apparently, prevented even +starting a train on time. Connery looked these over and then got +aboard the train and went from observation to express car. Travel was +light that trip; in addition to the few on the platform, Connery +counted only fourteen passengers on the train. He scrutinized these +without satisfaction; all appeared to have arrived at the train long +before and to have been waiting. Connery got off and went back to the +barrier. +</P> + +<P> +Old Sammy Seaton, the gateman, stood in his iron coop twirling a punch +about his finger. Old Sammy's scheme of sudden wealth—every one has a +plan by which at any moment wealth may arrive—was to recognize and +apprehend some wrongdoer, or some lost or kidnaped person for whom a +great reward would be given. His position at the gate through which +must pass most of the people arriving at the great Coast city, or +wishing to depart from it, certainly was excellent; and by constant and +careful reading of the papers, classifying and memorizing faces, he +prepared himself to take advantage of any opportunity. Indeed, in his +years at the gate, he had succeeded in no less than seven acknowledged +cases in putting the police upon the track of persons "wanted"; these, +however, happened to be worth only minor rewards. Sammy still awaited +his great "strike." +</P> + +<P> +"Any one off on Number Five, Sammy?" Connery questioned carelessly as +he approached. Sammy's schemes involved the following of the comings +and goings of the great as well as of the "wanted." +</P> + +<P> +Old Sammy shook his head. "What're we holding for?" he whispered. +"Ah—for them?" +</P> + +<P> +A couple of station-boys, overloaded with hand-baggage, scurried in +from the street; some one shouted for a trunk-truck, and baggagemen +ran. A group of people, who evidently had come to the station in +covered cars, crowded out to the gate and lined up to pass old Sammy. +The gateman straightened importantly and scrutinized each person +presenting a ticket. Much of the baggage carried by the boys, and also +the trunks rushed by on the trucks, bore foreign hotel and steamship +"stickers." Connery observed the label of the Miyaka Hotel, Kioto, +leaving visible only the "Bombay" of another below it; others +proclaimed "Amoy," "Tonkin," and "Shanghai." This baggage and some of +the people, at least, undoubtedly had just landed from the <I>Tamba +Maru</I>. Connery inspected with even greater attention the file at the +gate and watched old Sammy also as each passed him. +</P> + +<P> +The first of the five in line was a girl—a girl about twenty-two or +three, Connery guessed. She was of slightly more than medium height, +slender and erect in figure, and with slim, gloved hands. She had the +easy, interested air of a person of assured position. She evidently +had come to the station in a motor-car which had kept off the sleet, +but had let in the wind—a touring-car, possibly, with top up. Her +fair cheeks were ruddy and her blue eyes bright; her hair, which was +deep brown and abundant, was caught back from her brow, giving her a +more outdoor and boyish look. When Connery first saw her, she seemed +to be accompanying the man who now was behind her; but she offered her +own ticket for perusal at the gate, and as soon as she was through, she +hurried on ahead alone. +</P> + +<P> +Whether or not she had come from the Japanese boat, Connery could not +tell; her ticket, at least, disclaimed for her any connection with the +foreign baggage-labels, for it was merely the ordinary form calling for +transportation from Seattle to Chicago. Connery was certain he did not +know her. He noticed that old Sammy had held her at the gate as long +as possible, as if hoping to recollect who she might be; but now that +she was gone, the gateman gave his attention more closely to the first +man—a tall, strongly built man, neither heavy nor light, and with a +powerful patrician face. His hair and his mustache, which was clipped +short and did not conceal his good mouth, were dark; his brows were +black and distinct, but not bushy or unpleasantly thick; his eyes were +hidden by smoked glasses such as one wears against a glare of snow. +</P> + +<P> +"Chicago?" old Sammy questioned. Connery knew that it was to draw the +voice in reply; but the man barely nodded, took back his ticket—which +also was the ordinary form of transportation from Seattle to +Chicago—and strode on to the train. Connery found his gaze following +this man; the conductor did not know him, nor had old Sammy recognized +him; but both were trying to place him. He, unquestionably, was a man +to be known, though not more so than many who traveled in the +transcontinental trains. +</P> + +<P> +A trim, self-assured man of thirty—his open overcoat showed a cutaway +underneath—came past next, proffering the plain Seattle-Chicago ticket. +</P> + +<P> +An Englishman, with red-veined cheeks, fumbling, clumsy fingers and +curious, interested eyes, immediately followed. To him, plainly, the +majority of the baggage on the trucks belonged; he had "booked" the +train at Hong Kong and seemed pleasantly surprised that his tourist +ticket was instantly accepted. The name upon the strip, "Henry +Standish," corresponded with the "H. S., Nottingham," emblazoned on the +luggage. +</P> + +<P> +The remaining man, carrying his own grips, which were not initialed, +set them down in the gate and felt in his pocket for his transportation. +</P> + +<P> +This fifth person had appeared suddenly after the line of four had +formed in front of old Sammy at the gate; he had taken his place with +them only after scrutiny of them and of the station all around. Like +the Englishman's, his ticket was a strip which originally had held +coupons for the Pacific voyage and some indefinite journey in Asia +before; unlike the Englishman's,—and his baggage did not bear the +pasters of the Nippon Yusen Kaisha,—the ticket was close to the date +when it would have expired. It bore upon the line where the purchaser +signed, the name "Philip D. Eaton" in plain, vigorous characters +without shading or flourish. An American, and too young to have gained +distinction in any of the ordinary ways by which men lift themselves +above others, he still made a profound impression upon Connery. There +was something about him which said, somehow, that these strips of +transportation were taking him home after a long and troublesome +absence. He combined, in some strange way, exaltation with weariness. +He was, plainly, carefully observant of all that went on about him, +even these commonplace formalities connected with taking the train; and +Connery felt that it was by premeditation that he was the last to pass +the gate. +</P> + +<P> +As a sudden eddy of the gale about the shed blew the ticket from old +Sammy's cold fingers, the young man stooped to recover it. The wind +blew off his cloth cap as he did so, and as he bent and straightened +before old Sammy, the old man suddenly gasped; and while the traveler +pulled on his cap, recovered his ticket and hurried down the platform +to the train, the gateman stood staring after him as though trying to +recall who the man presenting himself as Philip D. Eaton was. +</P> + +<P> +Connery stepped beside the old man. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it, Sammy?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" Sammy repeated. His eyes were still fixed on the retreating +figure. "Who? I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +The gateman mumbled, repeating to himself the names of the famous, the +great, the notorious, in his effort to fit one to the man who had just +passed. Connery awaited the result, his gaze following Eaton until he +disappeared aboard the train. No one else belated and bound for the +Eastern Express was in sight. The president's order to the conductor +and to the dispatcher simply had directed that Number Five would run +one hour late; it must leave in five minutes; and Connery, guided by +the impression the man last through the gate had made upon him and old +Sammy both, had no doubt that the man for whom the train had been held +was now on board. +</P> + +<P> +For a last time, the conductor scrutinized old Sammy. The gateman's +mumblings were clearly fruitless; if Eaton were not the man's real +name, old Sammy was unable to find any other which fitted. As Connery +watched, old Sammy gave it up. Connery went out to the train. The +passengers who had been parading the platform had got aboard; the last +five to arrive also had disappeared into the Pullmans, and their +luggage had been thrown into the baggage car. Connery jumped aboard. +He turned back into the observation car and then went forward into the +next Pullman. In the aisle of this car the five whom Connery had just +watched pass the gate were gathered about the Pullman conductor, +claiming their reservations. Connery looked first at Eaton, who stood +beside his grips a little apart, but within hearing of the rest; and +then, passing him, he joined the Pullman conductor. +</P> + +<P> +The three who had passed the gate first—the girl, the man with the +glasses and the young man in the cutaway—it had now become clear were +one party. They had had reservations made, apparently, in the name of +Dorne; and these reservations were for a compartment and two sections +in this car, the last of the four Pullmans. As they discussed the +disposition of these, the girl's address to the spectacled man made +plain that he was her father; her name, apparently, was Harriet; the +young man in the cutaway coat was "Don" to her and "Avery" to her +father. His relation, while intimate enough to permit him to address +the girl as "Harry," was unfailingly respectful to Mr. Dorne; and +against them both Dorne won his way; his daughter was to occupy the +drawing-room; he and Avery were to have sections in the open car. +</P> + +<P> +"You have Sections One and Three, sir," the Pullman conductor told him. +And Dorne directed the porter to put Avery's luggage in Section One, +his own in Section Three. +</P> + +<P> +The Englishman who had come by the Japanese steamer was unsupplied with +a sleeping-car ticket; he accepted, after what seemed only an automatic +and habitual debate on his part, Section Four in Car Three—the next +car forward—and departed at the heels of the porter. Connery watched +more closely, as now it came the turn of the young man whose ticket +bore the name of Eaton. Like the Englishman with the same sort of +ticket from Asia, Eaton had no reservation in the sleepers; he +appeared, however, to have some preference as to where he slept. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me a Three, if you have one," he requested of the Pullman +conductor. His voice, Connery noted, was well modulated, rather deep, +distinctly pleasant. At sound of it, Dorne, who with his daughter's +help was settling himself in his section, turned and looked that way +and said something in a low tone to the girl. Harriet Dorne also +looked, and with her eyes on Eaton, Connery saw her reply inaudibly, +rapidly and at some length. +</P> + +<P> +"I can give you Three in Car Three, opposite the gentleman I just +assigned," the Pullman conductor offered. +</P> + +<P> +"That'll do very well," Eaton answered in the same pleasant voice. +</P> + +<P> +As the porter now took his bags, Eaton followed him out of the car. +Connery looked around the sleeper; then, having allowed a moment to +pass so that he would not too obviously seem to be following Eaton, he +went after them into the next car. He expected, rather, that Eaton +would at once identify himself to him as the passenger to whom +President Jarvis' short note had referred. Eaton, however, paid no +attention to him, but was busy taking off his coat and settling himself +in his section as Connery passed. +</P> + +<P> +The conductor, willing that Eaton should choose his own time for +identifying himself, passed slowly on, looking over the passengers as +he went. The cars were far from full. +</P> + +<P> +Besides Eaton, Connery saw but half a dozen people in this car: the +Englishman in Section Four; two young girls of about nineteen and +twenty and their parents—uninquisitive-looking, unobtrusive, +middle-aged people who possessed the drawing-room; and an alert, +red-haired, professional-looking man of forty whose baggage was marked +"D. S.—Chicago." Connery had had nothing to do with putting Eaton in +this car, but his survey of it gave him satisfaction; if President +Jarvis inquired, he could be told that Eaton had not been put near to +undesirable neighbors. The next car forward, perhaps, would have been +even better; for Connery saw, as he entered it, that but one of its +sections was occupied. The next, the last Pullman, was quite well +filled; beyond this was the diner. Connery stood a few moments in +conversation with the dining car conductor; then he retraced his way +through the train. He again passed Eaton, slowing so that the young +man could speak to him if he wished, and even halting an instant to +exchange a word with the Englishman; but Eaton allowed him to pass on +without speaking to him. Connery's step quickened as he entered the +next car on his way back to the smoking compartment of the observation +car, where he expected to compare sheets with the Pullman conductor +before taking up the tickets. As he entered this car, however, Avery +stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Dorne would like to speak to you," Avery said. The tone was very +like a command. +</P> + +<P> +Connery stopped beside the section, where the man with the spectacles +sat with his daughter. Dorne looked up at him. +</P> + +<P> +"You are the train conductor?" he asked, seeming either unsatisfied of +this by Connery's presence or merely desirous of a formal answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," Connery replied. +</P> + +<P> +Dorne fumbled in his inner pocket and brought out a card-case, which he +opened, and produced a card. Connery, glancing at the card while the +other still held it, saw that it was President Jarvis' visiting card, +with the president's name in engraved block letters; across its top was +written briefly in Jarvis' familiar hand, "<I>This is the passenger</I>"; +and below, it was signed with the same scrawl of initials which had +been on the note Connery had received that morning—"<I>H. R. J.</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Connery's hand shook as, while trying to recover himself, he took the +card and looked at it more closely, and he felt within him the sinking +sensation which follows an escape from danger. He saw that his too +ready and too assured assumption that Eaton was the man to whom Jarvis' +note had referred, had almost led him into the sort of mistake which is +unpardonable in a "trusted" man; he had come within an ace, he +realized, of speaking to Eaton and so betraying the presence on the +train of a traveler whose journey his superiors were trying to keep +secret. +</P> + +<P> +"You need, of course, hold the train no longer," Dorne said to Connery. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; I received word from Mr. Jarvis about you, Mr. Dorne. I +shall follow his instructions fully." Connery recalled the discussion +about the drawing-room which had been given to Dorne's daughter. "I +shall see that the Pullman conductor moves some one in one of the other +cars to have a compartment for you, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"I prefer a place in the open car," Dorne replied. "I am well situated +here. Do not disturb any one." +</P> + +<P> +As he went forward again after the train was under way, Connery tried +to recollect how it was that he had been led into such a mistake, and +defending himself, he laid it all to old Sammy. But old Sammy was not +often mistaken in his identifications. If Eaton was not the person for +whom the train was held, might he be some one else of importance? Now +as he studied Eaton, he could not imagine what had made him accept this +passenger as a person of great position. It was only when he passed +Eaton a third time, half an hour later, when the train had long left +Seattle, that the half-shaped hazards and guesses about the passenger +suddenly sprang into form. Connery stood and stared back. Eaton did +not look like any one whom he remembered having seen; but he fitted +perfectly some one whose description had been standing for ten days in +every morning and evening edition of the Seattle papers. Yes, allowing +for a change of clothes and a different way of brushing his hair, Eaton +was exactly the man whom Warden had expected at his house and who had +come there and waited while Warden, away in his car, was killed. +</P> + +<P> +Connery was walking back through the train, absent-minded in trying to +decide whether he could be at all sure of this from the mere printed +description, and trying to decide what he should do if he felt sure, +when Mr. Dorne stopped him. +</P> + +<P> +"Conductor, do you happen to know," he questioned, "who the young man +is who took Section Three in the car forward?" +</P> + +<P> +Connery gasped; but the question put to him the impossibility of his +being sure of any recognition from the description. "He gave his name +on his ticket as Philip D. Eaton, sir," Connery replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that all you know about him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"If you find out anything about him, let me know," Dorne bade. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." Connery moved away and soon went back to look again at +Eaton. Had Mr. Dorne also seen the likeness of Eaton in the published +descriptions of the man whom Warden had said was most outrageously +wronged? the man for whom Warden had been willing to risk his life, who +afterwards had not dared to come forward to aid the police with +anything he might know? Connery determined to let nothing interfere +with learning more of Eaton; Dorne's request only gave him added +responsibility. +</P> + +<P> +Dorne, however, was not depending upon Connery alone for further +information. As soon as the conductor had gone, he turned back to his +daughter and Avery upon the seat opposite. +</P> + +<P> +"Avery," he said in a tone of direction, "I wish you to get in +conversation with this Philip Eaton. It will probably be useful if you +let Harriet talk with him too. She would get impressions helpful to me +which you can't." +</P> + +<P> +The girl started with surprise but recovered at once. "Yes, Father," +she said. +</P> + +<P> +"What, sir?" Avery ventured to protest. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +MISS DORNE MEETS EATON +</H4> + +<P> +Dorne motioned Avery to the aisle, where already some of the +passengers, having settled their belongings in their sections, were +beginning to wander through the cars seeking acquaintances or players +to make up a card game. Eaton, however, was not among these. On the +contrary, when these approached him in his section, he frankly avoided +chance of their speaking to him, by an appearance of complete immersion +in his own concerns. The Englishman directly across the aisle from +Eaton clearly was not likely to speak to him, or to anybody else, +without an introduction; the red-haired man, "D. S.," however, seemed a +more expansive personality. Eaton, seeing "D. S." look several times +in his direction, pulled a newspaper from the pocket of his overcoat +and engrossed himself in it; the newspaper finished, he opened his +traveling bag and produced a magazine. +</P> + +<P> +But as the train settled into the steady running which reminded of the +days of travel ahead during which the half-dozen cars of the train must +create a world in which it would be absolutely impossible to avoid +contact with other people, Eaton put the magazine into his traveling +bag, took from the bag a handful of cigars with which he filled a +plain, uninitialed cigar-case, and went toward the club and observation +car in the rear. As he passed through the sleeper next to him,—the +last one,—Harriet Dorne glanced up at him and spoke to her father; +Dorne nodded but did not look up. Eaton went on into the wide-windowed +observation-room beyond, which opened onto the rear platform protected +on three sides. +</P> + +<P> +The observation-room was nearly empty. The sleet which had been +falling when they left Seattle had changed to huge, heavy flakes of +fast-falling snow, which blurred the windows, obscured the landscape +and left visible only the two thin black lines of track that, streaming +out behind them, vanished fifty feet away in the white smother. The +only occupants of the room were a young woman who was reading a +magazine, and an elderly man. Eaton chose a seat as far from these two +as possible. +</P> + +<P> +He had been there only a few minutes, however, when, looking up, he saw +Harriet Dorne and Avery enter the room. They passed him, engaged in +conversation, and stood by the rear door looking out into the storm. +It was evident to Eaton, although he did not watch them, that they were +arguing something; the girl seemed insistent, Avery irritated and +unwilling. Her manner showed that she won her point finally. She +seated herself in one of the chairs, and Avery left her. He wandered, +as if aimlessly, to the reading table, turning over the magazines +there; abandoning them, he gazed about as if bored; then, with a wholly +casual manner, he came toward Eaton and took the seat beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Rotten weather, isn't it?" Avery observed somewhat ungraciously. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton could not well avoid reply. "It's been getting worse," he +commented, "ever since we left Seattle." +</P> + +<P> +"We're running into it, apparently." Again Avery looked toward Eaton +and waited. +</P> + +<P> +"It'll be bad in the mountains, I suspect," Eaton said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—lucky if we get through." +</P> + +<P> +The conversation on Avery's part was patently forced; and it was +equally forced on Eaton's; nevertheless it continued. Avery introduced +the war and other subjects upon which men, thrown together for a time, +are accustomed to exchange opinions. But Avery did not do it easily or +naturally; he plainly was of the caste whose pose it is to repel, not +seek, overtures toward a chance acquaintance. His lack of practice was +perfectly obvious when at last he asked directly: "Beg pardon, but I +don't think I know your name." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton was obliged to give it. +</P> + +<P> +"Mine's Avery," the other offered; "perhaps you heard it when we were +getting our berths assigned." +</P> + +<P> +And again the conversation, enjoyed by neither of them, went on. +Finally the girl at the end of the car rose and passed them, as though +leaving the car. Avery looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going, Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think some one ought to be with Father." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go in just a minute." +</P> + +<P> +She had halted almost in front of them. Avery, hesitating as though he +did not know what he ought to do, finally arose; and as Eaton observed +that Avery, having introduced himself, appeared now to consider it his +duty to present Eaton to Harriet Dorne, Eaton also arose. Avery +murmured the names. Harriet Dorne, resting her hand on the back of +Avery's chair, joined in the conversation. As she replied easily and +interestedly to a comment of Eaton's, Avery suddenly reminded her of +her father. After a minute, when Avery—still ungracious and still +irritated over something which Eaton could not guess—rather abruptly +left them, she took Avery's seat; and Eaton dropped into his chair +beside her. +</P> + +<P> +Now, this whole proceeding—though within the convention which, +forbidding a girl to make a man's acquaintance directly, says nothing +against her making it through the medium of another man—had been so +unnaturally done that Eaton understood that Harriet Dorne deliberately +had arranged to make his acquaintance, and that Avery, angry and +objecting, had been overruled. +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to Eaton less alertly boyish now than she had looked an hour +before when they had boarded the train. Her cheeks were smoothly +rounded, her lips rather full, her lashes very long. He could not look +up without looking directly at her, for her chair, which had not been +moved since Avery left it, was at an angle with his own. A faint, +sweet fragrance from her hair and clothing came to him and made him +recollect how long it was—five years—since he had talked with, or +even been near, such a girl as this; and the sudden tumult of his +pulses which her nearness caused warned him to keep watch of what he +said until he had learned why she had sought him out. +</P> + +<P> +To avoid the appearance of studying her too openly, he turned slightly, +so that his gaze went past her to the white turmoil outside the windows. +</P> + +<P> +"It's wonderful," she said, "isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean the storm?" A twinkle of amusement came to Eaton's eyes. +"It would be more interesting if it allowed a little more to be seen. +At present there is nothing visible but snow." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that the only way it affects you?" She turned to him, apparently a +trifle disappointed. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't exactly understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it must affect every man most as it touches his own interests. +An artist would think of it as a background for contrasts—a thing to +sketch or paint; a writer as something to be written down in words." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton understood. She could not more plainly have asked him what he +was. +</P> + +<P> +"And an engineer, I suppose," he said, easily, "would think of it only +as an element to be included in his formulas—an <I>x</I>, or an <I>a</I>, or a +<I>b</I>, to be put in somewhere and square-rooted or squared so that the +roof-truss he was figuring should not buckle under its weight." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—so that is the way you were thinking of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean," Eaton challenged her directly, "am I an engineer?" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no; I was only talking in pure generalities, just as you were." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go on, then," she said gayly. "I see I can't conceal from you +that I am doing you the honor to wonder what you are. A lawyer would +think of it in the light of damage it might create and the subsequent +possibilities of litigation." She made a little pause. "A business +man would take it into account, as he has to take into account all +things in nature or human; it would delay transportation, or harm or +aid the winter wheat." +</P> + +<P> +"Or stop competition somewhere," he observed, more interested. +</P> + +<P> +The flash of satisfaction which came to her face and as quickly was +checked and faded showed him she thought she was on the right track. +</P> + +<P> +"Business," she said, still lightly, "will—how is it the newspapers +put it?—will marshal its cohorts; it will send out its generals in +command of brigades of snowplows, its colonels in command of regiments +of snow-shovelers and its spies to discover and to bring back word of +the effect upon the crops." +</P> + +<P> +"You talk," he said, "as if business were a war." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it?—like war, but war in higher terms." +</P> + +<P> +"In higher terms?" he questioned, attempting to make his tone like +hers, but a sudden bitterness now was betrayed by it. "Or in lower?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, in higher," she declared, "demanding greater courage, greater +devotion, greater determination, greater self-sacrifice." +</P> + +<P> +"What makes you say that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Soldiers themselves say it, Mr. Eaton, and all the observers in this +horrible war say it when they say that they find almost no cowards and +very few weaklings among all the millions of every sort of men at the +front. They could not say the same of those identical millions under +the normal conditions of everyday business life." +</P> + +<P> +He remained silent, though she waited for him to reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You know that is so, Mr. Eaton," she said. "One has only to look on +the streets of any great city to find thousands of men who have not had +the courage and determination to carry on their share of the ordinary +duties of life. Recruiting officers can pick any man off the streets +and make a good soldier of him, but no one could be so sure of finding +a satisfactory employee in that way. Doesn't that show that daily +life, the everyday business of earning a living and bearing one's share +in the workaday world, demands greater qualities than war?" +</P> + +<P> +Her face had flushed eagerly as she spoke; a darker, livid flush +answered her words on his. +</P> + +<P> +"But the opportunities for evil are greater, too," he asserted almost +fiercely. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"For deceit, for lies, for treachery, Miss Dorne! Violence is the evil +of war, and violence is the evil most easily punished, even if it does +not bring its own punishment upon itself. But how many of those men +you speak of on the streets have been deliberately, mercilessly, even +savagely sacrificed to some business expediency, their future +destroyed, their hope killed!" Some storm of passion, whose meaning +she could not divine, was sweeping him. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean," she asked after an instant's silence, "that you, Mr. Eaton, +have been sacrificed in such a way?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am still talking in generalities," he denied ineffectively. +</P> + +<P> +He saw that she sensed the untruthfulness of these last words. Her +smooth young forehead and her eyes were shadowy with thought. Eaton +was uneasily silent. The train roared across some trestle, giving a +sharp glimpse of gray, snow-swept water far below. Finally Harriet +Dorne seemed to have made her decision. +</P> + +<P> +"I think you should meet my father, Mr. Eaton," she said. "Would you +like to?" +</P> + +<P> +He did not reply at once. He knew that his delay was causing her to +study him now with greater surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I would like to meet him, yes," he said, "but,"—he hesitated, tried +to avoid answer without offending her, but already he had affronted +her,—"but not now, Miss Dorne." +</P> + +<P> +She stared at him, rebuffed and chilled. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—" The sentence, obviously, was one she felt it better not +to finish. As though he recognized that now she must wish the +conversation to end, he got up. She rose stiffly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see you into your car, if you're returning there," he offered. +</P> + +<P> +Neither spoke, as he went with her into the next car; and at the +section where her father sat, Eaton bowed silently, nodded to Avery, +who coldly returned his nod, and left her. Eaton went on into his own +car and sat down, his thoughts in mad confusion. +</P> + +<P> +How near he had come to talking to this girl about himself, even +though, he had felt from the first that that was what she was trying to +make him do! Was he losing his common sense? Was the self-command on +which he had so counted that he had dared to take this train deserting +him? He felt that he must not see Harriet Dorne again alone. At first +this was all he felt; but as he sat, pale and quiet, staring vacantly +at the snow-flakes which struck and melted on the window beside him, +his thoughts grew more clear. In Avery he had recognized, by that +instinct which so strangely divines the personalities one meets, an +enemy from the start; Dorne's attitude toward him, of course, was not +yet defined; as for Harriet Dorne—he could not tell whether she was +prepared to be his enemy or friend. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +TRUCE +</H4> + +<P> +The Eastern Express, mantled in a seething whirl of snow, but still +maintaining very nearly its scheduled time and even regaining a few +lost minutes from hour to hour as, now well past the middle of the +State, it sped on across the flatter country in its approach to the +mountains, proceeded monotonously through the afternoon. Eaton watched +the chill of the snow battle against the warmth of the double windows +on the windward side of the car, until finally it conquered and the +windows became—as he knew the rest of the outside of the cars must +have been long before—merely a wall of white. This coating, +thickening steadily with the increasing severity of the storm as they +approached the Rockies, dimmed the afternoon daylight within the car to +dusk. +</P> + +<P> +Presently all became black outside the windows, and the passengers from +the rear cars filed forward to the dining car and then back to their +places again. Eaton took care to avoid the Dorne party in the diner. +Soon the porter began making up the berths to be occupied that night; +but as yet no one was retiring. The train was to reach Spokane late in +the evening; there would be a stop there for half an hour; and after +the long day on the train, every one seemed to be waiting up for a walk +about the station before going to bed. But as the train slowed, and +with a sudden diminishing of the clatter of the fishplates under its +wheels and of the puffings of exhausted steam, slipped into the lighted +trainsheds at the city, Eaton sat for some minutes in thought. Then he +dragged his overcoat down from its hook, buttoned it tightly about his +throat, pulled his traveling cap down on his head and left the car. +All along the train, vestibule doors of the Pullmans had been opened, +and the passengers were getting out, while a few others, snow-covered +and with hand-luggage, came to board the train. Eaton, turning to +survey the sleet-shrouded car he had left, found himself face to face +with Miss Dorne, standing alone upon the station platform. +</P> + +<P> +Her piquant, beautiful face was half hidden in the collar of the great +fur coat she had worn on boarding the train, and her cheeks were ruddy +with the bite of the crisp air. +</P> + +<P> +"You see before you a castaway," she volunteered, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +He felt it necessary to take the same tone. "A castaway?" he +questioned. "Cast away by whom?" +</P> + +<P> +"By Mr. Avery, if you must know, though your implication that anybody +should have cast me away—anybody at all, Mr. Eaton—is unpleasant." +</P> + +<P> +"There was no implication; it was simply inquiry." +</P> + +<P> +"You should have put it, then, in some other form; you should have +asked how I came to be in so surprising a position." +</P> + +<P> +"'How,' in this part of the country, Miss Dorne, is not regarded as a +question, but merely as a form of salutation," he bantered. "It was +formerly employed by the Indian aborigines inhabiting these parts, who +exchanged 'How's' when passing each other on the road. If I had said +'How,' you might simply have replied 'How,' and I should have been +under the necessity of considering the incident closed." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed. "You do not wish it to be closed." +</P> + +<P> +"Not till I know more about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; you shall know more. Mr. Avery brought me out to take a +walk. He remembered, after bringing me as far as this, that we had not +asked my father whether he had any message to be sent from here or any +commission to execute; so he went back to find out. I have now waited +so many minutes that I feel sure it is my father who has detained him. +The imperfectly concealed meaning of what I am telling you is that I +consider that Mr. Avery, by his delay, has forfeited his right. The +further implication—for <I>I</I> do imply things, Mr. Eaton—is that you +cannot very well avoid offering to take the post of duty he has +abandoned." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean walk with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do." +</P> + +<P> +He slipped his hand inside her arm, sustaining her slight, active body +against the wind which blew strongly through the station and scattered +over them snow-flakes blown from the roofs of the cars, as they walked +forward along the train. Her manner had told him that she meant to +ignore her resentment of the morning; but as, turning, they commenced +to walk briskly up and down the platform, he found he was not wholly +right in this. +</P> + +<P> +"You must admit, Mr. Eaton, that I am treating you very well." +</P> + +<P> +"In pardoning an offense where no offense was meant?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is partly that—that I realized no offense was meant. Partly it is +because I do not pass judgment on things I do not understand. I could +imagine no possible reason for your very peculiar refusal." +</P> + +<P> +"Not even that I might be perhaps the sort of person who ought not to +be introduced into your party in quite that way?" +</P> + +<P> +"That least of all. Persons of that sort do not admit themselves to be +such; and if I have lived for twen—I shall not tell you just how many +years—the sort of life I have been obliged to live almost since I was +born, without learning to judge men in that respect, I must have failed +to use my opportunities." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he returned quietly; then, as he recollected his +instinctive prejudice against Avery: "However, I am not so sure." +</P> + +<P> +She plainly waited for him to go on, but he pretended to be concerned +wholly with guiding her along the platform. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know that you are a most peculiar man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly in what way, Miss Dorne?" +</P> + +<P> +"In this: The ordinary man, when a woman shows any curiosity about +himself, answers with a fullness and particularity and eagerness which +seems to say, 'At last you have found a subject which interests me!'" +</P> + +<P> +"Does he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is that the only reply you care to make?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can think of none more adequate." +</P> + +<P> +"Meaning that after my altogether too open display of curiosity +regarding you, I can still do nothing better than guess, without any +expectation that you, on your part, will deign to tell me whether I am +right or wrong. Very well; my first guess is that you have not done +much walking with young women on station platforms—certainly not much +of late." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll try to do better, if you'll tell me how you know that?" +</P> + +<P> +"You do very well. I was not criticising you, and I don't have to tell +why. Ask no questions; it is a clairvoyant diviner who is speaking." +</P> + +<P> +"Divinity?" +</P> + +<P> +"Diviner only. My second guess is that you have been abroad in far +lands." +</P> + +<P> +"My railroad ticket showed as much as that." +</P> + +<P> +"Pardon me, if it seriously injures your self-esteem; but I was not +sufficiently interested in you when you came aboard the train, to +observe your ticket. What I know is divined from the exceedingly odd +and reminiscent way in which you look at all things about you—at this +train, this station, the people who pass." +</P> + +<P> +"You find nothing reminiscent, I suppose, in the way I look at you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You do yourself injustice. You do not look at me at all, so I cannot +tell; but there could hardly be any reminiscence extending beyond this +morning, since you never saw me before then." +</P> + +<P> +"No; this is all fresh experience." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope it is not displeasing. My doubt concerning your evidently +rather long absence abroad is as to whether you went away to get or to +forget." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Those are the two reasons for which young men go to Asia, are they +not?—to get something or to forget something. At least, so I have +been given to understand. Shall I go on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on guessing, you mean? I don't seem able to prevent it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then my third guess is this—and you know no one is ever allowed more +than three guesses." She hesitated; when she went on, she had entirely +dropped her tone of banter. "I guess, Mr. Eaton, that you have been—I +think, are still—going through some terrible experience which has +endured for a very long time—perhaps even for years—and has nearly +made of you and perhaps even yet may make of you something far +different and—and something far less pleasing than you—you must have +been before. There! I have transcended all bounds, said everything I +should not have said, and left unsaid all the conventional things which +are all that our short acquaintance could have allowed. Forgive +me—because I'm not sorry." +</P> + +<P> +He made no answer. They walked as far as the rear of the train, turned +and came back before she spoke again: +</P> + +<P> +"What is it they are doing to the front of our train, Mr. Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +He looked. "They are putting a plow on the engine." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" +</P> + +<P> +"That seems to be only the ordinary push-plow, but if what I have been +overhearing is correct, the railroad people are preparing to give you +one of the minor exhibitions of that everyday courage of which you +spoke this morning, Miss Dorne." +</P> + +<P> +"In what particular way?" +</P> + +<P> +"When we get across the Idaho line and into the mountains, you are to +ride behind a double-header driving a rotary snow-plow." +</P> + +<P> +"A double-header? You mean two locomotives?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; the preparation is warrant that what is ahead of us in the way of +travel will fully come up to anything you may have been led to expect." +They stood a minute watching the trainmen; as they turned, his gaze +went past her to the rear cars. "Also," he added, "Mr. Avery, with his +usual gracious pleasure at my being in your company, is hailing you +from the platform of your car." +</P> + +<P> +She looked up at Eaton sharply, seemed about to speak, and then checked +what was upon her tongue. "You are going into your own car?" She held +out to him her small gloved hand. "Good-by, then—until we see one +another again." +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, Miss Dorne." +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand and retaining it hardly the fraction of an instant, +let it go. Was it her friendship she had been offering him? Men use +badinage without respect to what their actual feelings may be; +women—some memory from the past in which he had known such girls as +this, seemed to recall—use it most frequently when their feelings, +consciously or unconsciously, are drawing toward a man. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton now went into the men's compartment of his car, where he sat +smoking till after the train was under way again. The porter looked in +upon him there to ask if he wished his berth made up now; Eaton nodded +assent, and fifteen minutes later, dropping the cold end of his cigar +and going out into the car, he found the berth ready for him. "D. +S.'s" section, also made up but with the curtains folded back +displaying the bedding within, was unoccupied; jerkings of the +curtains, and voices and giggling in the two berths at the end of the +car, showed that Amy and Constance were getting into bed; the +Englishman was wide awake in plain determination not to go to bed until +his accustomed Nottingham hour. Eaton, drawing his curtains together +and buttoning them from the inside, undressed and went to bed. A +half-hour later the passage of some one through the aisle and the +sudden dimming of the crack of light which showed above the curtains +told him that the lights in the car had been turned down. Eaton closed +his eyes, but sleep was far from him. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he began to feel the train beginning to labor with the +increasing grade and the deepening snow. It was well across the State +line and into Idaho; it was nearing the mountains, and the weather was +getting colder and the storm more severe. Eaton lifted the curtain +from the window beside him and leaned on one elbow to look out. The +train was running through a bleak, white desolation; no light and no +sign of habitation showed anywhere. Eaton lay staring out, and now the +bleak world about him seemed to assume toward him a cruel and merciless +aspect. The events of the day ran through his mind again with sinister +suggestion. He had taken that train for a certain definite, dangerous +purpose which required his remaining as obscure and as inconspicuous as +possible; yet already he had been singled out for attention. So far, +he was sure, he had received no more than that—attention, curiosity +concerning him. He had not suffered recognition; but that might come +at any moment. Could he risk longer waiting to act? +</P> + +<P> +He dropped on his back upon the bed and lay with his hands clasped +under his head, his eyes staring up at the roof of the car. +</P> + +<P> +In the card-room of the observation car, playing and conversation still +went on for a time; then it diminished as one by one the passengers +went away to bed. Connery, looking into this car, found it empty and +the porter cleaning up; he slowly passed on forward through the train, +stopping momentarily in the rear Pullman opposite the berth of the +passenger whom President Jarvis had commended to his care. His +scrutiny of the car told him all was correct here; the even breathing +within the berth assured him the passenger slept. +</P> + +<P> +Connery went on through to the next car and paused again outside the +berth occupied by Eaton. He had watched Eaton all day with results +that still he was debating with himself; he had found in a newspaper +the description of the man who had waited at Warden's, and he reread +it, comparing it with Eaton. It perfectly confirmed Connery's first +impression; but the more Connery had seen of Eaton, and the more he had +thought over him during the day, the more the conductor had become +satisfied that either Eaton was not the man described or, if he was, +there was no harm to come from it. After all, was not all that could +be said against Eaton—if he was the man—simply that he had not +appeared to state why Warden was befriending him? Was it not possible +that he was serving Warden in some way by not appearing? Certainly Mr. +Dorne, who was the man most on the train to be considered, had +satisfied himself that Eaton was fit for an acquaintance; Connery had +seen what was almost a friendship, apparently, spring up between Eaton +and Dorne's daughter during the day. +</P> + +<P> +The conductor went on, his shoulders brushing the buttoned curtains on +both sides of the narrow aisle. Except for the presence of the +passenger in the rear sleeper, this inspection was to the conductor the +uttermost of the commonplace; in its monotonous familiarity he had +never felt any strangeness in this abrupt and intimate bringing +together of people who never had seen one another before, who after +these few days of travel together, might probably never see one another +again, but who now slept separated from one another and from the +persons passing through the cars by no greater protection than these +curtains designed only to shield them from the light and from each +other's eyes. He felt no strangeness in this now. He merely assured +himself by his scrutiny that within his train all was right. Outside— +</P> + +<P> +Connery was not so sure of that; rather, he had been becoming more +certain hour by hour all through the evening, that they were going to +have great difficulty in getting the train through. Though he knew by +President Jarvis' note that the officials of the road must be watching +the progress of this especial train with particular interest, he had +received no train-orders from the west for several hours. His inquiry +at the last stop had told him the reason for this; the telegraph wires +to the west had gone down. To the east, communication was still open, +but how long it would remain so he could not guess. Here in the deep +heart of the great mountains—they had passed the Idaho boundary-line +into Montana—they were getting the full effect of the storm; their +progress, increasingly slow, was broken by stops which were becoming +more frequent and longer as they struggled on. As now they fought +their way slower and slower up a grade, and barely topping it, +descended the opposite slope at greater speed as the momentum of the +train was added to the engine-power, Connery's mind went back to the +second sleeper with its single passenger, and he spoke to the Pullman +conductor, who nodded and went toward that car. The weather had +prevented the expected increase of their number of passengers at +Spokane; only a few had got aboard there; there were worse grades +ahead, in climbing which every pound of weight would count; so +Connery—in the absence of orders and with Jarvis' note in his +pocket—had resolved to drop the second sleeper. +</P> + +<P> +At Fracroft—the station where he was to exchange the ordinary plow +which so far had sufficed, and couple on the "rotary" to fight the +mountain drifts ahead—he swung himself down from the train, looked in +at the telegraph office and then went forward to the two giant +locomotives, on whose sweating, monstrous backs the snow, suddenly +visible in the haze of their lights, melted as it fell. He waited on +the station platform while the second sleeper was cut out and the train +made up again. Then, as they started, he swung aboard and in the +brightly lighted men's compartment of the first Pullman checked up his +report-sheets with a stub of pencil. They had stopped again, he +noticed; now they were climbing a grade, more easily because of the +decrease of weight; now a trestle rumbled under the wheels, telling him +just where they were. Next was the powerful, steady push against +opposition—the rotary was cutting its way through a drift. +</P> + +<P> +Again they stopped—once more went on. Connery, having put his papers +into his pocket, dozed, awoke, dozed again. The snow was certainly +heavy, and the storm had piled it up across the cuts in great drifts +which kept the rotary struggling almost constantly now. The progress +of the train halted again and again; several times it backed, charged +forward again—only to stop, back and charge again and then go on. But +this did not disturb Connery. Then something went wrong. All at once +he found himself, by a trainman's instinctive and automatic action, +upon his feet; for the shock had been so slight as barely to be felt, +far too slight certainly to have awakened any of the sleeping +passengers in their berths. He went to the door of the car, lifted the +platform stop, threw open the door of the vestibule and hanging by one +hand to the rail, swung himself out from the side of the car to look +ahead. He saw the forward one of the two locomotives wrapped in clouds +of steam, and men arm-deep in snow wallowing forward to the rotary +still further to the front, and the sight confirmed fully his +apprehension that this halt was more important and likely to last much +longer than those that had gone before. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +ARE YOU HILLWARD? +</H4> + +<P> +It is the wonder of the moment of first awakening that one—however +tried or troubled he may be when complete recollection returns—may +find, at first, rehearsal of only what is pleasant in his mind. Eaton, +waking and stretching himself luxuriously in his berth in the reverie +halfway between sleep and full consciousness, found himself supremely +happy. His feelings, before recollection came to check them, reminded +him only that he had been made an acquaintance, almost a friend, the +day before, by a wonderful, inspiring, beautiful girl. Then suddenly, +into his clearing memory crushed and crowded the reason for his being +where he was. By an instinctive jerk of his shoulders, almost a +shudder, he drew the sheet and blanket closer about him; the smile was +gone from his lips; he lay still, staring upward at the berth above his +head and listening to the noises in the car. +</P> + +<P> +The bell in the washroom at the end of the car was ringing violently, +and some one was reinforcing his ring with a stentorian call for +"Porter! Porter!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton realized that it was very cold in his berth—also that the train, +which was standing still, had been in that motionless condition for +some time. He threw up the window curtain as he appreciated that and, +looking out, found that he faced a great unbroken bank of glistening +white snow as high as the top of the car at this point and rising even +higher ahead. He listened, therefore, while the Englishman—for the +voice calling to the porter was his—extracted all available +information from the negro. +</P> + +<P> +"Porter!" Standish called again. +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh!" +</P> + +<P> +"Close my window and be quick about it!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's closed, suh." +</P> + +<P> +"Closed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh; I shut it en-durin' the night." +</P> + +<P> +"Closed!" the voice behind the curtains iterated skeptically; there was +a pause during which, probably, there was limited exploration. "I say, +then, how cold is it outside?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten below this morning, suh." +</P> + +<P> +"What, what? Where are we?" +</P> + +<P> +"Between Fracroft and Simons, suh." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh, yit!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hasn't your silly train moved since four o'clock?" +</P> + +<P> +"Moved? No, suh. Not mo'n a yahd or two nohow, suh, and I reckon we +backed them up again." +</P> + +<P> +"That foolish snow still?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh; and snow some more, suh." +</P> + +<P> +"But haven't we the plow still ahead?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yessuh; the plow's ahaid. We still got it; but that's all, suh. +It ain't doin' much; it's busted." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh—what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh—busted! There was right smart of a slide across the track, +and the crew, I understands, diagnosed it jus' fo' a snowbank and done +bucked right into it. But they was rock in this, suh; we's layin' +right below a hill; and that rock jus' busted that rotary like a +Belgium shell hit it. Yessuh—pieces of that rotary essentially +scattered themselves in four directions besides backwards and fo'wards. +We ain't done much travelin' since then." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! But the restaurant car's still attached?" +</P> + +<P> +"De restaur—oh, yessuh. We carries the diner through—from the Coast +to Chicago." +</P> + +<P> +"H'm! Ten below! Porter, is that wash-compartment hot? And are they +serving breakfast yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessuh; yessuh!" +</P> + +<P> +The Briton, from behind his curtains, continued; but Eaton no longer +paid attention. +</P> + +<P> +"Snowed in and stopped since four!" The realization startled him with +the necessity of taking it into account in his plans. He jerked +himself up in his berth and began pulling his clothes down from the +hooks; then, as abruptly, he stopped dressing and sat absorbed in +thought. Finally he parted the curtains and looked out into the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +The Englishman, having elicited all he desired, or could draw, from the +porter, now bulged through his curtains and stood in the aisle, +unabashed, in gaudy pajamas and slippers, while he methodically bundled +his clothes under his arm; then, still garbed only in pajamas, he +paraded majestically to the washroom. The curtains over the berths at +the other end of the car also bulged and emitted the two dark-haired +girls. They were completely kimono-ed over any temporary deficiency of +attire and skipped to the drawing-room inhabited by their parents. The +drawing-room door instantly opened at Amy's knock, admitted the girls +and shut again. Section Seven gave to the aisle the reddish-haired D. +S. He carried coat, collar, hairbrushes and shaving case and went to +join the Briton in the men's washroom. +</P> + +<P> +There was now no one else in the main part of the car; and no berths +other than those already accounted for had been made up. Yet Eaton +still delayed; his first impulse to get up and dress had been lost in +the intensity of the thought in which he was engaged. He had let +himself sink back against the pillows, while he stared, unseeingly, at +the solid bank of snow beside the car, when the door at the further end +of the coach opened and Conductor Connery entered, calling a name. +"Mr. Hillward! Mr. Lawrence Hillward! Telegram for Mr. Hillward!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started at the first call of the name; he sat up and faced about. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Hillward! Telegram for Mr. Lawrence Hillward!" +</P> + +<P> +The conductor was opposite Section Three; Eaton now waited tensely and +delayed until the conductor was past; then putting his head out of his +curtains and assuring himself that the car was otherwise empty as when +he had seen it last, he hailed as the conductor was going through the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"What name? Who is that telegram for?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Lawrence Hillward." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, thank you; then that's mine." He put his hand out between the +curtains to take the yellow envelope. +</P> + +<P> +Connery held back. "I thought your name was Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"It is. Mr. Hillward—Lawrence Hillward—is an associate of mine who +expected to make this trip with me but could not. So I should have +telegrams or other communications addressed to him. Is there anything +to sign?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir—train delivery. It's not necessary." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton drew his curtains close again and ripped the envelope open; but +before reading the message, he observed with alarm that his pajama +jacket had opened across the chest, and a small round scar, such as +that left by a high-powered bullet penetrating, was exposed. He gasped +almost audibly, realizing this, and clapped his hand to his chest and +buttoned his jacket. The message—nine words without signature—lay +before him: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Thicket knot youngster omniscient issue foliage lecture tragic +instigation. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was some code which Eaton recognized but could not decipher at once. +It was of concern, but at that instant, less of concern than to know +whether his jacket had been open and his chest exposed when he took the +message. The conductor was still standing in the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"When did you get this?" Eaton asked, looking out. +</P> + +<P> +"Just now." +</P> + +<P> +"How could you get it here?" Eaton questioned, watching the conductor's +face. +</P> + +<P> +"We've had train instruments—the emergency telegraph—on the wires +since four o'clock and just got talking with the stations east; wires +are still down to the west. That message came through yesterday some +time and was waiting for you at Simons; when we got them this morning, +they sent it on." +</P> + +<P> +"I see; thanks." Eaton, assured that if the conductor had seen +anything, he suspected no significance in what he saw, closed his +curtains and buttoned them carefully. The conductor moved on. Eaton +took a small English-Chinese pocket-dictionary from his vest pocket and +opened it under cover of the blanket; counting five words up from +<I>thicket</I> he found <I>they</I>; five down from <I>knot</I> gave him <I>know</I>; six +up from <I>youngster</I> was <I>you</I>; six down from <I>omniscient</I> was <I>one</I>; +seven up from <I>issue</I> was <I>is</I>; and so continuing, he translated the +nine words to: +</P> + +<P> +"They know you. One is following. Leave train instantly." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, nervous and jerky, as he completed the first six words, laughed +as he compiled the final three. "Leave train instantly!" The humor of +that advice in his present situation, as he looked out the window at +the solid bank of snow, appealed to him. He slapped the little +dictionary shut and returned it to his pocket. A waiter from the +dining car came back, announcing the first call for breakfast, and +spurred him into action. Passengers from the Pullman at the rear +passed Eaton's section for the diner. He glanced out at the first two +or three; then he heard Harriet Dorne's voice in some quiet, +conventional remark to the man who followed her. Eaton started at it; +then he dressed swiftly and hurried into the now deserted washroom and +then on to breakfast. +</P> + +<P> +The dining car, all gleaming crystal and silver and white covers +within, also was surrounded by snow. The space outside the windows +seemed somewhat wider than that about the sleeping car. And a moment +before Eaton went forward, the last cloud had cleared and the sun had +come out bright. The train was still quite motionless; the great +drifts of snow, even with the tops of the cars on either side, made +perfectly plain how hopeless it would be to try to proceed without the +plow; and the heavy white frost which had not yet cleared from some of +the window-panes, told graphically of the cold without. But the dining +car was warm and cheerful, and it gave assurance that, if the train was +helpless to move, it at least offered luxuries in its idleness. As +Eaton stepped inside the door, the car seemed all cheer and good +spirits. +</P> + +<P> +Fresh red carnations and ruddy roses were, as usual, in the cut-glass +vases on the white cloths; the waiters bore steaming pots of coffee and +bowls of hot cereals to the different tables. These, as usual, were +ten in number—five with places for four persons each, on one side of +the aisle, and five, each with places for two persons, beside the +windows on the other side of the car. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Dorne was sitting facing the door at the second of the larger +tables; opposite her, and with his back to Eaton, sat Donald Avery. A +third place was laid beside the girl, as though they expected Dorne to +join them; but they had begun their fruit without waiting. The girl +glanced up as Eaton halted in the doorway; her blue eyes brightened +with a look part friendliness, part purpose. She smiled and nodded, +and Avery turned about. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Mr. Eaton," the girl greeted. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Miss Dorne," Eaton replied collectedly. He nodded also +to Avery, who, stiffly returning the nod, turned back again to Miss +Dorne. +</P> + +<P> +Amy and Constance, with their parents, occupied the third large table; +the other three large tables were empty. "D. S." was alone at the +furthest of the small tables; a traveling-salesman-looking person was +washing down creamed Finnan haddock with coffee at the next; the +passenger who had been alone in the second car was at the third; the +Englishman, Standish, was beginning his iced grape-fruit at the table +opposite Miss Dorne; and at the place nearest the door, an +insignificant broad-shouldered and untidy young man, who had boarded +the train at Spokane, had just spilled half a cup of coffee over the +egg spots on his lapels as his unsteady and nicotine-stained fingers +all but dropped the cup. +</P> + +<P> +The dining car conductor, in accordance with the general determination +to reserve the larger tables for parties traveling together, pulled +back the chair opposite the untidy man; but Eaton, with a sharp sense +of disgust, went past to the chair opposite the Englishman. +</P> + +<P> +As he was about to seat himself there, the girl again looked up. "Oh, +Mr. Eaton," she smiled, "wouldn't you like to sit with us? I don't +think Father is coming to breakfast now; and if he does, of course +there's still room." +</P> + +<P> +She pulled back the chair beside her enticingly; and Eaton accepted it. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Mr. Avery," he said to Miss Dorne's companion formally +as he sat down, and the man across the table murmured something +perforce. +</P> + +<P> +As Eaton ordered his breakfast, he appreciated for the first time that +his coming had interrupted a conversation—or rather a sort of +monologue of complaint on the part of Standish addressed impersonally +to Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"Extraordinarily exposed in these sleeping cars of yours, isn't one, +wouldn't you say?" the Englishman appealed across the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"Exposed?" Avery repeated, more inclined to encourage the conversation. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, is it quite the custom for a train servant—whenever he fancies +he should—to reach across one, sleeping?" +</P> + +<P> +"He means the porter closed his window during the night," Eaton +explained to Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"Quite so; and I knew nothing about it—nothing at all. Fancy! There +was I in the bunk, and the beggar comes along, pulls my curtains aside, +reaches across me—" +</P> + +<P> +"It got very cold in the night," Avery offered. +</P> + +<P> +"I know; but is that any reason for the beggar invading my bunk that +way? He might have done anything to me! Any one in the car might have +done anything to me! Any one in your bally corridor-train might have +done anything. There was I, asleep—quite unconscious; people passing +up and down the aisle just the other side of a foolish fall of curtain! +How does any one know one of those people might not be an enemy of +mine? Remarkable people, you Americans—inconsistent, I say. Lock +your homes with most complicated fastenings—greatest lock-makers in +the world—burglar alarms on windows; but when you travel, expose +yourselves as one wouldn't dream of exposing oneself elsewhere. +Amazing places, your Pullman coaches! Why, any one might do anything +to any one! What's to stop him, what?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, suddenly reminded of his telegram, put a hand into his pocket +and fingered the torn scraps; he had meant to remove and destroy them, +but had forgotten. He glanced at Harriet Dorne. +</P> + +<P> +"What he says is quite true," she observed. She was smiling, however, +as most of the other passengers were, at the Englishman's vehemence. +</P> + +<P> +They engaged in conversation as they breakfasted—a conversation in +which Avery took almost no part, though Miss Dorne tried openly to draw +him in; then the sudden entrance of Connery, followed closely by a +stout, brusque man who belonged to the rear Pullman, took Eaton's +attention and hers. +</P> + +<P> +Other passengers also looked up; and the nervous, untidy young man at +the table near the door again slopped coffee over himself as the +conductor gazed about. +</P> + +<P> +"Which is him?" the man with Connery demanded loudly. +</P> + +<P> +Connery checked him, but pointed at the same time to Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"That's him, is it?" the other man said. "Then go ahead." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton observed that Avery, who had turned in his seat, was watching +this diversion on the part of the conductor with interest. Connery +stopped beside Eaton's seat. +</P> + +<P> +"You took a telegram for Lawrence Hillward this morning," he asserted. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because it was mine, or meant for me, as I said at the time. My name +is Eaton; but Mr. Hillward expected to make this trip with me." +</P> + +<P> +The stout man with the conductor forced himself forward. +</P> + +<P> +"That's pretty good, but not quite good enough!" he charged. +"Conductor, get that telegram for me!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton got up, controlling himself under the insult of the other's +manner. +</P> + +<P> +"What business is it of yours?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"What business? Why, only that I'm Lawrence Hillward—that's all, my +friend! What are you up to, anyway? Lawrence Hillward traveling with +you! I never set eyes on you until I saw you on this train; and you +take my telegram!" The charge was made loudly and distinctly; every +one in the dining car—Eaton could not see every one, but he knew it +was so—had put down fork or cup or spoon and was staring at him. +"What did you do it for? What did you want with it?" the stout man +blared on. "Did you think I wasn't on the train? What? +</P> + +<P> +"I was in the washroom," he continued, roaring for the benefit of the +car, "when the conductor went by with it. I couldn't take the telegram +then—so I waited for the conductor to come back. When I got dressed, +I found him, and he said you'd claimed my message. Say, hand it over +now! What were you up to? What did you do that for?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton felt he was paling as he faced the blustering smaller man. He +realized that the passengers he could see—those at the smaller +tables—already had judged his explanation and found him wanting; the +others unquestionably had done the same. Avery was gazing up at him +with a sort of contented triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"The telegram was for me, Conductor," he repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Get that telegram, Conductor!" the stout man demanded again. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," Connery suggested, "you have letters or a card or +something, Mr. Eaton, to show your relationship to Lawrence Hillward." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I have not." +</P> + +<P> +The man asserting himself as Hillward grunted. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you anything to show you are Lawrence Hillward?" Eaton demanded +of him. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you tell any one on the train that your name was Hillward before +you wanted this telegram?" +</P> + +<P> +It was Harriet Dorne's voice which interposed; and Eaton felt his pulse +leap as she spoke for him. +</P> + +<P> +"I never gave any other name than Lawrence Hillward," the other +declared. +</P> + +<P> +Connery gazed from one claimant to the other. "Will you give this +gentleman the telegram?" he asked Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall furnish him another copy; it was received here on the +train by our express-clerk as the operator. I'll go forward and get +him another copy." +</P> + +<P> +"That's for you to decide," Eaton said; and as though the matter was +closed for him, he resumed his seat. He was aware that, throughout the +car, the passengers were watching him curiously; he would have foregone +the receipt of the telegram rather than that attention should be +attracted to him in this way. Avery was still gazing at him with that +look of quiet satisfaction; Eaton had not dared, as yet, to look at +Harriet Dorne. When, constraining himself to a manner of indifference, +he finally looked her way, she began to chat with him as lightly as +before. Whatever effect the incident just closed had had upon the +others, it appeared to have had none at all upon her. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you ready to go back to our car now, Harriet?" Avery inquired when +she had finished her breakfast, though Eaton was not yet through. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely there's no hurry about anything to-day," the girl returned. +They waited until Eaton had finished. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we all go back to the observation car and see if there's a walk +down the track or whether it's snowed over?" she said impartially to +the two. They went through the Pullmans together. +</P> + +<P> +The first Pullman contained four or five passengers; the next, in which +Eaton had his berth, was still empty as they passed through. The +porter had made up all the berths, and only luggage and newspapers and +overcoats occupied the seats. The next Pullman also, at first glance, +seemed to have been deserted in favor of the diner forward or of the +club-car further back. The porter had made up all the berths there +also, except one; but some one still was sleeping behind the curtains +of Section Three, for a man's hand hung over the aisle. It was a +gentleman's hand, with long, well-formed fingers, sensitive and at the +same time strong. That was the berth of Harriet Dorne's father; Eaton +gazed down at the hand as he approached the section, and then he looked +up quickly to the girl. She had observed the hand, as also had Avery; +but, plainly, neither of them noticed anything strange either in its +posture or appearance. Their only care had been to avoid brushing +against it on their way down the aisle so as not to disturb the man +behind the curtain; but Eaton, as he saw the hand, started. +</P> + +<P> +He was the last of the three to pass, and so the others did not notice +his start; but so strong was the fascination of the hand in the aisle +that he turned back and gazed at it before going on into the last car. +Some eight or ten passengers—men and women—were lounging in the +easy-chairs of the observation-room; a couple, ulstered and fur-capped, +were standing on the platform gazing back from the train. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was still shining, and the snow had stopped some hours before; +but the wind which had brought the storm was still blowing, and +evidently it had blown a blizzard after the train stopped at four that +morning. The canyon through the snowdrifts, bored by the giant rotary +plow the night before, was almost filled; drifts of snow eight or ten +feet high and, in places, pointing still higher, came up to the rear of +the train; the end of the platform itself was buried under three feet +of snow; the men standing on the platform could barely look over the +higher drifts. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no way from the train in that direction now," Harriet Dorne +lamented as she saw this. +</P> + +<P> +"There was no way five minutes after we stopped," one of the men +standing at the end of the car volunteered. "From Fracroft on—I was +the only passenger in sleeper Number Two, and they'd told me to get up; +they gave me a berth in another car and cut my sleeper out at +Fracroft—we were bucking the drifts about four miles an hour; it +seemed to fill in behind about as fast and as thick as we were cutting +it out in front. It all drifted in behind as soon as we stopped, the +conductor tells me." +</P> + +<P> +The girl made polite acknowledgment and referred to her two companions. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall we do with ourselves, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Cribbage, Harriet? You and I?" Avery invited. +</P> + +<P> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE HAND IN THE AISLE +</H4> + +<P> +The man whose interest in the passenger in Section Three of the last +sleeper was most definite and understandable and, therefore, most +openly acute, was Conductor Connery. Connery had passed through the +Pullmans several times during the morning—first in the murk of the +dawn before the dimmed lamps in the cars had been extinguished; again +later, when the passengers had been getting up; and a third time after +all the passengers had left their berths except Dorne, and after nearly +all the berths had been unmade and the bedding packed away behind the +panels overhead. Each time he passed, Connery had seen the hand which +hung out into the aisle from between the curtains; but the only +definite thought that came to him was that Dorne was a sound sleeper. +</P> + +<P> +Nearly all the passengers had now breakfasted. Connery, therefore, +took a seat in the diner, breakfasted leisurely and after finishing, +went forward to see what messages had been received as to the relieving +snow-plows. Nothing definite yet had been learned; the snow ahead of +them was fully as bad as this where they were stopped, and it would be +many hours before help could get to them. Connery walked back through +the train. Dorne by now must be up, and might wish to see the +conductor. Unless Dorne stopped him, however, Connery did not intend +to speak to Dorne. The conductor had learned in his many years of +service that nothing is more displeasing to the sort of people for whom +trains are held than officiousness. +</P> + +<P> +As Connery entered the last sleeper, his gaze fell on the dial of +pointers which, communicating with the pushbuttons in the different +berths, tell the porter which section is calling him, and he saw that +while all the other arrows were pointing upward, the arrow marked "3" +was pointing down. Dorne was up, then—for this was the arrow denoting +his berth—or at least was awake and had recently rung his bell. +</P> + +<P> +Connery looked in upon the porter, who was cleaning up the washroom. +</P> + +<P> +"Section Three's getting up?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mistah Connery—not yet," the porter answered. +</P> + +<P> +"What did he ring for?" Connery thought Dorne might have asked for him. +</P> + +<P> +"He didn't ring. He ain't moved or stirred this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"He must have rung." Connery looked to the dial, and the porter came +out of the washroom and looked at it also. +</P> + +<P> +"Fo' the lan's sake. I didn't hear no ring, Mistah Connery. It mus' +have been when I was out on the platform." +</P> + +<P> +"When was that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jus' now. There ain't been nobody but him in the car for fifteen +minutes, and I done turn the pointers all up when the las' passenger +went to the diner. It can't be longer than a few minutes, Mistah +Connery." +</P> + +<P> +"Answer it, then," Connery directed. +</P> + +<P> +As the negro started to obey, Connery followed him into the open car. +He could see over the negro's shoulder the hand sticking out into the +aisle, and this time, at sight of it, Connery started violently. If +Dorne had rung, he must have moved; a man who is awake does not let his +hand hang out into the aisle. Yet the hand had not moved. Nothing was +changed about it since Connery had seen it before. The long, sensitive +fingers fell in precisely the same position as before, stiffly +separated a little one from another; they had not changed their +position at all. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" Connery seized the porter by the arm. "I'll answer it myself." +</P> + +<P> +He dismissed the negro and waited until he had gone. He looked about +and assured himself that the car, except for himself and the man lying +behind the curtains of Section Three, was empty. He slowed, as he +approached the hand. He halted and stood a moment beside the berth, +himself almost breathless as he listened for the sound of breathing +within. He heard nothing, though he bent closer to the curtain. Yet +he still hesitated, and retreating a little and walking briskly as +though he were carelessly passing up the aisle, he brushed hard against +the hand and looked back, exclaiming an apology for his carelessness. +</P> + +<P> +The hand fell back heavily, inertly, and resumed its former position +and hung as white and lifeless as before. No response to the apology +came from behind the curtains; the man in the berth had not roused. +Connery rushed back to the curtains and touched the hand with his +fingers. It was cold! He seized the hand and felt it all over; then, +gasping, he parted the curtains and looked into the berth. He stared; +his breath whistled out; his shoulders jerked, and he drew back, +instinctively pressing his two clenched hands against his chest and the +pocket which held President Jarvis' order. +</P> + +<P> +The man in the berth was lying on his right side facing the aisle; the +left side of his face was thus exposed; and it had been crushed in by a +violent blow from some heavy weapon which, too blunt to cut the skin +and bring blood, had fractured the cheekbone and bludgeoned the temple. +The proof of murderous violence was so plain that the conductor, as he +saw the face in the light, recoiled with starting eyes, white with +horror. +</P> + +<P> +He looked up and down the aisle to assure himself that no one had +entered the car during his examination; then he carefully drew the +curtains together again, and hurried to the forward end of the car +where he had left the porter. +</P> + +<P> +"Lock the rear door of the car," he commanded. "Then come back here." +</P> + +<P> +He gave the negro the keys, and himself waited to prevent any one from +entering the car at his end. Looking through the glass of the door, he +saw the young man Eaton standing in the vestibule of the car next +ahead. Connery hesitated; then he opened the door and beckoned Eaton +to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you go forward, please," he requested, "and see if there isn't a +doctor—" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean the man with red hair in my car?" Eaton inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the one." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started off without asking any questions. The porter, having +locked the rear door of the car, returned and gave Connery back the +keys. Connery still waited, until Eaton returned with the red-haired +man, "D. S." He let them in and locked the door behind them. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a doctor?" Connery questioned the red-haired man. +</P> + +<P> +"I am a surgeon; yes." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what's wanted. Doctor—" +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Sinclair. I am Douglas Sinclair, of Chicago." +</P> + +<P> +Connery nodded. "I have heard of you." He turned then to Eaton. "Do +you know where the gentleman is who belongs to Mr. Dorne's +party?—Avery, I believe his name is." +</P> + +<P> +"He is in the observation car," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you go and get him? The car-door is locked. The porter will let +you in and out. Something serious has happened here—to Mr. Dorne. +Get Mr. Avery, if you can, without alarming Mr. Dorne's daughter." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton nodded understanding and followed the porter, who, taking the +keys again from the conductor, let him out at the rear door of the car +and reclosed the door behind him. Eaton went on into the observation +car. As he passed the club compartment of this car, he sensed an +atmosphere of disquiet which gave him first the feeling that some of +these people must know already that there was something wrong farther +forward; but this was explained when he heard some one say that the +door of the car ahead was locked. Another asked Eaton how he had got +through; he put the questioner off and went on into the +observation-room. No suspicion of anything having occurred had as yet +penetrated there. +</P> + +<P> +"How long you've been!" Harriet Dorne remarked as he came near. "And +how is it about the roof promenade?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, all right, I guess, Miss Dorne—after a little." Controlling +himself to an appearance of casualness, he turned then to Avery: "By +the way, can I see you a moment?" +</P> + +<P> +Without alarming Harriet Dorne, he got Avery away and out of the car. +A few passengers now were collected upon the platforms between this car +and the next, who questioned and complained as Eaton, pushing by them +with Avery, was admitted by the negro, who refused the others +admittance. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it something wrong with Mr. Dorne?" Donald Avery demanded as Eaton +drew back to let Avery precede him into the open part of the car. +</P> + +<P> +"So the conductor says." +</P> + +<P> +Avery hurried forward toward the berth where Connery was standing +beside the surgeon. Connery turned toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"I sent for you, sir, because you are the companion of the man who had +this berth." +</P> + +<P> +Avery pushed past him, and leaped forward as he looked past the +surgeon. "What has happened to Mr. Dorne?" +</P> + +<P> +"You see him as we found him, sir." Connery stared down nervously +beside him. +</P> + +<P> +Avery leaned inside the curtains and recoiled. "He's dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor hasn't made his examination yet; but, there seems no doubt +he's dead." Connery was very pale but controlled. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been murdered!" +</P> + +<P> +"It looks so, Mr. Avery. Yes; if he's dead, he's certainly been +murdered," Connery agreed. "This is Doctor Douglas Sinclair, a Chicago +surgeon. I called him just now to make an examination; but since Mr. +Dorne seems to have been dead for some time, I waited for you before +moving the body. You can tell,"—Connery avoided mention of President +Jarvis' name,—"tell any one who asks you, Mr. Avery, that you saw him +just as he was found." +</P> + +<P> +He looked down again at the form in the berth, and Avery's gaze +followed his; then, abruptly, it turned away. Avery stood clinging to +the curtain, his eyes darting from one to another of the three men. +</P> + +<P> +"As he was found? When?" he demanded. "Who found him that way? When? +How?" +</P> + +<P> +"I found him so," Connery answered. +</P> + +<P> +Avery said nothing more. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you start your examination now, Dr. Sinclair," Connery suggested. +"No—I'll ask you to wait a minute." +</P> + +<P> +Noises were coming to them from the platforms at both ends of the car, +and the doors were being tried and pounded on, as passengers attempted +to pass through. Connery went to the rear, where the negro had been +posted; then, repassing them, he went to the other end of the car. The +noises ceased. "The Pullman conductor is forward, and the brakeman is +back there now," he said, as he turned to them. "You will not be +interrupted, Dr. Sinclair." +</P> + +<P> +"What explanation did you give them?" Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" Connery returned. +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking of Miss Dorne." +</P> + +<P> +"I told them nothing which could disturb her." Connery, as he spoke, +pulled back the curtains, entirely exposing the berth. +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon, before examining the man in the berth more closely, lifted +the shades from the windows. Everything about the berth was in place, +undisturbed; except for the mark of the savage blow on the side of the +man's head, there was no evidence of anything unusual. The man's +clothes were carefully and neatly hung on the hooks or in the little +hammock; his glasses were in their case beside the pillow; his watch +and purse were under the pillow; the window at his feet was still +raised a crack to let in fresh air while he slept. Save for the marks +upon the head, the man might yet be sleeping. It was self-evident +that, whatever had been the motives of the attack, robbery was not one; +whoever had struck had done no more than reach in and deliver his +murderous blow; then he had gone on. +</P> + +<P> +Connery shut the window. +</P> + +<P> +As the surgeon carefully and deliberately pulled back the bedclothing +and exposed the body of the man clothed in pajamas, the others watched +him. Sinclair made first an examination of the head; completing this, +he unbuttoned the pajamas upon the chest, loosened them at the waist +and prepared to make his examination of the body. +</P> + +<P> +"How long has he been dead?" Connery asked. +</P> + +<P> +"He is not dead yet." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean he is still dying?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not say so." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean he is alive, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Life is still present," Sinclair answered guardedly. "Whether he will +live or ever regain consciousness is another question." +</P> + +<P> +"One you can't answer?" +</P> + +<P> +"The blow, as you can see,"—Sinclair touched the man's face with his +deft finger-tips,—"fell mostly on the cheek and temple. The cheekbone +is fractured. He is in a complete state of coma; and there may be some +fracture of the skull. Of course, there is some concussion of the +brain." +</P> + +<P> +Any inference to be drawn from this as to the seriousness of the +injuries was plainly beyond Connery. "How long ago was he struck?" he +asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Some hours." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't tell more than that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Longer ago than five hours, certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"Since four o'clock, then, rather than before?" +</P> + +<P> +"Since midnight, certainly; and longer ago than five o'clock this +morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Could he have revived half an hour ago—say within the hour—enough to +have pressed the button and rung the bell from his berth?" +</P> + +<P> +Sinclair straightened and gazed at the conductor curiously. "No, +certainly not," he replied. "That is completely impossible. Why did +you ask?" +</P> + +<P> +Connery avoided answer. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor glanced down quickly at the form of the man in the berth; +then again he confronted Connery. "Why did you ask that?" he +persisted. "Did the bell from this berth ring recently?" +</P> + +<P> +Connery shook his head, not in negation of the question, but in refusal +to answer then. But Avery pushed forward. "What is that? What's +that?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you go on with your examination, Doctor?" Connery urged. +</P> + +<P> +"You said the bell from this berth rang recently!" Avery accused +Connery. +</P> + +<P> +"I did not say that; he asked it," the conductor evaded. +</P> + +<P> +"But is it true?" +</P> + +<P> +"The pointer in the washroom, indicating a signal from this berth, was +turned down a minute ago," Connery had to reply. "A few moments +earlier, all pointers had been set in the position indicating no call." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" Avery cried. "What was that?" +</P> + +<P> +Connery repeated the statement. +</P> + +<P> +"That was before you found the body?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was why I went to the berth—yes," Connery replied; "that was +before I found the body." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you mean you did not find the body," Avery charged. "Some one, +passing through this car a minute or so before you, must have found +him!" +</P> + +<P> +Connery attended without replying. +</P> + +<P> +"And evidently that man dared not report it and could not wait longer +to know whether Mr.—Mr. Dorne, was really dead; so he rang the bell!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ought we keep Dr. Sinclair any longer from the examination, sir?" +Connery now seized Avery's arm in appeal. "The first thing for us to +know is whether Mr. Dorne is dying. Isn't—" +</P> + +<P> +Connery checked himself; he had won his appeal. Eaton, standing +quietly watchful, observed that Avery's eagerness to accuse now had +been replaced by another interest which the conductor's words had +recalled. Whether the man in the berth was to live or die—evidently +that was momentously to affect Donald Avery one way or the other. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, by all means proceed with your examination, Doctor," Avery +directed. +</P> + +<P> +As Sinclair again bent over the body, Avery leaned over also; Eaton +gazed down, and Connery—a little paler than before and with lips +tightly set. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"ISN'T THIS BASIL SANTOINE?" +</H4> + +<P> +The surgeon, having finished loosening the pajamas, pulled open and +carefully removed the jacket part, leaving the upper part of the body +of the man in the berth exposed. Conductor Connery turned to Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"You have no objection to my taking a list of the articles in the +berth?" +</P> + +<P> +Avery seemed to oppose; then, apparently, he recognized that this was +an obvious part of the conductor's duty. "None at all," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +Connery gathered up the clothing, the glasses, the watch and purse, and +laid them on the seat across the aisle. Sitting down, then, opposite +them, he examined them and, taking everything from the pockets of the +clothes, he began to catalogue them before Avery. In the coat he found +only the card-case, which he noted without examining its contents, and +in the trousers a pocket-knife and bunch of keys. He counted over the +gold and banknotes in the purse and entered the amount upon his list. +</P> + +<P> +"You know about what he had with him?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Very closely. That is correct. Nothing is missing," Avery answered. +</P> + +<P> +The conductor opened the watch. "The crystal is missing." +</P> + +<P> +Avery nodded. "Yes; it always—that is, it was missing yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +Connery looked up at him, as though slightly puzzled by the manner of +the reply; then, having finished his list, he rejoined the surgeon. +</P> + +<P> +Sinclair was still bending over the naked torso. With Eaton's help, he +had turned the body upon its back in order to look at its right side, +which before had been hidden. It had been a strong, healthy body; +Sinclair guessed its age at fifty. As a boy, the man might have been +an athlete,—a college track-runner or oarsman,—and he had kept +himself in condition through middle age. There was no mark or bruise +upon the body, except that on the right side and just below the ribs +there now showed a scar about an inch and a half long and of peculiar +crescent shape. It was evidently a surgical scar and had completely +healed. +</P> + +<P> +Sinclair scrutinized this carefully and then looked up to Avery. "He +was operated on recently?" +</P> + +<P> +"About two years ago." +</P> + +<P> +"For what?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was some operation on the gall-bladder." +</P> + +<P> +"Performed by Kuno Garrt?" +</P> + +<P> +Avery hesitated. "I believe so." +</P> + +<P> +He watched Sinclair more closely as he continued his examination; the +surgeon had glanced quickly at the face on the pillow and seemed about +to question Avery again; but instead he laid the pajama jacket over the +body and drew up the sheet and blanket. Connery touched the surgeon on +the arm. "What must be done, Doctor? And where and when do you want +to do it?" +</P> + +<P> +Sinclair, however, it appeared, had not yet finished his examination. +"Will you pull down the window-curtains?" he directed. +</P> + +<P> +As Connery, reaching across the body, complied, the surgeon took a +matchbox from his pocket, and glancing about at the three others as +though to select from them the one most likely to be an efficient aid, +he handed it to Eaton. "Will you help me, please?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it you want done?" +</P> + +<P> +"Strike a light and hold it as I direct—then draw it away slowly." +</P> + +<P> +He lifted the partly closed eyelid from one of the eyes of the +unconscious man and nodded to Eaton: "Hold the light in front of the +pupil." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton obeyed, drawing the light slowly away as Sinclair had directed, +and the surgeon dropped the eyelid and exposed the other pupil. +</P> + +<P> +"What's that for?" Avery now asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I was trying to determine the seriousness of the injury to the brain. +I was looking to see whether light could cause the pupil to contract." +</P> + +<P> +"Could it?" Connery asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; there was no reaction." +</P> + +<P> +Avery started to speak, checked himself—and then he said: "There could +be no reaction, I believe, Dr. Sinclair." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"His optic nerve is destroyed." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! He was blind?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he was blind," Avery admitted. +</P> + +<P> +"Blind!" Sinclair ejaculated. "Blind, and operated upon within two +years by Kuno Garrt!" Kuno Garrt operated only upon the all-rich and +-powerful or upon the completely powerless and poor; the unconscious +man in the berth could belong only to the first class of Garrt's +clientele. The surgeon's gaze again searched the features in the +berth; then it shifted to the men gathered about him in the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"Who did you say this was?" he demanded of Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"I said his name was Nathan Dorne," Avery evaded. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" Sinclair jerked out impatiently. "Isn't this—" He +hesitated, and finished in a voice suddenly lowered: "Isn't this Basil +Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +Avery, if he still wished to do so, found it impossible to deny. +</P> + +<P> +"Basil Santoine!" Connery breathed. +</P> + +<P> +To the conductor alone, among the four men standing by the berth, the +name seemed to have come with the sharp shock of a surprise; with it +had come an added sense of responsibility and horror over what had +happened to the passenger who had been confided to his care, which made +him whiten as he once more repeated the name to himself and stared down +at the man in the berth. +</P> + +<P> +Conductor Connery knew Basil Santoine only in the way that Santoine was +known to great numbers of other people—that is, by name but not by +sight. There was, however, a reason why the circumstances of +Santoine's life had remained in the conductor's mind while he forgot or +had not heeded the same sort of facts in regard to men who traveled +much more often on trans-continental trains. Thus Connery, staring +whitely at the form in the berth, recalled for instance Santoine's age; +Santoine was fifty-one. +</P> + +<P> +Basil Santoine at twenty-two had been graduated from Harvard, though +blind. His connections,—the family was of well-to-do Southern +stock,—his possession of enough money for his own support, made it +possible for him to live idly if he wished; but Santoine had not chosen +to make his blindness an excuse for doing this. He had disregarded too +the thought of foreign travel as being useless for a man who had no +eyes; and he had at once settled himself to his chosen profession, +which was law. He had not found it easy to get a start in this; +lawyers had shown no willingness to take into their offices a blind boy +to whom the surroundings were unfamiliar and to whom everything must be +read; and he had succeeded only after great effort in getting a place +with a small and unimportant firm. Within a short time, well within +two years, men had begun to recognize that in this struggling law-firm +there was a powerful, clear, compelling mind. Santoine, a youth living +in darkness, unable to see the men with whom he talked or the documents +and books which must be read to him, was beginning to put the stamp of +his personality on the firm's affairs. A year later, his name appeared +with others of the firm; at twenty-eight, his was the leading name. He +had begun to specialize long before that time, in corporation law; he +married shortly after this. At thirty, the firm name represented to +those who knew its particulars only one personality, the personality of +Santoine; and at thirty-five—though his indifference to money was +proverbial—he was many times a millionaire. But except among the +small and powerful group of men who had learned to consult him, +Santoine himself at that time was utterly unknown. +</P> + +<P> +There are many such men in all countries,—more, perhaps, in America +than anywhere else,—and in their anonymity they are like minds without +physical personality; they advise only, and so they remain out of +public view, behind the scenes. Now and then one receives publicity +and reward by being sent to the Senate by the powers that move behind +the screen, or being called to the President's cabinet. More often, +the public knows little of them until they die and men are astonished +by the size of the fortunes or of the seemingly baseless reputations +which they leave. So Santoine—consulted continually by men concerned +in great projects, immersed day and night in vast affairs, capable of +living completely as he wished—had been, at the age of forty-six, +great but not famous, powerful but not publicly known. At that time an +event had occurred which had forced the blind man out unwillingly from +his obscurity. +</P> + +<P> +This event had been the murder of the great Western financier Matthew +Latron. There had been nothing in this affair which had in any way +shadowed dishonor upon Santoine. So much as in his role of a mind +without personality Santoine ever fought, he had fought against Latron; +but his fight had been not against the man but against methods. There +had come then a time of uncertainty and unrest; public consciousness +was in the process of awakening to the knowledge that strange things, +approaching close to the likeness of what men call crime, had been +being done under the unassuming name of business. Government +investigation threatened many men, Latron among others; no precedent +had yet been set for what this might mean; no one could foresee the +end. Scandal—financial scandal—breathed more strongly against Latron +than perhaps against any of the other Western men. He had been among +their biggest; he had his enemies, of whom impersonally Santoine might +have been counted one, and he had his friends, both in high places; he +was a world figure. Then, all of a sudden, the man had been struck +down—killed, because of some private quarrel, men whispered, by an +obscure and till then unheard-of man. +</P> + +<P> +The trembling wires and cables, which should have carried to the +waiting world the expected news of Latron's conviction, carried instead +the news of Latron's death; and disorder followed. The first public +concern had been, of course, for the stocks and bonds of the great +Latron properties; and Latron's bigness had seemed only further +evidenced by the stanchness with which the Latron banks, the Latron +railroads and mines and public utilities stood firm even against the +shock of their builder's death. Assured of this, public interest had +shifted to the trial, conviction and sentence of Latron's murderer; and +it was during this trial that Santoine's name had become more publicly +known. Not that the blind man was suspected of any knowledge—much +less of any complicity—in the crime; the murder had been because of a +purely private matter; but in the eager questioning into Latron's +circumstances and surroundings previous to the crime, Santoine was +summoned into court as a witness. +</P> + +<P> +The drama of Santoine's examination had been of the sort the +public—and therefore the newspapers—love. The blind man, led into +the court, sitting sightless in the witness chair, revealing himself by +his spoken, and even more by his withheld, replies as one of the +unknown guiders of the destiny of the Continent and as counselor to the +most powerful,—himself till then hardly heard of but plainly one of +the nation's "uncrowned rulers,"—had caught the public sense. The +fate of the murderer, the crime, even Latron himself, lost temporarily +their interest in the public curiosity over the personality of +Santoine. So, ever since, Santoine had been a man marked out; his +goings and comings, beside what they might actually reveal of +disagreements or settlements among the great, were the object of +unfounded and often disturbing guesses and speculations; and +particularly at this time when the circumstances of Warden's death had +proclaimed dissensions among the powerful which they had hastened to +deny, it was natural that Santoine's comings and goings should be as +inconspicuous as possible. +</P> + +<P> +It had been reported for some days that Santoine had come to Seattle +directly after Warden's death; but when this was admitted, his +associates had always been careful to add that Santoine, having been a +close personal friend of Gabriel Warden, had come purely in a personal +capacity, and the impression was given that Santoine had returned +quietly some days before. The mere prolonging of his stay in the West +was more than suggestive that affairs among the powerful were truly in +such state as Warden had proclaimed; this attack upon Santoine, so +similar to that which had slain Warden, and delivered within eleven +days of Warden's death, must be of the gravest significance. +</P> + +<P> +Connery stood overwhelmed for the moment with this fuller recognition +of the seriousness of the disaster which had come upon this man +entrusted to his charge; then he turned to the surgeon. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you do anything for him here, Doctor?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon glanced down the car. "That stateroom—is it occupied?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's occupied by his daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll take him in there, then. Is the berth made?" +</P> + +<P> +The conductor went to the rear of the car and brought the porter who +had been stationed there, with the brakeman. He set the negro to +making up the berth; and when it was finished, the four men lifted the +inert figure of Basil Santoine, carried it into the drawing-room and +laid it on its back upon the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"I have my instruments," Sinclair said. "I'll get them; but before I +decide to do anything, I ought to see his daughter. Since she is here, +her consent is necessary before any operation on him." +</P> + +<P> +The surgeon spoke to Avery. Eaton saw by Avery's start of recollection +that Harriet Dorne's—or Harriet Santoine's—friend could not have been +thinking of her at all during the recent moments. The chances of life +or death of Basil Santoine evidently so greatly and directly affected +Donald Avery that he had been absorbed in them to the point of +forgetting all other interests than his own. Eaton's own thought had +gone often to her. Had Connery in his directions said anything to the +trainmen guarding the door or to the passengers on the platforms, that +had frightened her with suspicions of what had happened here? When the +first sense of something wrong spread back to the observation car, what +word had reached her? Did she connect it with her father? Was +she—the one most closely concerned—among those who had been on the +rear platform seeking admittance? Was she standing there in the aisle +of the next car waiting for confirmation of her dread? Or had no word +reached her, and must the news of the attack upon her father come to +her with all the shock of suddenness? +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had been about to leave the car, where he now was plainly of no +use, but these doubts checked him. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Santoine is in the observation car," Avery said. "I'll get her." +</P> + +<P> +The tone was in some way false—Eaton could not tell exactly how. +Avery started down the aisle. +</P> + +<P> +"One moment, please, Mr. Avery!" said the conductor. "I'll ask you not +to tell Miss Santoine before any other passengers that there has been +an attack upon her father. Wait until you get her inside the door of +this car." +</P> + +<P> +"You yourself said nothing, then, that can have made her suspect it?" +Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +Connery shook his head; the conductor, in doubt and anxiety over +exactly what action the situation called for,—unable, too, to +communicate any hint of it to his superiors to the West because of the +wires being down,—clearly had resolved to keep the attack upon +Santoine secret for the time. "I said nothing definite even to the +trainmen," he replied; "and I want you gentlemen to promise me before +you leave this car that you will say nothing until I give you leave." +</P> + +<P> +His eyes shifted from the face of one to another, until he had assured +himself that all agreed. As Avery left the car, Eaton found a seat in +one of the end sections near the drawing-room. Sinclair and the +conductor had returned to Santoine. The porter was unmaking the berth +in the next section which Santoine had occupied, having been told to do +so by Connery; the negro bundled together the linen and carried it to +the cupboard at the further end of the car; he folded the blankets and +put them in the upper berth; he took out the partitions and laid them +on top of the blankets. Eaton stared out the window at the bank of +snow. He did not know whether to ask to leave the car, or whether he +ought to remain; and he would have gone except for recollection of +Harriet Santoine. He had heard the rear door of the car open and close +some moments before, so he knew that she must be in the car and that, +in the passage at that end, Avery must be telling her about her father. +Then the curtain at the end of the car was pushed further aside, and +Harriet Santoine came in. +</P> + +<P> +She was very pale, but quite controlled, as Eaton knew she would be. +She looked at Eaton, but did not speak as she passed; she went directly +to the door of the drawing-room, opened it and went in, followed by +Avery. The door closed, and for a moment Eaton could hear voices +inside the room—Harriet Santoine's, Sinclair's, Connery's. The +conductor then came to the door of the drawing-room and sent the porter +for water and clean linen; Eaton heard the rip of linen being torn, and +the car became filled with the smell of antiseptics. +</P> + +<P> +Donald Avery came out of the drawing-room and dropped into the seat +across from Eaton. He seemed deeply thoughtful—so deeply, indeed, as +to be almost unaware of Eaton's presence. And Eaton, observing him, +again had the sense that Avery's absorption was completely in +consequences to himself of what was going on behind the door—in how +Basil Santoine's death or continued existence would affect the fortunes +of Donald Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he going to operate?" Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Operate? Yes; he's doing it," Avery replied shortly. +</P> + +<P> +"And Miss Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's helping—handing instruments and so on." +</P> + +<P> +Avery could not have replied, as he did, if the strain this period must +impose upon Harriet Santoine had been much in his mind. Eaton turned +from him and asked nothing more. A long time passed—how long, Eaton +could not have told; he noted only that during it the shadows on the +snowbank outside the window appreciably changed their position. Once +during this time, the door of the drawing-room was briefly opened, +while Connery handed something out to the porter, and the smell of the +antiseptics grew suddenly stronger; and Eaton could see behind Connery +the surgeon, coatless and with shirt-sleeves rolled up, bending over +the figure on the bed. Finally the door opened again, and Harriet +Santoine came out, paler than before, and now not quite so steady. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton rose as she approached them; and Avery leaped up, all concern and +sympathy for her immediately she appeared. He met her in the aisle and +took her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Was it successful, dear?" Avery asked. +</P> + +<P> +She shut her eyes before she answered, and stood holding to the back of +a seat; then she opened her eyes, saw Eaton and recognized him and sat +down in the seat where Avery had been sitting. +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Sinclair says we will know in four or five days," she replied to +Avery; she turned then directly to Eaton. "He thought there probably +was a clot under the skull, and he operated to find it and relieve it. +There was one, and we have done all we can; now we may only wait. Dr. +Sinclair has appointed himself nurse; he says I can help him, but not +just yet. I thought you would like to know." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you; I did want to know," Eaton acknowledged. He moved away +from them, and sat down in one of the seats further down the car. +Connery came out from the drawing-room, went first to one end of the +car, then to the other; and returning with the Pullman conductor, began +to oversee the transfer of the baggage of all other passengers than the +Santoine party to vacant sections in the forward sleepers. People +began to pass through the aisle; evidently the car doors had been +unlocked. Eaton got up and left the car, finding at the door a porter +from one of the other cars stationed to warn people not to linger or +speak or make other noises in going through the car where Santoine was. +</P> + +<P> +As the door was closing behind Eaton, a sound came to his ears from the +car he just had left—a young girl suddenly crying in abandon. Harriet +Santoine, he understood, must have broken down for the moment, after +the strain of the operation; and Eaton halted as though to turn back, +feeling the blood drive suddenly upon his heart. Then, recollecting +that he had no right to go to her, he went on. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +SUSPICION FASTENS ON EATON +</H4> + +<P> +As he entered his own car, Eaton halted; that part of the train had +taken on its usual look and manner, or as near so, it seemed, as the +stoppage in the snow left possible. Knowing what he did, Eaton stared +at first with astonishment; and the irrational thought came to him that +the people before him were acting. Then he realized that they were +almost as usual because they did not know what had happened; the fact +that Basil Santoine had been attacked—or that he was on the +train—still had been carefully kept secret by the spreading of some +other explanation of the trouble in the car behind. So now, in their +section, Amy and Constance were reading and knitting; their parents had +immersed themselves in double solitaire; the Englishman looked out the +window at the snow with no different expression than that with which he +would have surveyed a landscape they might have been passing. +Sinclair's section, of course, remained empty; and a porter came and +transferred the surgeon's handbag and overcoat to the car behind in +which he was caring for Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton found his car better filled than it had been before, for the +people shifted from the car behind had been scattered through the +train. He felt a hand on his arm as he started to go to his seat, and +turned and faced Connery. +</P> + +<P> +"If you must say anything, say it was appendicitis," the conductor +warned when he had brought Eaton back to the vestibule. "Mr. Dorne—if +a name is given, it is that—was suddenly seized with a recurrence of +an attack of appendicitis from which he had been suffering. An +immediate operation was required to save him; that was what Dr. +Sinclair did." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton reaffirmed his agreement to give no information. He learned by +the conversation of the passengers that Connery's version of what had +happened had been easily received; some one, they said, had been taken +suddenly and seriously ill upon the train. Their speculation, after +some argument, had pitched on the right person; it was the tall, +distinguished-looking man in the last car who wore glasses. At noon, +food was carried into the Santoine car. +</P> + +<P> +Keeping himself to his section, Eaton watched the car and outside the +window for signs of what investigation Connery and Avery were making. +What already was known had made it perfectly clear that whoever had +attacked Santoine must still be upon the train; for no one could have +escaped through the snow. No one could now escape. Avery and Connery +and whoever else was making investigation with them evidently were not +letting any one know that an investigation was being made. A number of +times Eaton saw Connery and the Pullman conductor pass through the +aisles. Eaton went to lunch; on his way back from the diner, he saw +the conductors with papers in their hands questioning a passenger. +They evidently were starting systematically through the cars, examining +each person; they were making the plea of necessity of a report to the +railroad offices of names and addresses of all held up by the stoppage +of the train. As Eaton halted at his section, the two conductors +finished with the man from the rear who had been installed in Section +One, and they crossed to the Englishman opposite. Eaton heard them +explain the need of making a report and heard the Englishman's answer, +with his name, his address and particulars as to who he was, where he +was coming from and whither he was going. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started on toward the rear of the train. +</P> + +<P> +"A moment, sir!" Connery called. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton halted. The conductors confronted him. +</P> + +<P> +"Your name, sir?" Connery asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip D. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +Connery wrote down the answer. "Your address?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—have no address." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you don't want to give it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I have none. I was going to a hotel in Chicago—which one I +hadn't decided yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you coming from?" +</P> + +<P> +"From Asia." +</P> + +<P> +"That's hardly an address, Mr. Eaton!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can give you no address abroad. I had no fixed address there. I +was traveling most of the time. You could not reach me or place me by +means of any city or hotel there. I arrived in Seattle by the Asiatic +steamer and took this train." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! you came on the <I>Tamba Maru</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Connery made note of this, as he had made note of all the other +questions and answers. Then he said something to the Pullman +conductor, who replied in the same low tone; what they said was not +audible to Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"You can tell us at least where your family is, Mr. Eaton," Connery +suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no family." +</P> + +<P> +"Friends, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I have no friends." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"I say that I can refer you to no friends." +</P> + +<P> +"Nowhere?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nowhere." +</P> + +<P> +Connery pondered for several moments. "The Mr. Hillward—Lawrence +Hillward, to whom the telegram was addressed which you claimed this +morning, your associate who was to have taken this train with you—will +you give me his address?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you had decided the telegram was not meant for me." +</P> + +<P> +"I am asking you a question, Mr. Eaton—not making explanations. It +isn't impossible there should be two Lawrence Hillwards." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know Hillward's address." +</P> + +<P> +"Give me the address, then, of the man who sent the telegram." +</P> + +<P> +"I am unable to do that, either." +</P> + +<P> +Connery spoke again to the Pullman conductor, and they conversed +inaudibly for a minute. "That is all, then," Connery said finally. +</P> + +<P> +He signed his name to the sheet on which he had written Eaton's +answers, and handed it to the Pullman conductor, who also signed it and +returned it to him; then they went on to the passenger now occupying +Section Four, without making any further comment. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton abandoned his idea of going to the rear of the train; he sat +down, picked up his magazine and tried to read; but after an instant, +he leaned forward and looked at himself in the little mirror between +the windows. It reassured him to find that he looked entirely normal; +he had been afraid that during the questioning he might have turned +pale, and his paleness—taken in connection with his inability to +answer the questions—might have seriously directed the suspicions of +the conductors toward him. The others in the car, who might have +overheard his refusal to reply to the questions, would be regarding him +only curiously, since they did not know the real reasons for the +examination. But the conductors—what did they think? +</P> + +<P> +Already, Eaton reflected, before the finding of the senseless form of +Basil Santoine, there had occurred the disagreeable incident of the +telegram to attract unfavorable attention to him. On the other hand, +might not the questioning of him have been purely formal? Connery +certainly had treated him, at the time of the discovery of Santoine, as +one not of the class to be suspected of being the assailant of +Santoine. Avery, to be sure, had been uglier, more excited and +hostile; but Harriet Santoine again had treated him trustfully and +frankly as one with whom thought of connection with the attack upon her +father was impossible. Eaton told himself that there should be no +danger to himself from this inquiry, directed against no one, but +including comprehensively every one on the train. +</P> + +<P> +As Eaton pretended to read, he could hear behind him the low voices of +the conductors, which grew fainter and fainter as they moved further +away, section by section, down the car. Finally, when the conductors +had left the car, he put his magazine away and went into the men's +compartment to smoke and calm his nerves. His return to America had +passed the bounds of recklessness; and what a situation he would now be +in if his actions brought even serious suspicions against him! He +finished his first cigar and was debating whether to light another, +when he heard voices outside the car, and opening the window and +looking out, he saw Connery and the brakeman struggling through the +snow and making, apparently, some search. They had come from the front +of the train and had passed under his window only an instant before, +scrutinizing the snowbank beside the car carefully and looking under +the car—the brakeman even had crawled under it; now they went on. +Eaton closed the window and lighted his second cigar. Presently +Connery passed the door of the compartment carrying something loosely +wrapped in a newspaper in his hands. Eaton finished his cigar and went +back to his seat in the car. +</P> + +<P> +As he glanced at the seat where he had left the magazine and his locked +traveling-bag, he saw that the bag was no longer there. It stood now +between the two seats on the floor, and picking it up and looking at +it, he found it unfastened and with marks about the lock which told +plainly that it had been forced. +</P> + +<P> +His quick glance around at the other passengers, which showed him that +his discovery of this had not been noticed, showed also that they had +not seen the bag opened. They would have been watching him if they +had; clearly the bag had been carried out of the car during his +absence, and later had been brought back. He set it on the floor +between his knees and checked over its contents. Nothing had been +taken, so far as he could tell; for the bag had contained only +clothing, the Chinese dictionary and the box of cigars, and these all +apparently were still there. He had laid out the things on the seat +across from him while checking them up, and now he began to put them +back in the bag. Suddenly he noticed that one of his socks was +missing; what had been eleven pairs was now only ten pairs and one odd +sock. +</P> + +<P> +The disappearance of a single sock was so strange, so bizarre, so +perplexing that—unless it was accidental—he could not account for it +at all. No one opens a man's bag and steals one sock, and he was quite +sure there had been eleven complete pairs there earlier in the day. +Certainly then, it had been accidental: the bag had been opened, its +contents taken out and examined, and in putting them back, one sock had +been dropped unnoticed. The absence of the sock, then, meant no more +than that the contents of the bag had been thoroughly investigated. By +whom? By the man against whom the telegram directed to Lawrence +Hillward had warned Eaton? +</P> + +<P> +Ever since his receipt of the telegram, Eaton—as he passed through the +train in going to and from the diner or for other reasons—had been +trying covertly to determine which, if any one, among the passengers +was the "one" who, the telegram had warned him, was "following" him. +For at first he had interpreted it to mean that one of "them" whom he +had to fear must be on the train. Later he had felt certain that this +could not be the case, for otherwise any one of "them" who knew him +would have spoken by this time. He had watched particularly for a time +the man who had claimed the telegram and given the name of Hillward; +but the only conclusion he had been able to reach was that the man's +name might be Hillward, and that coincidence—strange as such a thing +seemed—might have put aboard the train a person by this name. Now his +suspicions that one of "them" must be aboard the train returned. +</P> + +<P> +The bag certainly had not been carried out the forward door of the car, +or he would have seen it from the compartment at that end of the car +where he had sat smoking. As he tried to recall who had passed the +door of the compartment, he remembered no one except trainmen. The +bag, therefore, had been carried out the rear door, and the man who had +opened it, if a passenger, must still be in the rear part of the train. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, refilling his cigar-case to give his action a look of +casualness, got up and went toward the rear of the train. A porter was +still posted at the door of the Santoine car, who warned him to be +quiet in passing through. The car, he found, was entirely empty; the +door to the drawing-room where Santoine lay was closed. Two berths +near the farther end of the car had been made up, no doubt for the +surgeon and Harriet Santoine to rest there during the intervals of +their watching; but the curtains of these berths were folded back, +showing both of them to be empty, though one apparently had been +occupied. Was Harriet Santoine with her father? +</P> + +<P> +He went on into the observation-car. The card-room was filled with +players, and he stood an instant at the door looking them over, but +"Hillward" was not among them, and he saw no one whom he felt could +possibly be one of "them." In the observation-room, the case was the +same; a few men and women passengers here were reading or talking. +Glancing on past them through the glass door at the end of the car, he +saw Harriet Santoine standing alone on the observation platform. The +girl did not see him; her back was toward the car. As he went out onto +the platform and the sound of the closing door came to her, she turned +to meet him. +</P> + +<P> +She looked white and tired, and faint gray shadows underneath her eyes +showed where dark circles were beginning to form. +</P> + +<P> +"I am supposed to be resting," she explained quietly, accepting him as +one who had the right to ask. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you been watching all day?" +</P> + +<P> +"With Dr. Sinclair, yes. Dr. Sinclair is going to take half the night +watch, and I am going to take the other half. That is why I am +supposed to be lying down now to get ready for it; but I could not +sleep." +</P> + +<P> +"How is your father?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just the same; there may be no change, Dr. Sinclair says, for days. +It seems all so sudden and so—terrible, Mr. Eaton. You can hardly +appreciate how we feel about it without knowing Father. He was so +good, so strong, so brave, so independent! And at the same time so—so +dependent upon those around him, because of his blindness! He started +out so handicapped, and he has accomplished so much, and—and it is so +unjust that there should have been such an attack upon him." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, leaning against the rail beside her and glancing at her, saw +that her lashes were wet, and his eyes dropped as they caught hers. +</P> + +<P> +"They have been investigating the attack?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; Donald—Mr. Avery, you know—and the conductor have been working +on it all day." +</P> + +<P> +"What have they learned?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not much, I think; at least not much that they have told me. They +have been questioning the porter." +</P> + +<P> +"The porter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't mean that they think the porter had anything to do with +it; but the bell rang, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"The bell?" +</P> + +<P> +"The bell from Father's berth. I thought you knew. It rang some time +before Father was found—some few minutes before; the porter did not +hear it, but the pointer was turned down. They have tested it, and it +cannot be jarred down or turned in any way except by means of the bell." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton looked away from her, then back again rather strangely. +</P> + +<P> +"I would not attach too much importance to the bell," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Father could not have rung it; Dr. Sinclair says that is impossible. +So its being rung shows that some one was at the berth, some one must +have seen Father lying there and—and rung the bell, but did not tell +any one about Father. That could hardly have been an innocent person, +Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"Or a guilty one, Miss Santoine, or he would not have rung the bell at +all." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know—I don't understand all it might mean. I have tried not +to think about anything but Father." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that all they have learned?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; they have found the weapon." +</P> + +<P> +"The weapon with which your father was struck?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; the man who did it seems not to have realized that the train was +stopped—or at least that it would be stopped for so long—and he threw +it off the train, thinking, I suppose, we should be miles away from +there by morning. But the train didn't move, and the snow didn't cover +it up, and it was found lying against the snowbank this afternoon. It +corresponds, Dr. Sinclair says, with Father's injuries." +</P> + +<P> +"What was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to have been a bar of metal—of steel, they said, I think, +Mr. Eaton—wrapped in a man's black sock." +</P> + +<P> +"A sock!" Eaton's voice sounded strange to himself; he felt that the +blood had left his cheeks, leaving him pale, and that the girl must +notice it. "A man's sock!" +</P> + +<P> +Then he saw that she had not noticed, for she had not been looking at +him. +</P> + +<P> +"It could be carried in that way through the sleepers, you know, +without attracting attention," she observed. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had controlled himself. "A sock!" he said again, reflectively. +</P> + +<P> +He felt suddenly a rough tap upon his shoulder, and turning, he saw +that Donald Avery had come out upon the platform and was standing +beside him; and behind Avery, he saw Conductor Connery. There was no +one else on the platform. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me, Mr. Eaton—or whatever else your name may be—what +it is that you have been asking Miss Santoine?" Avery demanded harshly. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton felt his blood surge at the tone. Harriet Santoine had turned, +and sensing the strangeness of Avery's manner, she whitened. "What is +it, Don?" she cried. "What is the matter? Is something wrong with +Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, dear; no! Harry, what has this man been saying to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton?" Her gaze went wonderingly from Avery to Eaton and back +again. "Why—why, Don! He has only been asking me what we had found +out about the attack on Father!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you told him?" Avery swung toward Eaton. "You dog!" he mouthed. +"Harriet, he asked you that because he needed to know—he had to know! +He had to know how much we had found out, how near we were getting to +him! Harry, this is the man that did it!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton's fists clenched; but suddenly, recollecting, he checked himself. +Harriet, not yet comprehending, stood staring at the two; then Eaton +saw the blood rush to her face and dye forehead and cheek and neck as +she understood. +</P> + +<P> +"Not here, Mr. Avery; not here!" Conductor Connery had stepped +forward, glancing back into the car to assure himself the disturbance +on the platform had not attracted the attention of the passengers in +the observation-room. He put his hand on Eaton's arm. "Come with me, +sir," he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton thought anxiously for a moment. He looked to Harriet Santoine as +though about to say something to her, but he did not speak; instead, he +quietly followed the conductor. As they passed through the +observation-car into the car ahead, he heard the footsteps of Harriet +Santoine and Avery close behind them. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +QUESTIONS +</H4> + +<P> +Connery pulled aside the curtain of the washroom at the end of the +Santoine car—the end furthest from the drawing-room where Santoine lay. +</P> + +<P> +"Step in here, sir," he directed. "Sit down, if you want. We're far +enough from the drawing-room not to disturb Mr. Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, seating himself in the corner of the leather seat built against +two walls of the room, and looking up, saw that Avery had come into the +room with them. The girl followed. With her entrance into the room +came to him—not any sound from her or anything which he could describe +to himself as either audible or visual—but a strange sensation which +exhausted his breath and stopped his pulse for a beat. To be +accused—even to be suspected—of the crime against Santoine was to +have attention brought to him which—with his unsatisfactory account of +himself—threatened ugly complications. Yet, at this moment of +realization, that did not fill his mind. Whether his long dwelling +close to death had numbed him to his own danger, however much more +immediate it had become, he could not know; probably he had prepared +himself so thoroughly, had inured himself so to expect arrest and +imminent destruction, that now his finding himself confronted with +accusers in itself failed to stir new sensation; but till this day, he +had never imagined or been able to prepare himself for accusation +before one like Harriet Santoine; so, for a moment, thought solely of +himself was a subcurrent. Of his conscious feelings, the terror that +she would be brought to believe with the others that he had struck the +blow against her father was the most poignant. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine was not looking at him; but as she stood by the door, +she was gazing intently at Avery; and she spoke first: +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe it, Don!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton felt the warm blood flooding his face and his heart throb with +gratitude toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe it because you don't understand yet, dear," Avery +declared. "We are going to make you believe it by proving to you it is +true." +</P> + +<P> +Avery pulled forward one of the leather chairs for her to seat herself +and set another for himself facing Eaton. Eaton, gazing across +steadily at Avery, was chilled and terrified as he now fully realized +for the first time the element which Avery's presence added. What the +relations were between Harriet Santoine and Avery he did not know, but +clearly they were very close; and it was equally clear that Avery had +noticed and disliked the growing friendship between her and Eaton. +Eaton sensed now with a certainty that left no doubt in his own mind +that as he himself had realized only a moment before that his strongest +feeling was the desire to clear himself before Harriet Santoine, so +Avery now was realizing that—since some one on the train had certainly +made the attack on Santoine—he hoped he could prove before her that +that person was Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you ring the bell in Mr. Santoine's berth?" Avery directed the +attack upon him suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"To call help," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +Question and answer, Eaton realized, had made some effect upon Harriet +Santoine, as he did not doubt Avery intended they should; yet he could +not look toward her to learn exactly what this effect was but kept his +eyes on Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"You had known, then, that he needed help?" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew it—saw it then, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"When?" +</P> + +<P> +"When I found him." +</P> + +<P> +"'Found' him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"When was that?" +</P> + +<P> +"When I went forward to look for the conductor to ask him about taking +a walk on the roof of the cars." +</P> + +<P> +"You found him then—that way, the way he was?" +</P> + +<P> +"That way? Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"How?" +</P> + +<P> +"How?" Eaton iterated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; how, Mr. Eaton, or Hillward, or whatever your name is? How did +you find him? The curtains were open, perhaps; you saw him as you went +by, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton shook his head. "No; the curtains weren't open; they were +closed." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why did you look in?" +</P> + +<P> +"I saw his hand in the aisle." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"When I came back it didn't look right to me; its position had not been +changed at all, and it hadn't looked right to me before. So I stopped +and touched it, and I found that it was cold." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you looked into the berth?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And having looked in and seen Mr. Santoine injured and lying as he +was, you did not call any one, you did not bring help—you merely +leaned across him and pushed the bell and went on quickly out of the +car before any one could see you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but I waited on the platform of the next car to see that help did +come; and the conductor passed me, and I knew that he and the porter +must find Mr. Santoine as they did." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you expect us to believe that very peculiar action of yours was the +act of an innocent man?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I had been guilty of the attack on Mr. Santoine, I'd not have +stopped or looked into the berth at all." +</P> + +<P> +"If you are innocent, you had, of course, some reason for acting as you +did. Will you explain what it was?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—I cannot explain." +</P> + +<P> +With a look almost of triumph Avery turned to Harriet Santoine, and +Eaton felt his flesh grow warm with gratitude again as he saw her meet +Avery's look with no appearance of being convinced. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton spoke to me about that," she said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean he told you he was the one who rang the bell?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; he told me we must not attach too much importance to the ringing +of the bell in inquiring into the attack on Father." +</P> + +<P> +Avery smiled grimly. "He did, did he? Don't you see that that only +shows more surely that he did not want the ringing of the bell +investigated because it would lead us to himself? He did not happen to +tell you, did he, that the kind and size of socks he wears and carries +in his traveling-bag are very nearly the same as the black sock in +which the bar was wrapped with which your father was struck?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was you, then, who took the sock from my bag?" Eaton demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"It was the conductor, and I can assure you, Mr. Eaton-Hillward, that +we are preserving it very carefully along with the one which was found +in the snow." +</P> + +<P> +"But the socks were not exactly the same, were they?" Harriet Santoine +asked. +</P> + +<P> +Avery made a vexed gesture, and turned to Connery. "Tell her the rest +of it," he directed. +</P> + +<P> +Connery, who had remained standing back of the two chairs, moved +slightly forward. His responsibility in connection with the crime that +had been carried out on his train had weighed heavily on the conductor; +he was worn and nervous. +</P> + +<P> +"Where shall I begin?" he asked of Avery; he was looking not at the +girl but at Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"At the beginning," Avery directed. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton, when you came to this train, the gateman at Seattle called +my attention to you," Connery began. "I didn't attach enough +importance, I see now, to what he said; I ought to have watched you +closer and from the first. Old Sammy has recognized men with criminal +records time and time again. He's got seven rewards out of it." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton felt his pulses close with a shock. "He recognized me?" he asked +quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"No, he didn't; he couldn't place you," Connery granted. "He couldn't +tell whether you were somebody that was 'wanted' or some one well +known—some one famous, maybe; but I ought to have kept my eye on you +because of that, from the very start. Now this morning you claim a +telegram meant for another man—a man named Hillward, on this train, +who seems to be all right—that is, by his answers and his account of +himself he seems to be exactly what he claims to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he read the telegram to you?" Eaton asked. "It was in code. If +it was meant for him, he ought to be able to read it." +</P> + +<P> +"No, he didn't. Will you?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton halted while he recalled the exact wording of the message. "No." +</P> + +<P> +Connery also paused. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this all you have against me?" Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; it's not. Mr. Avery's already told you the next thing, and you've +admitted it. But we'd already been able by questioning the porter of +this car and the ones in front and back of it to narrow down the time +of the ringing of Mr. Santoine's bell not to quarter-hours but to +minutes; and to find out that during those few minutes you were the +only one who passed through the car. So there's no use of my going +into that." Connery paused and looked to Avery and the girl. "You'll +wait a minute, Mr. Avery; and you, Miss Santoine. I won't be long." +</P> + +<P> +He left the washroom, and the sound of the closing of a door which came +to Eaton a half-minute later told that he had gone out the front end of +the car. +</P> + +<P> +As the three sat waiting in the washroom, no one spoke. Eaton, looking +past Avery, gazed out the window at the bank of snow. Eaton understood +fully that the manner in which the evidence against him was being +presented to him was not with any expectation that he could defend +himself; Avery and Connery were obviously too certain of their +conclusion for that; rather, as it was being given thus under Avery's +direction, it was for the effect upon Harriet Santoine and to convince +her fully. But Eaton had understood this from the first. It was for +this reason he had not attempted to deny having rung Santoine's bell, +realizing that if he denied it and it afterwards was proved, he would +appear in a worse light than by his inability to account for or assign +a reason for his act. And he had proved right in this; for the girl +had not been convinced. So now he comprehended that something far more +convincing and more important was to come; but what that could be, he +could not guess. +</P> + +<P> +As he glanced at her, he saw her sitting with hands clasped in her lap, +pale, and merely waiting. Avery, as though impatient, had got up and +gone to the door, where he could look out into the passage. From time +to time people had passed through the car, but no one had stopped at +the washroom door or looked in; the voices in the washroom had not been +raised, and even if what was going on there could have attracted +momentary attention, the instructions to pass quickly through the car +would have prevented any one from stopping to gratify his curiosity. +Eaton's heart-beat quickened as, listening, he heard the car door open +and close again and footsteps, coming to them along the aisle, which he +recognized as those of Conductor Connery and some one else with him. +</P> + +<P> +Avery returned to his seat, as the conductor appeared in the door of +the washroom followed by the Englishman from Eaton's car, Henry +Standish. Connery carried the sheet on which he had written the +questions he had asked Eaton, and Eaton's answers. +</P> + +<P> +"What name were you using, Mr. Eaton, when you came from Asia to the +United States?" the conductor demanded. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton reflected. "My own," he said. "Philip D. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +Connery brought the paper nearer to the light of the window, running +his finger down it till he found the note he wanted. "When I asked +this afternoon where you came from in Asia, Mr. Eaton, you answered me +something like this: You said you could give me no address abroad; you +had been traveling most of the time; you could not be placed by +inquiring at any city or hotel; you came to Seattle by the Asiatic +steamer and took this train. That was your reply, was it not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +"The 'Asiatic steamer'—the <I>Tamba Maru</I> that was, Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton looked up quickly and was about to speak; but from Connery his +gaze shifted swiftly to the Englishman, and checking himself, he said +nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Standish,"—Connery faced the Englishman,—"you came from Yokohama +to Seattle on the <I>Tamba Maru</I>, didn't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did, yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember this Mr. Eaton among the passengers?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know he was not among the passengers?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I do." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +The Englishman took a folded paper from his pocket, opened it and +handed it to the conductor. Connery, taking it, held it out to Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Mr. Eaton," he said, "is the printed passenger-list of the +people aboard the <I>Tamba Maru</I> prepared after leaving Yokohama for +distribution among the passengers. It's unquestionably correct. Will +you point out your name on it?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton made no move to take the paper; and after holding it long enough +to give him full opportunity, Connery handed it back to the Englishman. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all, Mr. Standish," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton sat silent as the Englishman, after staring curiously around at +them with his bulging, interested eyes, left the washroom. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Mr. Eaton," Connery said, as the sound of Standish's steps became +inaudible, "either you were not on the <I>Tamba Maru</I> or you were on it +under some other name than Eaton. Which was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never said I was on the <I>Tamba Maru</I>," Eaton returned steadily. "I +said I came from Asia by steamer. You yourself supplied the name +<I>Tamba Maru</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"In case of questioning like that, Mr. Eaton, it makes no difference +whether you said it or I supplied it in your hearing. If you didn't +correct me, it was because you wanted me to get a wrong impression +about you. You can take notice that the only definite fact about you +put down on this paper has proved to be incorrect. You weren't on the +<I>Tamba Maru</I>, were you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I was not." +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you say so while Mr. Standish was here?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know how far you had taken him into your confidence in this +matter." +</P> + +<P> +"You did come from Asia, though, as your railroad ticket seemed to +show?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"From where?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton did not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"From Yokohama?" +</P> + +<P> +"The last port we stopped at before sailing for Seattle was +Yokohama—yes." +</P> + +<P> +Connery reflected. "You had been in Seattle, then, at least five days; +for the last steamer you could have come on docked five days before the +<I>Tamba Maru</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"You assume that; I do not tell you so." +</P> + +<P> +"I assume it because it must be so. You'd been in Seattle—or at least +you had been in America—for not less than five days. In fact, Mr. +Eaton, you had been on this side of the water for as many as eleven +days, had you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eleven days?" Eaton repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; for it was just eleven days before this train left Seattle that +you came to the house of Mr. Gabriel Warden and waited there for him +till he was brought home dead!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, sitting forward a little, looked up at the conductor; his glance +caught Avery's an instant; he gazed then to Harriet Santoine. At the +charge, she had started; but Avery had not. The identification, +therefore, was Connery's, or had been agreed upon by Connery and Avery +between them; suggestion of it had not come from the Santoines. And +Connery had made the charge without being certain of it; he was +watching the effect, Eaton now realized, to see if what he had accused +was correct. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by that?" Eaton returned. +</P> + +<P> +"What I said. You came to see Gabriel Warden in Seattle eleven days +ago," Connery reasserted. "You are the man who waited in his house +that night and whom every one has been looking for since!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" inquired Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't that so?" Connery demanded. "Or do you want to deny that too +and have it proved on you later?" +</P> + +<P> +Again for a moment Eaton sat silent. "No," he decided, "I do not deny +that." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are the man who was at Warden's the night he was murdered?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Eaton, "I was there that evening. I was the one who came +there by appointment and waited till after Mr. Warden was brought home +dead." +</P> + +<P> +"So you admit that?" Connery gloated; but he could not keep from Eaton +a sense that, by Eaton's admission of the fact, Connery had been +disappointed. Avery too plainly had expected Eaton to deny it; the +identification of Eaton with the man who had waited at Warden's was +less a triumph to Avery, now that it was confessed. Indeed, Eaton's +heart leaped with quick gratitude as he now met Harriet Santoine's eyes +and as he heard her turning it into a fact in his favor. +</P> + +<P> +"All you have brought against Mr. Eaton is that he has been indefinite +in his replies to your questions or has refused answers; isn't that +all, Don?" she said. "So if Mr. Eaton is the one who had the +appointment with Mr. Warden that night, does not that explain his +silence?" +</P> + +<P> +"Explain it?" Avery demanded. "How?" +</P> + +<P> +"We have Mr. Warden's word that Mr. Eaton came that night because he +was in trouble—he had been outrageously wronged, Don. He was in +danger. Because of that danger, undoubtedly, he has not made himself +known since. May not that be the only reason he has avoided answering +your questions now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" Avery jerked out shortly. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton's heart, from pulsating fast with Harriet Santoine's attempt at +his defense, now constricted with a sudden increase of his terror and +anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Mr. Eaton!" Connery now returned to his charge. "You are +that man. So besides whatever else that means, you'd been in Seattle +eleven days and yet you were the last person to get aboard this train, +which left a full hour after its usual starting time. Who were you +waiting to see get on the train before you yourself took it?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton wet his lips. To what was Connery working up? The probability, +now rapidly becoming certainty, that in addition to the recognition of +him as the man who had waited at Warden's—which fact any one at any +time might have charged—Connery knew something else which the +conductor could not have been expected to know—this dismayed Eaton the +more by its indefiniteness. And he saw, as his gaze shifted to Avery, +that Avery knew this thing also. All that had gone before had been +only preliminary, then; they had been leading up step by step to the +circumstance which had finally condemned him in their eyes and was to +condemn him in the eyes of Harriet Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +She, he saw, had also sensed the feeling that something else more +definite and conclusive was coming. She had paled after the flush in +which she had spoken in Eaton's defense, and her hands in her lap were +clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed only as spots of white. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton controlled himself to keep his voice steady. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by that question?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean that—however innocent or guilty may be the chance of your +being at Mr. Warden's the night he was killed—you'll have a hard time +proving that you did not wait and watch and take this train because +Basil Santoine had taken it; and that you were not following him. Do +you deny it?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You asked the Pullman conductor for a Section Three after hearing him +assign Mr. Santoine to Section Three in this car. Do you deny that you +did this so as not to be put in the same car with him?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, in his uncertainty, still said nothing. Connery, bringing the +paper in his hand nearer to the window again, glanced down once more at +the statement Eaton had made. "I asked you who you knew in Chicago," +he said, "and you answered 'No one.' That was your reply, was it not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"You still make the same statement?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"You know no one in Chicago?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one," Eaton repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"And certainly no one there knows you well enough to follow your +movements in relation to Mr. Santoine. That's a necessary assumption +from the fact that you know no one at all there." +</P> + +<P> +The conductor pulled a telegram from his pocket and handed it to Avery, +who, evidently having already seen it, passed it on to Harriet +Santoine. She took it, staring at it mechanically and vacantly; then +suddenly she shivered, and the yellow paper which she had read slipped +from her hand and fluttered to the floor. Connery stooped and picked +it up and handed it toward Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"This is yours," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had sensed already what the nature of the message must be, though +as the conductor held it out to him he could read only his name at the +top of the sheet and did not know yet what the actual wording was +below. Acceptance of it must mean arrest, indictment for the crime +against Basil Santoine; and that, whether or not he later was +acquitted, must destroy him; but denial of the message now would be +hopeless. +</P> + +<P> +"It is yours, isn't it?" Connery urged. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it's mine," Eaton admitted; and to make his acceptance definite, +he took the paper from Connery. As he looked dully down at it, he read: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He is on your train under the name of Dorne. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The message was not signed. +</P> + +<P> +Connery touched him on the shoulder. "Come with me, Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton got up slowly and mechanically and followed the conductor. At +the door he halted and looked back; Harriet Santoine was not looking; +her face was covered with her hands; Eaton hesitated; then he went on. +Connery threw open the door of the compartment next to the washroom and +corresponding to the drawing-room at the other end of the car, but +smaller. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll do well enough in here." He looked over Eaton deliberately. +"Judging from your manner, I suppose there's not much use expecting you +to answer anything more about yourself—either in relation to the +Warden murder or this?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Eaton, "there is not." +</P> + +<P> +"You prefer to make us find out anything more?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton made no answer. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," Connery concluded. "But if you change your mind for the +better, or if you want anything bad enough to send for me, ring for the +porter and he'll get me." +</P> + +<P> +He closed the door upon Eaton and locked it. As Eaton stood staring at +the floor, he could hear through the metal partition of the washroom +the nervous, almost hysterical weeping of an overstrained girl. The +thing was done; in so far as the authorities on the train were +concerned, it was known that he was the man who had had the appointment +with Gabriel Warden and had disappeared; and in so far as the train +officials could act, he was accused and confined for the attack upon +Basil Santoine. But besides being overwhelmed with the horror of this +position, the manner in which he had been accused had roused him to +helpless anger, to rage at his accusers which still increased as he +heard the sounds on the other side of the partition where Avery was now +trying to silence Harriet Santoine and lead her away. +</P> + +<P> +Why had Avery gone at his accusation of him in that way? Connery had +had the telegram in his pocket from the start of the questioning in the +washroom; Avery had seen and read it; they could have condemned him +with whomever they wished, merely by showing it. Why, then, had Avery +chosen to drag this girl—strained and upset already by the attack upon +her father and with long hours of nursing ahead of her before expert +help could be got—step by step through their accusation of him? Eaton +saw that—whatever Harriet Santoine's casual interest in himself might +be—this showed at least that Avery's relation to her was not so +completely accepted by her and so definite as appeared on the surface, +since Avery thought it necessary to convince her rather than merely +tell her. And what sent the blood hot and throbbing into Eaton's +temples was the cruelty of Avery's action. +</P> + +<P> +So Avery was that kind of a man! The kind that, when an end is to be +attained, is ready to ignore as though unimportant the human side of +things. Concurrently with these thoughts—as always with all his +thoughts—was running the memory of his own experience—that experience +of which Eaton had not spoken and of which he had avoided speaking at +any cost; and as he questioned now whether Avery might be one of those +men who to gain an end they deem necessary are ready to disregard +humanity,—to inflict suffering, wrong, injustice,—he realized that he +was beginning to hate Avery for himself, for what he was, aside from +the accusation he brought. +</P> + +<P> +No sounds came to him now from the washroom—the girl must have +controlled herself; footsteps passing the door of his compartment told +him then that the two had gone out into the open car. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES +</H4> + +<P> +Half an hour later, Connery unlocked the door of Eaton's compartment, +entered and closed the door behind him. He had brought in Eaton's +traveling bag and put it down. +</P> + +<P> +"You understand," said the conductor, "that when a train is stalled +like this it is considered as if under way. So I have local police +power, and I haven't exceeded my rights in putting you under arrest." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't recall that I have questioned your right," Eaton answered +shortly. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you might question it now. I'm going to search you. Are +you going to make trouble or needn't I send for help?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll help you." Eaton took off his coat and vest and handed them +over. The conductor put them on a seat while he felt over his prisoner +for weapons or other concealed objects. Eaton handed him a +pocket-knife, and the key to his traveling-bag—he had no other +keys—from his trousers pockets. The conductor discovered nothing +else. He found a pencil—but no papers or memorandum book—a plain +gold watch, unengraved, and a bill-fold containing seven hundred +dollars in United States bank-notes in the vest. Connery wrote out a +receipt for the money and handed it to his prisoner. He returned the +other articles. In the coat, the conductor found a handkerchief and in +another pocket the torn scraps of the telegram delivered to Eaton in +his berth. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the one we had the fuss over in the dining car," Eaton +volunteered, as the conductor began fitting the scraps together. +</P> + +<P> +"You forgot to completely destroy it, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"What was the use?" Eaton took up the other's point of view. "You had +a copy anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"You might have wanted to get rid of it since the discovery of the +murder." +</P> + +<P> +"Murder?" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess it's the same thing." The conductor dropped the scraps into +an envelope and put it in his pocket. He examined the coat for a +tailor's name. +</P> + +<P> +"That coat was copied by a Chinaman in Amoy from the coat I had before. +Before the new one was made, I took out the name of the other tailor so +it wouldn't be copied too," Eaton remarked in explanation of the lack +of any mark. Connery handed back the coat, went out and locked the +door behind him. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton opened his traveling bag and checked over the contents. He could +tell that everything in it had been again carefully examined, but +nothing more had been taken except the small Chinese-English +dictionary; that was now gone. There had been nothing in the bag to +betray any other identity than the one he had given. Eaton put the bag +away and went back to his seat by the window. +</P> + +<P> +The clear, bright day was drawing toward its dusk: there had been no +movement or attempt to move the train all day. About six o'clock, as +people began passing forward to the diner, Connery appeared again with +a waiter from the dining car bearing a tray with dinner. +</P> + +<P> +"This is 'on' the Department of Justice, Conductor?" Eaton tried to ask +lightly. +</P> + +<P> +"The check is a dollar twenty. If you want this, I'll charge it +against your money which I have." +</P> + +<P> +"Make it a dollar, forty-five then," Eaton directed. "Remember the +waiter." +</P> + +<P> +The black boy grinned and spread the table. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Mr.—" Eaton began. +</P> + +<P> +"Dorne?" Connery put in sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," said Eaton. "I understand. How is he?" +</P> + +<P> +Connery did not answer, and with the waiter left him, locking him in +again. At ten, Connery came once more with the porter of the car, and +the conductor stood by silently while the porter made up the berth. +Eaton went to bed with the car absolutely still, with only the wall of +snow outside his window and no evidence of any one about but a subdued +step occasionally passing his door. Though he had had nothing to do +all the long, lonely hours of the evening but to think, Eaton lay awake +thinking. He understood definitely now that whatever action was to be +taken following his admission of his presence at Warden's, a charge of +murder or of assault to kill—dependent upon whether Santoine died or +seemed likely to recover—would be made against him at the first city +they reached after the train had started again. He would be turned +over to the police; inquiry would be made; then—he shrank from going +further with these thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +The night again was very cold; it was clear, with stars shining; toward +midnight wind came; but little snow drifted now, for the cold had +frozen a crust. In the morning, from somewhere over the snow-covered +country, a man and a boy appeared at the top of the shining bank beside +the train. They walked beside the sleepers to the dining car, where, +apparently, they disposed of whatever they had brought in the bags they +carried; they came back along the cars and then disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +As he watched them, Eaton felt the desperate impulse to escape through +the window and follow them; but he knew he surely would be seen; and +even if he could get away unobserved, he would freeze; his overcoat and +hat had been kept by Connery. The conductor came after a time and let +in the porter, who unmade the berth and carried away the linen; and +later, Connery came again with the waiter bringing breakfast. He had +brought a magazine, which he dropped upon the seat beside Eaton; and he +stood by until Eaton had breakfasted and the dishes were carried away. +</P> + +<P> +"Want to talk yet?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything else you want?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to see Miss Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +Connery turned away. +</P> + +<P> +"You will tell Miss Santoine I have something I want to say to her?" +Eaton asked more definitely. +</P> + +<P> +Connery turned back. "If you've anything to say, tell it to me," he +bade curtly. +</P> + +<P> +"It will do no good to tell it to you. Will you tell her what I asked?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Connery. +</P> + +<P> +At noon, when they brought Eaton's luncheon, he repeated his request +and was again refused; but less than an hour afterward Connery came to +his door again, and behind Connery, Eaton saw Harriet Santoine and +Avery. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton jumped up, and as he saw the girl's pale face, the color left his +own. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Santoine has asked to speak to you," Connery announced; and he +admitted Harriet Santoine and Avery, and himself remaining outside in +the aisle, closed the door upon them. +</P> + +<P> +"How is your father?" Eaton asked the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"He seems just the same; at least, I can't see any change, Mr. Eaton." +She said something in a low tone to Avery, who nodded; then she sat +down opposite Eaton, and Avery seated himself on the arm of the seat +beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"Can Dr. Sinclair see any difference?" Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Dr. Sinclair will not commit himself except to say that so far as he +can tell, the indications are favorable. He seems to think—" The +girl choked; but when she went on, her blue eyes were very bright and +her lips did not tremble. "Dr. Sinclair seems to think, Mr. Eaton, +that Father was found just in time, and that whatever chance he has for +recovery came from you. Mr. Avery and I had passed by the berth; other +people had gone by. Sometimes Father had insomnia and wouldn't get to +sleep till late in the morning; so I—and Mr. Avery too—would have +left him undisturbed until noon. Dr. Sinclair says that if he had been +left as long as that, he would have had no chance at all for life." +</P> + +<P> +"He has a chance, then, now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but we don't know how much. The change Dr. Sinclair is expecting +may be either for better or worse. I—I wanted you to know, Mr. Eaton, +that I recognize—that the chance Father may have came through you, and +that I am trying to think of you as the one who gave him the chance." +</P> + +<P> +The warm blood flooded Eaton's face, and he bowed his head. She, then, +was not wholly hostile to him; she had not been completely convinced by +Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"What was it you wanted to tell Miss Santoine?" Avery challenged. +</P> + +<P> +"What did Miss Santoine want to tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"What she has just told you." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton thought for a moment. The realization that had come to him just +now that something had kept the girl from condemning him as Avery and +Connery had condemned him, and that somehow, for some reason, she must +have been fighting within herself to-day and last night against the +proof of his guilt, flushed him with gratitude and changed the attitude +he had thought it was going to be necessary for him to take in this +talk with her. As he looked up, her eyes met his; then she looked +quickly away. Avery moved impatiently and repeated his question: +</P> + +<P> +"What was it you wanted to say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Are they looking for any one, Miss Santoine—any one besides me in +connection with the attack upon your father?" +</P> + +<P> +She glanced at Avery and did not answer. Avery's eyes narrowed. "We +are quite satisfied with what we have been doing," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Then they are not looking, Miss Santoine!" +</P> + +<P> +Her lips pressed together, and again it was Avery who answered. "We +have not said so." +</P> + +<P> +"I must assume it, then," Eaton said to the girl without regarding +Avery. "I have been watching as well as I could since they shut me up +here, and I have listened, but I haven't found any evidence that +anything more is being done. So I'm obliged to assume that nothing is +being done. The few people who know about the attack on your father +are so convinced and satisfied that I am the one who did it that they +aren't looking any further. Among the people moving about on the +train, the—the man who made the attack is being allowed to move about; +he could even leave the train, if he could do so without being seen and +was willing to take his chance in the snow; and when the train goes on, +he certainly will leave it!" +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine turned questioningly to Avery again. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not asking anything of you, you see," Eaton urged. "I'm not +asking you to let me go or to give me any—any increase of liberty +which might make it possible for me to escape. I—I'm only warning you +that Mr. Avery and the conductor are making a mistake; and you don't +have to have any faith in me or any belief that I'm telling the truth +when I say that I didn't do it! I'm only warning you, Miss Santoine, +that you mustn't let them stop looking! Why, if I had done it, I might +very likely have had an accomplice whom they are going to let escape. +It's only common sense, you see." +</P> + +<P> +"That is what you wanted to say?" Avery asked. +</P> + +<P> +"That is it," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +"We can go, then, Harriet." +</P> + +<P> +But she made no move to go. Her eyes rested upon Eaton steadily; and +while he had been appealing to her, a flush had come to her cheeks and +faded away and come again and again with her impulses as he spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"If you didn't do it, why don't you help us?" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Help you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes: tell us who you are and what you are doing? Why did you take the +train because Father was on it, if you didn't mean any harm to him? +Why don't you tell us where you are going or where you have been or +what you have been doing? What did your appointment with Mr. Warden +mean? And why, after he was killed, did you disappear until you +followed Father on this train? Why can't you give the name of anybody +you know or tell us of any one who knows about you?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton sank back against the seat away from her, and his eyes shifted to +Avery standing ready to go, and then fell. +</P> + +<P> +"I might ask you in return," Eaton said, "why you thought it worth +while, Miss Santoine, to ask so much about myself when you first met me +and before any of this had happened? You were not so much interested +then in me personally as that; and it was not because you could have +suspected I had been Mr. Warden's friend; for when the conductor +charged that, it was a complete surprise to you." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I did not suspect that." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why were you curious about me?" +</P> + +<P> +Before Avery could speak or even make a gesture, Harriet seemed to come +to a decision. "My Father asked me to," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father? Asked you to do what?" +</P> + +<P> +"To find out about you." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +As she hesitated, Avery put his hand upon her shoulder as though +warning her to be still; but she went on, after only an instant. +</P> + +<P> +"I promised Mr. Avery and the conductor," she said, "that if I saw you +I would listen to what you had to say but would not answer questions +without their consent; but I seem already to have broken that promise. +I have been wondering, since we have found out what we have about you, +whether Father could possibly have suspected that you were Mr. Warden's +friend; but I am quite sure that was not the original reason for his +inquiring about you. My Father thought he recognized your voice, Mr. +Eaton, when you were speaking to the conductor about your tickets. He +thought he ought to know who you were. He knew that some time and +somewhere he had been near you before, and had heard you speak; but he +could not tell where or when. And neither Mr. Avery nor I could tell +him who you were; so he asked us to find out. I do not know whether, +after we had described you to Father, he may have connected you with +Mr. Warden or not; but that could not have been in his mind at first." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had paled; Avery had seemed about to interrupt her, but watching +Eaton, he suddenly had desisted. +</P> + +<P> +"You and Mr. Avery?" Eaton repeated. "He sent you to find out about +me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sent me—in this case—more than Mr. Avery; because he thought it +would be easier for me to do it." Harriet had reddened under Eaton's +gaze. "You understand, Mr. Eaton, it was—was entirely impersonal with +me. My Father, being blind, is obliged to use the eyes of +others—mine, for one; he has trained me to see for him ever since we +used to take walks together when I was a little girl, and he has made +me learn to tell him what I see in detail, in the way that he would see +it himself; and for helping him to see other things on which I might be +unable to report so definitely and clearly, he has Mr. Avery. He calls +us his eyes, sometimes; and it was only—only because I had been +commissioned to find out about you that I was obliged to show so much +curiosity." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said Eaton quietly. "Your report to your father, I +suppose, convinced him that he had been mistaken in thinking he knew my +voice." +</P> + +<P> +"No—not that. He knew that he had heard it; for sounds have so much +meaning to him that he never neglects or forgets them, and he carries +in his mind the voices of hundreds of different people and almost never +makes a mistake among them. It did make him surer that you were not +any one with whose voice he ought to have been familiar, but only some +one whom he had heard say something—a few words or sentences, +maybe—under conditions which impressed your voice upon his mind. And +he told Mr. Avery so, and that has only made Mr. Avery and the +conductor more certain that you must be the—one. And since you will +not tell—" +</P> + +<P> +"To tell would only further confirm them—" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean they would be more certain it was I who—" Eaton, as he +blundered with the words and checked himself, looked up apprehensively +at Avery; but Avery, if he had thought that it was worth while to let +this conversation go on in the expectation that Eaton might let slip +something which could be used against himself, now had lost that +expectation. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Harry," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet arose, and Eaton got up as she did and stood as she went toward +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"You said Mr. Avery and the conductor believe—" he began impulsively, +in answer to the something within him which was urging him to know, to +make certain, how far Harriet Santoine believed him to have been +concerned in the attack upon her father. And suddenly he found that he +did not need to ask. He knew; and with this sudden realization he all +at once understood why she had not been convinced in spite of the +conviction of the others—why, as, flushing and paling, she had just +now talked with him, her manner had been a continual denial of the +suspicion against him. +</P> + +<P> +To Avery and to Connery the attack upon Santoine was made a vital and +important thing by the prominence of Santoine and their own +responsibility toward him, but after all there was nothing surprising +in there having been an attack. Even to Harriet Santoine it could not +be a matter of surprise; she knew—she must know—that the father whom +she loved and thought of as the best of men, could not have +accomplished all he had done without making enemies; but she could +conceive of an attack upon him being made only by some one roused to +insane and unreasoning hate against him or by some agent wicked and +vile enough to kill for profit. She could not conceive of its having +been done by a man whom, little as she had known him, she had liked, +with whom she had chatted and laughed upon terms of equality. The +accusation of the second telegram had overwhelmed her for a time, and +had driven her from the defense of him which she had made after he had +admitted his connection with Gabriel Warden; but now, Eaton felt, the +impulse in his favor had returned. She must have talked over with her +father many times the matter of the man whom Warden had determined to +befriend; and plainly she had become so satisfied that he deserved +consideration rather than suspicion that Connery's identification of +Eaton now was to his advantage. Harriet Santoine could not yet answer +the accusation of the second telegram against him, but—in reason or +out of reason—her feelings refused acceptance of it. +</P> + +<P> +It was her feelings that were controlling her now, as suddenly she +faced him, flushed and with eyes suffused, waiting for the end of the +sentence he could not finish. And as his gaze met hers, he realized +that life—the life that held Harriet Santoine, however indefinite the +interest might be that she had taken in him—was dearer to him than he +had thought. +</P> + +<P> +Avery had reached the door, holding it open for her to go out. +Suddenly Eaton tore the handle from Avery's grasp, slammed the door +shut upon him and braced his foot against it. He would be able to hold +it thus for several moments before they could force it open. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Santoine," he pleaded, his voice hoarse with his emotion, "for +God's sake, make them think what they are doing before they make a +public accusation against me—before they charge me with this to others +not on this train! I can't answer what you asked; I can't tell you now +about myself; there is a reason—a fair and honest reason, and one +which means life or death to me. It will not be merely accusation they +make against me—it will be my sentence! I shall be sentenced before I +am tried—condemned without a chance to defend myself! That is the +reason I could not come forward after the murder of Mr. Warden. I +could not have helped him—or aided in the pursuit of his enemies—if I +had appeared; I merely would have been destroyed myself! The only +thing I could hope to accomplish has been in following my present +course—which, I swear to you, has had no connection with the attack +upon your father. What Mr. Avery and Connery are planning to do to me, +they cannot undo. They will merely complete the outrage and injustice +already done me,—of which Mr. Warden spoke to his wife,—and they will +not help your father. For God's sake, keep them from going further!" +</P> + +<P> +Her color deepened, and for an instant, he thought he saw full belief +in him growing in her eyes; but if she could not accept the charge +against him, neither could she consciously deny it, and the hands she +had been pressing together suddenly dropped. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I'm afraid nothing I could say would have much effect on them, +knowing as little about—about you as I do!" +</P> + +<P> +They dashed the door open then—silenced and overwhelmed him; and they +took her from the room and left him alone again. But there was +something left with him which they could not take away; for in the +moment he had stood alone with her and passionately pleading, something +had passed between them—he could give no name to it, but he knew that +Harriet Santoine never could think of him again without a stirring of +her pulses which drew her toward him. And through the rest of the +lonely day and through the sleepless night, he treasured this and +thought of it again and again. +</P> + +<P> +The following morning the relieving snowplows arrived from the east, +and Eaton felt it was the beginning of the end for him. He watched +from his window men struggling in the snow about the forward end of the +train; then the train moved forward past the shoveled and trampled snow +where rock and pieces of the snowplow were piled beside the +track—stopped, waited; finally it went on again and began to take up +its steady progress. +</P> + +<P> +The attack upon Santoine having taken place in Montana, Eaton thought +that he would be turned over to the police somewhere within that State, +and he expected it would be done at the first stop; but when the train +slowed at Simons, he saw the town was nothing more than a little hamlet +beside a side-track. They surely could not deliver him to the village +authorities here. The observation car and the Santoine car were +uncoupled here and the train made up again with the Santoine car as the +last car of the train and the observation car ahead of it. This, +evidently, was to stop the passing of passengers through the Santoine +car. Did it mean that the change in Santoine's condition which Dr. +Sinclair had been expecting had taken place and was for the worse? +Eaton would have liked to ask about this of Connery, whom he saw +standing outside his window and keeping watch upon him during the +switching of the cars; but he knew that the conductor would not answer +him. +</P> + +<P> +He rang, instead, for the porter and asked him for a railway folder, +and when this had been brought, he opened it to the map of the railroad +and checked off the names of the towns they would pass through. Nearly +all the names set in the bold-face letters which denoted the cities and +larger towns ahead of them were, he found, toward the eastern end of +the State; the nearest—and the one, therefore, at which he thought he +would be given up—was several hours away. At long intervals the train +passed villages all but buried in the snow; the inhabitants of these, +gathered at the stations, stared in on him as they looked in on any +other passenger; and at each of these stops Connery stood outside his +window guarding against possibility of his escape. Each time, too, +that the train slowed, the porter unlocked the door of the compartment, +opened it and stood waiting until the train had regained its speed; +plainly they were taking no chances of his dropping from the window. +</P> + +<P> +Early in the afternoon, as they approached the town whose name in +bold-face had made him sure that it was the one where he would be given +to the police, Eaton rang for the porter again. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you get me paper and an envelope?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +The negro summoned the conductor. +</P> + +<P> +"You want to write?" Connery asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"You understand that anything you write must be given to me unsealed." +</P> + +<P> +"That's satisfactory to me. I don't believe that, even though it is +unsealed, you'll take it upon yourself to read it." +</P> + +<P> +The conductor looked puzzled, but sent the porter for some of the +stationery the railroad furnished for passengers. The negro brought +paper, and pen and ink, and set up the little table in front of Eaton; +and when they had left him and had locked the door, Eaton wrote: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Miss Santoine: +</P> + +<P> +The questions—all of them—that you and others have asked me you are +going to find answered very soon—within a very few hours, it may be, +certainly within a few days—though they are not going to be answered +by me. When they are answered, you are going to think me the most +despicable kind of man; you are not going to doubt, then,—for the +answers will not let you doubt,—that I was the one who hurt your +father. You, and every one else, are going to feel—not only because +of that, but because of what you will learn about me—that nothing that +may happen to me will be more than I justly deserve. +</P> + +<P> +I don't seem to care very much what people other than you may think; as +the time grows nearer, I feel that I care less and less about that; but +I do care very much—and more and more—that you are going to think of +me in this way. It is very hard for me to know that you are going to +regret that you ever let me talk with you in the friendly way you did, +or that you let me walk beside you on the station platform at Spokane, +and that you are going to shrink with horror when you recollect that +you let me touch you and put my hand upon your arm. I feel that you do +not yet believe that it was I who attacked your father; and I ask +you—even in face of the proof which you are so soon to receive—not to +believe it. I took this train— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He stopped writing, recollecting that the letter was to be given to +Connery unsealed and that Connery might read it; he scratched out the +sentence he had begun; then he thought a moment and went on: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +I ask you not to believe that. More than that, I ask you—when you +have learned who I am—still to believe in me. I don't ask you to +defend me against others; you could not do that, for you will see no +one who will not hate and despise me. But I beg of you, in all honesty +and faith, not to let yourself feel as they do toward me. I want you +to believe— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +He stopped again, but not because he felt that Harriet Santoine would +not believe what he was asking her to believe; instead, it was because +he knew she would. Mechanically he opened his traveling-bag and got +out a cigar, bit off the end and forgetting in his absorption to light +it, puffed and sucked at it. The future was sure ahead of him; he +foresaw it plainly, in detail even, for what was happening to him was +only the fulfillment of a threat which had been over him ever since he +landed at Seattle. He was going out of life—not only Harriet +Santoine's life, but all life, and the letter he was writing would make +Harriet Santoine believe his death to have been an act of injustice, of +cruelty. She could not help but feel that she herself had been in a +way instrumental in his death, since it was the accusation of violence +against her father which was going to show who he was and so condemn +him. Dared he, dying, leave a sting like that in the girl's life? +</P> + +<P> +He continued to puff at the unlighted cigar; then, mechanically, he +struck a match to light it. As the match flared up, he touched it to +the sheet on which he had been writing, held the paper until the +written part was all consumed, and dropped it on the floor of the car, +smiling down at it wryly and grimly. He would go out of Harriet +Santoine's life as he had come into it—no, not that, for he had come +into it as one who excited in her a rather pleasing doubt and +curiosity, but he would go out of it as a man whom she must hate and +condemn; to recall him would be only painful to her, so that she would +try to kill within her all memory of him. +</P> + +<P> +As he glanced to the window, he saw that they were passing through the +outskirts of some place larger than any they had stopped at before; and +realizing that this must be the place he had picked out on the map as +the one where they would give him to the police, he closed his +traveling bag and made ready to go with them. The train drew into the +station and stopped; the porter, as it slowed, had unlocked and opened +the door of his compartment, and he saw Connery outside upon the +platform; but this was no different from their procedure at every stop. +Several people got on the train here; others got off; so Connery, +obviously, was not preventing those who had been on the train when +Santoine was struck, from leaving it now. Eaton, as he saw Connery +make the signal for the train to go ahead, sank back suddenly, +conscious of the suspense he had been under. +</P> + +<P> +He got out the railroad folder and looked ahead to the next town where +he might be given up to the authorities; but when they rolled into this +in the late afternoon the proceedings were no different. Eaton could +not understand. He saw by studying the time-table that some time in +the night they would pass the Montana state line into North Dakota. +Didn't they intend to deliver him to the State authorities in Montana? +</P> + +<P> +When the waiter brought his supper, Connery came with him. +</P> + +<P> +"You wrote something to-day?" the conductor asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I destroyed it." +</P> + +<P> +Connery looked keenly around the compartment. "You brought me two +envelopes; there they are. You brought three sheets of paper; here are +two, and there's what's left of the other on the floor." +</P> + +<P> +Connery seemed satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +"Why haven't you jailed me?" Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +"We're waiting to see how things go with Mr. Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +"Has he been conscious?" +</P> + +<P> +Connery did not answer; and through the conductor's silence Eaton +sensed suddenly what the true condition of affairs must be. To give +him up to the police would make public the attack upon Santoine; and +until Santoine either died or recovered far enough to be consulted by +them, neither Avery nor Connery—nor Connery's superiors, +apparently—dared to take the responsibility of doing this. So Eaton +would be carried along to whatever point they might reach when Santoine +died or became fully conscious. Where would that be? Clear to Chicago? +</P> + +<P> +It made no material difference to him, Eaton realized, whether the +police took him in Montana or Chicago, since in either case recognition +of him would be certain in the end; but in Chicago this recognition +must be immediate, complete, and utterly convincing. +</P> + +<P> +The next day the weather had moderated, or—here in North Dakota—it +had been less severe; the snow was not deep except in the hollows, and +on the black, windswept farmlands sprouts of winter wheat were faintly +showing. The train was traveling steadily and faster than its regular +schedule; it evidently was running as a special, some other train +taking the ordinary traffic; it halted now only at the largest cities. +In the morning it crossed into Minnesota; and in the late afternoon, +slowing, it rolled into some large city which Eaton knew must be +Minneapolis or St. Paul. All day he had listened for sounds in the +Santoine car, but had heard nothing; the routine which had been +established to take care of him had gone on through the day, and he had +seen no one but Connery and the negro, and his questions to them had +been unanswered. +</P> + +<P> +The car here was uncoupled from the train and picked up by a switch +engine; as dusk fell, Eaton, peering out of his window, could see that +they had been left lying in the railroad yards; and about midnight, +awakening in his berth, he realized that the car was still motionless. +He could account for this stoppage in their progress only by some +change in the condition of Santoine. Was Santoine sinking, so that +they no longer dared to travel? Was he, perhaps—dead? +</P> + +<P> +No sounds came to him from the car to confirm Eaton in any conclusion; +there was nothing to be learned from any one outside the car. A +solitary man, burly and alert, paced quietly back and forth below +Eaton's window. He was a guard stationed to prevent any escape while +the car was motionless in the yard. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton lay for a long time, listening for other sounds and wondering +what was occurring—or had occurred—at the other end of his car. +Toward morning he fell asleep. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +PUBLICITY NOT WANTED +</H4> + +<P> +"Basil Santoine dying! Blind Millionaire lawyer taken ill on train!" +</P> + +<P> +The alarm of the cry came to answer Eaton's question early the next +morning. As he started up in his berth, he shook himself into +realization that the shouts were not merely part of an evil dream; some +one was repeating the cry outside the car window. He threw up the +curtain and saw a vagrant newsboy, evidently passing through the +railroad yards to sell to the trainmen. Eaton's guard outside his +window was not then in sight; so Eaton lifted his window from the +screen, removed that, and hailing the boy, put out his hand for a +paper. He took it before he recalled that he had not even a cent; but +he looked for his knife in his trousers pocket and tossed it out to the +boy with the inquiry: "How'll that do?" +</P> + +<P> +The boy gaped, picked it up, grinned and scampered off. Eaton spread +the news-sheet before him and swiftly scanned the lines for information +as to the fate of the man who, for four days, had been lying only forty +feet away from him at the other end of a Pullman car. +</P> + +<P> +The paper—a Minneapolis one—blared at him that Santoine's condition +was very low and becoming rapidly worse. But below, under a Montana +date-line, Eaton saw it proclaimed that the blind millionaire was +merely sick; there was no suggestion anywhere of an attack. The paper +stated only that Basil Santoine, returning from Seattle with his +daughter and his secretary, Donald Avery, had been taken seriously ill +upon a train which had been stalled for two days in the snow in +Montana. The passenger from whom the information had been gained had +heard that the malady was appendicitis, but he believed that was merely +given out to cover some complication which had required surgical +treatment on the train. He was definite as regarded the seriousness of +Mr. Santoine's illness and described the measures taken to insure his +quiet. The railroad officials refused, significantly, to make a +statement regarding Mr. Santoine's present condition. There was +complete absence of any suggestion of violence having been done; and +also, Eaton found, there was no word given out that he himself had been +found on the train. The column ended with the statement that Mr. +Santoine had passed through Minneapolis and gone on to Chicago under +care of Dr. Douglas Sinclair. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton stared at the newspaper without reading, after he saw that. He +thought first—or rather, he felt first—for himself. He had not +realized, until now that he was told that Harriet Santoine had +gone,—for if her father had gone on, of course she was with him,—the +extent to which he had felt her fairness, almost her friendship to him. +At least, he knew now that, since she had spoken to him after he was +first accused of the attack on her father, he had not felt entirely +deserted or friendless till now. And with this start of dread for +himself, came also feeling for her. Even if they had taken her father +from the other end of this car early in the night to remove him to +another special car for Chicago, she would be still watching beside him +on the train. Or was her watch beside the dying man over now? And +now, if her father were dead, how could Harriet Santoine feel toward +the one whom all others—if not she herself—accused of the murder of +her father? For evidently it was murder now, not just "an attack." +</P> + +<P> +But why, if Santoine had been taken away, or was dead or dying, had +they left Eaton all night in the car in the yards? Since Santoine was +dying, would there be any longer an object in concealing the fact that +he had been murdered? +</P> + +<P> +Eaton turned the page before him. A large print of a picture of +Harriet Santoine looked at him from the paper—her beautiful, deep eyes +gazing at him, as he often had surprised her, frankly interested, +thoughtful, yet also gay. The newspaper had made up its lack of more +definite and extended news by associating her picture with her father's +and printing also a photograph of Donald Avery—"closely associated +with Mr. Santoine in a confidential capacity and rumored to be engaged +to Miss Santoine." Under the blind man's picture was a biography of +the sort which newspaper offices hold ready, prepared for the passing +of the great. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton did not read that then. The mention in the paper of an +engagement between Avery and Harriet Santoine had only confirmed the +relation which Eaton had imagined between them. Avery, therefore, must +have gone on with her; and if she still watched beside her father, +Avery was with her; and if Basil Santoine was dead, his daughter was +turning to Avery for comfort. +</P> + +<P> +This feature somehow stirred Eaton so that he could not stay quiet; he +dressed and then paced back and forth the two or three steps his +compartment allowed him. He stopped now and then to listen; from +outside came the noises of the yard; but he made out no sound within +the car. If it had been occupied as on the days previous, he must have +heard some one coming to the washroom at his end. Was he alone in the +car now? or had the customary moving about taken place before he awoke? +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had seen no one but the newsboy when he looked out the window, +but he felt sure that, if he had been left alone in the car, he was +being watched so that he could not escape. +</P> + +<P> +His hand moved toward the bell, then checked itself. By calling any +one, he now must change his situation only for the worse; as long as +they were letting him stay there, so much the better. He realized that +it was long past the time when the porter usually came to make up his +berth and they brought him breakfast; the isolation of the car might +account for this delay, but it was more likely that he was to find +another reason. +</P> + +<P> +Finally, to free himself from his nervous listening for sounds which +never came, he picked up the paper again. A column told of Santoine's +youth, his blindness, his early struggle to make a place for himself +and his final triumph—position, wealth and power gained; Eaton, +reading of Harriet Santoine's father, followed these particulars with +interest; and further down the column his interest became even greater. +He read: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The news of Mr. Santoine's visit of a week on the Coast, if not known +already in great financial circles, is likely to prove interesting +there. Troubles between little people are tried in the courts; the +powerful settle their disagreements among themselves and without appeal +to the established tribunals in which their cases are settled without +the public knowing they have been tried at all. Basil Santoine, of +late years, has been known to the public as one of the greatest and +most influential of the advisers to the financial rulers of America; +but before the public knew him he was recognized by the financial +masters as one of the most able, clear-minded and impartial of the +adjudicators among them in their own disputes. For years he has been +the chief agent in keeping peace among some of the great conflicting +interests, and more than once he has advised the declaring of financial +war when war seemed to him the correct solution. Thus, five years ago, +when the violent death of Matthew Latron threatened to precipitate +trouble among Western capitalists, Santoine kept order in what might +very well have become financial chaos. If his recent visit to the +Pacific Coast was not purely for personal reasons but was also to +adjust antagonisms such as charged by Gabriel Warden before his death, +the loss of Santoine at this time may precipitate troubles which, +living, his advice and information might have been able to prevent. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Having read and reread this long paragraph, Eaton started to tear out +the picture of Harriet Santoine before throwing the paper away; then he +desisted and thrust the sheets out the window. As he sat thinking, +with lips tight closed, he heard for the first time that morning +footsteps at his end of the car. The door of his compartment was +unlocked and opened, and he saw Dr. Sinclair. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Santoine wants to speak to you," the surgeon announced quietly. +</P> + +<P> +This startling negation of all he imagined, unnerved Eaton. He started +up, then sank back for better composure. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Santoine is here, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Here? Of course he's here." +</P> + +<P> +"And he's conscious?" +</P> + +<P> +"He has been conscious for the better part of two days. Didn't they +tell you?" Sinclair frowned. "I heard Miss Santoine send word to you +by the conductor soon after her father first came to himself." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean he will recover!" +</P> + +<P> +"He would recover from any injury which was not inevitably fatal. He +was in perfect physical condition, and I never have known a patient to +grasp so completely the needs of his own case and to help the surgeon +as much by his control of himself." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton looked toward the window, breathing hard. "I heard the +newsboys—" +</P> + +<P> +Sinclair shrugged. "The papers print what they can get and in the way +which seems most effective to them," was his only comment. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton pulled himself together. So Santoine was neither dead nor dying. +Therefore, at worst, the charge of murder would not be made; and at +best—what? He was soon to find out; the papers evidently were +entirely in error or falsely informed. Basil Santoine was still at the +other end of the car, and his daughter would be with him there. But as +Eaton followed Sinclair out of the compartment into the aisle, he +halted a moment—the look of the car was so entirely different from +what he had expected. A nurse in white uniform sat in one of the seats +toward the middle of the car, sewing; another nurse, likewise clothed +in white, had just come out from the drawing-room at the end of the +car; Avery and Sinclair apparently had been playing cribbage, for Avery +sat at a little table in the section which had been occupied by +Santoine, with the cards and cribbage board in front of him. The +surgeon led Eaton to the door of the drawing-room, showed him in and +left him. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine was sitting on the little lounge opposite the berth +where her father lay. She was watching the face of her father, and as +Eaton stood in the door, he saw her lean forward and gently touch her +father's hand; then she turned and saw Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is Mr. Eaton, Father," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down," Santoine directed. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet made room for Eaton upon the seat beside her; and Eaton, +sitting down, gazed across at the blind man in the berth. Santoine was +lying flat on his back, his bandaged head turned a little toward Eaton +and supported by pillows; he was not wearing his dark glasses, and his +eyes were open. Eyes of themselves are capable of no expression except +as they may be clear or bloodshot, or by the contraction or dilation of +the pupils, or as they shift or are fixed upon some object: their +"expression" is caused by movements of the lids and brows and other +parts of the face. Santoine's eyes had the motionlessness of the eyes +of those who have been long blind; seeing nothing, with pupils which +did not change in size, they had only the abstracted look which, with +men who see, accompanies deep thought. The blind man was very weak and +must stay quite still; and he recognized it; but he knew too that his +strength was more than equal to the task of recovery, and he showed +that he knew it. His mind and will were, obviously, at their full +activity, and he had fully his sense of hearing. +</P> + +<P> +This explained to Eaton the better color in his daughter's face; yet +she was still constrained and nervous; evidently she had not found her +ordeal over with the start of convalescence of her father. Her lips +trembled now as she turned to Eaton; but she did not speak directly to +him yet; it was Basil Santoine who suddenly inquired: +</P> + +<P> +"What is it they call you?" +</P> + +<P> +"My name is Philip D. Eaton." Eaton realized as soon as he had spoken +that both question and answer had been unnecessary, and Santoine had +asked only to hear Eaton's voice. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man was silent for a moment, as he seemed to consider the +voice and try again vainly to place it in his memories. Then he spoke +to his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Describe him, Harriet." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet paled and flushed. +</P> + +<P> +"About thirty," she said, "—under rather than over that. Six feet or +a little more in height. Slender, but muscular and athletic. Skin and +eyes clear and with a look of health. Complexion naturally rather +fair, but darkened by being outdoors a good deal. Hair dark brown, +straight and parted at the side. Smooth shaven. Eyes blue-gray, with +straight lashes. Eyebrows straight and dark. Forehead smooth, broad +and intelligent. Nose straight and neither short nor long; nostrils +delicate. Mouth straight, with lips neither thin nor full. Chin +neither square nor pointed, and without a cleft. Face and head, in +general, of oval Anglo-American type." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," said Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet was breathing quickly. "Hands well shaped, strong but without +sign of manual labor; nails cared for but not polished. Gray business +suit, new, but not made by an American tailor and of a style several +years old. Soft-bosomed shirt of plain design with soft cuffs. +Medium-height turn-down white linen collar. Four-in-hand tie, tied by +himself. Black shoes. No jewelry except watch-chain." +</P> + +<P> +"In general?" Santoine suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"In general, apparently well-educated, well-bred, intelligent young +American. Expression frank. Manner self-controlled and reserved. +Seems sometimes younger than he must be, sometimes older. Something +has happened at some time which has had a great effect and can't be +forgotten." +</P> + +<P> +While she spoke, the blood, rising with her embarrassment, had dyed +Harriet's face; suddenly now she looked away from him and out the +window. +</P> + +<P> +Her feeling seemed to be perceived by Santoine. "Would you rather I +sent for Avery, daughter?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; no!" She turned again toward Eaton and met his look defiantly. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton merely waited. He was confident that much of this description of +himself had been given Santoine by his daughter before the attack had +been made on him and that she had told him also as fully as she could +the two conversations she had had with Eaton. He could not, somehow, +conceive it possible that Santoine needed to refresh his memory; the +description, therefore, must have been for purposes of comparison. +Santoine, in his blindness, no doubt found it necessary to get +descriptions of the same one thing from several people, in order that +he might check one description against another. He probably had +Harriet's and Avery's description of Eaton and now was getting +Harriet's again. +</P> + +<P> +"He would be called, I judge, a rather likable-looking man?" Santoine +said tentatively; his question plainly was only meant to lead up to +something else; Santoine had judged in that particular already. +</P> + +<P> +"I think he makes that impression." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly he does not make the impression of being a man who could be +hired to commit a crime?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very far from it." +</P> + +<P> +"Or who would commit a crime for his own interest—material or +financial interest, I mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"But he might be led into crime by some personal, deeper interest. He +has shown deep feeling, I believe—strong, personal feeling, Harriet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton,"—Santoine addressed him suddenly,—"I understand that you +have admitted that you were at the house of Gabriel Warden the evening +he was killed while in his car. Is that so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"You are the man, then, of whom Gabriel Warden spoke to his wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe so." +</P> + +<P> +"You believe so?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean," Eaton explained quietly, "that I came by appointment to call +on Mr. Warden that night. I believe that it must have been to me that +Mr. Warden referred in the conversation with his wife which has since +been quoted in the newspapers." +</P> + +<P> +"Because you were in such a situation that, if Mr. Warden defended you, +he would himself meet danger?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not say that," Eaton denied guardedly. +</P> + +<P> +"What, then, was your position in regard to Mr. Warden?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You refuse to answer?" Santoine inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"I refuse." +</P> + +<P> +"In spite of the probability that Mr. Warden met his death because of +his intention to undertake something for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have not been able to fix that as a probability." +</P> + +<P> +The blind man stopped. Plainly he appreciated that, where Connery and +Avery had failed in their questionings, he was not likely to succeed +easily; and with his limited strength, he proceeded on a line likely to +meet less prepared resistance. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton, have I ever injured you personally—I don't mean directly, +as man to man, for I should remember that; have I ever done anything +which indirectly has worked injury on you or your affairs?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Who sent you aboard this train?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sent me? No one." +</P> + +<P> +"You took the train of your own will because I was taking it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have not said I took it because you were taking it." +</P> + +<P> +"That seems to be proved. You can accept it from me; it has been +proved. Did you take the train in order to attack me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"To spy upon me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine was silent for an instant. "What was it you took the train to +tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine moved his head upon the pillow. +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" his daughter warned. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am careful, Harriet; Dr. Sinclair allows me to move a little.... +Mr. Eaton, in one of the three answers you have just given me, you are +not telling the truth. I defy you to find in human reasoning more than +four reasons why my presence could have made you take this train in the +manner and with the attending circumstances you did. You took it to +injure me, or to protect me from injury; to learn something from me, or +to inform me of something. I discard the second of these possibilities +because you asked for a berth in another car and for other reasons +which make it impossible. However, I will ask it of you. Did you take +the train to protect me from injury?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Which of your former answers do you wish to change, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"None." +</P> + +<P> +"You deny all four possibilities?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are using denial only to hide the fact, whatever it may be; +and of the four possibilities I am obliged to select the first as the +most likely." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that I attacked you?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is not what I said. I said you must have taken the train to +injure me, but that does not mean necessarily that it was to attack me +with your own hand. Any attack aimed against me would be likely to +have several agents. There would be somewhere, probably, a distant +brain that had planned it; there would be an intelligent brain near by +to oversee it; and there would be a strong hand to perform it. The +overseeing brain and the performing hand—or hands—might belong to one +person, or to two, or more. How many there were I cannot now +determine, since people were allowed to get off the train. The +conductor and Avery—" +</P> + +<P> +"Father!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Harriet; but I expected better of Avery. Mr. Eaton, as you are +plainly withholding the truth as to your reason for taking this train, +and as I have suffered injury, I am obliged—from the limited +information I now have—to assume that you knew an attack was to be +made by some one, upon that train. In addition to the telegram, +addressed to you under your name of Eaton and informing of my presence +on the train, I have also been informed, of course, of the code message +received by you addressed to Hillward. You refused, I understand, to +favor Mr. Avery with an explanation of it; do you wish to give one now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"It has, of course, been deciphered," the blind man went on calmly. +"The fact that it was based upon your pocket English-Chinese dictionary +as a word-book was early suggested; the deciphering from that was +simply a trial of some score of ordinary enigma plans, until the +meaning appeared." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton made no comment. Santoine went on: +</P> + +<P> +"And that very interesting meaning presented another possible +explanation—not as to your taking the train, for as to that there can +be only the four I mentioned—but as to the attack itself, which would +exonerate you from participation in it. It is because of this that I +am treating you with the consideration I do. If that explanation were +correct, you would—" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"You would have had nothing to do with the attack, and yet you would +know who made it." +</P> + +<P> +At this, Eaton stared at the blind man and wet his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine did not reply to the question. "What have you been doing +yesterday and to-day?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Waiting," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +"For what?" +</P> + +<P> +"For the railroad people to turn me over to the police." +</P> + +<P> +"So I understood. That is why I asked you. I don't believe in +cat-and-mouse methods, Mr. Eaton; so I am willing to tell you that +there is no likelihood of your being turned over to the police +immediately. I have taken this matter out of the hands of the railroad +people. We live in a complex world, Mr. Eaton, and I am in the most +complex current of it. I certainly shall not allow the publicity of a +police examination of you to publish the fact that I have been attacked +so soon after the successful attack upon Mr. Warden—and in a similar +manner—until I know more about both attacks and about you—why you +came to see Warden that night and how, after failing to see him alive, +you followed me, and whether that fact led to the attempt at my life." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started to speak, and then stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"What were you going to say?" Santoine urged. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not say it," Eaton refused. +</P> + +<P> +"However, I think I understand your impulse. You were about to remind +me that there has been nothing to implicate you in any guilty +connection with the murder of Mr. Warden. I do not now charge that." +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated; then, suddenly lost in thought, as some new suggestion +seemed to come to him which he desired to explain alone, he motioned +with a hand in dismissal. "That is all." Then, almost immediately: +"No; wait! ... Harriet, has he made any sign while I have been +talking?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not much, if any," Harriet answered. "When you said he might not have +had anything to do with the attack upon you, but in that case he must +know who it was that struck you, he shut his eyes and wet his lips." +</P> + +<P> +"That is all, Mr. Eaton," Santoine repeated. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started back to his compartment. As he turned, Harriet Santoine +looked up at him and their eyes met; and her look confirmed to him what +he had felt before—that her father, now taking control of the +investigation of the attack upon himself, was not continuing it with +prejudice or predisposed desire to damage Eaton, except as the evidence +accused him. And her manner now told, even more plainly than +Santoine's, that the blind man had viewed the evidence as far from +conclusive against Eaton; and as Harriet showed that she was glad of +that, Eaton realized how she must have taken his side against Avery in +reporting to her father. +</P> + +<P> +For Santoine must have depended entirely upon circumstances presented +to him by Avery and Connery and her; and Eaton was very certain that +Avery and Connery had accused him; so Harriet Santoine—it could only +be she—had opposed them in his defense. The warmth of his gratitude +to her for this suffused him as he bowed to her; she returned a frank, +friendly little nod which brought back to him their brief companionship +on the first day on the train. +</P> + +<P> +And as Eaton went back to his compartment through the open car, Dr. +Sinclair looked up at him, but Avery, studying his cribbage hand, +pretended not to notice he was passing. So Avery admitted too that +affairs were turning toward the better, just now at least, for Eaton. +When he was again in his compartment, no one came to lock him in. The +porter who brought his breakfast a few minutes later, apologized for +its lateness, saying it had had to be brought from a club car on the +next track, whither the others in the car, except Santoine, had gone. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had barely finished with this tardy breakfast when a bumping +against the car told him that it was being coupled to a train. The new +train started, and now the track followed the Mississippi River. +Eaton, looking forward from his window as the train rounded curves, saw +that the Santoine car was now the last one of a train—presumably bound +from Minneapolis to Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +South they went, through Minnesota and Wisconsin, and the weather grew +warmer and the spring further advanced. The snow was quite cleared +from the ground, and the willows beside the ditches in the fields were +beginning to show green sprouts. At nine o'clock in the evening, some +minutes after crossing the state line into Illinois, the train stopped +at a station where the last car was cut off. +</P> + +<P> +A motor-ambulance and other limousine motor-cars were waiting in the +light from the station. Eaton, seated at the window, saw Santoine +carried out on a stretcher and put into the ambulance. Harriet +Santoine, after giving a direction to a man who apparently was a +chauffeur, got into the ambulance with her father. The surgeon and the +nurses rode with them. They drove off. Avery entered another +automobile, which swiftly disappeared. Conductor Connery came for the +last time to Eaton's door. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Santoine says you're to go with the man she's left here for you. +Here's the things I took from you. The money's all there. Mr. +Santoine says you've been his guest on this car." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton received back his purse and bill-fold. He put them in his pocket +without examining their contents. The porter appeared with his +overcoat and hat. Eaton put them on and stepped out of the car. The +conductor escorted him to a limousine car. "This is the gentleman," +Connery said to the chauffeur to whom Harriet Santoine had spoken. The +man opened the door of the limousine; another man, whom Eaton had not +before seen, was seated in the car; Eaton stepped in. Connery extended +his hand—"Good-by, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +The motor-car drove down a wide, winding road with tall, spreading +trees on both sides. Lights shone, at intervals, from windows of what +must be large and handsome homes. The man in the car with Eaton, whose +duty plainly was only that of a guard, did not speak to Eaton nor Eaton +to him. The motor passed other limousines occasionally; then, though +the road was still wide and smooth and still bounded by great trees, it +was lonelier; no houses appeared for half a mile; then lights glowed +directly ahead; the car ran under the porte-cochère of a great stone +country mansion; a servant sprang to the door of the limousine and +opened it; another man seized Eaton's hand-baggage from beside the +chauffeur. Eaton entered a large, beamed and paneled hallway with an +immense fireplace with logs burning in it; there was a wide stairway +which the servant, who had appointed himself Eaton's guide, ascended. +Eaton followed him and found another great hall upstairs. The servant +led him to one of the doors opening off this and into a large room, +fitted for a man's occupancy, with dark furniture, cases containing +books on hunting, sports and adventure, and smoking things; off this +was a dressing room with the bath next; beyond was a bedroom. +</P> + +<P> +"These are to be your rooms, sir," the servant said. A valet appeared +and unpacked Eaton's traveling bag. +</P> + +<P> +"Anything else, sir?" The man, who had finished unpacking his clothes +and laying them out, approached respectfully. "I've drawn your bath +tepid, sir; is that correct?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite," Eaton said. "There's nothing else." +</P> + +<P> +"Very good. Good night, sir. If there's anything else, the second +button beside the bed will bring me, sir." +</P> + +<P> +When the man had withdrawn noiselessly and closed the door, Eaton stood +staring about the rooms dazedly; then he went over and tried the door. +It opened; it was not locked. He turned about and went into the +dressing room and began taking off his clothes; he stepped into the +bathroom and felt the tepid bath. In a moment he was in the bath; +fifteen minutes later he was in bed with the window open beside him, +letting in the crisp, cool breeze. But he had not the slightest idea +of sleep; he had undressed, bathed, and gone to bed to convince himself +that what he was doing was real, that he was not acting in a dream. +</P> + +<P> +He got up and went to the window and looked out, but the night was +cloudy and dark, and he could see nothing except some lighted windows. +As he watched, the light was switched out. Eaton went back to bed, but +amazement would not let him sleep. +</P> + +<P> +He was in Santoine's house; he knew it could be no other than +Santoine's house. It was to get into Santoine's house that he had come +from Asia; he had thought and planned and schemed all through the long +voyage on the steamer how it was to be done. He would have been +willing to cross the Continent on foot to accomplish it; no labor that +he could imagine would have seemed too great to him if this had been +its end; and here it had been done without effort on his part, +naturally, inevitably! Chance and circumstance had done it! And as he +realized this, his mind was full of what he had to do in Santoine's +house. For many days he had not thought about that; it had seemed +impossible that he could have any opportunity to act for himself. And +the return to his thoughts of possibility of carrying out his original +plan brought before him thoughts of his friends—those friends who, +through his exile, had been faithful to him but whose identity or +existence he had been obliged to deny, when questioned, to protect them +as well as himself. +</P> + +<P> +As he lay on his bed in the dark, he stared upward to the ceiling, wide +awake, thinking of those friends whose devotion to him might be +justified at last; and he went over again and tested and reviewed the +plan he had formed. But it never had presumed a position for him—even +if it was the position of a semi-prisoner—inside Santoine's house. +And he required more information of the structure of the house than he +as yet had, to correct his plan further. But he could not, without too +great risk of losing everything, discover more that night; he turned +over and set himself to go to sleep. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE ALLY IN THE HOUSE +</H4> + +<P> +The first gray of dawn roused Eaton, and drawing on trousers and coat +over his pajamas, he seated himself by the open window to see the house +by daylight. The glow, growing in the east, showed him first that the +house stood on the shore of the lake; the light came to him across +water, and from the lake had come the crisp, fresh-smelling breeze that +had blown into his windows through the night. As it grew lighter, he +could see the house; it was an immense structure of smooth gray stone. +Eaton was in its central part, his windows looking to the south. To +the north of him was a wing he could not see—the wing which had +contained the porte-cochère under which the motor-car had stopped the +night before; and the upper part of this wing, he had been able to +tell, contained the servants' quarters. To the south, in front of him, +was another wing composed, apparently in part at least, of family +bedrooms. +</P> + +<P> +Between the house and the lake was a terrace, part flagged, part +gravel, part lawn not yet green but with green shoots showing among the +last year's grass. A stone parapet walled in this terrace along the +top of the bluff which pitched precipitously down to the lake fifty +feet below, and the narrow beach of sand and shingle. As Eaton +watched, one of the two nurses who had been on the train came to a +window of the farthest room on the second floor of the south wing and +stood looking out; that, then, must be Santoine's room; and Eaton drew +back from his window as he noted this. +</P> + +<P> +The sun had risen, and its beams, reflected up from the lake, danced on +his ceiling. Eaton, chilled by the sharp air off the water—and +knowing now the locality where he must be—pulled off his coat and +trousers and jumped back into bed. The motor driveway which stretches +north from Chicago far into Wisconsin leaves between it and the lake a +broad wooded strip for spacious grounds and dwellings; Santoine's house +was one of these. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton felt that its location was well suited for his plans; and he +realized, too, that circumstances had given him time for anything he +might wish to do; for the night's stop at Minneapolis and Santoine's +unexpected taking him into his own charge must have made Eaton's +disappearance complete; for the present he was lost to "them" who had +been "following" him, and to his friends alike. His task, then, was to +let his friends know where he was without letting "them" learn it; and +thinking of how this was to be done, he fell asleep again. +</P> + +<P> +At nine he awoke with a start; then, recollecting everything, he jumped +up and shut his windows. There was a respectful, apologetic knock at +the door; evidently a servant had been waiting in the hall for some +sound within the room. +</P> + +<P> +"May I come in, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Come in." +</P> + +<P> +The man who had attended him the evening before entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Your bath, sir; hot or cold in the morning, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hot," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, sir; I'd forgotten you'd just come from the Orient, sir. +Do you wish anything first, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anything?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anything to drink, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no." +</P> + +<P> +The man again prepared the bath. When Eaton returned to his +dressing-room, he found the servant awaiting him with shaving mug, +razor and apron. The man shaved him and trimmed his hair. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall tell them to bring breakfast up, sir; or will you go down?" +the man asked then. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton considered. The manners of servants are modeled on the feelings +of their masters, and the man's deference told plainly that, although +Eaton might be a prisoner, he was not to be treated openly as such. +</P> + +<P> +"I think I can go down," Eaton replied, when the man had finished +dressing him. He found the hall and the rooms below bright and open +but unoccupied; a servant showed him to a blue Delft breakfast room to +the east, where a fire was burning in an old-fashioned Dutch fireplace. +A cloth was spread on the table, but no places were set; a number of +covered dishes, steaming above electric discs, were on the sideboard. +The servant in attendance there took covers off these dishes as Eaton +approached; he chose his breakfast and sat down, the man laying one +place for him. This manner of serving gave Eaton no hint as to how +many others were in the house or might be expected to breakfast. He +had half finished his bacon and greens before any one else appeared. +</P> + +<P> +This was a tall, carefully dressed man of more than fifty, with +handsome, well-bred features—plainly a man of position and wealth but +without experience in affairs, and without power. He was dark haired +and wore a mustache which, like his hair, was beginning to gray. As he +appeared in the hall without hat or overcoat, Eaton understood that he +lived in the house; he came directly into the breakfast room and +evidently had not breakfasted. He observed Eaton and gave him the +impersonal nod of a man meeting another whom he may have met but has +forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Stiles," he greeted the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, sir," the man returned. +</P> + +<P> +The newcomer sat down at the table opposite Eaton, and the servant, +without inquiring his tastes, brought pineapple, rolls and coffee. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Wallace Blatchford," the stranger volunteered as Eaton looked up. +He gave the name in a manner which seemed to assume that he now must be +recalled; Eaton therefore feigned recognition as he gave him his name +in return. +</P> + +<P> +"Basil Santoine is better this morning," Blatchford announced. +</P> + +<P> +"I understood he was very comfortable last evening," Eaton said. "I +have not seen either Miss Santoine or Mr. Avery this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"I saw Basil Santoine the last thing last night," the other boasted. +"He was very tired; but when he was home, of course he wished me to be +beside him for a time." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," Eaton replied, as the other halted. There was a humility +in the boast of this man's friendship for Santoine which stirred +sympathy, almost pity. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe with the doctors that Basil Santoine is to be spared," the +tall man continued. "The nation is to be congratulated. He is +certainly one of the most useful men in America. The President—much +as he is to be admired for unusual qualities—cannot compare in +service. Suppose the President were assassinated; instantly the Vice +President would take his place; the visible government of the country +would go on; there would be no chaos, scarcely any confusion. But +suppose Basil Santoine had died—particularly at this juncture!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton finished his breakfast but remained at the table while +Blatchford, who scarcely touched his food, continued to boast, in his +queer humility, of the blind man and of the blind man's friendship for +him. He checked himself only when Harriet Santoine appeared in the +doorway. He and Eaton at once were on their feet. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear! He wants to see me now?" the tall man almost pleaded. "He +wants me to be with him this morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, Cousin Wallace," the girl said gently, almost with +compassion. +</P> + +<P> +"You will excuse me then, sir," Blatchford said hastily to Eaton and +hurried off. The girl gazed after him, and when she turned the next +instant to Eaton her eyes were wet. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Miss Santoine. You are coming to breakfast?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no; I've had my breakfast; I was going out to see that things +outside the house have been going on well since we have been away." +</P> + +<P> +"May I go with you while you do that?" Eaton tried to ask casually. +Important to him as was the plan of the house, it was scarcely less +essential for him to know the grounds. +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand it's my duty at present to stay wherever I may be put; +but I'd hardly run away from you while inside your own grounds." +</P> + +<P> +This did not seem to be the question troubling her. "Very well," she +said at last. The renewed friendliness—or the reservation of judgment +of him—which she had let him see again after the interview with her +father in the car the morning before, was not absent; it seemed only +covered over with responsibilities which came upon her now that she was +at home. She was abstracted as they passed through the hall and a man +brought Eaton's overcoat and hat and a maid her coat. Harriet led the +way out to the terrace. The day was crisp, but the breeze had lost the +chill it had had earlier in the morning; the lake was free from ice; +only along the little projecting breakwaters which guarded the bluff +against the washing of the waves, some ice still clung, and this was +rapidly melting. A graveled path led them around the south end of the +house. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father is still better this morning?" Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you say?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +He repeated his question. Was her constraint, he wondered, due to her +feeling, somehow, that for the first time in their short acquaintance +he was consciously "using" her, if only for the purpose of gaining an +immediate view of the grounds? He felt that; but he told himself he +was not doing the sort of thing he had refused to do when, on the +train, he had avoided her invitation to present him to her father. +Circumstances now were entirely different. And as he shook off the +reproach to himself, she also came from her abstraction. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; Father's improving steadily and—Dr. Sinclair says—much more +rapidly than it would have been right to expect. Dr. Sinclair is going +to remain only to-day; then he is to turn Father over to the village +doctor, who is very good. We will keep the same nurses at present." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Blatchford told me that might be the arrangement." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you had some talk with Mr. Blatchford, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"We introduced ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet was silent for a moment, evidently expecting some comment from +him; when he offered none, she said, "Father would not like you to +accept the estimate of him which Mr. Blatchford must have given you." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't Mr. Blatchford argue with you that Father must be the greatest +man living?" +</P> + +<P> +"He certainly expressed great admiration for your father," Eaton said. +"He is your cousin?" +</P> + +<P> +"I call him that; he's Father's cousin. They were very close friends +when they were boys, though Cousin Wallace is a few years older. They +entered preparatory school together and were together all through +college and ever since. I suppose Cousin Wallace told you that it was +he— Those are the garages and stables over there to the north, Mr. +Eaton. This road leads to them. And over there are the toolhouses and +gardeners' quarters; you can only just see them through the trees." +</P> + +<P> +She had interrupted herself suddenly, as though she realized that his +attention had not been upon what she was saying but given to the plan +of the grounds. He recalled himself quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; what was it you were saying about Mr. Blatchford?" +</P> + +<P> +She glanced at him keenly, then colored and went on. "I was saying +that Father and he went through college together. They both were +looked upon as young men of very unusual promise—Mr. Blatchford +especially; I suppose because Father, being younger, had not shown so +plainly what he might become. Then Father was blinded—he was just +sixteen; and—and Cousin Wallace never fulfilled the promise he had +given." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't quite see the connection," Eaton offered. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I thought Cousin Wallace must have told you; he tells almost every +one as soon as he meets them. It was he who blinded Father. It was a +hunting accident, and Father was made totally blind. Father always +said it wasn't Cousin Wallace's fault; but Mr. Blatchford was almost +beside himself because he believed he had ruined Father's life. But +Father went on and did all that he has done, while it stopped poor +Cousin Wallace. It's queer how things work out! Cousin Wallace +thought it was Father's, but it was his own life that he destroyed. +He's happy only when Father wants him with him; and to himself—and to +most people—he's only the man that blinded Basil Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +"I think I shall understand him now," Eaton said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"I like the way you said that.... Here, Mr. Eaton, is the best place +to see the grounds." +</P> + +<P> +Their path had topped a little rise; they stopped; and Eaton, as she +pointed out the different objects, watched carefully and printed the +particulars and the general arrangement of the surroundings on his +memory. +</P> + +<P> +As he looked about, he could see that further ahead the path they were +on paralleled a private drive which two hundred yards away entered what +must be the public pike; for he could see motor-cars passing along it. +He noted the direction of this and of the other paths, so that he could +follow them in the dark, if necessary. The grounds were broken by +ravines at right angles to the shore, which were crossed by little +bridges; other bridges carried the public pike across them, for he +could hear them rumble as the motor-cars crossed them; a man could +travel along the bottom of one of those ravines for quite a distance +without being seen. To north and south outside of the cared-for +grounds there were clumps of rank, wild-growing thicket. To the east, +the great house which the trees could not hide stood out against the +lake, and beyond and below it, was the beach; but a man could not +travel along the beach by daylight without being visible for miles from +the top of the bluff, and even at night, one traveling along the beach +would be easily intercepted. +</P> + +<P> +Could Harriet Santoine divine these thoughts in his mind? He turned to +her as he felt her watching him; but if she had been observing him as +he looked about, she was not regarding him now. He followed her +direction and saw at a little distance a powerful, strapping man, +half-concealed—though he did not seem to be hiding—behind some +bushes. The man might have passed for an undergardener; but he was not +working; and once before during their walk Eaton had seen another man, +powerfully built as this one, who had looked keenly at him and then +away quickly. Harriet flushed slightly as she saw that Eaton observed +the man; Eaton understood then that the man was a guard, one of +several, probably, who had been put about the house to keep watch of +him. +</P> + +<P> +Had Harriet Santoine understood his interest in the grounds as +preparatory to a plan to escape, and had she therefore taken him out to +show him the guards who would prevent him? He did not speak of the +men, and neither did she; with her, he went on, silently, to the +gardeners' cottages, where she gave directions concerning the spring +work being done on the grounds. Then they went back to the house, +exchanging—for the first time between them—ordinary inanities. +</P> + +<P> +She left him in the hall, saying she was going to visit her father; but +part way up the stairs, she paused. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll find books in the library of every conceivable sort, Mr. +Eaton," she called down to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he answered; and he went into the library, but he did not +look for a book. Left alone, he stood listening. +</P> + +<P> +As her footsteps on the stairs died away, no other sound came to him. +The lower part of the house seemed deserted. He went out again into +the hall and looked about quickly and waited and listened; then he +stepped swiftly and silently to a closet where, earlier, he had noticed +a telephone. He shut himself in and took up the receiver of the +instrument. As he placed it to his ear, he heard the almost +imperceptible sound of another receiver on the line being lifted; then +the girl at the suburban central said, "Number, please." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton held the receiver to his ear without making reply. The other +person on the line—evidently it was an extension in the house—also +remained silent. The girl at central repeated the request; neither +Eaton nor the other person replied. Eaton hung up the receiver and +stepped from the closet. He encountered Donald Avery in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"You have been telephoning?" Avery asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh; you could not get your number?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not ask for it." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton gazed coolly at Avery, knowing now that Avery had been at the +other telephone on the line or had had report from the person who had +been prepared to overhear. +</P> + +<P> +"So you have had yourself appointed my—warden?" +</P> + +<P> +Avery took a case from his pocket and lighted a cigar without offering +Eaton one. Eaton glanced past him; Harriet Santoine was descending the +stair. Avery turned and saw her, and again taking out his cigar-case, +now offered it to Eaton, who ignored it. +</P> + +<P> +"I found Father asleep," Harriet said to Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"May I see you alone for a moment?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," she said; and as Avery made no motion, she turned toward +the door of the large room in the further end of the south wing. Eaton +started to follow. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you taking him, Harriet?" Avery demanded of her sharply. +</P> + +<P> +She had seemed to Eaton to have been herself about to reconsider her +action; but Avery decided her. +</P> + +<P> +"In here," she replied; and proceeded to open the door which exposed +another door just within, which she opened and closed after she had +entered and Eaton had followed her in. Her manner was like that of +half an hour before, when she showed him the grounds beyond the house. +And Eaton, feeling his muscles tighten, strove to control himself and +examine the room with only casual curiosity. It would well excuse any +one's interest. +</P> + +<P> +It was very large, perhaps forty feet long and certainly thirty in +width. There was a huge stone fireplace on the west wall where the +wing connected with the main part of the house; and all about the other +wall, and particularly to the east, were high and wide windows; and +through those to the south, the sunlight now was flooding in. +Bookcases were built between the windows up to the ceiling, and +bookcases covered the west wall on both sides of the fireplace. And +every case was filled with books; upon a table at one side lay a pile +of volumes evidently recently received and awaiting reading and +classification. There was a great rack where periodicals of every +description—popular, financial, foreign and American—were kept; and +there were great presses preserving current newspapers. +</P> + +<P> +At the center of the room was a large table-desk with a chair and a +lounge beside it; there were two other lounges in the room, one at the +south in the sun and another at the end toward the lake. There were +two smaller table-desks on the north side of the room, subordinate to +the large desk. There were two "business phonograph" machines with +cabinets for records; there was a telephone on the large desk and +others on the two smaller tables. A safe, with a combination lock, was +built into a wall. The most extraordinary feature of the room was a +steep, winding staircase, in the corner beyond the fireplace, evidently +connecting with the room above. +</P> + +<P> +The room in which they were was so plainly Basil Santoine's work-room +that the girl did not comment upon that; but as Eaton glanced at the +stairs, she volunteered: +</P> + +<P> +"They go to Father's room; that has the same space above." +</P> + +<P> +"I see. This is a rather surprising room." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean the windows?" she asked. "That surprises most people—so +very much light. Father can't see even sunlight, but he says he feels +it. He likes light, anyway; and it is true that he can tell, without +his eyes, whether the day is bright or cloudy, and whether the light is +turned on at night. The rooms in this wing, too, are nearly +sound-proof. There is not much noise from outside here, of course, +except the waves; but there are noises from other parts of the house. +Noise does not irritate Father, but his hearing has become very acute +because of his blindness, and noises sometimes distract him when he is +working.... Now, what was it you wished to say to me, Mr. Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, with a start, recollected himself. His gaining a view of that +room was of so much more importance than what he had to say that, for a +moment, he had forgotten. Then: +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to ask you exactly what my position here is to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," she said. "I thought that was plain to you from what Father +said." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that I am to be kept here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Indefinitely?" +</P> + +<P> +"Until—as Father indicated to you on the train—he has satisfied +himself as to the source of the attack upon him." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand. In the meantime, I am not to be allowed to communicate +at all with any one outside?" +</P> + +<P> +"That might depend upon the circumstances." +</P> + +<P> +He gazed at the telephone instrument on the desk. "Miss Santoine, a +moment ago I tried to telephone, when I—" He described the incident +to her. The color on her cheeks heightened. "Some one was appointed +to listen on the wire?" he challenged. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." She hesitated, and then she added, in the manner in which she +had directed him to the guard outside the house: "And besides, I +believe there are—or will be—the new phonographic devices on every +line, which record both sides of a conversation. Subject to that, you +may use the telephone." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Eaton grimly. "I suppose if I were to write a +letter, it would be taken from me and opened and read." +</P> + +<P> +She colored ruddier and made no comment. +</P> + +<P> +"And if I wished to go to the city, I would be prevented or followed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Prevented, for the present," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +"That is all?" +</P> + +<P> +The interview had become more difficult for her; he saw that she was +anxious to have it over. +</P> + +<P> +"Just one moment more, Miss Santoine. Suppose I resist this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your father is having me held here in what I might describe as a free +sort of confinement, but still in confinement, without any legal charge +against me. Suppose I refuse to submit to that—suppose I demand right +to consult, to communicate with some one in order, let us say, to +defend myself against the charge of having attacked your father. What +then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can only answer as before, Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"That I will be prevented?" +</P> + +<P> +"For the present. I don't know all that Father has ordered done about +you; but he is awaiting the result of several investigations. The +telegrams you received doubtless are being traced to their sources; +other inquiries are being made. As you have only lately come back to +America, they may extend far and take some time." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he acknowledged. He went to the door, opened it and went +out; he closed it after him and left her alone. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet stood an instant vacantly staring after him; then she went to +the door and fastened it with a catch. She came back to the great +table-desk—her blind father's desk—and seated herself in the great +chair, his chair, and buried her face in her hands. She had +seemed—and she knew that she had seemed—quite composed as she talked +to Eaton; now she was not composed. Her face was burning hot; her +hands, against her cheeks, were cold; tremors of feeling shook her as +she thought of the man who just had left her. Why, she asked herself, +was she not able to make herself treat this man in the way that her +mind told her she should have treated him? That he might be the one +who had dealt the blow intended to kill her father—her being could not +and would not accept that. Yet, the only reason she had to deny it, +was her feeling. +</P> + +<P> +That Eaton must have been involved in the attack or, at least, must +have known and now knew something about it which he was keeping from +them, seemed certain. Yet she did not, she could not, abominate and +hate this man. Instead, she found herself impelled, against all +natural reason, more and more to trust him. Moreover, was it fair to +her father for her to do this? +</P> + +<P> +Since childhood, since babyhood, even, no one had ever meant anything +to her in comparison with her father. Her mother had died when she was +young; she had never had, in her play as a child, the careless abandon +of other children, because in spite of play she had been thinking of +her father; the greatest joy of childhood she could remember was +walking hand in hand with her father and telling him the things she +saw; it had been their "game"; and as she grew older and it had ceased +to be merely a game—as she had grown more and more useful to the blind +man, and he had learned more fully to use and trust her—she had found +it only more interesting, a greater pleasure. She had never had any +other ambition—and she had no other now—except to serve her father; +her joy was to be his eyes; her triumph had been when she had found +that, though he searched the world and paid fortunes to find others to +"see" for him, no one could serve him as she could; she had never +thought of herself apart from him. +</P> + +<P> +Now her father had been attacked and injured—attacked foully, while he +slept; he had come close to death, had suffered; he was still +suffering. Certainly she ought to hate, at least be aloof from any +one, every one, against whom the faintest suspicion breathed of having +been concerned in that dastardly attack upon her father; and that she +found herself without aversion to Eaton, when he was with her, now +filled her with shame and remorse. +</P> + +<P> +She crouched lower against this desk which so represented her father in +his power; she felt tears of shame at herself hot on her cold hands. +Then she got up and recollected herself. Her father, when he would +awake, would wish to work; there were certain, important matters he +must decide at once. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet went to the end of the room and to the right of the entrance +door. She looked about, with a habit of caution, and then removed a +number of books from a shelf about shoulder high; she thus exposed a +panel at the back of the bookcase, which she slid back. Behind it +appeared the steel door of a combination wall-safe. She opened it and +took out two large, thick envelopes with tape about them, sealed and +addressed to Basil Santoine; but they were not stamped, for they had +not been through the mail; they had been delivered by a messenger. +Harriet reclosed the safe, concealed it and took the envelopes back to +her father's desk and opened them to examine their contents preparatory +to taking them to him. But even now her mind was not on her work; she +was thinking of Eaton, where he had gone and what he was doing and—was +he thinking of her? +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had left the room, thinking of her. The puzzle of his position +in relation to her, and hers to him, filled his mind too. That she had +been constrained by circumstances and the opinions of those around her +to assume a distrust of him which she did not truly feel, was plain to +him; but it was clear that, whatever she felt, she would obey her +father's directions in regard to him. And she had told that Basil +Santoine, if he was to hold his prisoner as almost a guest in his house +pending developments, was to keep that guest strictly from +communication with any one outside. Santoine, of course, was aware +from the telegram that others had been acting with Eaton; the incident +at the telephone had shown that Santoine had anticipated that Eaton's +first necessity would be to get in touch with his friends. And this, +now, indeed was a necessity. The gaining of Santoine's house, under +conditions which he would not have dared to dream of, would be +worthless now unless immediately—before Santoine could get any further +trace of him—he could get word to and receive word from his friends. +</P> + +<P> +He had stopped, after leaving Santoine's study, in the alcove of the +hall in front of the double doors which he had closed behind him; he +heard Harriet fasten the inner one. As he stood now, undecided where +to go, a young woman crossed the main part of the hall, coming +evidently from outside the house—she had on hat and jacket and was +gloved; she was approaching the doors of the room he just had left, and +so must pass him. He stared at sight of her and choked; then, he +controlled himself rigidly, waiting until she should see him. +</P> + +<P> +She halted suddenly as she saw him and grew very pale, and her gloved +hands went swiftly to her breast and pressed against it; she caught +herself together and looked swiftly and fearfully about her and out +into the hall. Seeing no one but himself, she came a step nearer, +"Hugh!" she breathed. Her surprise was plainly greater than his own +had been at sight of her; but she checked herself again quickly and +looked warningly back at the hall; then she fixed on him her blue +eyes—which were very like Eaton's, though she did not resemble him +closely in any other particular—as though waiting his instructions. +</P> + +<P> +He passed her and looked about the hall. There was no one in sight in +the hall or on the stairs or within the other rooms which opened into +the hall. The door Eaton had just come from stayed shut. He held his +breath while he listened; but there was no sound anywhere in the house +which told him they were likely to be seen; so he came back to the spot +where he had been standing. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay where you are, Edith," he whispered. "If we hear any one coming, +we are just passing each other in the hall." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand; of course, Hugh! But you—you're here! In his house!" +</P> + +<P> +"Even lower, Edith; remember I'm Eaton—Philip Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course; I know; and I'm Miss Davis here—Mildred Davis." +</P> + +<P> +"They let you come in and out like this—as you want, with no one +watching you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; I do stenography for Mr. Avery sometimes, as I wrote you. +That is all. When he works here, I do his typing; and some even for +Mr. Santoine himself. But I am not confidential yet; they send for me +when they want me." +</P> + +<P> +"Then they sent for you to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; but they have just got back, and I thought I would come to see if +anything was wanted. But never mind about me; you—how did you get +here? What are you doing here?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton drew further back into the alcove as some one passed through the +hall above. The girl turned swiftly to the tall pier mirror near to +which she stood; she faced it, slowly drawing off her gloves, trembling +and not looking toward him. The foot-steps ceased overhead; Eaton, +assured no one was coming down the stairs, spoke swiftly to tell her as +much as he might in their moment. "He—Santoine—wasn't taken ill on +the train, Edith; he was attacked." +</P> + +<P> +"Attacked!" Her lips barely moved. +</P> + +<P> +"He was almost killed; but they concealed it, Edith—pretended he was +only ill. I was on the train—you know, of course; I got your +wire—and they suspected me of the attack." +</P> + +<P> +"You? But they didn't find out about you, Hugh?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; they are investigating. Santoine would not let them make anything +public. He brought me here while he is trying to find out about me. +So I'm here, Edith—here! Is it here too?" +</P> + +<P> +Again steps sounded in the hall above. The girl swiftly busied herself +with gloves and hat; Eaton stood stark in suspense. The servant +above—it was a servant they had heard before, he recognized +now—merely crossed from one room to another overhead. Now the girl's +lips moved again. +</P> + +<P> +"It?" She formed the question noiselessly. +</P> + +<P> +"The draft of the new agreement." +</P> + +<P> +"It either has been sent to him, or it will be sent to him very +soon—here." +</P> + +<P> +"Here in this house with me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Santoine has to be a party to it—he's to draft it, I think. +Anyway, he hasn't seen it yet—I know that. It is either here now, +Hugh, or it will be here before long." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't find out about that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Whether it is here, or when it will be? I think I can." +</P> + +<P> +"Where will it be when it is here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where? Oh!" The girl's eyes went to the wall close to where Eaton +stood; she seemed to measure with them a definite distance from the +door and a point shoulder high, and to resist the impulse to come over +and put her hand upon the spot. As Eaton followed her look, he heard a +slight and muffled click as if from the study; but no sound could reach +them through the study doors and what he heard came from the wall +itself. +</P> + +<P> +"A safe?" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; Miss Santoine—she's in there, isn't she?—closed it just now. +There are two of them hidden behind the books one on each side of the +door." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton tapped gently on the wall; the wall was brick; the safe +undoubtedly was backed with steel. +</P> + +<P> +"The best way is from inside the room," he concluded. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "Yes. If you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Look out!" +</P> + +<P> +Some one now was coming downstairs. The girl had time only to whisper +swiftly, "If we don't get a chance to speak again, watch that vase." +She pointed to a bronze antique which stood on a table near them. +"When I'm sure the agreement is in the house, I'll drop a glove-button +in that—a black one, if I think it'll be in the safe on the right, +white on the left. Now go." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton moved quietly on and into the drawing-room. Avery's voice +immediately afterwards was heard; he was speaking to Miss Davis, whom +he had found in the hallway. Eaton was certain there was no suspicion +that he had talked with her there; indeed, Avery seemed to suppose that +Eaton was still in the study with Harriet Santoine. It was her lapse, +then, which had let him out and had given him that chance; but it was a +lapse, he discovered, which was not likely to favor him again. From +that time, while never held strictly in restraint, he found himself +always in the sight of some one. Blatchford, in default of any one +else, now appeared to assume the oversight of him as his duty. Eaton +lunched with Blatchford, dined with Blatchford and Avery—Blatchford's +presence as a buffer against Avery's studied offense to him alone +making the meal endurable. Eaton went to his room early, where at last +he was left alone. +</P> + +<P> +The day, beginning with his discovery of the fact that he was in +Santoine's house and continuing through the walk outside, which first +had shown him the lay of the grounds, and then the chance at the sight +of Santoine's study followed by the meeting just outside the study +door—all this had been more than satisfactory to him. He sat at his +window thinking it over. The weather had been clear and there was a +moon; as he watched the light upon the water and gazed now and again at +the south wing where Santoine had his study, suddenly several windows +on the first floor blazed out simultaneously; some one had entered +Santoine's work-room and turned on the light. Almost at once the light +went out; then, a minute or so later, the same windows glowed dully. +The lights in the room had been turned on again, but heavy, opaque +curtains had been drawn over the windows before the room was relighted. +These curtains were so close over the windows that, unless Eaton had +been attracted by the first flash of light, he scarcely would have +noticed that the lights were burning within the room. +</P> + +<P> +He had observed, during the day, that Avery or Harriet had been at work +in that room—one of them or both—almost all day; and besides the girl +he had met in the hall, there had been at least one other stenographer. +Must work in this house go on so continuously that it was necessary for +some one to work at night, even when Santoine lay ill and unable to +make other than the briefest and most important dispositions? And who +was working in that room now, Avery or Harriet? He let himself think, +idly, about the girl—how strange her life had been—that part of it at +least which was spent, as he had gathered most of her waking hours of +recent years had been spent, with her father. Strange, almost, as his +own life! And what a wonderful girl it had made of her—clever, sweet, +lovable, with more than a woman's ordinary capacity for devotion and +self-sacrifice. +</P> + +<P> +But, if she were the one working there, was she the sort of girl she +had seemed to be? If her service to her father was not only on his +personal side but if also she was intimate in his business affairs, +must she not therefore have shared the cruel code which had terrorized +Eaton for the last four years and kept him an exile in Asia and which, +at any hour yet, threatened to take his life? A grim set came to +Eaton's lips; his mind went again to his own affairs. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN +</H4> + +<P> +In the supposition that he was to have less liberty, Eaton proved +correct. Harriet Santoine, to whose impulses had been due his first +privileges, showed toward him a more constrained attitude the following +morning. She did not suggest hostility, as Avery constantly did; nor, +indeed, was there any evidence of retrogression in her attitude toward +him; she seemed merely to be maintaining the same position; and since +this seemed difficult if they were often together, she avoided him. +Eaton found his life in the house after that first day more strictly +ordered into a routine which he was obliged to keep. He understood +that Santoine, steadily improving but not yet able to leave his bed, +had taken up his work again, propped up by pillows; one of the nurses +had been dismissed; the other was only upon day duty. But Eaton did +not see Santoine at all; and though he learned that Miss Davis or +another stenographer, whose name was West, came daily to the house, he +never was in a position again to encounter any outsider either coming +or going. Besides the servants of the house, he met Blatchford, with +whom Eaton usually breakfasted; he also lunched with Blatchford, and +Harriet sometimes—sometimes with Avery; he dined with Blatchford and +Avery or with all three. +</P> + +<P> +At other times, except that he was confined to the house or to a small +space of the grounds about it and was kept under constant surveillance, +he was left largely to his own devices; and these at least sufficed to +let him examine morning and night, the vase in which he was to find the +signal that was to be left for him; these permitted examination of +window-locks in other rooms, if not in Santoine's study; these +permitted the examination of many other items also and let him follow +at least the outline of the method of Santoine's work. +</P> + +<P> +There was no longer room for Eaton to doubt that Harriet had the +confidence of her father to almost a complete extent. Now that +Santoine was ill, she worked with him daily for hours; and Eaton +learned that she did the same when he was well. But Avery worked with +the blind man too; he too was certainly in a confidential capacity. +Was it not probable then that Avery, and not Harriet, was entrusted +with the secrets of dangerous and ugly matters; or was it possible that +this girl, worshiping her father as she did, could know and be sure +that, because her father approved these matters, they were right? +</P> + +<P> +A hundred times a day, as Eaton saw or spoke with the girl or thought +of her presence near by, this obsessed him. A score of times during +their casual talk upon meeting at meals or elsewhere, he found himself +turned toward some question which would aid him in determining what +must be the fact; but each time he checked himself, until one +morning—it was the fifth after his arrival at Santoine's +house—Harriet was taking him for his walk in the garden before the +house. +</P> + +<P> +It was a bright, sunshiny morning and warm—a true spring day. As they +paced back and forth in the sunshine—she bare-haired and he holding +his cap in his hand—he looked back at the room in the wing where +Santoine still lay; then Eaton looked to the daughter, clear-eyed, +clear-skinned, smiling and joyous with the day. She had just told him, +at his inquiry, that her father was very much stronger that morning, +and her manner more than ever evidenced her pride in him. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been intending to ask you, Miss Santoine," Eaton said to her +suddenly then, "if your belief in the superiority of business over +war—as we were discussing it ten days ago—-hasn't suffered a shock +since then?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean because of—Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; you can hardly go back far enough in the history of war to find a +time when the soldier's creed was not against killing—or trying to +kill—a sleeping enemy." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him quickly and keenly. "I can't think of Father as +being any one's enemy, though I know of course no man can do big things +without making some people hate him. Even if what he does is wholly +good, bad people hate him for it." She was silent for a few steps. "I +like your saying what you did, Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"It implies your own creed would be against such a thing. But aren't +we rather mixing things up? There is nothing to show yet that the +attack on Father sprang out of business relations; and even if it did, +it would have to be regarded as an—an atrocity outside the rules of +business, just as in war, atrocities occur which are outside the rules +of war. Wait! I know what you are going to say; you are going to say +the atrocities are a part of war even if they are outside its +recognized rules." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I was going to say that." +</P> + +<P> +"And that atrocities due to business are a part of business, even if +they are outside the rules." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; as business is at present conducted." +</P> + +<P> +"But the rules are a part of the game, Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you belong among the apologists for war, Miss Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +"I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; what you say is exactly what the apologists for war say, isn't +it? They say that war, in spite of its open savagery and inevitable +atrocities, is not a different sort of combat from the combat between +men in time of peace. That is, the acts of war differ only in +appearance or in degree from the acts of peace. Is that what you +believe, Miss Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +"That men in times of peace perform acts upon each other which differ +only in degree from the acts of war?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you believe that, Mr. Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated. "Do you want me to answer that question from my own +experience or from what I would like to believe life to be?" +</P> + +<P> +"From your own experience, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I must answer that I believe the apologists to be right as to +that fact." +</P> + +<P> +He saw her clear eyes darken. "But you don't believe that argument +itself, do you, Mr. Eaton?" she appealed. "It is only the old, old +argument, 'Whatever is, is right.' You don't excuse those acts—those +atrocities in time of peace? Or was I mistaken in thinking such things +were against your creed? Life is part right, part wrong, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not in a good position to judge, I'm afraid; for what I have seen +of it has been all wrong—both business and life." +</P> + +<P> +He had tried to speak lightly; but a sudden bitterness, a sharp +hardness in his tone, seemed to assail her; it struck through her and +brought her shoulders together in a shudder; but, instead of alienating +her, she turned with a deeper impulse of feeling toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"You—you do not want to tell more—to tell how it has been wrong; you +don't want to tell that—" She hesitated, and then in an intimate way +which surprised and frightened him, she added, "to me?" +</P> + +<P> +After she had said it, she herself was surprised, and frightened; she +looked away from him with face flushed, and he did not dare answer, and +she did not speak again. +</P> + +<P> +They had come to the end of the gardens where he was accustomed to turn +and retrace his steps toward the house; but now she went on, and he +went on with her. They were upon the wide pike which ran northward +following, but back from, the shore of the lake. He saw that now, as a +motor passed them on the road, she recalled that she was taking him +past the previously appointed bounds; but in the intimacy of the +moment, she could not bring herself to speak of that. It was Eaton who +halted and asked, "Shall we go on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't you like to?" +</P> + +<P> +They walked on slowly. "I wish you could tell me more about yourself, +Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish so too," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why can you not?" She turned to him frankly; he gazed at her a +moment and then looked away and shook his head. How had she answered, +in what she already had said, the question which lay below what he had +asked her? In her defense of business, did she know all the cruelties +of business and defend the wrong she knew, together with the right, as +inevitable? Or did she not know all of what was known even under her +father's roof; and if she knew all, would she then loathe or defend it? +Another motor sped near, halted and then speeded on again; Eaton, +looking up, saw it was a runabout with Avery alone in it; evidently, +seeing them in the road, Avery had halted to protest, then thought +better of it and gone on. But other motors passed now with people who +spoke to Harriet and who stopped to inquire for her father and wish him +well. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father does not seem to be one of the great men without honor in +his own neighborhood," Eaton said to her after one of these had halted +and gone on. +</P> + +<P> +"Every one who knows Father likes and admires him!" she rejoiced. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean exactly that," Eaton went on. "They must trust him too, +in an extraordinary way. His associates must place most complete +confidence in him when they leave to him the adjustment of matters such +as I understand they do. There is no way, as I comprehend it, that any +of the powerful men who ask his advice could hold him accountable if he +were unfair to them; yet men of the most opposite types, the most +inimical and hostile, place their affairs in his hands. He tells them +what is just, and they abide by his decision." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet shook her head. "No; it isn't quite that," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"What, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are correct in saying that men of the most opposite sorts—and +most irreconcilable to each other—constantly place their fate in +Father's hand; and when he tells them what they must do, they abide by +his decision. But he doesn't decide for them what is just." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Father cannot tell them which side is just because, if he did that, +they wouldn't consider his decision; and they wouldn't ask him to make +any more; he would lose all influence for better relations. So he +doesn't tell them what is just." +</P> + +<P> +"What does he tell them, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"He tells them what would be the outcome if they fought, who would win +and who would lose and by how much. And they believe him and abide by +his decision without fighting; for he knows; and they know that he +knows and is absolutely honest." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton was silent for a moment as they walked along. "How can he come +to his decision?" he asked at last. +</P> + +<P> +"How?" +</P> + +<P> +"I mean, much of the material presented to him must be documentary." +</P> + +<P> +"Much of it is." +</P> + +<P> +"You will pardon me," Eaton prefaced, "but of course I am immensely +interested. How are these written out for him—in Braille characters +or other letters for the blind?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; that would not be practicable for all documents, and so it is done +with none of them." +</P> + +<P> +"Then some one must read them to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started to speak—then refrained. +</P> + +<P> +"What were you going to say?" she questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"That the person—or persons—who reads the documents to him must +occupy an extremely delicate position." +</P> + +<P> +"He does. In fact, I think that position is Father's one nightmare." +</P> + +<P> +"Nightmare?" +</P> + +<P> +"The person he trusts must not only be absolutely discreet but +absolutely honest." +</P> + +<P> +"I should think so. If any one in that position wanted to use the +information brought to your father, he could make himself millions +overnight, undoubtedly, and ruin other men." +</P> + +<P> +"And kill Father too," the girl added quietly. "Yes," she said as +Eaton looked at her. "Father puts nothing above his trust. If that +trust were betrayed—whether or not Father were in any way to blame for +it—I think it would kill him." +</P> + +<P> +"So you are the one who is in that position." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; that is, I have been." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean there is another now; that is, of course, Mr. Avery?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; here at this house Mr. Avery and I, and Mr. Avery at the office. +There are some others at the office whom Father trusts, but not +completely; and it is not necessary to trust them wholly, for all +Father's really important decisions are made at the house, and the most +important records are kept here. Before Mr. Avery came, I was the only +one who helped here at the house." +</P> + +<P> +"When was that?" +</P> + +<P> +"When Mr. Avery came? About five years ago. Father had an immense +amount of work at that time. Business conditions were very much +unsettled. There was trouble at that time between some of the big +Eastern and the big Western men, and at the same time the Government +was prosecuting the Trusts. Nobody knew what the outcome of it all +would be; many of the biggest men who consulted Father were like men +groping in the dark. I don't suppose you would remember the time by +what I say; but you would remember it, as nearly everybody else does by +this: it was the time of the murder of Mr. Latron." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I remember that," said Eaton; "and Mr. Avery came to you at that +time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; just at that time I was thrown from my horse, and could not do as +much as I had been doing, so Mr. Avery was sent to Father." +</P> + +<P> +"Then Mr. Avery was reading to him at the time you speak of—the time +of the Latron murder?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; Mr. Avery came just afterward. I was reading to him at that time." +</P> + +<P> +"No one but you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one. Before that he had had Mr. Blatchford read to him sometimes, +but—poor Cousin Wallace!—he made a terrible mistake in reading to +Father once. Father discovered it before it was too late; and he never +let Cousin Wallace know. He pretends to trust Cousin Wallace now with +reading some things; but he always has Mr. Avery or me go over them +with him afterward." +</P> + +<P> +"The papers must have been a good deal for a girl of eighteen." +</P> + +<P> +"At that time, you mean? They were; but Father dared trust no one +else." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Avery handles those matters now for your father?" +</P> + +<P> +"The continuation of what was going on then? Yes; he took them up at +the time I was hurt and so has kept on looking after them; for there +has been plenty for me to do without that; and those things have all +been more or less settled now. They have worked themselves out as +things do, though they seemed almost unsolvable at the time. One thing +that helped in their solution was that Father was able, that time, to +urge what was just, as well as what was advisable." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that in the final settlement of them no one suffered?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one, I think—except, of course, poor Mr. Latron; and that was a +private matter not connected in any direct way with the questions at +issue. Why do you ask all this, Mr. Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was merely interested in you—in what your work has been with your +father, and what it is," he answered quietly. +</P> + +<P> +His step had slowed, and she, unconsciously, had delayed with him. Now +she realized that his manner toward her had changed from what it had +been a few minutes before; he had been strongly moved and drawn toward +her then, ready to confide in her; now he showed only his usual quiet +reserve—polite, casual, unreadable. She halted and faced him, +abruptly, chilled with disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton," she demanded, "a few minutes ago you were going to tell me +something about yourself; you seemed almost ready to speak; now—" +</P> + +<P> +"Now I am not, you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; what has changed you? Is it something I have said?" +</P> + +<P> +He seemed to reflect. "Are you sure that anything has changed me? I +think you were mistaken. You asked if I could not tell you more about +myself; I said I wished I could, and that perhaps I might. I meant +some time in the future; and I still hope I may—some time." +</P> + +<P> +His look and tone convinced her; for she could recall nothing he had +asked about herself or that she had replied to, which could have made +any change in him. She studied him an instant more, fighting her +disappointment and the feeling of having been rebuffed. +</P> + +<P> +They had been following the edge of the road, she along a path worn in +the turf, he on the edge of the road itself and nearer to the tracks of +the motors. As she faced him, she was slightly above him, her face +level with his. Suddenly she cried out and clutched at him. As they +had stopped, she had heard the sound of a motor approaching them +rapidly from behind. Except that this car seemed speeding faster than +the others, she had paid no attention and had not turned. +Instantaneously, as she had cried and pulled upon him, she had realized +that this car was not passing; it was directly behind and almost upon +him. She felt him spring to the side as quickly as he could; but her +cry and pull upon him were almost too late; as he leaped, the car +struck. The blow was glancing, not direct, and he was off his feet and +in motion when the wheel struck; but the car hurled him aside and +rolled him over and over. +</P> + +<P> +As she rushed to Eaton, the two men in the rear seat of the car turned +their heads and looked back. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you all right?" one called to Eaton; but without checking its +speed or swerving, the car dashed on and disappeared down the roadway. +</P> + +<P> +She bent over Eaton and took hold of him. He struggled to his feet +and, dazed, tottered so that she supported him. As she realized that +he was not greatly hurt, she stared with horror at the turn in the road +where the car had disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he tried to run you down! He meant to! He tried to hurt you!" +she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"No," Eaton denied. "Oh, no; I don't think so." +</P> + +<P> +"But they went on without stopping; they didn't wait an instant. He +didn't care; he meant to do it!" +</P> + +<P> +"No!" Eaton unsteadily denied again. "It must have been—an accident. +He was—frightened when he saw what he had done." +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't at all like an accident!" she persisted. "It couldn't have +been an accident there and coming up from behind the way he did! No; +he meant to do it! Did you see who was in the car—who was driving?" +</P> + +<P> +He turned to her quickly. "Who?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"One of the people who was on the train! That man—the morning we—the +morning Father was hurt—do you remember, when you came into the dining +car for breakfast and the conductor wanted to seat you opposite a young +man who had just spilled coffee? You sat down at our table instead. +Don't you remember—a little man, nervous, but very strong; a man +almost like an ape?" +</P> + +<P> +He shuddered and then controlled himself. "Nothing!" he answered her +clasp of concern on his arm. "Quite steady again; thanks. Just dizzy; +I guess I was jarred more than I knew. Yes, I remember a fellow the +conductor tried to seat me opposite." +</P> + +<P> +"This was the same man!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton shook his head. "That could hardly be; I think you must be +mistaken." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not mistaken; it was that man!" +</P> + +<P> +"Still, I think you must be," he again denied. +</P> + +<P> +She stared, studying him. "Perhaps I was," she agreed; but she knew +she had not been. "I am glad, whoever it was, he didn't injure you. +You are all right, aren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite," he assured. "Please don't trouble about it, Miss Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +He dusted himself off with her help and tried to limp as little as +possible; and when she insisted upon returning to the house, he made no +objection, but he refused to wait while she went back for a car to take +him. They walked back rather silently, she appreciating how +passionately she had expressed herself for him, and he quiet because of +this and other thoughts too. +</P> + +<P> +They found Donald Avery in front of the house looking for them as they +came up. Eaton succeeded in walking without limping; but he could not +conceal the marks on his clothes. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet, I've just come from your father; he wants you to go to him at +once," Avery directed. "Good morning, Eaton. What's happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Carelessness," Eaton deprecated. "Got rather in the way of a motor +and was knocked over for it." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet did not correct this to Avery. She went up to her father; she +was still trembling, still sick with horror at what she had seen—an +attempt to kill one walking at her side. She stopped outside her +father's door to compose herself; then she went in. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man was propped up on his bed with pillows into almost a +sitting position; the nurse was with him. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you want, Father?" Harriet asked. +</P> + +<P> +He had recognized her step and had been about to speak to her; but at +the sound of her voice he stopped the words on his lips and changed +them into a direction for the nurse to leave the room. +</P> + +<P> +He waited until the nurse had left and closed the door behind her. +Harriet saw that, in his familiarity with her tones and every +inflection of her voice, he had sensed already that something unusual +had occurred; she repeated, however, her question as to what he wanted. +</P> + +<P> +"That does not matter now, Harriet. Where have you been?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have been walking with Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"What happened?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated. "Mr. Eaton was almost run down by a motor-car." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! An accident?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated again. She had seen on her father's face the slight +heightening of his color which, with him, was the only outward sign +that marked some triumph of his own mind; his blind eyes, abstracted +and almost always motionless, never showed anything at all. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton said it was an accident," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"But you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It did not look to me like an accident, Father. It—it showed +intention." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean it was an attack?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it was an attack. The man in the car meant to run Mr. Eaton +down; he meant to kill him or to hurt him terribly. Mr. Eaton wasn't +hurt. I called to him and pulled him—he jumped away in time." +</P> + +<P> +"To kill him, Harriet? How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +She caught herself. "I—I don't know, Father. He certainly meant to +injure Mr. Eaton. When I said kill him, I was telling only what I +thought." +</P> + +<P> +"That is better. I think so too." +</P> + +<P> +"That he meant to kill Mr. Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +She watched her father's face; often when relating things to him, she +was aware from his expression that she was telling him only something +he already had figured out and expected or even knew; she felt that now. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, did you expect Mr. Eaton to be attacked?" +</P> + +<P> +"Expect? Not that exactly; it was possible; I suspected something like +this might occur." +</P> + +<P> +"And you did not warn him?" +</P> + +<P> +The blind man's hands sought each other on the coverlet and clasped +together. "It was not necessary to warn him, Harriet; Mr. Eaton +already knew. Who was in the car?" +</P> + +<P> +"Three men." +</P> + +<P> +"Had you seen any of them before?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, one—the man who drove." +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"On the train." +</P> + +<P> +The color on Santoine's face grew brighter. "Did you know who he was?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Father." +</P> + +<P> +"Describe him, dear," Santoine directed. +</P> + +<P> +He waited while she called together her recollections of the man. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't describe him very fully, Father," she said. "He was one of +the people who had berths in the forward sleeping-car. I can recall +seeing him only when I passed through the car—I recall him only twice +in that car and once in the diner." +</P> + +<P> +"That is interesting," said Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +"What, Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"That in five days upon the train you saw the man only three times." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean he must have kept out of sight as much as possible?" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you forgotten that I asked you to describe him, Harriet?" +</P> + +<P> +She checked herself. "Height about five feet, five," she said, +"broad-shouldered, very heavily set; I remember he impressed me as +being unusually muscular. His hair was black; I can't recall the color +of his eyes; his cheeks were blue with a heavy beard closely shaved. I +remember his face was prognathous, and his clothes were spotted with +dropped food. I—it seems hard for me to recall him, and I can't +describe him very well." +</P> + +<P> +"But you are sure it was the same man in the motor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he seem a capable person?" +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly what do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Would he be likely to execute a purpose well, Harriet—either a +purpose of his own, or one in which he had been instructed?" +</P> + +<P> +"He seemed an animal sort of person, small, strong, and not +particularly intelligent. It seems hard for me to remember more about +him than that." +</P> + +<P> +"That is interesting." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"That it is hard for you to remember him very well." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Father?" +</P> + +<P> +Her father did not answer. "The other men in the motor?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't describe them. I—I was excited about Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"The motor itself, Harriet?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was a black touring car." +</P> + +<P> +"Make and number?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know either of those. I don't remember that I saw a number; +it—it may have been taken off or covered up." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, dear." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that is all, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; bring Eaton to me." +</P> + +<P> +"He has gone to his room to fix himself up." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll send for him, then." Santoine pressed one of the buttons beside +his bed to call a servant; but before the bell could be answered, +Harriet got up. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go myself," she said. +</P> + +<P> +She went out into the hall and closed the door behind her; she waited +until she heard the approaching steps of the man summoned by Santoine's +bell; then, going to meet him, she sent him to call Eaton in his rooms, +and she still waited until the man came back and told her Eaton had +already left his rooms and gone downstairs. She dismissed the man and +went to the head of the stairs, but her steps slowed there and stopped. +She was strained and nervous; often in acting as her father's "eye" and +reporting to him what she saw, she felt that he found many +insignificant things in her reports which were hidden from herself; and +she never had had that feeling more strongly than just now as she was +telling him about the attack made on Eaton. So she knew that the blind +man's thought in regard to Eaton had taken some immense stride; but she +did not know what that stride had been, or what was coming now when her +father saw Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +She went on slowly down the stairs, and when halfway down, she saw +Eaton in the hall below her. He was standing beside the table which +held the bronze antique vase; he seemed to have taken something from +the vase and to be examining it. She halted again to watch him; then +she went on, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps. She could +see, as she approached him, what he had taken from the vase, but she +attached no importance to it; it was only a black button from a woman's +glove—one of her own, perhaps, which she had dropped without noticing. +He tossed it indifferently toward the open fireplace as he came toward +her. +</P> + +<P> +"Father wants to see you, Mr. Eaton," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her intently for an instant and seemed to detect some +strangeness in her manner and to draw himself together; then he +followed her up the stairs. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +IT GROWS PLAINER +</H4> + +<P> +Basil Santoine's bedroom, like the study below it, was so nearly +sound-proof that anything going on in the room could not be heard in +the hall outside it, even close to the double doors. Eaton, as they +approached these doors, listened vainly, trying to determine whether +any one was in the room with Santoine; then he quickened his step to +bring him beside Harriet. +</P> + +<P> +"One moment, please, Miss Santoine," he urged. +</P> + +<P> +She stopped. "What is it you want?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your father has received some answer to the inquiries he has been +having made about me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, Mr. Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton thought a minute. "That is all I wanted to know, then," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet opened the outer door and knocked on the inner one. Eaton +heard Santoine's voice at once calling them to come in, and as Harriet +opened the second door, he followed her into the room. The blind man +turned his sightless eyes toward them, and, plainly +aware—somehow—that it was Eaton and Harriet who had come in, and that +no one else was with them, he motioned Harriet to close the door and +set a chair for Eaton beside the bed. Eaton, understanding this +gesture, took the chair from her and set it as Santoine's motion had +directed; then he waited for her to seat herself in one of the other +chairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Am I to remain, Father?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Santoine commanded. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton waited while she went to a chair at the foot of the bed and +seated herself—her clasped hands resting on the footboard and her chin +upon her hands—in a position to watch both Eaton and her father while +they talked; then Eaton sat down. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Eaton," the blind man greeted him. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Mr. Santoine," Eaton answered; he understood by now that +Santoine never began a conversation until the one he was going to +address himself to had spoken, and that Santoine was able to tell, by +the sound of the voice, almost as much of what was going on in the mind +of one he talked with as a man with eyes is able to tell by studying +the face. He continued to wait quietly, therefore, glancing up once to +Harriet Santoine, whose eyes for an instant met his; then both regarded +again the face of the blind man on the bed. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine was lying quietly upon his back, his head raised on the +pillows, his arms above the bed-covers, his finger-tips touching with +the fingers spread. +</P> + +<P> +"You recall, of course, Eaton, our conversation on the train," Santoine +said evenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And so you remember that I gave you at that time four possible +reasons—as the only possible ones—why you had taken the train I was +on. I said you must have taken it to attack me, or to protect me from +attack; to learn something from me, or to inform me of something; and I +eliminated as incompatible with the facts, the second of these—I said +you could not have taken it to protect me." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; the reason I have sent for you now is that, having +eliminated to-day still another of those possibilities,—leaving only +two,—I want to call your attention in a certain order to some of the +details of what happened on the train." +</P> + +<P> +"You say that to-day you have eliminated another of the possibilities?" +Eaton asked uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"To-day, yes; of course. You had rather a close call this morning, did +you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Rather, I was careless." +</P> + +<P> +"You were careless?" Santoine smiled derisively. "Perhaps you were—in +one sense. In another, however, you have been very careful, Eaton. +You have been careful to act as though the attempt to run you down +could not have been a deliberate attack; you were careful to call it an +accident; you were careful not to recognize any of the three men in the +motor." +</P> + +<P> +"I had no chance to recognize any of them, Mr. Santoine," Eaton replied +easily. "I did not see the car coming; I was thrown from my feet; when +I got up, it was too far away for me to recognize any one." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so; but were you surprised when my daughter recognized one of +them as having been on the train with us?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton hesitated, but answered almost immediately: +</P> + +<P> +"Your question doesn't exactly fit the case. I thought Miss Santoine +had made a mistake." +</P> + +<P> +"But you were not surprised; no. What would have been a surprise to +you, Eaton, would have been—if you had had a chance to observe the +men—to have found that none of them—none of them had been on the +train!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started and felt that he had colored. How much did Santoine +know? Had the blind man received, as Eaton feared, some answer to his +inquiries which had revealed, or nearly revealed, Eaton's identity? Or +was it merely that the attack made on Eaton that morning had given +Santoine new light on the events that had happened on the train and +particularly—Eaton guessed—on the cipher telegram which Santoine +claimed to have translated? Whatever the case might be, Eaton knew +that he must conceal from Harriet the effect the blind man's words +produced on him. Santoine, of course, could not see these effects; and +he had kept his daughter in the room to watch for just such things. +Eaton glanced at her; she was watching him and, quite evidently, had +seen his discomposure, but she made no comment. As he regained +possession of himself, her gaze went back intently to her father. +Eaton looked from her back to the blind man, and saw that Santoine was +waiting for him to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"You assume that, Mr. Santoine," he asserted, "because—" He checked +himself and altered his sentence. "Will you tell me why you assume +that?" +</P> + +<P> +"That that would have surprised you? Yes; that is what I called you in +here to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +As Santoine waited a moment before going on, Eaton watched him +anxiously. The blind man turned himself on his pillows so as to face +Eaton more directly; his sightless, motionless eyes told nothing of +what was going on in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Just ten days ago," Santoine said evenly and dispassionately, "I was +found unconscious in my berth—Section Three of the rearmost +sleeper—on the transcontinental train, which I had taken with my +daughter and Avery at Seattle. I had been attacked,—assailed during +my sleep some time in that first night that I spent on the train,—and +my condition was serious enough so that for three days afterward I was +not allowed to receive any of the particulars of what had happened to +me. When I did finally learn them, I naturally attempted to make +certain deductions as to who it was that had attempted to murder me, +and why; and ever since, I have continued to occupy myself with those +questions. I am going to tell you a few of my deductions. You need +not interrupt me unless you discover me to be in error, and then in +error only in fact or observation which, obviously, had to be reported +to me. If you fancy I am at fault in my conclusions, wait until you +discover your error." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine waited an instant; Eaton thought it was to allow him to speak +if he wanted to, but Eaton merely waited. +</P> + +<P> +"The first thing I learned," the blind man went on, "was the similarity +of the attack on me to the more successful attack on Warden, twelve +days previous, which had caused his death. The method of the two +attacks was the same; the conditions surrounding them were very +similar. Warden was attacked in his motor, in a public street; his +murderer took a desperate chance of being detected by the chauffeur or +by some one on the street, both when he made the attack and afterward +when he escaped unobserved, as it happened, from the automobile. The +attack upon me was made in the same way, perhaps even with the same +instrument; my assailant took equally desperate chances. The attack on +me was made on a public conveyance where the likelihood of the murderer +being seen was even greater, for the train was stopped, and under +conditions which made his escape almost impossible. The desperate +nature of the two attacks, and their almost identical method, made it +practically certain that they originated at the same source and were +carried out—probably—by the same hand and for the same purpose. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Warden's statement to me of her interview with her husband a +half-hour before his murder, made it certain that the object of the +attack on him was to 'remove' him. It seemed almost inevitable, +therefore, that the attack on me must have been for the same purpose. +There have been a number of times in my life, Eaton, when I have known +that it would be to the advantage of some one if I were 'removed'; that +I do not know now any definite reason for such an act does not decrease +its probability; for I do not know why Warden was 'removed.' +</P> + +<P> +"I found that a young man—yourself—had acted so suspiciously both +before and after the attack on me that both Avery and the conductor in +charge of the train had become convinced that he was my assailant, and +had segregated him from the rest of the passengers. Not only this, +but—and this seemed quite conclusive to them—you admitted that you +were the one who had called upon Warden the evening of his murder. +Warden's statement to his wife that you were some one he was about to +befriend—which had been regarded as exculpating you from share in his +murder—ceased to be so conclusive now that you had been present at a +second precisely similar attack; and it certainly was no proof that you +had not attacked me. It seemed likely, too, that you were the only +person on the train aside from my daughter and Avery who knew who I +was; for I had had reason to believe from the time when I first heard +you speak when you boarded the train, that you were some one with whom +I had, previously, very briefly come in contact; and I had asked my +daughter to find out who you were, and she had tried to do so, but +without success." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton wet his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Also," the blind man continued, "there was a telegram which definitely +showed that there was some connection, unknown to me, between you and +me, as well as a second—or rather a previous—suspicious telegram in +cipher, which we were able to translate." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton leaned forward, impelled to speak; but as Santoine clearly +detected this impulse and waited to hear what he was going to say, +Eaton reconsidered and kept silent. +</P> + +<P> +"You were going to say something about that telegram in cipher?" +Santoine asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," Eaton denied. +</P> + +<P> +"I think you were; and I think that a few minutes ago when I said you +were not surprised by the attempt made to-day to run you down, you were +also going to speak of it; for that attempt makes clear the meaning of +the telegram. Its meaning was not clear to me before, you understand. +It said only that you were known and followed. It did not say why you +were followed. I could not be certain of that; there were several +possible reasons why you might be followed—even that the 'one' who +'was following' might be some one secretly interested in preventing you +from an attack on me. Now, however, I know that the reason you feared +the man who was following was because you expected him to attack you. +Knowing that, Eaton—knowing that, I want to call your attention to the +peculiarity of our mutual positions on the train. You had asked for +and were occupying Section Three in the third sleeper, in order—I +assume and, I believe, correctly—to avoid being put in the same car +with me. In the night, the second sleeper—the car next in front of +yours—was cut off from the train and left behind. That made me occupy +in relation to the forward part of the train exactly the same position +as you had occupied before the car ahead of you had been cut out. I +was in Section Three in the third sleeper from the front." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton stared at Santoine, fascinated; what had been only vague, half +felt, half formed with himself, was becoming definite, tangible, under +the blind man's reasoning. He was aware that Harriet Santoine was +looking alternately from him to her father, herself startled by the +revelation thus passionlessly recited. What her father was saying was +new to her; he had not taken his daughter into his confidence to this +extent. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton's hands closed instinctively, in his emotion. "What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"You understand already," Santoine asserted. "The attack made on me +was meant for you. Some one stealing through the cars from the front +to the rear of the train and carrying in his mind the location Section +Three in the third car, struck through the curtains by mistake at me +instead of you. Who was that, Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton sat unanswering, staring. +</P> + +<P> +"You did not realize before, that the man on the train meant to murder +you?" Santoine demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"I see you understand it now; and that it was the same man—or some one +accompanying the man—who tried to run you down this morning. Who is +that man?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," Eaton answered. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you prefer to shield him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Shield him?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is what you are doing, is it not? For, even if you don't know +the man directly, you know in whose cause and under whose direction he +murdered Warden—and why and for whom he is attempting to murder you." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton remained silent. +</P> + +<P> +In his intensity, Santoine had lifted himself from his pillows. "Who +is that man?" he challenged. "And what is that connection between you +and me which, when the attack found and disabled me instead of you, +told him that—in spite of his mistake—his result had been +accomplished? told him that, if I was dying, a repetition of the attack +against you was unnecessary?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton knew that he had grown very pale; Harriet must be aware of the +effect Santoine's words had on him, but he did not dare look at her now +to see how much she was comprehending. All his attention was needed to +defend himself against Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand." He fought to compose himself. +</P> + +<P> +"It is perfectly plain," Santoine said patiently. "It was believed at +first that I had been fatally hurt; it was even reported at one time—I +understand—that I was dead; only intimate friends have been informed +of my actual condition. Yesterday, for the first time, the newspapers +announced the certainty of my recovery; and to-day an attack is made on +you." +</P> + +<P> +"There has been no opportunity for an attack on me before, if this was +an attack. On the train I was locked up under charge of the conductor." +</P> + +<P> +"You have been off the train nearly a week." +</P> + +<P> +"But I have been kept here in your house." +</P> + +<P> +"You have been allowed to walk about the grounds." +</P> + +<P> +"But I've been watched all the time; no one could have attacked me +without being seen by your guards." +</P> + +<P> +"They did not hesitate to attack you in sight of my daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"You are merely challenging my deductions! Will you reply to my +questions?—tell me the connection between us?—who you are?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Come here!" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" said Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here—close to me, beside the bed." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton hesitated, and then obeyed. +</P> + +<P> +"Bend over!" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton stooped, and the blind man's hands seized him. Instantly Eaton +withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" Santoine warned. "If you do not stay, I shall call help." One +hand went to the bell beside his bed. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet had risen; she met Eaton's gaze warningly and nodded to him to +comply. He bent again over the bed. He felt the blind man's sensitive +fingers searching his features, his head, his throat. Eaton gazed at +Santoine's face while the fingers were examining him; he could see that +Santoine was merely finding confirmation of an impression already +gained from what had been told him about Eaton. Santoine showed +nothing more than this confirmation; certainly he did not recognize +Eaton. More than this, Eaton could not tell. +</P> + +<P> +"Now your hands," Santoine ordered. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton extended one hand and then the other; the blind man felt over +them from wrists to the tips of the fingers; then he let himself sink +back against the pillows, absorbed in thought. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton straightened and looked to Harriet where she was standing at the +foot of the bed; she, however, was intently watching her father and did +not look Eaton's way. +</P> + +<P> +"You may go," Santoine said at last. +</P> + +<P> +"Go?" Eaton asked. +</P> + +<P> +"You may leave the room. Blatchford will meet you downstairs." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine reached for the house telephone beside his bed—receiver and +transmitter on one light band—and gave directions to have Blatchford +await Eaton in the hall below. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton stood an instant longer, studying Santoine and trying fruitlessly +to make out what was passing in the blind man's mind. He was +distinctly frightened by the revelation he just had had of Santoine's +clear, implacable reasoning regarding him; for none of the blind man's +deductions about him had been wrong—all had been the exact, though +incomplete, truth. It was clear to him that Santoine was close—much +closer even than Santoine himself yet appreciated—to knowing Eaton's +identity; it was even probable that one single additional fact—the +discovery, for instance, that Miss Davis was the source of the second +telegram received by Eaton on the train—would reveal everything to +Santoine. And Eaton was not certain that Santoine, even without any +new information, would not reach the truth unaided at any moment. So +Eaton knew that he himself must act before this happened. But so long +as the safe in Santoine's study was kept locked or was left open only +while some one was in the room with it, he could not act until he had +received help from outside; and he had not yet received that help; he +could not hurry it or even tell how soon it was likely to come. He had +seen Miss Davis several times as she passed through the halls going or +coming for her work with Avery; but Blatchford had always been with +him, and he had been unable to speak with her or to receive any signal +from her. +</P> + +<P> +As his mind reviewed, almost instantaneously, these considerations, he +glanced again at Harriet; her eyes, this time, met his, but she looked +away immediately. He could not tell what effect Santoine's revelations +had had on her, except that she seemed to be in complete accord with +her father. As he went toward the door, she made no move to accompany +him. He went out without speaking and closed the inner and the outer +doors behind him; then he went down to Blatchford. +</P> + +<P> +For several minutes after Eaton had left the room, Santoine thought in +silence. Harriet stayed motionless, watching him; the extent to which +he had been shaken and disturbed by the series of events which had +started with Warden's murder, came home strongly to her now that she +saw him alone and now that his talk with Eaton had shown partly what +was passing in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you, Harriet?" he asked at last. +</P> + +<P> +She knew it was not necessary to answer him, but merely to move so that +he could tell her position; she moved slightly, and his sightless eyes +shifted at once to where she stood. +</P> + +<P> +"How did he act?" Santoine asked. +</P> + +<P> +She reviewed swiftly the conversation, supplementing his blind +apperceptions of Eaton's manner with what she herself had seen. +</P> + +<P> +"What have been your impressions of Eaton's previous social condition, +Daughter?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated; she knew that her father would not permit the vague +generality that Eaton was "a gentleman." "Exactly what do you mean, +Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean, certainly, to ask whether he knows which fork to use at +table or enough to keep his napkin on his knee; but you have talked +with him, been with him—both on the train and here: have you been able +to determine what sort of people he has been accustomed to mix with? +Have his friends been business men? Professional men? Society people?" +</P> + +<P> +The deep and unconcealed note of trouble in her father's voice startled +her, in her familiarity with every tone and every expression. She +answered his question: "I don't know, Father." +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to find out." +</P> + +<P> +"In what way?" +</P> + +<P> +"You must find a way. I shall tell Avery to help." He thought for +several moments, while she stood waiting. "We must have that motor and +the men in it traced, of course. Harriet, there are certain +matters—correspondence—which Avery has been looking after for me; do +you know what correspondence I mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Father." +</P> + +<P> +"I would rather not have Avery bothered with it just now; I want him to +give his whole attention to this present inquiry. You yourself will +assume charge of the correspondence of which I speak, Daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Father. Do you want anything else now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not of you; send Avery to me." +</P> + +<P> +She moved toward the door which led to the circular stair. Her father, +she knew, seldom spoke all that was in his mind to any one, even +herself; she was accustomed, therefore, to looking for meanings +underneath the directions which he gave her, and his present +order—that she should take charge of a part of their work which +ordinarily had been looked after by Avery—startled and surprised her +by its implication that her father might not trust Avery fully. But +now, as she halted and looked back at him from the door and saw his +troubled face and his fingers nervously pressing together, she +recognized that it was not any definite distrust of Avery that had +moved him, but only his deeper trust in herself. Blind and obliged to +rely on others always in respect of sight, and now still more obliged +to rely upon them because he was confined helpless to his bed, Santoine +had felt ever since the attack on him some unknown menace over himself +and his affairs, some hidden agency threatening him and, through him, +the men who trusted him. So, with instinctive caution, she saw now, he +had been withdrawing more and more his reliance upon those less closely +bound to him—even Avery—and depending more and more on the one he +felt he could implicitly trust—herself. As realization of this came +to her, she was stirred deeply by the impulse to rush back to him and +throw herself down beside him and assure him of her love and fealty; +but seeing him again deep in thought, she controlled herself and went +out. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +DONALD AVERY IS MOODY +</H4> + +<P> +Harriet went down the stair into the study; she passed through the +study into the main part of the house and found Donald and sent him to +her father; then she returned to the study. She closed and fastened +the doors, and after glancing about the room, she removed the books in +front of the wall-safe to the right of the door, slid back the movable +panel, opened the safe and took out a bundle of correspondence. She +closed safe and panel and put back the books; and carrying the +correspondence to her father's desk, she began to look over it. +</P> + +<P> +This correspondence—a considerable bundle of letters held together +with wire clips and the two envelopes bound with tape which she had put +into the safe the day before—made up the papers of which her father +had spoken to her. These letters represented the contentions of +willful, powerful and sometimes ruthless and violent men. Ruin of one +man by another—ruin financial, social or moral, or all three +together—was the intention of the principals concerned in this +correspondence; too often, she knew, one man or one group had carried +out a fierce intent upon another; and sometimes, she was aware, these +bitter feuds had carried certain of her father's clients further even +than personal or family ruin: fraud, violence and—twice now—even +murder were represented by this correspondence; for the papers relating +to the Warden and the Latron murders were here. There were in this +connection the documents concerning the Warden and the Latron +properties which her father had brought back with him from the Coast; +there were letters, now more than five years old, which concerned the +Government's promised prosecution of Latron; and, lastly, there were +the two envelopes which had just been sent to her father concerning the +present organization of the Latron properties. +</P> + +<P> +She glanced through these and the others with them. She had felt +always the horror of this violent and ruthless side of the men with +whom her father dealt; but now she knew that actual appreciation of the +crimes that passed as business had been far from her. And, strangely, +she now realized that it was not the attacks on Mr. Warden and her +father—overwhelming with horror as these had been—which were bringing +that appreciation home to her. It was her understanding now that the +attack was not meant for her father but for Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +For when she had believed that some one had meant to murder her father, +as Mr. Warden had been murdered, the deed had come within the class of +crimes comprehensible to her. She was accustomed to recognize that, at +certain times and under special circumstances, her father might be an +obstacle to some one who would become desperate enough to attack; but +she had supposed that, if such an attack were delivered, it must be +made by a man roused to hate his victim, and the deed would be +palliated, as far as such a crime could be, by an overwhelming impulse +of terror or antipathy at the moment of striking the blow. But she had +never contemplated a condition in which a man might murder—or attempt +to murder—without hate of his victim. Yet now her father had made it +clear that this was such a case. Some one on that train in +Montana—acting for himself or for another—had found this stranger, +Eaton, an obstacle in his way. And merely as removing an obstacle, +that man had tried to murder Eaton. And when, instead, he had injured +Basil Santoine, apparently fatally, he had been satisfied so that his +animus against Eaton had lapsed until the injured man began to recover; +and then, when Eaton was out on the open road beside her, that +pitiless, passionless enemy had tried again to kill. She had seen the +face of the man who drove the motor down upon Eaton, and it had been +only calm, determined, businesslike—though the business with which the +man had been engaged was murder. +</P> + +<P> +Though Harriet had never believed that Eaton had been concerned in the +attack upon her father, her denial of it had been checked and stilled +because he would not even defend himself. She had not known what to +think; she had seemed to herself to be waiting with her thoughts in +abeyance; until he should be cleared, she had tried not to let herself +think more about Eaton than was necessary. Now that her father himself +had cleared Eaton of that suspicion, her feelings had altered from mere +disbelief that he had injured her father to recollection that Mr. +Warden had spoken of him only as one who himself had been greatly +injured. Eaton was involved with her father in some way; she refused +to believe he was against her father, but clearly he was not with him. +How could he be involved, then, unless the injury he had suffered was +some such act of man against man as these letters and statements +represented? She looked carefully through all the contents of the +envelopes, but she could not find anything which helped her. +</P> + +<P> +She pushed the letters away, then, and sat thinking. Mr. Warden, who +appeared to have known more about Eaton than any one else, had taken +Eaton's side; it was because he had been going to help Eaton that Mr. +Warden had been killed. Would not her father be ready to help Eaton, +then, if he knew as much about him as Mr. Warden had known? But Mr. +Warden, apparently, had kept what he knew even from his own wife; and +Eaton was now keeping it from every one—her father included. She felt +that her father had understood and appreciated all this long before +herself—that it was the reason for his attitude toward Eaton on the +train and, in part, the cause of his considerate treatment of him all +through. She sensed for the first time how great her father's +perplexity must be; but she felt, too, how terrible the injustice must +have been that Eaton had suffered, since he himself did not dare to +tell it even to her father and since, to hide it, other men did not +stop short of double murder. +</P> + +<P> +So, instead of being estranged by Eaton's manner to her father, she +felt an impulse of feeling toward him flooding her, a feeling which she +tried to explain to herself as sympathy. But it was not just sympathy; +she would not say even to herself what it was. +</P> + +<P> +She got up suddenly and went to the door and looked into the hall; a +servant came to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mr. Avery still with Mr. Santoine?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Miss Santoine; he has gone out." +</P> + +<P> +"How long ago?" +</P> + +<P> +"About ten minutes." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +She went back, and bundling the correspondence together as it had been +before, she removed the books from a shelf to the left of the door, +slid back another panel and revealed the second wall-safe corresponding +to the one to the right of the door from which she had taken the +papers. The combination of this second safe was known only to her +father and herself. She put the envelopes into it, closed it, and +replaced the books. Then she went to her father's desk, took from a +drawer a long typewritten report of which he had asked her to prepare a +digest, and read it through; consciously concentrating, she began her +work. The servant came at one to tell her luncheon was served, +but—immersed now—she ordered her luncheon brought to the study. At +three she heard Avery's motor, and went to the study door and looked +out as he entered the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you found out, Don?" she inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing yet, Harry." +</P> + +<P> +"You got no trace of them?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; too many motors pass on that road for the car to be recalled +particularly. I've started what inquiries are possible and arranged to +have the road watched in case they come back this way." +</P> + +<P> +He went past her and up to her father. She returned to the study and +put away her work; she called the stables on the house telephone and +ordered her saddle-horse; and going to her rooms and changing to her +riding-habit, she rode till five. Returning, she dressed for dinner, +and going down at seven, she found Eaton, Avery and Blatchford awaiting +her. +</P> + +<P> +The meal was served in the great Jacobean dining room, with walls +paneled to the high ceiling, logs blazing in the big stone fireplace. +As they seated themselves, she noted that Avery seemed moody and +uncommunicative; something, clearly, had irritated and disturbed him; +and as the meal progressed, he vented his irritation upon Eaton by +affronting him more openly by word and look than he had ever done +before in her presence. She was the more surprised at his doing this +now, because she knew that Donald must have received from her father +the same instructions as had been given herself to learn whatever was +possible of Eaton's former position in life. Eaton, with his customary +self-control, met Avery's offensiveness with an equability which almost +disarmed it. Instinctively she tried to help him in this. But now she +found that he met and put aside her assistance in the same way. +</P> + +<P> +The change in his attitude toward her which she had noted first during +their walk that morning had not diminished since his talk with her +father but, plainly, had increased. He was almost openly now including +her among those who opposed him. As that feeling which she called +sympathy had come to her when she realized that what he himself had +suffered must be the reason for his attitude toward her father, so now +it only came more strongly when she saw him take the same attitude +toward herself; and as she felt it, she found she was feeling more and +more away from Donald Avery. Donald's manner toward Eaton was forcing +her to invoice exactly the materials of her companionship with Donald. +</P> + +<P> +Before Eaton's entrance into her life she had supposed that some time, +as a matter of course, she was going to marry Donald. In spite of +this, she had never thought of herself as apart from her father; when +she thought of marrying, it had been always with the idea that her duty +to her husband must be secondary to that to her father; she knew now +that she had accepted Donald Avery not because he had become necessary +to her but because he had seemed essential to her father and her +marrying Donald would permit her life to go on much as it was. Till +recently, Avery's complaisance, his certainty that it must be only a +matter of time before he would win her, had been the most +definite—almost the only definable—fault she had found with her +father's confidential agent; now her sense of many other faults in him +only marked the distance she had drawn away from him. If Harriet +Santoine could define her own present estimate of Avery, it was that he +did not differ in any essential particular from those men whose +correspondence had so horrified her that afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Donald had social position and a certain amount of wealth and power; +now suddenly she was feeling that he had nothing but those things, that +his own unconscious admission was that to be worth while he must have +them, that to retain and increase them was his only object in life. +She had the feeling that these were the only things he would fight for; +but that for these he would fight—fairly, perhaps, if he could—but, +if he must, unfairly, despicably. +</P> + +<P> +She had finished dinner, but she hesitated to rise and leave the men +alone; after-dinner cigars and the fiction of a masculine conversation +about the table were insisted on by Blatchford. As she delayed, +looking across the table at Eaton, his eyes met hers; reassured, she +rose at once; the three rose with her and stood while she went out. +She went upstairs and looked in upon her father; he wanted nothing, and +after a conversation with him as short as she could make it, she came +down again. No further disagreement between the two men, apparently, +had happened after she left the table. Avery now was not visible. +Eaton and Blatchford were in the music-room; as she went to them, she +saw that Eaton had some sheets of music in his hand. So now, with a +repugnance against her father's orders which she had never felt before, +she began to carry out the instructions her father had given her. +</P> + +<P> +"You play, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid not," he smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Really don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only drum a little sometimes, Miss Santoine. Won't you play? Please +do." +</P> + +<P> +She saw that they were songs which he had been examining. "Oh, you +sing!" +</P> + +<P> +He could not effectively deny it. She sat down at her piano and ran +over the songs and selections from the new opera. He followed her with +the delight of a music-lover long away from an instrument. He sang +with her a couple of the songs; he had a good, unassuming tone. And as +she went through the music, she noticed that he was familiar with +almost everything she had liked which had been written or was current +up to five years before; all later music was strange to him. To this +extent he had been of her world, plainly, up to five years before; then +he had gone out of it. +</P> + +<P> +She realized this only as something which she was to report to her +father; yet she felt a keener, more personal interest in it than that. +Harriet Santoine knew enough of the world to know that few men break +completely all social connections without some link of either fact or +memory still holding them, and that this link most often is a woman. +So now, instinctively, she found, she was selecting among the music on +the racks arias of lost, disappointed or unhappy love. But she saw +that Eaton's interest in these songs appeared no different from his +interest in others; it was, so far as she could tell, for their music +he cared for them—not because they recalled to him any personal +recollection. So far as her music could assure her, then, there +was—and had been—no woman in Eaton's life whose memory made poignant +his break with his world. +</P> + +<P> +Presently she desisted and turned to other sorts of music. Toward ten +o'clock, after she had stopped playing, he excused himself and went to +his rooms. She sat for a time, idly talking with Blatchford; then, as +a servant passed through the hall and she mistook momentarily his +footsteps for those of Avery, she got up suddenly and went upstairs. +It was only after reaching her own rooms that she appreciated that the +meaning of this action was that she shrank from seeing Avery again that +night. But she had been in her rooms only a few minutes when her house +telephone buzzed, and answering it, she found that it was Donald +speaking to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you come down for a few minutes, please, Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +She withheld her answer momentarily. Before Eaton had come into her +life, Donald sometimes had called her like this,—especially on those +nights when he had worked late with her father,—and she had gone down +to visit with him for a few minutes as an ending for the day. She had +never allowed these meetings to pass beyond mere companionship; but +to-night she thought of that companionship without pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"Please, Harry!" he repeated. +</P> + +<P> +Some strangeness in his tone perplexed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"In the study." +</P> + +<P> +She went down at once. As he came to the study door to meet her, she +saw that what had perplexed her in his tone was apparently only the +remnant of that irritation he had showed at dinner. He took her hand +and drew her into the study. The lights in the room turned full on and +the opaque curtains drawn closely over the windows told that he had +been working,—or that he wished to appear to have been working,—and +papers scattered on one of the desks, and the wall safe to the right of +the door standing open, confirmed this. But now he led her to the big +chair, and guided her as she seated herself; then he lounged on the +flat-topped desk in front of and close to her and bending over her. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mind my calling you down, Harry; it is so long since we had +even a few minutes alone together," he pleaded. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it you want, Don?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Only to see you, dea—Harry." He took her hand again; she resisted +and withdrew it. "I can't do any more work to-night, Harry. I find +the correspondence I expected to go over this evening isn't here; your +father has it, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I have it, Don." +</P> + +<P> +"You?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; Father didn't want you bothered by that work just now. Didn't he +tell you?" +</P> + +<P> +"He told me that, of course, Harry, and that he had asked you to +relieve me as much as you could; he didn't say he had told you to take +charge of the papers. Did he do that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought that was implied. If you need them, I'll get them for you, +Don. Do you want them?" +</P> + +<P> +She got up and went toward the safe where she had put them; suddenly +she stopped. What it was that she had felt under his tone and manner, +she could not tell; it was probably only irritation at having important +work taken out of his hands. But whatever it was, he was not openly +expressing it—he was even being careful that it should not be +expressed. And now suddenly, as he followed and came close behind her +and her mind went swiftly to her father lying helpless upstairs, and +her father's trust in her, she halted. +</P> + +<P> +"We must ask Father first," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Ask him!" he ejaculated. "Why?" +</P> + +<P> +She faced him uncertainly, not answering. +</P> + +<P> +"That's rather ridiculous, Harry, especially as it is too late to ask +him to-night." His voice was suddenly rough in his irritation. "I +have had charge of those very things for years; they concern the +matters in which your father particularly confides in me. It is +impossible that he meant you to take them out of my hands like this. +He must have meant only that you were to give me what help you could +with them!" +</P> + +<P> +She could not refute what he said; still, she hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"When did you find out those matters weren't in your safe, Don?" she +asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Just now." +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't you find out this afternoon—before dinner?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I said—just now this afternoon, when I came back to the +house before dinner, as you say." Suddenly he seized both her hands, +drawing her to him and holding her in front of him. "Harry, don't you +see that you are putting me in a false position—wronging me? You are +acting as though you did not trust me!" +</P> + +<P> +She drew away her hands. "I do trust you, Don; at least I have no +reason to distrust you. I only say we must ask Father." +</P> + +<P> +"They're in your little safe?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And you'll not give them to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +He stared angrily; then he shrugged and laughed and went back to his +desk and began gathering up his scattered papers. She stood +indecisively watching him. Suddenly he looked up, and she saw that he +had quite conquered his irritation, or at least had concealed it; his +concern now seemed to be only over his relations with herself. +</P> + +<P> +"We've not quarreled, Harry?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Quarreled? Not at all, Don," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +She moved toward the door; he followed and let her out, and she went +back to her own rooms. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +SANTOINE'S "EYES" FAIL HIM +</H4> + +<P> +Eaton, coming down rather late the next morning, found the breakfast +room empty. He chose his breakfast from the dishes on the sideboard, +and while the servant set them before him and waited on him, he +inquired after the members of the household. Miss Santoine, the +servant said, had breakfasted some time before and was now with her +father; Mr. Avery also had breakfasted; Mr. Blatchford was not yet +down. As Eaton lingered over his breakfast, Miss Davis passed through +the hall, accompanied by a maid. The maid admitted her into the study +and closed the door; afterward, the maid remained in the hall busy with +some morning duty, and her presence and that of the servant in the +breakfast room made it impossible for Eaton to attempt to go to the +study or to risk speaking to Miss Davis. A few minutes later, he heard +Harriet Santoine descending the stairs; rising, he went out into the +hall to meet her. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't ask you to commit yourself for longer than to-day, Miss +Santoine," he said, when they had exchanged greetings, "but—for +to-day—what are the limits of my leash?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Avery is going to the country-club for lunch; I believe he intends +to ask you if you care to go with him." +</P> + +<P> +He started and looked at her in surprise. "That's rather longer +extension of the leash than I expected," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +He stood an instant thoughtful. Did the invitation imply merely that +he was to have greater freedom now? +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish me to go?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Her glance wavered and did not meet his. "You may go if you please." +</P> + +<P> +"And if I do not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Blatchford will lunch with you here." +</P> + +<P> +"And you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I shall lunch here too, probably. This morning I am going to be +busy with Miss Davis on some work for my father; what I do depends on +how I get along with that." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged. +</P> + +<P> +She turned away and went into the study, closing the door behind her. +Eaton, although he had finished his breakfast, went back into the +breakfast room. He did not know whether he would refuse or accept +Avery's invitation; suddenly he decided. After waiting for some five +minutes there over a second cup of coffee, he got up and crossed to the +study door and knocked. The door was opened by Miss Davis; looking +past her, he could see Harriet Santoine seated at one of the desks. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg pardon, Miss Santoine," he explained his interruption, "but you +did not tell me what time Mr. Avery is likely to want me to be ready to +go to the country club." +</P> + +<P> +"About half-past twelve, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"And what time shall we be coming back?" +</P> + +<P> +"Probably about five." +</P> + +<P> +He thanked her and withdrew. As Miss Davis stood holding open the +door, he had not looked to her, and he did not look back now as she +closed the door behind him; their eyes had not met; but he understood +that she had comprehended him fully. To-day he would be away from the +Santoine house, and away from the guards who watched him, for at least +four hours, under no closer espionage than that of Avery; this offered +opportunity—the first opportunity he had had—for communication +between him and his friends outside the house. +</P> + +<P> +He went to his room and made some slight changes in his dress; he came +down then to the library, found a book and settled himself to read. +Toward noon Avery looked in on him there and rather constrainedly +proffered his invitation; Eaton accepted, and after Avery had gone to +get ready, Eaton put away his book. Fifteen minutes later, hearing +Avery's motor purring outside, Eaton went into the hall; a servant +brought his coat and hat, and taking them, he went out to the motor. +Avery appeared a moment later, with Harriet Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +She stood looking after them as they spun down the curving drive and +onto the pike outside the grounds; then she went back to the study. +The digest Harriet had been working on that morning and the afternoon +before was finished; Miss Davis, she found, was typewriting its last +page. She dismissed Miss Davis for the day, and taking the typewritten +sheets and some other papers her father had asked to have read to him, +she went up to her father. +</P> + +<P> +Basil Santoine was alone and awake; he was lying motionless, with the +cord and electric button in his hand which served to start and stop the +phonograph, with its recording cylinder, beside his bed. His mind, +even in his present physical weakness, was always working, and he kept +this apparatus beside him to record his directions as they occurred to +him. As she entered the room, he pressed the button and started the +phonograph, speaking into it; then, as he recognized his daughter's +presence, the cylinder halted; he put down the cord and motioned her to +seat herself beside the bed. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you, Harriet?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She sat down and glancing through the papers in her hand, gave him the +subject of each; then at his direction she began to read them aloud. +She read slowly, careful not to demand straining of his attention; and +this slowness leaving her own mind free in part to follow other things, +her thoughts followed Eaton and Avery. As she finished the third page, +he interrupted her. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is it you want to go, Harriet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go? Why, nowhere, Father!" +</P> + +<P> +"Has Avery taken Eaton to the country-club as I ordered?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall want you to go out there later in the afternoon; I would trust +your observation more than Avery's to determine whether Eaton has been +used to such surroundings. They are probably at luncheon now; will you +lunch with me here, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be very glad to, Father." +</P> + +<P> +He reached for the house telephone and gave directions for the luncheon +in his room. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on until they bring it," he directed. +</P> + +<P> +She read another page, then broke off suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"Has Donald asked you anything to-day, Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"In regard to what?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought last night he seemed disturbed about my relieving him of +part of his work." +</P> + +<P> +"Disturbed? In what way?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated, unable to define even to herself the impression Avery's +manner had made on her. "I understood he was going to ask you to leave +it still in his hands." +</P> + +<P> +"He has not done so yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Then probably I was mistaken." +</P> + +<P> +She began to read again, and she continued now until the luncheon was +served. At meal-time Basil Santoine made it a rule never to discuss +topics relating to his occupation in working hours, and in his present +weakness, the rule was rigidly enforced; father and daughter talked of +gardening and the new developments in aviation. She read again for +half an hour after luncheon, finishing the pages she had brought. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you'd better go to the club," the blind man directed. +</P> + +<P> +She put the reports and letters away in the safe in the room below, and +going to her own apartments, she dressed carefully for the afternoon. +The day was a warm, sunny, early spring day, with the ground fairly +firm. She ordered her horse and trap, and leaving the groom, she drove +to the country-club beyond the rise of ground back from the lake. Her +pleasure in the drive and the day was diminished by her errand. It +made her grow uncomfortable and flush warmly as she recollected +that—if Eaton's secrecy regarding himself was accounted for by the +unknown injury he had suffered—she was the one sent to "spy" upon him. +</P> + +<P> +As she drove down the road, she passed the scene of the attempt by the +men in the motor to run Eaton down. The indefiniteness of her +knowledge by whom or why the attack had been made only made it seem +more terrible to her. Unquestionably, he was in constant danger of its +repetition, and especially when—as to-day—he was outside her father's +grounds. Instinctively she hurried her horse. The great white +club-house stood above the gentle slope of the valley to the west; +beyond it, the golf-course was spotted by a few figures of men and +girls out for early-season play. And further off and to one side of +the course, she saw mounted men scurrying up and down the polo field in +practice. A number of people were standing watching, and a few motors +and traps were halted beside the barriers. Harriet stopped at the +club-house only to make certain that Mr. Avery and his guest were not +there; then she drove on to the polo field. +</P> + +<P> +As she approached, she recognized Avery's lithe, alert figure on one of +the ponies; with a deft, quick stroke he cleared the ball from before +the feet of an opponent's pony, then he looked up and nodded to her. +Harriet drove up and stopped beside the barrier; people hailed her from +all sides, and for a moment the practice was stopped as the players +trotted over to speak to her. Then play began again, and she had +opportunity to look for Eaton. Her father, she knew, had instructed +Avery that Eaton was to be introduced as his guest; but Avery evidently +had either carried out these instructions in a purely mechanical manner +or had not wished Eaton to be with others unless he himself was by; for +Harriet discovered Eaton standing off by himself. She waited till he +looked toward her, then signaled him to come over. She got down, and +they stood together following the play. +</P> + +<P> +"You know polo?" she questioned him, as she saw the expression of +appreciation in his face as a player daringly "rode-off" an antagonist +and saved a "cross." She put the question without thought before she +recognized that she was obeying her father's instructions. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand the game somewhat," Eaton replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever played?" +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to deserve its reputation as the summit of sport," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +He answered so easily that she could not decide whether he was evading +or not; and somehow, just then, she found it impossible to put the +simple question direct again. +</P> + +<P> +"Good! Good, Don!" she cried enthusiastically and clapped her hands as +Avery suddenly raced before them, caught the ball with a swinging, +back-handed stroke and drove it directly toward his opponent's goal. +Instantly whirling his mount, Avery raced away after the ball, and with +another clean stroke scored a goal. Every one about cried out in +approbation. +</P> + +<P> +"He's very quick and clever, isn't he?" Harriet said to Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton nodded. "Yes; he's by all odds the most skillful man on the +field, I should say." +</P> + +<P> +The generosity of the praise impelled the girl, somehow, to qualify it. +"But only two others really have played much—that man and that." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I picked them as the experienced ones," Eaton said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"The others—two of them, at least—are out for the first time, I +think." +</P> + +<P> +They watched the rapid course of the ball up and down the field, the +scurry and scamper of the ponies after it, then the clash of a mêlée +again. +</P> + +<P> +Two ponies went down, and their riders were flung. When they arose, +one of the least experienced boys limped apologetically from the field. +Avery rode to the barrier. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, any of you fellows, don't you want to try it? We're just +getting warmed up." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet glanced at the group Avery had addressed; she knew nearly all +of them—she knew too that none of them were likely to accept the +invitation, and that Avery must be as well aware of that as she was. +Avery, indeed, scarcely glanced at them, but looked over to Eaton and +gave the challenge direct. +</P> + +<P> +"Care to take a chance?" +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine watched her companion; a sudden flush had come to his +face which vanished, as she turned, and left him almost pale; but his +eyes glowed. Avery's manner in challenging him, as though he must +refuse from fear of such a fall as he just had witnessed, was not +enough to explain Eaton's start. +</P> + +<P> +"How can I?" he returned. +</P> + +<P> +"If you want to play, you can," Avery dared him. "Furden"—that was +the boy who had just been hurt—"will lend you some things; his'll just +about fit you; and you can have his mounts." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet continued to watch Eaton; the challenge had been put so as to +give him no ground for refusal but timidity. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't care to?" Avery taunted him deftly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you try it?" Harriet found herself saying to him. +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated. She realized it was not timidity he was feeling; it was +something deeper and stronger than that. It was fear; but so plainly +it was not fear of bodily hurt that she moved instinctively toward him +in sympathy. He looked swiftly at Avery, then at her, then away. He +seemed to fear alike accepting or refusing to play; suddenly he made +his decision. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll play." +</P> + +<P> +He started instantly away to the dressing-rooms; a few minutes later, +when he rode onto the field, Harriet was conscious that, in some way, +Eaton was playing a part as he listened to Avery's directions. Then +the ball was thrown in for a scrimmage, and she felt her pulses quicken +as Avery and Eaton raced side by side for the ball. Eaton might not +have played polo before, but he was at home on horseback; he beat Avery +to the ball but, clumsy with his mallet, he missed and overrode; Avery +stroked the ball smartly, and cleverly followed through. But the next +instant, as Eaton passed her, shifting his mallet in his hand, Harriet +watched him more wonderingly. +</P> + +<P> +"He could have hit that ball if he'd wanted to," she declared almost +audibly to herself; and the impression that Eaton was pretending to a +clumsiness which was not real grew on her. Donald Avery appointed +himself to oppose Eaton wherever possible, besting him in every contest +for the ball; but she saw that Donald now, though he took it upon +himself to show all the other players where they made their mistakes, +did not offer any more instruction to Eaton. One of the players drove +the ball close to the barrier directly before Harriet; Eaton and Avery +raced for it, neck by neck. As before, Eaton by better riding gained a +little; as they came up, she saw Donald's attention was not upon the +ball or the play; instead, he was watching Eaton closely. And she +realized suddenly that Donald had appreciated as fully as herself that +Eaton's clumsiness was a pretense. It was no longer merely polo the +two were playing; Donald, suspecting or perhaps even certain that Eaton +knew the game, was trying to make him show it, and Eaton was watchfully +avoiding this. Just in front of her, Donald, leaning forward, swept +the ball from in front of Eaton's pony's feet. +</P> + +<P> +For a few moments the play was all at the further edge of the field; +then once more the ball crossed with a long curving shot and came +hopping and rolling along the ground close to where she stood. Again +Donald and Eaton raced for it. +</P> + +<P> +"Stedman!" Avery called to a teammate to prepare to receive the ball +after he had struck it; and he lifted his mallet to drive the ball away +from in front of Eaton. But as Avery's club was coming down, Eaton, +like a flash and apparently without lifting his mallet at all, caught +the ball a sharp, smacking stroke. It leaped like a bullet, straight +and true, toward the goal, and before Avery could turn, Eaton was after +it and upon it, but he did not have to strike again; it bounded on and +on between the goal-posts, while together with the applause for the +stranger arose a laugh at the expense of Avery. But as Donald halted +before her, Harriet saw that he was not angry or discomfited, but was +smiling triumphantly to himself; and as she called in praise to Eaton +when he came close again, she discovered in him only dismay at what he +had done. +</P> + +<P> +The practice ended, and the players rode away. She waited in the +clubhouse till Avery and Eaton came up from the dressing-rooms. +Donald's triumphant satisfaction seemed to have increased; Eaton was +silent and preoccupied. Avery, hailed by a group of men, started away; +as he did so, he saluted Eaton almost derisively. Eaton's return of +the salute was openly hostile. She looked up at him keenly, trying +unavailingly to determine whether more had taken place between the two +men than she herself had witnessed. +</P> + +<P> +"You had played polo before—and played it well," she charged. "Why +did you want to pretend you hadn't?" +</P> + +<P> +He made no reply. As she began to talk of other things, she discovered +with surprise that his manner toward her had taken on even greater +formality and constraint than it had had since his talk with her father +the day before. +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon was not warm enough to sit outside; in the club-house +were gathered groups of men and girls who had come in from the +golf-course or from watching the polo practice. She found herself now +facing one of these groups composed of some of her own friends, who +were taking tea and wafers in the recess before some windows. They +motioned to her to join them, and she could not well refuse, especially +as this had been a part of her father's instructions. The men rose, as +she moved toward them, Eaton with her; she introduced Eaton; a chair +was pushed forward for her, and two of the girls made a place for Eaton +on the window-seat between them. +</P> + +<P> +As they seated themselves and were served, Eaton's participation in the +polo practice was the subject of conversation. She found, as she tried +to talk with her nearer neighbors, that she was listening instead to +this more general conversation which Eaton had joined. She saw that +these people had accepted him as one of their own sort to the point of +jesting with him about his "lucky" polo stroke for a beginner; his +manner toward them was very different from what it had been just now to +herself; he seemed at ease and unembarrassed with them. One or two of +the girls appeared to have been eager—even anxious—to meet him; and +she found herself oddly resenting the attitude of these girls. Her +feeling was indefinite, vague; it made her flush and grow uncomfortable +to recognize dimly that there was in it some sense of a proprietorship +of her own in him which took alarm at seeing other girls attracted by +him; but underneath it was her uneasiness at his new manner to herself, +which hurt because she could not explain it. As the party finished +their tea, she looked across to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you ready to go, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Whenever Mr. Avery is ready." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't wait for him unless you wish; I'll drive you back," she +offered. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I'd prefer that, Miss Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +They went out to her trap, leaving Donald to motor back alone. As soon +as she had driven out of the club grounds, she let the horse take its +own gait, and she turned and faced him. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me," she demanded, "what I have done this afternoon to +make you class me among those who oppose you?" +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done? Nothing, Miss Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +"But you are classing me so now." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no," he denied so unconvincingly that she felt he was only putting +her off. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine knew that what had attracted her friends to Eaton was +their recognition of his likeness to themselves; but what had impressed +her in seeing him with them was his difference. Was it some memory of +his former life that seeing these people had recalled to him, which had +affected his manner toward her? +</P> + +<P> +Again she looked at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you sorry to leave the club?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I was quite ready to leave," he answered inattentively. +</P> + +<P> +"It must have been pleasant to you, though, to—to be among the sort of +people again that you—you used to know. Miss Furden"—she mentioned +one of the girls who had seemed most interested in him, the sister of +the boy whose place he had taken in the polo practice—"is considered a +very attractive person, Mr. Eaton. I have heard it said that a +man—any man—not to be attracted by her must be forearmed against her +by thought—or memory of some other woman whom he holds dear." +</P> + +<P> +"She seemed very pleasant," he answered automatically. +</P> + +<P> +"Only pleasant? You were forearmed, then," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." +</P> + +<P> +The mechanicalness of his answer reassured her. "I mean, Mr. +Eaton,"—she forced her tone to be light,—"Miss Furden was not as +attractive to you as she might have been, because there has been some +other woman in your life—whose memory—or—or the expectation of +seeing whom again—protected you." +</P> + +<P> +"Has been? Oh, you mean before." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; of course," she answered hastily. +</P> + +<P> +"No—none," he replied simply. "It's rather ungallant, Miss Santoine, +but I'm afraid I wasn't thinking much about Miss Furden." +</P> + +<P> +She felt that his denial was the truth, for his words confirmed the +impression she had had when singing with him the night before. She +drove on—or rather let the horse take them on—for a few moments +during which neither spoke. They had come about a bend in the road, +and the great house of her father loomed ahead. A motor whizzed past +them, coming from behind. It was only Avery's car on the way home; but +Harriet had jumped a little in memory of the day before, and her +companion's head had turned quickly toward the car. She looked up at +him swiftly; his lips were set and his eyes gazed steadily ahead after +Avery, and he drew a little away from her. A catch in her +breath—almost an audible gasp—surprised her, and she fought a warm +impulse which had all but placed her hand on his. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me something, Miss Santoine?" he asked suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose, when I was with Mr. Avery this afternoon, that if I had +attempted to escape, he and the chauffeur would have combined to detain +me. But on the way back here—did you assume that when you took me in +charge you had my parole not to try to depart?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said. "I don't believe Father depended entirely on that." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that he has made arrangements so that if I—exceeded the +directions given me, I would be picked up?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know exactly what they are, but you may be sure that they are +made if they are necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged. +</P> + +<P> +She was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Do you mean that you have +been considering this afternoon the possibilities of escape?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would be only natural for me to do that, would it not?" he parried. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't mean that you might not try to exceed the limits Father has +set for you; you might try that, and of course you would be prevented. +But you will not" (she hesitated, and when she went on she was quoting +her father) "—sacrifice your position here." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because you tried to gain it—or—or if not exactly that, at least you +had some object in wanting to be near Father which you have not yet +gained." She hesitated once more, not looking at him. Her words were +unconvincing to herself; that morning, when her father had spoken them, +they had been quite convincing, but since this afternoon she was no +longer sure of their truth. What it was that had happened during the +afternoon she could not make out; instinctively, however, she felt that +it had so altered Eaton's relations with them that now he might attempt +to escape. +</P> + +<P> +They had reached the front of the house, and a groom sprang to take the +horse. She let Eaton help her down; as they entered the house, +Avery—who had reached the house only a few moments before them—was +still in the hall. And again she was startled in the meeting of the +two men by Avery's triumph and the swift flare of defiance on Eaton's +face. +</P> + +<P> +As she went up to her apartments, her maid met her at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Santoine wishes you to dine with him, Miss Santoine," the maid +announced. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +She changed from her afternoon dress slowly. As she did so, she +brought swiftly in review the events of the day. Chiefly it was to the +polo practice and to Eaton's dismay at his one remarkable stroke that +her mind went. Had Donald Avery seen something in that which was not +plain to herself? +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine knew polo from watching many games, but she was aware +that—as with any one who knows a game merely as a spectator—she was +unacquainted with many of the finer points of play. Donald had played +almost since a boy, he was a good, steady, though not a brilliant +player. Had Donald recognized in Eaton something more than merely a +good player trying to pretend ignorance of the game? The thought +suddenly checked and startled her. For how many great polo players +were there in America? Were there a hundred? Fifty? Twenty-five? +She did not know; but she did know that there were so few of them that +their names and many of the particulars of their lives were known to +every follower of the sport. +</P> + +<P> +She halted suddenly in her dressing, perplexed and troubled. Her +father had sent Eaton to the country club with Avery; there Avery, +plainly, had forced Eaton into the polo game. By her father's +instructions? Clearly there seemed to have been purpose in what had +been done, and purpose which had not been confided to herself either by +her father or Avery. For how could they have suspected that Eaton +would betray himself in the game unless they had also suspected that he +had played polo before? To suspect that, they must at least have some +theory as to who Eaton was. But her father had no such theory; he had +been expending unavailingly, so far, every effort to ascertain Eaton's +connections. So her thoughts led her only into deeper and greater +perplexity, but with them came sudden—and unaccountable—resentment +against Avery. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you see what Mr. Avery is doing?" she said to the maid. +</P> + +<P> +The girl went out and returned in a few moments. "He is with Mr. +Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +At seven Harriet went in to dinner with her father. The blind man was +now alone; he had been awaiting her, and they were served at once. All +through the dinner she was nervous and moody; for she knew she was +going to do something she had never done before: she was going to +conceal something from her father. She told herself it was not really +concealment, for Donald must have already told him. It was no more, +then, than that she herself would not inform upon Eaton, but would +leave that to Avery. So she told of Eaton's reception at the country +club, and of his taking part in the polo practice and playing badly; +but of her own impression that Eaton knew the game and her present +conviction that Donald Avery had seen even more than that, she said +nothing. She watched her father's face, but she could see there no +consciousness that she was omitting anything in her account. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later, when after reading aloud to him for a time, he dismissed +her, she hesitated before going. +</P> + +<P> +"You've seen Donald?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What did he tell you?" +</P> + +<P> +"The same as you have told, though not quite so fully." +</P> + +<P> +She was outside the door and in the hall before realization came to her +that her father's reply could mean only that Donald, like herself, had +concealed his discovery of Eaton's ability to play polo. She turned +back suddenly to return to her father; then again she hesitated, +stopped with her hand upon the blind man's door by her recollection of +Donald's enmity to Eaton. Why Donald had not told, she could not +imagine; the only conclusion she could reach was that Donald's silence +in some way menaced Eaton; for—suddenly now—it came to her what this +must mean to Eaton. All that Eaton had been so careful to hide +regarding himself and his connections must be obtainable by Avery now. +Why Eaton had played at all; why he had been afraid to refuse the +invitation to play, she could not know; but sympathy and fear for him +swept over her, as she comprehended that it was to Avery the betrayal +had been made and that Avery, for some purpose of his own, was +withholding this betrayal to make use of it as he saw fit. +</P> + +<P> +She moved once more to return to her father; again she stopped; then, +swiftly, she turned and went downstairs. +</P> + +<P> +As she descended, she saw in the lower hall the stenographer, Miss +Davis, sitting waiting. There was no adequate reason for the girl's +being there at that hour; she had come—she said, as she rose to greet +Harriet—to learn whether she would be wanted the next day; she had +already seen Mr. Avery, and he would not want her. Harriet, telling +her she would not need her, offered to send a servant home with her, as +the roads were dark. Miss Davis refused this and went out at once. +Harriet, as the door was closed behind the girl, looked hurriedly about +for Avery. She did not find him, nor at first did she find Eaton +either. She discovered him presently in the music-room with +Blatchford. Blatchford at once excused himself, tired evidently of his +task of watching over Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet caught herself together and controlled herself to her usual +manner. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall it be this evening, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. "Music? +Billiards?" +</P> + +<P> +"Billiards, if you like," he responded. +</P> + +<P> +They went up to the billiard room, and for an hour played steadily; but +her mind was not upon the game—nor, she saw, was his. Several times +he looked at his watch; he seemed to her to be waiting. Finally, as +they ended a game, he put his cue back in the rack and faced her. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Santoine," he said, "I want to ask a favor." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want to go out—unaccompanied." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to speak to a friend who will be waiting for me." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"He got word to me at the country club to-day. Excuse me—I did not +mean to inform on Mr. Avery; he was really most vigilant. I believe he +only made one slip." +</P> + +<P> +"He was not the only one observing you." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose not. In fact, I was certain of it. However, I received a +message which was undoubtedly authentic and had not been overseen." +</P> + +<P> +"But you were not able to make reply." +</P> + +<P> +"I was not able to receive all that was necessary." +</P> + +<P> +She considered for a moment. "What do you want me to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Either because of my presence or because of what has happened—or +perhaps normally—you have at least four men about the grounds, two of +whom seem to be constantly on duty to observe any one who may approach." +</P> + +<P> +"Or try to leave." +</P> + +<P> +"Precisely." +</P> + +<P> +"There are more than two." +</P> + +<P> +"I was stating the minimum." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you to order them to let me pass and go to a place perhaps ten +minutes' walk from here. If you do so, I will return at the latest +within half an hour" (he glanced at his watch) "—to be definite, +before a quarter of eleven." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I do this?" +</P> + +<P> +He came close to her and faced her. "What do you think of me now, Miss +Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—" +</P> + +<P> +"You are quite certain now, are you not, that I had nothing to do with +the attack on your father—that is, in any other connection than that +the attack might be meant for me. I denied yesterday that the men in +the automobile meant to run me down; you did not accept that denial. I +may as well admit to you that I know perfectly well they meant to kill +me; the man on the train also meant to kill me. They are likely to try +again to kill me." +</P> + +<P> +"We recognize that too," she answered. "The men on watch about the +house are warned to protect you as well as watch you." +</P> + +<P> +"I appreciate that." +</P> + +<P> +"But are they all you have to fear, Mr. Eaton?" She was thinking of +Donald Avery. +</P> + +<P> +He seemed to recognize what was in her mind; his eyes, as he gazed +intently at her, clouded, then darkened still more with some succeeding +thought. "No, not all." +</P> + +<P> +"And it will aid you to—to protect yourself if you see your friend +to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"But why should not one of Father's men be with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Unless I were alone, my friend would not appear." +</P> + +<P> +"I see." +</P> + +<P> +He moved away from her, then came back; the importance to him of what +he was asking was very plain to her—he was shaking nervously with it. +"Miss Santoine," he said intently, "you do not think badly of me now. +I do not have to doubt that; I can see it; you have wanted me to see +it. I ask you to trust me for a few minutes to-night. I cannot tell +you whom I wish to see or why, except that the man comes to do me a +service and to endanger no one—except those trying to injure me." +</P> + +<P> +She herself was trembling with her desire to help him, but recollection +of her father held her back; then swiftly there came to her the thought +of Gabriel Warden; because Warden had tried to help him—in some way +and for some reason which she did not know—Warden had been killed. +And feeling that in helping him there might be danger to herself, she +suddenly and eagerly welcomed that danger, and made her decision. +"You'll promise, Mr. Eaton, not to try to—leave?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go out," she said. +</P> + +<P> +She led the way downstairs and, in the hall, picked up a cape; he threw +it over her shoulders and brought his overcoat and cap. But in his +absorption he forgot to put them on until, as they went out into the +garden together, she reminded him; then he put on the cap. The night +was clear and cool, and no one but themselves seemed to be about the +house. +</P> + +<P> +"Which way do you want to go?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +He turned toward the forested acres of the grounds which ran down to a +ravine at the bottom of which a little stream trickled toward the lake. +As they approached the side of this ravine, a man appeared and +investigated them. He recognized the girl's figure and halted. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right, Willis," she said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +They passed the man and went down the path into the ravine and up the +tiny valley. Eaton halted. +</P> + +<P> +"Your man's just above there?" he asked her. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"He'll stay there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; or close by." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you don't mind waiting here a few moments for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said. "You will return here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said; and with that permission, he left her. +</P> + +<P> +Both had spoken so that the man above could not have heard; and Harriet +now noticed that, as her companion hurried ahead, he went almost +noiselessly. As he disappeared, the impulse to call him back almost +controlled her; then she started to follow him; but she did not. She +stood still, shivering a little now in the cold; and as she listened, +she no longer heard his footsteps. What she had done was done; then +just as she was telling herself that it must be many moments before she +would know whether he was coming back, she heard him returning; at some +little distance, he spoke her name so as not to frighten her. She knew +at once it was he, but a change in the tone surprised her. She stepped +forward to meet him. +</P> + +<P> +"You found your friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What did he tell you?" Her hand caught his sleeve in an impulse of +concern, but she tried to make it seem as though she grasped him to +guide her through the trees of the ravine. "I mean what is wrong that +you did not expect?" +</P> + +<P> +She heard his breath come fast. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," he denied. +</P> + +<P> +"No; you must tell me!" Her hand was still on his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot." +</P> + +<P> +"Why can you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you trust me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Trust you!" he cried. He turned to her and seized her hands. "You +ask me to—trust you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I've trusted you. Can't you believe as much in me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Believe in you, Miss Santoine!" He crushed her fingers in his grasp. +"Oh, my God, I wish I could!" +</P> + +<P> +"You wish you could?" she echoed. The tone of it struck her like a +blow, and she tore her hands away. "What do you mean by that?" +</P> + +<P> +He made no reply but stood staring at her through the dark. "We must +go back," he said queerly. "You're cold." +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer but started back up the path to the house. He +seemed to have caught himself together against some impulse that +stirred him strongly. "The man out there who saw us? He will report +to your father, Miss Santoine?" he asked unsteadily. +</P> + +<P> +"Reports for Father are first made to me." +</P> + +<P> +"I see." He did not ask her what she was going to do; if he was +assuming that her permission to exceed his set limits bound her not to +report to her father, she did not accept that assumption, though she +would not report to the blind man to-night, for she knew he must now be +asleep. But she felt that Eaton was no longer thinking of this. As +they entered the house and he helped her lay off her cape, he suddenly +faced her. +</P> + +<P> +"We are in a strange relation to each other, Miss Santoine—stranger +than you know," he said unevenly. +</P> + +<P> +She waited for him to go on. +</P> + +<P> +"We have talked sometimes of the likeness of the everyday life to war," +he continued. "In war men and women sometimes do or countenance things +they know to be evil because they believe that by means of them there +is accomplished some greater good; in peace, in life, men—and +women—sometimes do the same. When the time comes that you comprehend +what our actual relation is, I—I want you to know that I understand +that whatever you have done was done because you believed it might +bring about the greater good. I—I have seen in you—in your +father—only kindness, high honor, sympathy. If I did not know—" +</P> + +<P> +She started, gazing at him; what he said had absolutely no meaning for +her. "What is it that you know?" she demanded. +</P> + +<P> +He did not reply; his hand went out to hers, seized it, crushed it, and +he started away. As he went up the stair—still, in his absorption, +carrying cap and overcoat—she stood staring after him in perplexity. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE FIGHT IN THE STUDY +</H4> + +<P> +Eaton dismissed the man who had been waiting in his rooms for him; he +locked the door and carefully drew down all the window-shades. Then he +put his overcoat, folded as he had been carrying it under his arm, on +the writing table in the center of the room, and from its folds and +pockets took a "breast-drill" such as iron workers use in drilling +steel, an automatic pistol with three clips of cartridges, an electric +flashlight and a little bottle of nitroglycerine. He loaded the pistol +and put it in his pocket; then he carefully inspected the other things. +</P> + +<P> +The room he was in, the largest of his suite, resembled Santoine's +study on the floor below in the arrangement of its windows, though it +was smaller than the study. The writing-desk in its center occupied +much the position of Santoine's large desk; he moved it slightly to +make the relative positions coincide. The couch against the end wall +represented the position of the study's double doors. Eaton switched +out the lights, and starting at the windows, he crossed the room in the +darkness, avoiding the desk, and stopping a few feet to the right of +the couch; here he flashed his light upon the wall at the height of the +little wall-safe to the right of the doors in the study below. A dozen +times he did this, passing from the windows to the position of the +wall-safe and only momentarily flashing his light. +</P> + +<P> +He assured himself thus of being able to pass in the dark from the +windows of Santoine's study to the wall-safe. As the study was larger +than this room, he computed that he must add two steps to what he took +here in each direction. He paid no attention to the position of the +safe to the left of the doors, for he had kept watch of the vase on the +table in the lower hall, and the only sign he had found there had told +him that what he wanted was in the safe to the right. +</P> + +<P> +He raised a shade and window, then, and sat in the dark. The night was +cloudy and very dark; and the lake was smooth with barely a ripple. +Near at hand a steamer passed, blazing with lights, and further out he +saw the mast-head light of some other steamer. The lake was still +ice-locked at its northern end, and so the farther of these steamers, +he knew, was bound to some southern Michigan port; the nearer was one +of the Chicago-Milwaukee boats. For some moments after it had passed, +the waves of its wake washed in and sounded on the shore at the foot of +the bluff. Next Eaton made out the hum of a motor-car approaching the +house. It was Avery, who evidently had been out and was now returning; +the chauffeur spoke the name in his reply to some question as the car +swung away to the garage. Eaton still sat in the dark. By degrees all +noises ceased in the house, even in the servants' quarters. Twice +Eaton leaned forward looking out of the window and found all quiet; but +both times he settled back in his chair and waited. +</P> + +<P> +The wash of waves, as from a passing boat, sounded again on the shore. +Eaton leaned nearer the window and stared out. There was no light in +sight showing any boat; but the waves on the shore were distinct; +indeed, they had been more distinct than those from the steamer. They +must have been made by a large vessel or from a small ship close in and +moving fast. The waves came in first on the north and swept south; +Eaton strained his eyes and now saw a vague blur off to the south and +within half a mile of shore—a boat without lights. If it had passed +at high speed, it had stopped now. He watched this for some time; but +he could make out no more, and soon he could not be sure even that the +blur was there. +</P> + +<P> +He gazed at the south wing of the house; it was absolutely dark and +quiet; the windows of the first floor were closed and the curtains +drawn; but to-night there was no light in the room. The windows of the +room on the second floor were open; Basil Santoine was undoubtedly +asleep. Eaton gazed again at the lower room. Then in the dark he +moved to the table where he had left his overcoat, and distributed in +his pockets and within his clothing the articles he had brought; and +now he felt again in the overcoat and brought out a short, strong bar +of steel curved and flattened at one end—a "jimmy" for forcing the +windows. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton slipped off his shoes and went to his room door; he opened the +door and found the hall dark and quiet. He stepped out, closing his +door carefully behind him, and with great caution he descended the +stairs. Below, all was quiet; the red embers and glowing charcoal of +wood fires which had blazed on the hearths gave the only light. Eaton +crept to the doors of the blind man's study and softly tried them. +They were, as he had expected, locked. He went to a window in the +drawing-room which was set in a recess and so placed that it was not +visible from other windows in the house. He opened this window and let +himself down upon the lawn. +</P> + +<P> +There he stood still for a moment, listening. There was no alarm of +any sort. He crept along beside the house till he came to the first +windows of the south wing. He tried these carefully and then went on. +He gained the south corner of the wing, unobserved or at least without +sign that he had been seen, and went on around it. +</P> + +<P> +He stopped at the first high French window on the south. It was partly +hidden from view from south and west by a column of the portico, and +was the one he had selected for his operations; as he tried to slip his +jimmy under the bottom of the sash, the window, to his amazement, +opened silently upon its hinges; it had not been locked. The heavy +curtains within hung just in front of him; he put out his hand and +parted them. Then he started back in astonishment and crouched close +to the ground; inside the room was a man moving about, flashing an +electric torch before him and then exploring an instant in darkness and +flashing his torch again. +</P> + +<P> +The unexpectedness of this sight took for an instant Eaton's breath and +power of moving; he had not been at all prepared for this; now he knew +suddenly that he ought to have been prepared for it. If the man within +the room was not the one who had attacked him with the motor, he was +closely allied with that man, and what he was after now was the same +thing Eaton was after. Eaton looked about behind him; no one +apparently had been left on watch outside. He drew his pistol, and +loosing the safety, he made it ready to fire; with his left hand, he +clung to the short, heavy jimmy. He stepped into the great room +through the curtains, taking care they did not jingle the rings from +which they hung; he carefully let the curtains fall together behind +him, and treading noiselessly in his stocking feet, he advanced upon +the man, moving forward in each period of darkness between the flashes +of the electric torch. +</P> + +<P> +The man, continuing to flash his light about, plainly had heard +nothing, and the curtains had prevented him from being warned by the +chill of the night air that the window was open; but now, at the +further side of the room, another electric torch flashed out. Another +man had been in the room; he neither alarmed nor was alarmed by the man +flashing the first light; each had known the other's presence before. +There were at least two men in the room, working together—or rather, +one was working, the other supervising; for Eaton heard now a steady, +almost inaudible grinding noise as the second man worked. Eaton halted +again and waited; if there were two, there might be others. +</P> + +<P> +The discovery of the second man had not made Eaton afraid; his pulses +were beating faster and hotter, and he felt the blood rushing to his +head and his hands growing cold with his excitement; but he was +conscious of no fear. He crouched and crept forward noiselessly again. +No other light appeared in the room, and there was no sound elsewhere +from the darkness; but the man who supervised had moved closer to the +other. The grinding noise had stopped; it was followed by a sharp +click; the men, side by side, were bending over something; and the +light of the man who had been working, for a fraction of a second shot +into the face of the other. It did not delay at all; it was a purely +accidental flash and could not have been said to show the features at +all—only a posture, an expression, a personality of a strong and cruel +man. He muttered some short, hoarse imprecation at the other; but +before Eaton heard the voice, he had stopped as if struck, and his +breath had gone from him. +</P> + +<P> +His instant's glimpse of that face astounded, stunned, stupefied him. +He could not have seen that man! The fact was impossible! He must +have been mad; his mind must have become unreliable to let him even +imagine it. Then came the sound of the voice—the voice of the man +whose face he had seen! It was he! And, in place of the paralysis of +the first instant, now a wild, savage throe of passion seized Eaton; +his pulses leaped so it seemed they must burst his veins, and he gulped +and choked. He had not filled in with insane fancy the features of the +man whom he had seen; the voice witnessed too that the man in the dark +by the wall was he whom Eaton—if he could have dreamed such a fact as +now had been disclosed—would have circled the world to catch and +destroy; yet now with the destruction of that man in his power—for he +had but to aim and empty his automatic pistol at five paces—such +destruction at this moment could not suffice; mere shooting that man +would be petty, ineffectual. Eaton's fingers tightened on the handle +of his pistol, but he held it now not as a weapon to fire but as a dull +weight with which to strike. The grip of his left hand clamped onto +the short steel bar, and with lips parted—breathing once, it seemed, +for each heartbeat and yet choking, suffocating—he leaped forward. +</P> + +<P> +At the same instant—so that he could not have been alarmed by Eaton's +leap—the man who had been working moved his torch, and the light fell +upon Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"Look out!" the man cried in alarm to his companion; with the word the +light of the torch vanished. +</P> + +<P> +The man toward whom Eaton rushed did not have time to switch off his +light; he dropped it instead; and as Eaton sprang for him, he crouched. +Eaton, as he struck forward, found nothing; but below his knees, Eaton +felt a man's powerful arms tackling him; as he struggled to free +himself, a swift, savage lunge lifted him from his feet; he was thrown +and hurled backwards. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton ducked his head forward and struggled to turn, as he went down, +so that a shoulder and not his head or back would strike the floor +first. He succeeded in this, though in his effort he dropped the +jimmy. He clung with his right hand to the pistol, and as he struck +the floor, the pistol shot off; the flash of flame spurted toward the +ceiling. Instantly the grip below his knees was loosed; the man who +had tackled him and hurled him back had recoiled in the darkness. +Eaton got to his feet but crouched and crept about behind a table, +aiming his pistol over it in the direction in which he supposed the +other men must be. The sound of the shot had ceased to roar through +the room; the gases from the powder only made the air heavier. The +other two men in the room also waited, invisible and silent. The only +light, in the great curtained room, came from the single electric torch +lying on the floor. This lighted the legs of a chair, a corner of a +desk and a circle of books in the cases on the wall. As Eaton's eyes +became more accustomed to the darkness, he could see vague shapes of +furniture. If a man moved, he might be made out; but if he stayed +still, probably he would remain indistinguishable. +</P> + +<P> +The other men seemed also to have recognized this; no one moved in the +room, and there was complete silence. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton knelt on one knee behind his table; now he was wildly, exultantly +excited; his blood leaped hotly to his hand pointing his pistol; he +panted, almost audibly, for breath, but though his pulse throbbed +through his head too, his mind was clear and cool as he reckoned his +situation and his chances. He had crossed the Pacific, the Continent, +he had schemed and risked everything with the mere hope of getting into +this room to discover evidence with which to demand from the world +righting of the wrong which had driven him as a fugitive for five +years; and here he found the man who was the cause of it all, before +him in the same room a few paces away in the dark! +</P> + +<P> +For it was impossible that this was not that man; and Eaton knew now +that this was he who must have been behind and arranging and directing +the attacks upon him, Eaton had not only seen him and heard his voice, +but he had felt his grasp; that sudden, instinctive crouch before a +charge, and the savage lunge and tackle were the instant, natural acts +of an old linesman on a championship team in the game of football as it +was played twenty years before. That lift of the opponent off his feet +and the heavy lunge hurling him back to fall on his head was what one +man—in the rougher, more cruel days of the college game—had been +famous for. On the football field that throw sufficed to knock a +helmeted opponent unconscious; here it was meant, beyond doubt, to do +more. +</P> + +<P> +Upon so much, at least, Eaton's mind at once was clear; here was his +enemy whom he must destroy if he himself were not first destroyed. +Other thoughts, recasting of other relations altered or overturned in +their bearing by the discovery of this man here—everything else could +and must wait upon the mighty demand of that moment upon Eaton to +destroy this enemy now or be himself destroyed. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton shook in his passion; yet coolly he now realized that his left +shoulder, which had taken the shock of his fall, was numb. He shifted +his pistol to cover a vague form which had seemed to move; but, if it +had stirred, it was still again now. Eaton strained to listen. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed certain that the noise of the shot, if not the sound of the +struggle which preceded it, must have raised an alarm, though the room +was in a wing and shut off by double doors from the main part of the +house; it was possible that the noise had not gone far; but it must +have been heard in the room directly above and connected with the study +by a staircase at the head of which was a door. Basil Santoine, as +Eaton knew, slept above; a nurse must be waiting on duty somewhere +near. Eaton had seen the row of buttons which the blind man had within +arm's-length with which he must be able to summon every servant in the +house. So it could not last much longer now—this deadlock in the +dark—the two facing one, and none of them daring to move. And one of +the two, at least, seemed to have recognized that. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had moved, warily and carefully, but he had moved; a revolver +flashed before him. Instantly and without consciousness that his +finger pulled the trigger, Eaton's pistol flashed back. In front of +him, the flame flashed again, and another spurt of fire spat at one +side. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton fired back at this—he was prostrate on the floor now, and +whether he had been hit or not he did not yet know, or whether the +blood flowing down his face was only from a splinter sprayed from the +table behind which he had hid. He fired again, holding his pistol far +out to one side to confuse the aim of the others; he thought that they +too were doing the same and allowed for it in his aim. He pulled his +trigger a ninth time—he had not counted his shots, but he knew he had +had seven cartridges in the magazine and one in the barrel—and the +pistol clicked without discharging. He rolled over further away from +the spot where he had last fired and pulled an extra clip of cartridges +from his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +The blood was flowing hot over his face. He made no effort to staunch +it or even to feel with his fingers to find exactly where or how badly +he had been hit. He jerked the empty cartridge clip from his pistol +butt and snapped in the other. He swept his sleeve over his face to +clear the blood from his brows and eyes and stared through the dark +with pistol at arm's-length loaded and ready. Blood spurted over his +face again; another sweep of his sleeve cleared it; and he moved his +pistol-point back and forth in the dark. The flash of the firing from +the other two revolvers had stopped; the roar of the shots had ceased +to deafen. Eaton had not counted the shots at him any better than he +had kept track of his own firing; but he knew now that the other two +must have emptied their magazines as well as he. It was possible, of +course, that he had killed one of them or wounded one mortally; but he +had no way to know that. He could hear the click as one of the men +snapped his revolver shut again after reloading; then another click +came. Both the others had reloaded. +</P> + +<P> +"All right?" the voice which Eaton knew questioned the other. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," came the reply. +</P> + +<P> +But, if they were all right, they made no offer to fire first again. +Nor yet did they dare to move. Eaton knew they lay on the floor like +himself. They lay with fingers on trigger, as he also lay, waiting +again for him to move so they could shoot at him. But surely now the +sound of the firing in that room must have reached the man in the room +above; surely he must be summoning his servants! +</P> + +<P> +Eaton listened; there was still no sound from the rest of the house. +But overhead now, he heard an almost imperceptible pattering—the sound +of a bare-footed man crossing the floor; and he knew that the blind man +in the bedroom above was getting up. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS +</H4> + +<P> +Basil Santoine was oversensitive to sound, as are most of the blind; in +the world of darkness in which he lived, sounds were by far the most +significant—and almost the only—means he had of telling what went on +around him; he passed his life in listening for or determining the +nature of sounds. So the struggle which ended in Eaton's crash to the +floor would have waked him without the pistol-shot immediately +following. That roused him wide-awake immediately and brought him +sitting up in bed, forgetful of his own condition. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine at once recognized the sound as a shot; but in the instant of +waking, he had not been able to place it more definitely than to know +that it was close. His hand went at once to the bellboard, and he rang +at the same time for the nurse outside his door and for the steward. +But for a few moments after that first shot, nothing followed; there +was silence. Santoine was not one of those who doubt their hearing; +that was the sense in which the circumstances of his life made him +implicitly trust; he had heard a shot near by; the fact that nothing +more followed did not make him doubt it; it made him think to explain +it. +</P> + +<P> +It was plain that no one else in the house had been stirred by it; for +his windows were open and other windows in bedrooms in the main part of +the house were open; no one had raised any cry of alarm. So the shot +was where he alone had heard it; that meant indoors, in the room below. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine pressed the bells quickly again and sat up straighter and more +strained; no one breaking into the house for plate or jewelry would +enter through that room; he would have to break through double doors to +reach any other part of the house; Santoine did not consider the +possibility of robbery of that sort long enough to have been said to +consider it at all; what he felt was that the threat which had been +hanging vaguely over himself ever since Warden's murder was being +fulfilled. But it was not Santoine himself that was being attacked; it +was something Santoine possessed. There was only one sort of valuable +article for which one might enter that room below. And those articles— +</P> + +<P> +The blind man clenched his jaw and pressed the bells to call all the +men-servants in the house and Avery also. But still he got no response. +</P> + +<P> +A shot in the room below meant, of course, that in addition to the +intruder there must be a defender; the defender might have been the one +who fired or the one who was killed. For it seemed likely, in the +complete silence now, that whoever had fired had disposed of his +adversary and was undisturbed. At that moment the second shot—the +first fired at Eaton—rang out below; Eaton's return fire followed +nearly simultaneously, and then the shot of the third man. These +explosions and the next three the blind man in bed above was able to +distinguish; there were three men, at least, in the room below firing +at each other; then, as the automatic revolvers roared on, he no longer +could separate attack and reply; there might be three men, there might +be half a dozen; the fusillade of the automatics overlapped; it was +incessant. Then all at once the firing stopped; there was no sound or +movement of any sort; everything seemed absolutely still below. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man pressed and pressed the buttons on his bellboard. Any +further alarm, after the firing below, seemed superfluous. But his +wing of the house had been built for him proof against sound in the +main portion of the building; the house, therefore, was deadened to +noise within the wing. Santoine, accustomed to considering the manner +in which sounds came to himself, knew how these sounds would come to +others. Coming from the open windows of the wing and entering the open +windows of the other parts of the house, they would not appear to the +household to come from within the house at all; they would appear to +come from some part of the grounds or from the beach. +</P> + +<P> +Yet some one or more than one from his house must be below or have been +there. Santoine pressed all the bells again and then got up. He had +heard absolutely no sound outside, as must be made by any one escaping +from the room below; but the battle seemed over. One side must have +destroyed the other. From the character of the fighting, it was most +probable that some one had secretly entered the room—Santoine thought +of that one definitely now as the man he was entertaining as Eaton; a +servant, or some one else from the house, had surprised him in the room +and was shot; other servants, roused by the alarm, rushed in and were +shot. Santoine counted that, if his servants had survived, one of them +must be coming to tell him what had happened. But there was no noise +now nor any movement at all below. His side had been beaten, or both +sides had ceased to exist. Those alternatives alone occurred to the +blind man; the number of shots fired within the confines of the room +below precluded any other explanation. He did not imagine the fact +that the battle had been fought in the dark; himself perpetually in the +dark, he thought of others always in the light. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man stood barefooted on the floor, his hands clasping in one +of the bitterest moments of his rebellion against, and defiance of, his +helplessness of blindness. Below him—as he believed—his servants had +been sacrificing life for him; there in that room he held in trust that +which affected the security, the faith, the honor of others; his +guarding that trust involved his honor no less. And particularly, now, +he knew he was bound, at whatever cost, to act; for he did not doubt +now but that his half-prisoned guest, whom Santoine had not +sufficiently guarded, was at the bottom of the attack. The blind man +believed, therefore, that it was because of his own retention here of +Eaton that the attack had been made, his servants had been killed, the +private secrets of his associates were in danger. Santoine crossed to +the door of the hall and opened it and called. No one answered +immediately; he started to call again; then he checked himself and shut +the door, and opened that to the top of the stairs descending to his +study below. +</P> + +<P> +The smoke and fumes of the firing rushed into his face; it half choked +him; but it decided him. He was going to go down. Undoubtedly there +was danger below; but that was why he did not call again at the other +door for some one else to run a risk for him. Basil Santoine, always +held back and always watched and obliged to submit to guard even of +women in petty matters because of his blindness, held one thing dearer +far than life—and that thing was the trust which other men reposed in +him. Since it was that trust which was threatened, the impulse now, in +that danger, to act for himself and not be protected and pushed back by +any one who merely could see, controlled him. +</P> + +<P> +He put his hand on the rail and started to descend the stairs. He was +almost steady in step and he had firm grasp on the rail; he noticed +that now to wonder at it. When he had aroused at the sound of firing, +his blindness, as always when something was happening about him, was +obtruded upon him. He felt helpless because he was blind, not because +he had been injured. He had forgotten entirely that for almost two +weeks he had not stirred from bed; he had risen and stood and walked, +without staggering, to the door and to the top of the stairs before, +now, he remembered. So what he already had done showed him that he had +merely again to put his injury from his mind and he could go on. He +went down the stairs almost steadily. +</P> + +<P> +There was still no sound or any evidence of any one below. The gases +of the firing were clearing away; the blind man could feel the slight +breeze which came in through the windows of his bedroom and went with +him down the stairs; and now, as he reached the lower steps, there was +no other sound in the room but the tread of the blind man's bare feet +on the stairs. This sound was slight, but enough to attract attention +in the silence there. Santoine halted on the next to the last +step—the blind count stairs, and he had gone down twenty-one—and +realized fully his futility; but now he would not retreat or merely +call for help. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is here?" he asked distinctly. "Is any one here? Who is here?" +</P> + +<P> +No one answered. And now Santoine knew by the sense which let him feel +whether it was night or day, that the room was really dark—dark for +others as well as for himself; the lights were not burning. So an +exaltation, a sense of physical capability, came to Santoine; in the +dark he was as fit, as capable as any other man—not more capable, for, +though he was familiar with the room, the furniture had been moved in +the struggle; he had heard the overturning of the chairs. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine stepped down on the floor, and in his uncertainty as to the +position of the furniture, felt along the wall. There were bookcases +there, but he felt and passed along them swiftly, until he came to the +case which concealed the safe at the left side of the doors. The books +were gone from that case; his bare toes struck against them where they +had been thrown down on the floor. The blind man, his pulse beating +tumultuously, put his hand through the case and felt the panel behind. +That was slid back exposing the safe; and the door of the safe stood +open. Santoine's hands felt within the safe swiftly. The safe was +empty. +</P> + +<P> +He recoiled from it, choking back an ejaculation. The entry to this +room had been made for the purpose which he supposed; and the thieves +must have succeeded in their errand. The blind man, in his uselessness +for pursuit, could delay calling others to act for him no longer. He +started toward the bell, when some scrape on the floor—not of the sort +to be accounted for by an object moved by the wind—sounded behind him. +Santoine swung toward the sound and stood listening again; and then, +groping with his hands stretched out before him, he left the wall and +stepped toward the center of the room. He took two steps—three, +four—with no result; then his foot trod into some fluid, thick and +sticky and not cold. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine stooped and put a finger-tip into the fluid and brought it +near his nose. It was what he supposed it must be—blood. He raised +his foot and with his great toe traced the course of the blood; it led +to one side, and then the blind man's toe touched some hard, metal +object which was warm. He stooped and picked it up and felt over it +with his fingers. It was an electric torch with the light turned on. +Santoine stood holding it with the warm end—the lighted end—turned +away from him; he swiftly switched it off; what put Santoine at a +disadvantage with other men was light. But since there had been this +light, there might be others; there had been at least three men, +perhaps, therefore, three lights. Santoine's senses could not perceive +light so dim and soft; he stood trying fruitlessly to determine whether +there were other lights. +</P> + +<P> +He could hear now some one breathing—more than one person. From the +house, still shut off by its double, sound-proof doors, he could hear +nothing; but some one outside the house was hurrying up to the open +window at the south end of the room. +</P> + +<P> +That one came to, or just inside the window, parting the curtains. He +was breathing hard from exertion or from excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it?" Santoine challenged clearly. +</P> + +<P> +"Basil!" Blatchford's voice exclaimed his recognition in amazement. +"Basil; that is you! What are you doing down here?" Blatchford +started forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" Santoine ordered sharply. "Don't come any further; stand +there!" +</P> + +<P> +Blatchford protested but obeyed. "What is it? What are you doing down +here, Basil? What is the matter here? What has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"What brought you here?" Santoine demanded instead of reply. "You were +running outside; why? What was out there? What did you see?" +</P> + +<P> +"See? I didn't see anything—except the window here open when I came +up. But I heard shots, Basil. I thought they were toward the road. I +went out there; but I found nothing. I was coming back when I saw the +window open. I'm sure I heard shots." +</P> + +<P> +"They were here," Santoine said. "But you can see; and you just heard +the shots. You didn't see anything!" the blind man accused. "You +didn't see any one going away from here!" +</P> + +<P> +"Basil, what has happened here?" +</P> + +<P> +Santoine felt again the stickiness at his feet. "Three or four persons +fought in this room, Wallace. Some—or one was hurt. There's blood on +the floor. There are two here I can hear breathing; I suppose they're +hurt. Probably the rest are gone. The room's all dark, isn't it? +That is you moving about now, Wallace?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What are you doing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Looking for the light." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Basil?" +</P> + +<P> +"Get help first. I think those who aren't hurt are gone. They must be +gone. But—get help first, Wallace." +</P> + +<P> +"And leave you here?" Blatchford rejoined. He had not halted again; +the blind man heard his cousin still moving along the wall. The +electric switch clicked, and Santoine knew that the room was flooded +with light. Santoine straightened, strained, turning his head a little +to better listen. With the flashing on of the light, he had heard the +sharp, involuntary start of Blatchford as he saw the room; and, besides +that, Santoine heard movement now elsewhere in the room. Then the +blind man heard his friend's cry. "Good God!" +</P> + +<P> +It was not, Santoine instantly sensed, from mere surprise or fright at +finding some intruder in the room; that must have been expected. This +was from something more astounding, from something incredible. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" Santoine cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God! Basil!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who is it, Wallace?" the blind man knew now that his friend's +incoherence came from recognition of some one, not alone from some +sight of horror. "Who is it, Wallace?" he repeated, curbing himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Basil! It is—-it must be—I know him! It is—" +</P> + +<P> +A shot roared in front of Santoine. The blind man, starting back at +the shock of it, drew in the powder-gas with his breath; but the bullet +was not for him. Instead, he heard his friend scream and choke and +half call, half cough. +</P> + +<P> +"Wallace!" Santoine cried out; but his voice was lost in the roar of +another shot. This was not fired by the same one who had just fired; +at least, it was not from the same part of the room; and instantly, +from another side, a third shot came. Then, in the midst of rush and +confusion, another shot roared; the light was out again; then all was +gone; the noise was outside; the room was still except for a cough and +choke as Blatchford—somewhere on the floor in front of the blind +man—tried again to speak. +</P> + +<P> +Basil Santoine, groping with his hands, found him. The blind man knelt +and with his fingers went over his cousin's face; he found the wound on +the neck where Blatchford's life was running away. He was still +conscious. Santoine knew that he was trying his best to speak, to say +just one word—a name—to tell whom he had seen and who had shot him; +but he could not. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine put his hand over a hand of his cousin. "That's all right, +Wally; that's all right," he assured him. And now he knew that +Blatchford's consciousness was going forever. Santoine knew what must +be most on his friend's mind at that last moment as it had been most on +his mind during more than thirty years. "And about my blindness, +Wallace, that was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd never +have done what I have if I hadn't been blind." +</P> + +<P> +Blatchford's fingers closed tightly on Santoine's; they did not relax +but now remained closed, though without strength. The blind man bowed +and then lifted his head. His friend was dead, and others were rushing +into the room—the butler, one of the chauffeurs, Avery, more +menservants; the light was on again, and amid the tumult and alarms of +the discoveries shown by the light, some rushed to the windows to the +south in pursuit of those who had escaped from the room. Avery and one +or two others rushed up to Santoine; now the blind man heard, above +their cries and alarms, the voice of his daughter. She was beside him, +where he knelt next the body of Blatchford, and she put back others who +crowded about. +</P> + +<P> +"Father! What has happened? Why are you here? Oh, Father, Cousin +Wallace!" +</P> + +<P> +"He is dead," Santoine said. "They shot him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Father; how was it? You—" +</P> + +<P> +"There are none of them in the room?" he asked her in reply. +</P> + +<P> +"None of them?" +</P> + +<P> +Her failure to understand answered him. If any of the men who fought +there had not got away, she would have understood. "They were not all +together," he said. "They were three, at least. One was not with the +others. They fired at each other, I believe, after one shot him." +Santoine's hand was still in Blatchford's. "I heard them below." He +told shortly how he had gone down, how Blatchford had entered and been +shot. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man, still kneeling, heard the ordering and organizing of +others for the pursuit; now women servants from the other part of the +house were taking charge of affairs in the room. He heard Avery +questioning them; none of the servants had had part in the fight in the +room; there had been no signal heard, Santoine was told, upon any of +the bells which he had tried to ring from his room. Eaton was the only +person from the house who was missing. Harriet had gone for a moment; +the blind man called her back and demanded that she stay beside him; he +had not yet moved from Blatchford's body. His daughter returned; her +hand on his shoulder was trembling and cold—he could feel it cold +through the linen of his pajama jacket. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, you must go back to bed!" she commanded uselessly. He would +not stir yet. A servant, at her call, brought a robe which she put +over him, and she drew slippers on his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"They came, at least some of them came,"—Santoine had risen, fighting +down his grief over his cousin's death; he stood holding the robe about +him—"for what was in your safe, Harriet." +</P> + +<P> +"I know; I saw it open." +</P> + +<P> +"What is gone?" Santoine demanded. +</P> + +<P> +He heard her picking up the contents of the safe from the floor and +carrying them to the table and examining them; he was conscious that, +having done this, she stood staring about the room as though to see +whether anything had escaped her search. +</P> + +<P> +"What is gone?" Santoine repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Why—nearly all the formal papers seem to be gone; lists and +agreements relating to a dozen different things." +</P> + +<P> +"None of the correspondence?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; that all seems to be here." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine was breathing quickly; the trust for which he had been ready +to die—for which Blatchford had died—seemed safe; but recognition of +this only emphasized and deepened his perplexity as to what the meaning +had been of the struggle which an instant before had been going on +around him. +</P> + +<P> +"We don't know whether he got it, then, or not!" It was Avery's voice +which broke in upon him; Santoine merely listened. +</P> + +<P> +"He? Who?" He heard his daughter's challenge. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Eaton. It is plain enough what happened here, isn't it?" Avery +answered. "He came here to this room for what he was after—for what +he has been after from the first—whatever that may have been! He came +prepared to force the safe and get it! But he was surprised—" +</P> + +<P> +"By whom?" the blind man asked. +</P> + +<P> +"By whomever it is that has been following him. I don't attempt to +explain who they were, Mr. Santoine; for I don't know. But—whoever +they were—in doing this, he laid himself open to attack by them. They +were watching—saw him enter here. They attacked him here. Wallace +switched on the light and recognized him; so he shot Wallace and ran +with whatever he could grab up of the contents of the safe, hoping that +by luck he'd get what he was after." +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't so—it isn't so!" Harriet denied. +</P> + +<P> +Her father checked her; he stood an instant thoughtful. "Who is +directing the pursuit, Donald?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Avery went out at once. The window to the south, which stood open, was +closed. The blind man turned to his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Harriet," he commanded. He put a hand out and touched Harriet's +clothing; he found she had on a heavy robe. She understood that her +father would not move till she had seen the room for him. She gazed +about again, therefore, and told him what she saw. +</P> + +<P> +"There was some sort of a struggle near my safe," she said. +"Chairs—everything there is knocked about." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"There is also blood there—a big spot of it on the floor." +</P> + +<P> +"I found that," said Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +"There is blood behind the table near the middle of the room." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! A man fired from near there, too!" +</P> + +<P> +"There are cartridges on the floor—" +</P> + +<P> +"Cartridges?" +</P> + +<P> +"Cartridge shells, I mean, empty, near both those spots of blood. +There are cartridge shells near the fireplace; but no blood there." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; the bullets?" +</P> + +<P> +"There are marks everywhere—above the mantel, all about." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"There is a bar of iron with a bent end near the table—between it and +the window; there are two flashlights, both extinguished." +</P> + +<P> +"How was the safe opened?" +</P> + +<P> +"The combination has been cut completely away; there is an—an +instrument connected with the electric-light fixture which seems to +have done the cutting. There is a hand-drill, too—I think it is a +hand-drill. The inner door has been drilled through, and the catches +drawn back." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is this?" +</P> + +<P> +The valet, who had been sent to Eaton's room, had returned with his +report. "Mr. Eaton went from his room fully dressed, sir," he said to +Santoine, "except for his shoes. I found all his shoes in his room." +</P> + +<P> +During the report, the blind man felt his daughter's grasp on his arm +become tense and relax and tighten again. Then, as though she realized +she was adding to his comprehension of what she had already betrayed, +she suddenly took her hand from her father's arm. Santoine turned his +face toward his daughter. Another twinge racked the tumult of his +emotions. He groped and groped again, trying to catch his daughter's +hand; but she avoided him. She directed servants to lift Blatchford's +body and told them where to bear it. After that, Santoine resisted no +longer. He let the servants, at his daughter's direction, help him to +his room. His daughter went with him and saw that he was safe in bed; +she stood beside him while the nurse washed the blood-splotches from +his hands and feet. When the nurse had finished, he still felt his +daughter's presence; she drew nearer to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Father?" she questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't agree with Donald, do you?—that Mr. Eaton went to the study +to—to get something, and that whoever has been following him found him +there and—and interrupted him and he killed Cousin Wallace?" +</P> + +<P> +Santoine was silent an instant. "That seems the correct explanation, +Harriet," he evaded. "It does not fully explain; but it seems correct +as far as it goes. If Donald asks you what my opinion is, tell him it +is that." +</P> + +<P> +He felt his daughter shrink away from him. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man made no move to draw her back to him; he lay perfectly +still; his head rested flat upon the pillows; his hands were clasped +tightly together above the coverlet. He had accused himself, in the +room below, because, by the manner he had chosen to treat Eaton, he had +slain the man he loved best and had forced a friendship with Eaton on +his daughter which, he saw, had gone further than mere friendship; it +had gone, he knew now, even to the irretrievable between man and +woman—had brought her, that is, to the state where, no matter what +Eaton was or did, she must suffer with him! But Santoine was not +accusing himself now; he was feeling only the fulfillment of that +threat against those who had trusted him with their secrets, which he +had felt vaguely after the murder of Gabriel Warden and, more plainly +with the events of each succeeding day, ever since. For that threat, +just now, had culminated in his presence in purposeful, violent action; +but Santoine in his blindness had been unable—and was still +unable—-to tell what that action meant. +</P> + +<P> +Of the three men who had fought in his presence in the room below—one +before the safe, one at the fireplace, one behind the table—which had +been Eaton? What had he been doing there? Who were the others? What +had any of them—or all of them—wanted? For Santoine, the answer to +these questions transcended now every personal interest. So, in his +uncertainty, Santoine had drawn into himself—withdrawn confidence in +his thoughts from all around, from Donald Avery, even from his +daughter—until the answer should be found. His blind eyes were turned +toward the ceiling, and his long, well-shaped fingers trembled with the +intensity of his thought. But he realized, even in his absorption, +that his daughter had drawn away from him. So, presently, he stirred. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet," he said. +</P> + +<P> +It was the nurse who answered him. "Miss Santoine has gone downstairs. +What is it you want of her, Mr. Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +The blind man hesitated, and checked the impulse he had had. +"Nothing," he replied. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +PURSUIT +</H4> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine, still clad only in the heavy robe over her nightdress +and in slippers, went from her father's bedroom swiftly down into the +study again; what she was going to do there she did not definitely +know. She heard, as she descended the stairs, the steward in the hall +outside the study calling up the police stations of the neighboring +villages and giving news of what had happened and instructions to watch +the roads; but as she reached the foot of the stairs, a servant closed +the study doors. The great, curtained room in its terrifying disorder +was brightly lighted, empty, absolutely still. She had given +directions that, except for the removal of Blatchford's body, all must +be left as it was in the room till the arrival of the police. She +stood an instant with hands pressed against her breast, staring down at +the spots upon the floor. +</P> + +<P> +There were three of these spots now—one where Blatchford's body had +lain. They were soaking brownly into the rugs but standing still red +and thick upon the polished floor. Was one of them Eaton's? +</P> + +<P> +Something within her told her that it was, and the fierce desire to go +to him, to help him, was all she felt just now. It was Donald Avery's +and her father's accusation of Eaton that had made her feel like this. +She had been feeling, the moment before Donald had spoken, that Philip +Eaton had played upon her that evening in making her take him to his +confederate in the ravine in order to plan and consummate something +here. Above her grief and horror at the killing of her cousin and the +danger to her father, had risen the anguish of her guilt with Eaton, +the agony of her betrayal. But their accusation that Eaton had killed +Wallace Blatchford, seeing him, knowing him—in the light—had swept +all that away; all there was of her seemed to have risen in denial of +that. Before her eyes, half shut, she saw again the body of her cousin +Wallace lying in its blood on the floor, with her father kneeling +beside it, his blind eyes raised in helplessness to the light; but she +saw now another body too—Eaton's—not here—-lying somewhere in the +bare, wind-swept woods, shot down by those pursuing him. +</P> + +<P> +She looked at the face of the clock and then down to the pendulum to +see whether it had stopped; but the pendulum was swinging. The hands +stood at half past one o'clock; now she recalled that, in her first +wild gaze about the room when she rushed in with the others, she had +seen the hands showing a minute or so short of twenty minutes past one. +Not quite a quarter of an hour had passed since the alarm! The pursuit +could not have moved far away. She reopened the window through which +the pursuers had passed and stepped out onto the dark lawn. She stood +drawing the robe about her against the chill night air, dazed, stunned. +The house behind her, the stables, the chauffeurs' quarters above the +garages, the gardeners' cottages, all blazed now with light, but she +saw no one about. The menservants—except the steward—had joined the +pursuit; she heard them to the south beating the naked woods and +shrubbery and calling to each other. A half mile down the beach she +heard shouts and a shot; she saw dimly through the night in that +direction a boat without lights moving swiftly out upon the lake. +</P> + +<P> +Her hands clenched and pressed against her breast; she stood straining +at the sounds of the man-hunt. It had turned west, it seemed; it was +coming back her way, but to the west of the house. She staggered a +little and could not stand; she stepped away from the house in the +direction of the pursuit; following the way it seemed to be going, she +crossed the lawn toward the garage. A light suddenly shone out there, +and she went on. +</P> + +<P> +The wide door at the car driveway was pushed open, and some one was +within working over a car. His back was toward her, and he was bent +over the engine, but, at the glance, she knew him and recoiled, +gasping. It was Eaton. He turned at the same instant and saw her. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh; it's you!" he cried to her. +</P> + +<P> +Her heart, which almost had ceased to beat, raced her pulses again. At +the sound she had made on the driveway, he had turned to her as a +hunted thing, cornered, desperate, certain that whoever came must be +against him. His cry to her had recognized her as the only one who +could come and not be against him; it had hailed her with relief as +bringing him help. He could not have cried out so at that instant at +sight of her if he had been guilty of what they had accused. Now she +saw too, as he faced her, blood flowing over his face; blood soaked a +shoulder of his coat, and his left arm dangling at his side; but now, +as he threw back his head and straightened in his relief at finding it +was she who had surprised him, she saw in him an exultation and +excitement she had never seen before—something which her presence +alone could not have caused. To-night, she sensed vaguely, something +had happened to him which had changed his attitude toward her and +everything else. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it's I!" she cried quickly and rushed to him. "It's I! It's I!" +wildly she reassured him. "You're hurt!" She touched his shoulder. +"You're hurt! I knew you were!" +</P> + +<P> +He pushed her back with his right hand and held her away from him. +"Did they hurt your father?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hurt Father? No." +</P> + +<P> +"But Mr. Blatchford—" +</P> + +<P> +"Dead," she answered dully. +</P> + +<P> +"They killed him, then!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; they—" She iterated. He was telling her +now—unnecessarily—that he had had nothing to do with it; it was the +others who had done that. +</P> + +<P> +He released her and wiped the blood from his eyes with the heel of his +hand. "The poor old man," he said, "—the poor old man!" +</P> + +<P> +She drew toward him in the realization that he could find sympathy for +others even in such a time as this. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's the key?" he demanded of her. He stared over her again but +without surprise even in his eyes, at her state; if she was there at +all at that time, that was the only way she could have come. +</P> + +<P> +"The key?" +</P> + +<P> +"The key for the battery and magneto—the key you start the car with." +</P> + +<P> +She ran to a shelf and brought it to him; he used it and pressed the +starting lever. The engine started and he sprang to the seat. His +left arm still hanging useless at his side; he tried to throw in the +gears with his right hand; but the mechanism of the car was strange to +him. She leaped up beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Move over!" she commanded. "It's this way!" +</P> + +<P> +He slipped to the side and she took the driving seat, threw in the +gears expertly, and the car shot from the garage. She switched on the +electric headlights as they dashed down the driveway and threw a bright +white glare upon the roadway a hundred yards ahead to the gates. +Beyond the gates the public pike ran north and south. +</P> + +<P> +"Which way?" she demanded of him, slowing the car. +</P> + +<P> +"Stop!" he cried to her. "Stop and get out! You mustn't do this!" +</P> + +<P> +"You could not pass alone," she said. "Father's men would close the +gates upon you." +</P> + +<P> +"The men? There are no men there now—they went to the beach—before! +They must have heard something there! It was their being there that +turned him—the others back. They tried for the lake and were turned +back and got away in a machine; I followed—back up here!" +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Santoine glanced at the face of the man beside her. She could +see his features only vaguely; she could see no expression; only the +position of his head. But now she knew that she was not helping him to +run away; he was no longer hunted—at least he was not only hunted; he +was hunting others too. As the car rolled down upon the open gates and +she strained forward in the seat beside her, she knew that what he was +feeling was a wild eagerness in this pursuit. +</P> + +<P> +"Right or left—quick!" she demanded of him. "I'll take one or the +other." +</P> + +<P> +"Right," he shot out; but already, remembering the direction of the +pursuit, she had chosen the road to the right and raced on. He caught +the driving wheel with his good hand and tried to take it from her; she +resisted and warned him: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to drive this car; if you try to take it, it'll throw us +both into the ditch." +</P> + +<P> +"If we catch up with them, they'll shoot; give me the car," he begged. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll catch up with them first." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you'll do what I say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she made the bargain. +</P> + +<P> +"There are their tracks!" he pointed for her. +</P> + +<P> +The road was soft with the rains that precede spring, and she saw in +the bright flare of the headlights, where some heavy car, fast driven, +had gouged deep into the earth at the roadside; she noted the pattern +of the tires. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know those are their tracks?" she asked him. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you, I followed them to where they got their machine." +</P> + +<P> +"Who are they?" +</P> + +<P> +"The men who shot Mr. Blatchford." +</P> + +<P> +"Who are they?" she put to him directly again. +</P> + +<P> +He waited, and she knew that he was not going to answer her directly. +She was running the car now at very high speed; the tiny electric light +above the speedometer showed they were running at forty-five miles an +hour and the strip was still turning to higher figures. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he caught her arm. The road had forked, and he pointed to the +left; she swung the car that way, again seeing as they made the turn, +the tire-tracks they were following. She was not able now to watch +these tracks; she could watch only the road and car; but she was aware +that the way they were following had led them into and out of private +grounds. Plainly the men they were following knew the neighborhood +well and had chosen this road in advance as avoiding the more public +roads which might be watched. She noted they were turning always to +the left; now she understood that they were making a great circle to +west and north and returning toward, but well west of, her father's +house; thus she knew that those they were following had made this +circuit to confuse pursuit and that their objective was the great city +to the south. +</P> + +<P> +They were racing now over a little used road which bisected a forested +section still held as acreage; old, rickety wooden bridges spanned the +ravines. One of these appeared in the radiance of the headlight a +hundred yards ahead; the next instant the car was dashing upon it. +Harriet could feel the shake and tremble of the loosely nailed boards +as the driving wheels struck; there was a crash as some strut, below, +gave way; the old bridge bent but recoiled; the car bounded across it, +the rear wheels skidding in the moist earth as they swung off the +boards. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet felt Eaton grab her arm. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't do that again!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't do that again!" he repeated the order; it was too obvious +to tell her it was not safe. +</P> + +<P> +She laughed. Less than five minutes before, as she stood outside the +room where her father's cousin had just been murdered, it had seemed +she could never laugh again. The car raced up a little hill and now +again was descending; the headlights showed another bridge over a +ravine. +</P> + +<P> +"Slow! Stop!" her companion commanded. +</P> + +<P> +She paid no attention and raced the car on; he put his hand on the +wheel and with his foot tried to push hers from the accelerator; but +she fought him; the car swayed and all but ran away as they approached +the bridge. "Give it to me!" she screamed to him and wrenched the car +about. It was upon the bridge and across it; as they skidded upon the +mud of the road again, they could hear the bridge cracking behind. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet!" he pleaded with her. +</P> + +<P> +She steered the car on, recklessly, her heart thumping with more than +the thrill of the chase. "They're the men who tried to kill you, +aren't they?" she rejoined. The speed at which they were going did not +permit her to look about; she had to keep her eyes on the road at that +moment when she knew within herself and was telling the man beside her +that she from that moment must be at one with him. For already she had +said it; as she risked herself in the pursuit, she thought of the men +they were after not chiefly as those who had killed her cousin but as +those who had threatened Eaton. "What do I care what happens to me, if +we catch them?" she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet!" he repeated her name again. +</P> + +<P> +"Philip!" +</P> + +<P> +She felt him shrink and change as she called the name. It had been +clear to her, of course, that, since she had known him, the name he had +been using was not his own. Often she had wondered what his name was; +now she had to know. "What should I call you?" she demanded of him. +</P> + +<P> +"My name," he said, "is Hugh." +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh!" she called it. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh—" She waited for the rest; but he told no more. "Hugh!" she +whispered to herself again his name now. "Hugh!" +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes, which had watched the road for the guiding of the car, had +followed his gesture from time to time pointing out the tracks made by +the machine they were pursuing. These tracks still ran on ahead; as +she gazed down the road, a red glow beyond the bare trees was lighting +the sky. A glance at Hugh told that he also had seen it. +</P> + +<P> +"A fire?" she referred to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like it." +</P> + +<P> +They said no more as they rushed on; but the red glow was spreading, +and yellow flames soon were in sight shooting higher and higher; these +were clouded off for an instant only to appear flaring higher again, +and the breeze brought the smell of seasoned wood burning. +</P> + +<P> +"It's right across the road!" Hugh announced as they neared it. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the bridge over the next ravine," Harriet said. Her foot already +was bearing upon the brake, and the power was shut off; the car coasted +on slowly. For both could see now that the wooden span was blazing +from end to end; it was old wood, swift to burn and going like tinder. +There was no possible chance for the car to cross it. The girl brought +the machine to a stop fifty feet from the edge of the ravine; the fire +was so hot that the gasoline tank would not be safe nearer. She gazed +down at the tire-marks on the road. +</P> + +<P> +"They crossed with their machine," she said to Hugh. +</P> + +<P> +"And fired the bridge behind. They must have poured gasoline over it +and lighted it at both ends." +</P> + +<P> +She sat with one hand still straining at the driving wheel, the other +playing with the gear lever. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no other way across that ravine, I suppose," Hugh questioned +her. +</P> + +<P> +"The other road's back more than a mile, and two miles about." She +threw in the reverse and started to turn. Hugh shook his head. +"That's no use." +</P> + +<P> +"No," she agreed, and stopped the car again. Hugh stepped down on the +ground. A man appeared on the other side of the ravine. He stood and +stared at the burning span and, seeing the machine on the other side, +he scrambled down the slope of the ravine. Eaton met him as he came up +to the road again. The man was one of the artisans—a carpenter or +jack-of-all-work—who had little cottages, with patches for garden, +through the undivided acreage beyond the big estates. He had hastily +and only partly dressed; he stared at Eaton's hurt with astonishment +which increased as he gazed at the girl in the driving seat of the car. +He did not recognize her except as one of the class to whom he owed +employment; he pulled off his cap and stared back to Eaton with wonder. +</P> + +<P> +"What's happened, sir? What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton did not answer, but Harriet now recognized the man. "Mr. +Blatchford was shot to-night at Father's house, Dibley," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Santoine!" Dibley cried. +</P> + +<P> +"We think the men went this way," she continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see any one pass?" Eaton challenged the man. +</P> + +<P> +"In a motor, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; down this road in a motor." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"When?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just now, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Just now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not five minutes ago. Just before I saw the bridge on fire here." +</P> + +<P> +"How was that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I live there just beyond, near the road. I heard my pump going." +</P> + +<P> +"Your pump?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. I've a pump in my front yard. There's no water piped +through here, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. Go on, Dibley." +</P> + +<P> +"I looked out and saw a machine stopped out in the road. One man was +pumping water into a bucket for another." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what did you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, sir. I just watched them. Motor people often stop at my +pump for water." +</P> + +<P> +"I see. Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all about them, sir. I thought nothing about it—they wouldn't +wake me to ask for water; they'd just take it. Then I saw the fire +over there—" +</P> + +<P> +"No; go back," Eaton interrupted. "First, how many men were there in +the car?" +</P> + +<P> +"How many? Three, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton started. "Only three; you're sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir; I could see them plain. There was the two at the pump; one +more stayed in the car." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton seized the man in his intentness. "You're sure there weren't any +more, Dibley? Think; be sure! There weren't three more or even one +more person hidden in the tonneau of the car?" +</P> + +<P> +"The tonneau, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"The back seats, I mean." +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir; I could see into the car. It was almost right below me, sir. +My house has a room above; that's where I was sleeping." +</P> + +<P> +"Then did you watch the men with the water?" +</P> + +<P> +"Watch them, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"What they did with it; you're sure they didn't take it to the rear +seat to give it to some one there. You see, we think one of the men +was hurt," Eaton explained. +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir. I'd noticed if they did that." +</P> + +<P> +"Then did they put it into the radiator—here in front where motorists +use water?" +</P> + +<P> +Dibley stared. "No, sir; I didn't think of it then, but they didn't. +They didn't put it into the car. They took it in their bucket with +them. It was one of those folding buckets motor people have." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton gazed at the man. "Only three, you are sure!" he repeated. "And +none of them seemed to be hurt!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Then they went off in the other direction from the bridge?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. I didn't notice the bridge burning till after they went. +So I came down here." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton let the man go. Dibley looked again at the girl and moved away a +little. She turned to Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"What does that mean?" she called to him. "How many should there have +been in the machine? What did they want with the water?" +</P> + +<P> +"Six!" Eaton told her. "There should have been six in the machine, and +one, at least, badly hurt!" +</P> + +<P> +Dibley stood dully apart, staring at one and then at the other and next +to the flaming bridge. He looked down the road. "There's another car +coming," he announced. "Two cars!" +</P> + +<P> +The double glare from the headlights of a motor shone through the +tree-trunks as the car topped and came swiftly down a rise three +quarters of a mile away and around the last turn back on the road; +another pair of blinding lights followed. There was no doubt that this +must be the pursuit from Santoine's house. Eaton stood beside Harriet, +who had stayed in the driving-seat of the car. +</P> + +<P> +"You know Dibley well, Harriet?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"He's worked on our place. He's dependable," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton put his hand over hers which still clung to the driving wheel. +"I'm going just beside the road here," he said to her, quietly. "I'm +armed, of course. If those are your people, you'd better go back with +them. I'm sure they are; but I'll wait and see." +</P> + +<P> +She caught at his hand. "No; no!" she cried. "You must get as far +away as you can before they come! I'm going back to meet and hold +them." She threw the car into the reverse, backed and turned it and +brought it again onto the road. He came beside her again, putting out +his hand; she seized it. Her hands for an instant clung to it, his to +hers. +</P> + +<P> +"You must go—quick!" she urged; "but how am I to know what becomes of +you—where you are? Shall I hear from you—shall I ever see you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No news will be good news," he said, "until—" +</P> + +<P> +"Until what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Until—" And again that unknown something which a thousand times—it +seemed to her—had checked his word and action toward her made him +pause; but nothing could completely bar them from one another now. +"Until they catch and destroy me, or—until I come to you as—as you +have never known me yet!" +</P> + +<P> +An instant more she clung to him. The double headlights flared into +sight again upon the road, much nearer now and coming fast. She +released him; he plunged into the bushes beside the road, and the damp, +bare twigs lashed against one another at his passage; then she shot her +car forward. But she had made only a few hundred yards when the first +of the two cars met her. It turned to its right to pass, she turned +the same way; the approaching car twisted to the left, she swung hers +to oppose it. The two cars did not strike; they stopped, radiator to +radiator, with rear wheels locked. The second car drew up behind the +first. The glare of her headlights showed her both were full of armed +men. Their headlights, revealing her to them, hushed suddenly their +angry ejaculations. She recognized Avery in the first car; he leaped +out and ran up to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet! In God's name, what are you doing here?" +</P> + +<P> +She sat unmoved in her seat, gazing at him. Men leaping from the cars, +ran past her down the road toward the ravine and the burning bridge. +She longed to look once more in the direction in which Eaton had +disappeared, but she did not. Avery reached up and over the side of +the car and caught her arm, repeating his demand for an explanation. +She could see, turning in her seat, the men who had run past +surrounding Dibley on the road and questioning him. Avery, gaining no +satisfaction from her, let go her arm; his hand dropped to the back of +the seat and he drew it up quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet, there's blood here!" +</P> + +<P> +She did not reply. He stared at her and seemed to comprehend. +</P> + +<P> +He shouted to the men around Dibley and ran toward them. They called +in answer to his shout, and she could see Dibley pointing out to them +the way Eaton had gone. The men, scattering themselves at intervals +along the edge of the wood and, under Avery's direction, posting others +in each direction to watch the road, began to beat through the bushes +after Eaton. She sat watching; she put her cold hands to her face; +then, recalling how just now Eaton's hand had clung to hers, she +pressed them to her lips. Avery came running back to her. +</P> + +<P> +"You drove him out here, Harriet!" he charged. "Dibley says so." +</P> + +<P> +"Him? Who?" she asked coolly. +</P> + +<P> +"Eaton. Dibley did not know him, but describes him. It can have been +no one else. He was hurt!" The triumph in the ejaculation made her +recoil. "He was hurt and could not drive, and you drove him out"—his +tone changed suddenly—"like this!" +</P> + +<P> +For the first time since she had left the garage she was suddenly +conscious that she was in her night-dress with only a robe and +slippers. She drew the robe quickly about her, shrinking and staring +at him. In all the miles she had driven that night with Eaton at her +side, she never a moment had shrunk from her companion or thought how +she was dressed. It was not the exaltation and excitement of what she +was doing that had prevented her; it went deeper than that; it was the +attitude of her companion toward her. But Avery had thought of it, and +made her think of it, at once, even in the excitement under which he +was laboring. +</P> + +<P> +He left her again, running after the men into the woods. She sat in +the car, listening to the sounds of the hunt. She could see, back of +her, in the light of the burning bridge, one of the armed men standing +to watch the road; ahead of her, but almost indistinguishable in the +darkness, was another. The noise of the hunt had moved further into +the woods; she had no immediate fear that they would find Eaton; her +present anxiety was over his condition from his hurts and what might +happen if he encountered those he had been pursuing. In that +neighborhood, with its woods and bushes and ravines to furnish cover, +the darkness made discovery of him by Avery and his men impossible if +Eaton wished to hide himself. Avery appeared to have realized this; +for now the voices in the woods ceased and the men began to straggle +back toward the cars. A party was sent on foot across the ravine, +evidently to guard the road beyond. The rest began to clamber into the +cars. She backed her car away from the one in front of it and started +home. +</P> + +<P> +She had gone only a short distance when the cars again passed her, +traveling at high speed. She began then to pass individual men left by +those in the cars to watch the road. At the first large house she saw +one of the cars again, standing empty. She passed it without stopping. +A mile farther, a little group of men carrying guns stopped her, +recognized her and let her pass. They had been called out, they told +her, by Mr. Avery over the telephone to watch the roads for Eaton; they +had Eaton's description; members of the local police were to take +charge of them and direct them. She comprehended that Avery was +surrounding the vacant acreage where Eaton had taken refuge to be +certain that Eaton did not get away until daylight came and a search +for him was possible. +</P> + +<P> +Lights gleamed at her across the broad lawns of the houses near her +father's great house as she approached it; at the sound of her car, +people came to the windows and looked out. She understood that news of +the murder at Basil Santoine's had aroused the neighbors and brought +them from their beds. +</P> + +<P> +As she left her motor on the drive beside the house—for to-night no +one came from the garages to take it—the little clock upon its dash +marked half past two. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +WAITING +</H4> + +<P> +Harriet went into the house and toward her own rooms; a maid met and +stopped her on the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Santoine sent word that he wishes to see you as soon as you came +in, Miss Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet went on toward her father's room, without stopping at her +own—wet with the drive through the damp night and shivering now with +its chill. Her father's voice answered her knock with a summons to +come in. As she obeyed, pushing the doors open, he dismissed the +nurse; the girl, passing Harriet as she went out, returned Harriet's +questioning look with a reassuring nod; Basil Santoine had endured the +shock and excitement of the night better than could have been expected; +he was quite himself. +</P> + +<P> +As Harriet went toward the bed, her father's blind eyes turned toward +her; he put out his hand and touched her, seeming startled to find her +still in the robe she had worn an hour before and to feel that the robe +was wet. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been, Daughter?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated, drawing the robe out of his hand. "I—I have been +driving Mr. Eaton in a motor," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Helping him to escape?" A spasm crossed the blind man's face. +</P> + +<P> +"He said not; he—he was following the men who shot Cousin Wallace." +</P> + +<P> +The blind man lay for an instant still. "Tell me," he commanded +finally. +</P> + +<P> +She told him, beginning with her discovery of Eaton in the garage and +ending with his leaving her and with Donald Avery's finding her in the +motor; and now she held back one word only—his name which he had told +her, Hugh. Her father listened intently; when she had finished, he +made no move, no comment, no reproach. She had seated herself on the +chair beside his bed; she looked away, then back to him. +</P> + +<P> +"That is not all," she said; and she told him of her expedition with +Eaton to the ravine before the attack in the house. +</P> + +<P> +Again she waited. +</P> + +<P> +"You and Mr. Eaton appear to have become rather well acquainted, +Harriet," he said. "Has he told you nothing about himself which you +have not told me? You have seen nothing concerning him, which you have +not told?" +</P> + +<P> +Her mind went quickly back to the polo game; she felt a flush, which +his blind eyes could not see, dyeing her cheeks and forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered. She was aware that he did not accept the denial, +that he knew she was concealing something. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing?" he asked again. +</P> + +<P> +She put her hands to her face; then she drew them quickly away. +"Nothing," she said steadily. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man waited for a moment; he put out his hand and pressed the +bell which called the steward. Neither spoke until the steward had +come. +</P> + +<P> +"Fairley," Santoine said then, quietly, "Miss Santoine and I have just +agreed that for the present all reports regarding the pursuit of the +men who entered the study last night are to be made direct to me, not +through Miss Santoine or Mr. Avery." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, sir." +</P> + +<P> +She still sat silent after the steward had gone; she thought for an +instant her father had forgotten her presence; then he moved slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"That is all, dear," he said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +She got up and left him, and went to her own rooms; she did not pretend +to herself that she could rest. She bathed and dressed and went +downstairs. The library had windows facing to the west; she went in +there and stood looking out. Somewhere to the west was Eaton, alone, +wounded; she knew she need not think of him yet as actively hunted, +only watched; with daylight the hunt would begin. Would he be able to +avoid the watchers and escape before the actual hunt for him began? +</P> + +<P> +She went out into the hall to the telephone. She could not get the use +of the 'phone at once; the steward was posted there; the calls upon the +'phone were continual—from neighbors who, awakened to learn the news +of Blatchford's death and the hunt for his murderer, called to offer +what help they could, and from the newspapers, which somehow had been +notified. The telephones in the bedrooms all were on this wire. There +was a private telephone in the library; somehow she could not bring +herself to enter that room, closed and to be left with everything in +its disorder until the arrival of the police. The only other telephone +was in her father's bedroom. +</P> + +<P> +She took advantage of a momentary interruption in the calls to call up +the local police station. Hearing her name, the man at the other end +became deferential at once; he told her what was being done, confirming +what she already knew; the roads were being watched and men had been +posted at all near-by railway stations and at the stopping points of +the interurban line to prevent Eaton from escaping that way. The man +spoke only of Eaton; he showed the conviction—gathered, she felt sure, +by telephone conversation with Donald Avery—that Eaton was the +murderer. +</P> + +<P> +"He ain't likely to get away, Miss Santoine," he assured her. "He's +got no shoes, I understand, and he has one or maybe two shots through +him." +</P> + +<P> +She shrunk back and nearly dropped the 'phone at the vision which his +words called up; yet there was nothing new to her in that vision—it +was continually before her eyes; it was the only thing of which she +could think. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll call me as soon as you know anything more," she requested; +"will you call me every hour?" +</P> + +<P> +She hung up, on receiving assurance of this. +</P> + +<P> +A servant brought a written paper. She took it before she recognized +that it was not for her but for the steward. It was a short statement +of the obvious physical circumstances of the murder, evidently dictated +by her father and intended for the newspapers. She gave it to Fairley, +who began reading it over the telephone to the newspapers. She +wandered again to the west windows. She was not consciously listening +to the telephone conversation in the hall; yet enough reached her to +make her know that reporters were rushing from the city by train and +automobile. The last city editions of the morning papers would have at +least the fact of the murder; there would be later extras; the +afternoon papers would have it all. There was a long list of relatives +and friends to whom it was due that telegraphic announcement of Wallace +Blatchford's death reach them before they read it as a sensation +publicly printed. Recollection of these people at least gave her +something to do. +</P> + +<P> +She went up to her own room, listed the names and prepared the +telegrams for them; she came down again and gave the telegrams to +Fairley to transmit by telephone. As she descended the stairs, the +great clock in the lower hall struck once; it was a quarter past three. +</P> + +<P> +There was a stir in these lower rooms now; the officers of the local +police had arrived. She went with them to the study, where they +assumed charge nervously and uncertainly. She could not bear to be in +that room; nevertheless she remained and answered their questions. She +took them to Eaton's rooms on the floor above, where they searched +through and took charge of all his things. She left them and came down +again and went out to the front of the house. +</P> + +<P> +The night was sharp with the chill preceding the day; it had cleared; +the stars were shining. As she stood looking to the west, the lights +of a motor turned into the grounds. She ran toward it, thinking it +must be bringing word of some sort; but the men who leaped from it were +strangers to her—they were the first of the reporters to arrive. They +tried to question her, but she ran from them into the house. She +watched from the windows and saw other reporters arriving. To Harriet +there seemed to be scores of them. Every morning paper in Chicago, +immediately upon receipt of the first flash, had sent at least three +men; every evening paper seemed to have aroused half its staff from +their beds and sent them racing to the blind millionaire's home on the +north shore. Even men from Milwaukee papers arrived at four o'clock. +Forbidden the house, they surrounded it and captured servants. They +took flashlights till, driven from the lawn, they went away—many of +them—to see and take part in the search through the woods for +Blatchford's murderer. The murder of Santoine's cousin—the man, +moreover, who had blinded Santoine—in the presence of the blind man +was enough of itself to furnish a newspaper sensation; but, following +so closely Santoine's visit to the Coast because of the murder of +Gabriel Warden, the newspaper men sensed instantly in it the +possibility of some greater sensation not yet bared. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet was again summoned. A man—a stranger—was awaiting her in the +hall; he was the precursor of those who would sit that day upon Wallace +Blatchford's death and try to determine, formally, whose was the hand +that had done it—the coroner's man. He too, she saw, was already +convinced what hand it had been—Eaton's. She took him to the study, +then to the room above where Wallace Blatchford lay dead. She stood by +while he made his brief, conventional examination. She looked down at +the dead man's face. Poor Cousin Wallace! he had destroyed his own +life long before, when he had destroyed her father's sight; from that +time on he had lived only to recompense her father for his blindness. +Cousin Wallace's life had been a pitiable, hopeless, loving +perpetuation of his penance; he had let himself hold nothing of his own +in life; he had died, as she knew he would have wished to die, giving +his life in service to his cousin; she was not unduly grieving over him. +</P> + +<P> +She answered the man's questions, calmly and collectedly; but her mind +was not upon what she was saying. Her mind was upon only one +thing—even of that she could not think connectedly. Some years ago, +something—she did not know what—had happened to Hugh; to-night, in +some strange way unknown to her, it had culminated in her father's +study. He had fought some one; he had rushed away to follow some one. +Whom? Had he heard that some one in the study and gone down? Had he +been fighting their battle—her father's and hers? She knew that was +not so. Hugh had been fully dressed. What did it mean that he had +said to her that these events would either destroy him or would send +him back to her as—as something different? Her thought supplied no +answer. +</P> + +<P> +But whatever he had done, whatever he might be, she knew his fate was +hers now; for she had given herself to him utterly. She had told that +to herself as she fled and pursued with him that night; she had told it +to him; she later had told it—though she had not meant to yet—to her +father. She could only pray now that out of the events of this night +might not come a grief to her too great for her to bear. +</P> + +<P> +She went to the rooms that had been Eaton's. The police, in stripping +them of his possessions, had overlooked his cap; she found the bit of +gray cloth and hugged it to her. She whispered his name to +herself—Hugh—that secret of his name which she had kept; she gloried +that she had that secret with him which she could keep from them all. +What wouldn't they give just to share that with her—his name, Hugh! +</P> + +<P> +She started suddenly, looking through the window. The east, above the +lake, was beginning to grow gray. The dawn was coming! It was +beginning to be day! +</P> + +<P> +She hurried to the other side of the house, looking toward the west. +How could she have left him, hurt and bleeding and alone in the night! +She could not have done that but that his asking her to go had told +that it was for his safety as well as hers; she could not help him any +more then; she would only have been in the way. But now— She started +to rush out, but controlled herself; she had to stay in the house; that +was where the first word would come if they caught him; and then he +would need her, how much more! The reporters on the lawn below her, +seeing her at the window, called up to her to know further particulars +of what had happened and what the murder meant; she could see them +plainly in the increasing light. She could see the lawn and the road +before the house. +</P> + +<P> +Day had come. +</P> + +<P> +And with the coming of day, the uncertainty and disorder within and +about the house seemed to increase.... But in the south wing, with its +sound-proof doors and its windows closed against the noises from the +lawn, there was silence; and in this silence, an exact, compelling, +methodic machine was working; the mind of Basil Santoine was striving, +vainly as yet, but with growing chances of success, to fit together +into the order in which they belonged and make clear the events of the +night and all that had gone before—arranging, ordering, testing, +discarding, picking up again and reordering all that had happened since +that other murder, of Gabriel Warden. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +WHAT ONE CAN DO WITHOUT EYES +</H4> + +<P> +The blind man, lying on his bed in that darkness in which he had lived +since his sixteenth year and which no daylight could lessen, felt the +light and knew that day had come; he stirred impatiently. The nurse, +the only other occupant of the room, moved expectantly; then she sank +back; Santoine had moved but had not roused from that absorption in +which he had been ever since returning to his bed. He had not slept. +The connections of the electric bells had been repaired,—the wires had +been found pulled from their batteries,—but Santoine had not moved a +hand to touch a button. He had disregarded the warning of the doctor +who had been summoned at once after the murder and had come to his room +again just before dawn to warn him that after his recklessness of the +night he must expect a reaction. He had given such injunctions in +regard to any new development that he was certain that, even if his +servants believed him asleep, they would report to him. But there had +been no report; and Santoine expected none immediately. He had not +lain awake awaiting anything; he felt that so much had happened, so +many facts were at his command, that somewhere among them must be the +key to what they meant. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man knew that his daughter was concealing something from him. +He could not tell what the importance of the thing she was concealing +might be; but he knew his daughter was enough like himself for it to be +useless for him to try to force from her something she did not mean to +tell. The new intimacy of the relation between his daughter and Eaton +was perfectly plain to Santoine; but it did not cause him to try to +explain anything in Eaton's favor; nor did it prejudice him against +him. He had appeared to accept Avery's theory of what had happened in +the study because by doing so he concealed what was going on in his own +mind; he actually accepted it only to the point of agreeing that Eaton +must have met in the study those enemies—or some one representing the +enemies—who had attacked him with the motor-car and had before +attempted to attack him on the train. +</P> + +<P> +Three men—at least three men—had fought in the study in Santoine's +presence. Eaton, it was certain, had been the only one from the house +present when the first shots were fired. Had Eaton been alone against +the other two? Had Eaton been with one of the other two against the +third? It appeared probable to Santoine that Eaton had been alone, or +had come alone, to the study and had met his enemies there. Had these +enemies surprised Eaton in the study or had he surprised them? +Santoine was inclined to believe that Eaton had surprised them. The +contents taken from the safe had certainly been carried away, and these +would have made rather a bulky bundle. Eaton could not have carried it +without Harriet knowing it. Santoine believed that, whatever knowledge +his daughter might be concealing from him, she would not have concealed +this. It was certain that some time had been necessary for opening the +safe, before those opening it suffered interruption. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine felt, therefore, that the probabilities were that Eaton's +enemies had opened the safe and had been surprised by Eaton. But if +they had opened the safe, they were not only Eaton's enemies; they were +also Santoine's; they were the men who threatened Santoine's trust. +</P> + +<P> +Those whom Eaton had fought in the room had had perfect opportunity for +killing Santoine, if they wished. He had stood first in the dark with +the electric torch in his hand; then he had been before them in the +light after Blatchford had entered. But Santoine felt certain no one +had made any attack upon him at any moment in the room; he had had no +feeling, at any instant, that any of the shots fired had been directed +at him. Blatchford, too, had been unattacked until he had made it +plain that he had recognized one of the intruders; then, before +Blatchford could call the name, he had been shot down. +</P> + +<P> +It was clear, then, that what had protected Santoine was his blindness; +he had no doubt that, if he had been able to see and recognize the men +in the room after the lights were turned on, he would have been shot +down also. But Santoine recognized that this did not fully account for +his immunity. Two weeks before, an attack which had been meant for +Eaton had struck down Santoine instead; and no further attempt against +Eaton had been made until it had become publicly known that Santoine +was not going to die. If Santoine's death would have served for +Eaton's death two weeks before, why was Santoine immune now? Did +possession of the contents of Santoine's safe accomplish the same thing +as Santoine's death? Or more than his death for these men? For what +men? +</P> + +<P> +It was not, Santoine was certain, Eaton's presence in the study which +had so astounded Blatchford; Wallace and Eaton had passed days +together, and Blatchford was accustomed to Eaton's presence in the +house. Some one whom Blatchford knew and whose name Santoine also +would know and whose presence in the room was so strange and +astonishing that Blatchford had tried to prepare Santoine for the +announcement, had been there. The man whose name was on Blatchford's +tongue, or the companion of that man, had shot Blatchford rather than +let Santoine hear the name. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man stirred upon his bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you want something, Mr. Santoine?" the nurse asked. The blind man +did not answer. He was beginning to find these events fit themselves +together; but they fitted imperfectly as yet. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine knew that he lacked the key. Many men could profit by +possessing the contents of Santoine's safe and might have shot +Blatchford rather than let Santoine know their presence there; it was +impossible for Santoine to tell which among these many the man who had +been in the study might be. Who Eaton's enemies were was equally +unknown to Santoine. But there could be but one man—or at most one +small group of men—who could be at the same time Eaton's enemy and +Santoine's. To have known who Eaton was would have pointed this man to +Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man lay upon his back, his open, sightless eyes unwinking in +the intensity of his thought. +</P> + +<P> +Gabriel Warden had had an appointment with a young man who had come +from Asia and who—Warden had told his wife—he had discovered lately +had been greatly wronged. Eaton, under Conductor Connery's +questioning, had admitted himself to be that young man; Santoine had +verified this and had learned that Eaton was, at least, the young man +who had gone to Warden's house that night. But Gabriel Warden had not +been allowed to help Eaton; so far from that, he had not even been +allowed to meet and talk with Eaton; he had been called out, plainly, +to prevent his meeting Eaton, and killed. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton disappeared and concealed himself at once after Warden's murder, +apparently fearing that he would also be attacked. But Eaton was not a +man whom this personal fear would have restrained from coming forward +later to tell why Warden had been killed. He had been urged to come +forward and promised that others would give him help in Warden's place; +still, he had concealed himself. This must mean that others than +Warden could not help Eaton; Eaton evidently did not know, or else +could not hope to prove, what Warden had discovered. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine held this thought in abeyance; he would see later how it +checked with the facts. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had remained in Seattle—or near Seattle—eleven days; apparently +he had been able to conceal himself and to escape attack during that +time. He had been obliged, however, to reveal himself when he took the +train; and as soon as possible a desperate attempt had been made +against him, which, through mistake, had struck down Santoine instead +of Eaton. This attack had been made under circumstances which, if it +had been successful, would have made it improbable that Eaton's +murderer could escape. It had not been enough, then, to watch Eaton +and await opportunity to attack him; it had been necessary to attack +him at once, at any cost. +</P> + +<P> +The attack having reached Santoine instead of Eaton, the necessity for +immediate attack upon Eaton, apparently, had ceased to exist; those who +followed Eaton had thought it enough to watch him and wait for more +favorable opportunity. But as soon as it was publicly known that +Santoine had not been killed but was getting well, then Eaton had again +been openly and daringly attacked. The reason for the desperate +chances taken to attack Eaton, then, was that he was near Santoine. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine's hands clenched as he recognized this. Eaton had taken the +train at Seattle because Santoine was on it; he had done this at great +risk to himself. Santoine had told Eaton that there were but four +possible reasons why he could have taken the train in the manner he +did, and two of those reasons later had been eliminated. The two +possibilities which remained were that Eaton had taken the train to +inform Santoine of something or to learn something from him. But Eaton +had had ample opportunity since to inform Santoine of anything he +wished; and he had not only not informed him of anything, but had +refused consistently and determinedly to answer any of Santoine's +questions. It was to learn something from Santoine, then, that Eaton +had taken the train. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man turned upon his bed; he was finding that these events +fitted together perfectly. He felt certain now that Eaton had gone to +Gabriel Warden expecting to get from Warden some information that he +needed, and that to prevent Warden's giving him this, Warden had been +killed. Then Warden's death had caused Santoine to go to Seattle and +take charge of many of Warden's affairs; Eaton had thought that the +information which had been in Warden's possession might now be in +Santoine's; Eaton, therefore, had followed Santoine onto the train. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine had not had the information Eaton required, and he could not +even imagine yet what the nature of that information could be. This +was not because he was not familiar enough with Warden's affairs; it +was because he was too familiar with them. Warden had been concerned +in a hundred enterprises; Santoine had no way of telling which of this +hundred had concerned Eaton. He certainly could recall no case in +which a man of Eaton's age and class had been so terribly wronged that +double murder would have been resorted to for the concealment of the +facts. But he understood that, in his familiarity with Warden's +affairs, he had probably been in a position to get the information, if +he had known what specific matters it concerned. That, then, had been +the reason why his own death would have served for the time being in +place of Eaton's. +</P> + +<P> +Those who had followed Eaton had known that Santoine could get this +information; that accounted for all that had taken place on the train. +It accounted for the subsequent attack on Eaton when it became known +that Santoine was getting well. It accounted also—Santoine was +breathing quickly as he recognized this—for the invasion of his study +and the forcing of the safe last night. +</P> + +<P> +The inference was plain that something which would have given Santoine +the information Warden had had and which Eaton now required had been +brought into Santoine's house and put in Santoine's safe. It was to +get possession of this "something" before it had reached Santoine that +the safe had been forced. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine put out his hand and pressed a bell. A servant came to the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you find Miss Santoine," the blind man directed, "and ask her to +come here?" +</P> + +<P> +The servant withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine waited. Presently the door again opened, and he heard his +daughter's step. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you listed what was taken from the safe, Harriet?" Santoine asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet, Father." +</P> + +<P> +The blind man thought an instant. "Day before yesterday, when I asked +you to take charge for the present of the correspondence Avery has +looked after for me, what did you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I put it in my own safe—the one that was broken into last night. But +none of it was taken; the bundles of letters were pulled out of the +safe, but they had not been opened or even disturbed." +</P> + +<P> +"I know. It was not that I meant." Santoine thought again. "Harriet, +something has been brought into the house—or the manner of keeping +something in the house had been changed—within a very few days—since +the time, I think, when the attempt to run Eaton down with the +motor-car was made. What was that 'something'?" +</P> + +<P> +His daughter reflected. "The draft of the new agreement about the +Latron properties and the lists of stockholders in the properties which +came through Mr. Warden's office," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Those were in the safe?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; you had not given me any instructions about them, so I had put +them in the other safe; but when I went to get the correspondence I saw +them there and put them with the correspondence in my own safe." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine lay still. +</P> + +<P> +"Who besides Donald knew that you did that, daughter?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No one." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet recognized this as dismissal and went out. The blind man felt +the blood beating fiercely in his temples and at his finger-tips. It +amazed, astounded him to realize that Warden's murder and all that had +followed it had sprung from the Latron case. The coupling of Warden's +name with Latron's in the newspapers after Warden's death had seemed to +him only flagrant sensationalism. He himself had known—or had thought +he had known—more about the Latron case than almost any other man; he +had been a witness at the trial; he had seen—or had thought he had +seen—even-handed justice done there. Now, by Warden's evidence, but +more still by the manner of Warden's death, he was forced to believe +that there had been something unknown to him and terrible in what had +been done then. +</P> + +<P> +And as realization of this came to him, he recollected that he had been +vaguely conscious ever since Latron's murder of something strained, +something not wholly open, in his relations with those men whose +interests had been most closely allied with Latron's. It had been +nothing open, nothing palpable; it was only that he had felt at times +in them a knowledge of some general condition governing them which was +not wholly known to himself. As he pressed his hands upon his blind +eyes, trying to define this feeling to himself, his thought went +swiftly back to the events on the train and in the study. +</P> + +<P> +He had had investigated the accounts of themselves given by the +passengers to Conductor Connery; two of these accounts had proved to be +false. The man who under the name of Lawrence Hillward had claimed the +cipher telegram from Eaton had been one of these; it had proved +impossible to trace this man and it was now certain that Hillward was +not his real name; the other, Santoine had had no doubt, was the +heavy-set muscular man who had tried to run Eaton down with the motor. +These men, Santoine was sure, had been acting for some principal not +present. One or both of these men might have been in the study last +night; but the sight of neither of these could have so startled, so +astounded Blatchford. Whomever Blatchford had seen was some one well +known to him, whose presence had been so amazing that speech had failed +Blatchford for the moment and he had feared the effect of the +announcement on Santoine. This could have been only the principal +himself. +</P> + +<P> +Some circumstance which Santoine comprehended only imperfectly as yet +had forced this man to come out from behind his agents and to act even +at the risk of revealing himself. It was probably he who, finding +Blatchford's presence made revealment inevitable, had killed +Blatchford. But these circumstances gave Santoine no clew as to who +the man might be. The blind man tried vainly to guess. The rebellion +against his blindness, which had seized him the night before, again +stirred him. The man had been in the light just before his face; a +second of sight then and everything would have been clear; or another +word from Blatchford, and he would have known. But Santoine recalled +that if he had had that second of sight, and the other man had known +it, or if Blatchford had spoken that next word, Santoine too would +probably be dead. +</P> + +<P> +The only circumstance regarding the man of which Santoine now felt sure +was that he was one of the many concerned in the Latron case or with +the Latron properties. Had the blood in which Santoine had stepped +upon the study floor been his, or that of one of the others? +</P> + +<P> +"What time is it?" the blind man suddenly asked the nurse. +</P> + +<P> +"It is nearly noon, Mr. Santoine, and you have eaten nothing." +</P> + +<P> +The blind man did not answer. He recalled vaguely that, several hours +before, breakfast had been brought for him and that he had impatiently +waved it away. In his absorption he had felt no need then for food, +and he felt none now. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you leave me alone for a few moments?" he directed. +</P> + +<P> +He listened till he heard the door close behind the nurse; then he +seized the private 'phone beside his bed and called his broker. +Instinctively, in his uncertainty, Santoine had turned to that +barometer which reflects day by day, even from hour to hour, the most +obscure events and the most secret knowledge. +</P> + +<P> +"How is the market?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +There was something approaching to a panic on the stock-exchange, it +appeared. Some movement, arising from causes not yet clear, had +dropped the bottom out of a score of important stocks. The broker was +only able to relate that about an hour after the opening of the +exchange, selling had developed in certain issues and prices were going +down in complete lack of support. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Pacific Midlands?" Santoine asked. +</P> + +<P> +"It led the decline." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine felt the blood in his temples. "M. and N. Smelters?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Down seven points." +</P> + +<P> +"S. F. and D.?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eight points off." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine's hand, holding the telephone, shook in its agitation; his +head was hot from the blood rushing through it, his body was chilled. +An idea so strange, so astounding, so incredible as it first had come +to him that his feelings refused it though his reason told him it was +the only possible condition which could account for all the facts, now +was being made all but certain. He named stock after stock; all were +down—seriously depressed or had been supported only by a desperate +effort of their chief holders. +</P> + +<P> +"A. L. & M. is down too," the broker volunteered. +</P> + +<P> +"That is only sympathetic," Santoine replied. +</P> + +<P> +He hung up. His hand, straining to control its agitation, reached for +the bell; he rang; a servant came. +</P> + +<P> +"Get me note-paper," Santoine commanded. +</P> + +<P> +The servant went out and returned with paper. The nurse had followed +him in; she turned the leaf of the bed-table for Santoine to write. +The blind man could write as well as any other by following the +position of the lines with the fingers of his left hand. He wrote a +short note swiftly now, folded, sealed and addressed it and handed it +to the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Have that delivered by a messenger at once," he directed. "There will +be no written answer, I think; only something sent back—a photograph. +See that it is brought to me at once." +</P> + +<P> +He heard the servant's footsteps going rapidly away. He was shaking +with anger, horror, resentment; he was almost—not quite—sure now of +all that had taken place; of why Warden had been murdered, of what +vague shape had moved behind and guided all that had happened since. +He recalled Eaton's voice as he had heard it first on the train at +Seattle; and now he was almost sure—not quite—that he could place +that voice, that he knew where he had heard it before. +</P> + +<P> +He lay with clenched hands, shaking with rage; then by effort of his +will he put these thoughts away. The nurse reminded him again of his +need for food. +</P> + +<P> +"I want nothing now," he said. "Have it ready when I wake up. When +the doctor comes, tell him I am going to get up to-day and dress." +</P> + +<P> +He turned and stretched himself upon his bed; so, finally, he slept. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE MAN HUNT +</H4> + +<P> +The rolling, ravine-gullied land where Harriet had left Eaton was +wooded thickly with oaks, maples and ash; the ground between these +trees was clear of undergrowth upon the higher parts of the land, but +its lower stretches and the ravines themselves were shrouded with +closely growing bushes rising higher than a man's waist, and, where +they grew rankest, higher than a man's head. In summer, when trees and +bushes were covered with leaves, this underbrush offered cover where a +man could conceal himself perfectly; now, in the early spring before +the trees had even budded, that man would be visible for some distance +by day and nearly as clearly visible by night if the headlights of the +motor-cars chanced to shine into the woods. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, fully realizing this chance as he left Harriet, had plunged +through the bushes to conceal himself in the ravine. The glare from +the burning bridge lighted the ravine for only a little way; Eaton had +gained the bottom of the ravine beyond the point where this light would +have made him visible and had made the best speed he could along it +away from the lights and voices on the road. This speed was not very +great; his stockinged feet sank to their ankles in the soft mud of the +ravine; and when, realizing that he was leaving a trace easily followed +even by lantern-light, he clambered to the steep side and tried to +travel along its slope, he found his progress slower still. In the +darkness he crashed sometimes full against the tree-trunks; bushes +which he could not see seized and held him, ripping and tearing at his +clothes; invisible, fallen saplings tripped him, and he stepped into +unseen holes which threw him headlong, so that twice he rolled clear to +the bottom of the ravine with fierce, hot pains which nearly deprived +him of his senses shooting through his wounded shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +When he had made, as he thought, fully three quarters of a mile in this +way and must be, allowing for the winding of the ravine, at least half +a mile from his pursuers, he climbed to the brink of the bank and +looked back. He was not, as he had thought, half a mile from the road; +he was not a quarter of a mile; he could still see plainly the lights +of the three motor-cars upon the road and men moving in the flare of +these lights. He was certain that he had recognized the figure of +Avery among these men. Pursuit of him, however, appeared to have been +checked for the moment; he heard neither voices nor any movement in the +woods. Eaton, panting, threw himself down to recover breath and +strength to think. +</P> + +<P> +There was no question in Eaton's mind what his fate would be if he +surrendered to, or was captured by, his pursuers. What he had seen in +Santoine's study an hour before was so unbelievable, so completely +undemonstrable unless he himself could prove his story that he felt +that he would receive no credence. Blatchford, who had seen it in the +light in the study, was dead; Santoine, who would have seen it if he +had had eyes, was blind. Eaton, still almost stunned and yet wildly +excited by that sight, felt only, in the mad confusion of his senses, +the futility of telling what he had seen unless he were in a position +to prove it. Those opposed to him would put his statement aside with +the mere answer that he was lying; the most charitably inclined would +think only that what he had been through had driven him insane. +</P> + +<P> +Besides, Eaton was not at all sure that even if he had attempted to +tell what he had seen he would be allowed to tell it, or, if he +attempted to surrender to the men now pursuing him, he would be allowed +to surrender. Donald Avery was clearly in command of those men and was +directing the pursuit; in Avery, Eaton had recognized an instinctive +enemy from the first; and now, since the polo game, he sensed vaguely +in Avery something more than that. What Avery's exact position was in +regard to himself Eaton was not at all sure; but of Avery's active +hostility he had received full evidence; and he knew now—though how he +knew it was not plain even to himself—that Avery would not allow him +to surrender but that, if he tried to give himself up, the men under +Avery's orders would shoot him down. +</P> + +<P> +As Eaton watched, the motor, which from its position on the road he +knew must be Harriet's, backed out from the others and went away. The +other motors immediately afterward were turned and followed it. But +Eaton could see that they left behind them a man standing armed near to +the bridge, and that other men, also armed, passed through the light as +they scrambled across the ravine and gained the road on its opposite +side. The motors, too, stopped at intervals and then went on; he +understood that they were posting men to watch the road. He traced the +motor headlights a long way through the dark; one stopped, the other +went on. He remembered vaguely a house near the place where the car he +watched had stopped, and understanding that where there was a house +there was a telephone, he knew that the alarm must be given still more +widely now; men on all sides of him must be turning out to watch the +roads. He knew they did turn out like that when the occasion demanded. +</P> + +<P> +These waste places bordering upon the lake to north and south of +Chicago, and within easy car-ride of the great city, had been the scene +of many such man-hunts. Hobos, gypsies, broken men thrown off by the +seething city, wandered through them and camped there; startling crimes +took place sometimes in these tiny wildernesses; fugitives from the +city police took refuge there and were hunted down by the local police, +by armed details of the city police, by soldiers from Fort Sheridan. +These fugitives might much better have stayed in the concealment of the +human jungle of the city; these rolling, wooded, sandy vacant lands +which seemed to offer refuge, in reality betrayed only into certain +capture. The local police had learned the method of hunting, they had +learned to watch the roads and railways to prevent escape. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton understood, therefore, that his own possibility of escape was +very small, even if escape had been his only object; but Eaton's +problem was not one of escape—it was to find those he pursued and make +certain that they were captured at the same time he was; and, as he +crouched panting on the damp earth, he was thinking only of that. +</P> + +<P> +The man at the bridge—Dibley—had told enough to let Eaton know that +those whom Eaton pursued were no longer in the machine he had followed +with Harriet. As Eaton had rushed out of Santoine's study after the +two that he had fought there, he had seen that one of these men was +supporting and helping the other; he had gained on them because of +that. Then other men had appeared suddenly, to give their help, and he +had no longer been able to gain; but he had been close enough to see +that the one they dragged along and helped into the car was that enemy +whose presence in the study had so amazed him. Mad exultation had +seized Eaton to know that he had seriously wounded his adversary. He +knew now that the man could not have got out of the car by himself—he +was too badly wounded for that; he had been taken out of the car, and +the other men who were missing had him in charge. The three men who +had gone on in the machine had done so for their own escape, but with +the added object of misleading the pursuit; the water they had got at +Dibley's had been to wash the blood from the car. +</P> + +<P> +And now, as Eaton recalled and realized all this, he knew where the +others had left the machine. Vaguely, during the pursuit, he had +sensed that Harriet was swinging their motor-car in a great circle, +first to the north, then west, then to the south. Two or three miles +back upon the road, before they had made their turn to the south, Eaton +had lost for a few moments the track of the car they had been +following. He had picked it up again at once and before he could speak +of it to Harriet; but now he knew that at that point the car they were +following had left the road, turning off onto the turf at the side and +coming back onto the road a hundred yards beyond. +</P> + +<P> +This place must be nearly due north of him. The road where he had left +Harriet ran north and south; to go north he must parallel this road, +but it was dangerous to move too near to it because it was guarded. +The sky was covered with clouds hiding the stars; the night in the +woods was intensely black except where it was lighted by the fire at +the bridge. To the opposite side, a faint gray glow against the +clouds, which could not be the dawn but must be the reflection of the +electric lights along the public pike which followed the shore of the +lake, gave Eaton inspiration. If he kept this grayness of the clouds +always upon his right, he would be going north. +</P> + +<P> +The wound in Eaton's shoulder still welled blood each time he moved; he +tore strips from the front of his shirt, knotted them together and +bound his useless left arm tightly to his side. He felt in the +darkness to be sure that there was a fresh clip of cartridges in his +automatic pistol; then he started forward. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time now he comprehended the almost impossibility of +traveling in the woods on a dark night. To try to walk swiftly was to +be checked after only two or three steps by sharp collision with some +tree-trunk which he could not see before he felt it, or brought to a +full stop by clumps of tangled, thorny bushes which enmeshed him, or to +be tripped or thrown by some inequality of the ground. When he went +round any of these obstacles he lost his sense of direction and wasted +minutes before he could find again the dim light against the eastern +sky which gave him the compass-points. +</P> + +<P> +As he struggled forward, impatient at these delays, he came several +times upon narrow, unguarded roads and crossed them; at other times the +little wilderness which protected him changed suddenly to a well-kept +lawn where some great house with its garages and out-buildings loomed +ahead, and afraid to cross these open places, he was obliged to retrace +his steps and find a way round. The distance from the bridge to the +place where the three men he was following had got out of their motor, +he had thought to be about two miles; but when he had been traveling +more than an hour, he had not yet reached it. Then, suddenly he came +upon the road for which he was looking; somewhere to the east along it +was the place he sought. He crouched as near to the road as he dared +and where he could look up and down it. This being a main road, was +guarded. A motor-car with armed men in it passed him, and presently +repassed, evidently patroling the road; its lights showed him a man +with a gun standing at the first bend of the road to the east. Eaton +drew further back and moved parallel to the road but far enough away +from it to be hidden. A quarter of a mile further he found a second +man. The motor-car, evidently, was patroling only to this point; +another car was on duty beyond this. As Eaton halted, this second car +approached, and was halted, backed and turned. +</P> + +<P> +Its headlights, as it turned, swept through the woods and revealed +Eaton. The man standing in the road cried out the alarm and fired at +Eaton point blank; he fired a second and third time. Eaton fled madly +back into the shadow; as he did so, he heard the men crying to one +another and leaping from the car and following him. He found low +ground less thickly wooded, and plunged along it. It was not difficult +to avoid the men in the blackness of the woods; he made a wide circuit +and came back again to the road further on. He could still hear for a +time the sounds of the hunt on the turf. Apparently he had not yet +reached the right spot; he retreated to the woods, went further along +and came back to the road, lying flat upon his face again and waiting +till some other car in passing should give him light to see. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, weak and dizzy from his wounds and confused by darkness and his +struggle through the woods, had no exact idea how long it had taken him +to get to this place; but he knew that it could have been hardly less +than two hours since he had left Harriet. The men he was following, +therefore, had that much start of him, and this made him wild with +impatience but did not discourage him. His own wounds, Eaton +understood, made his escape practically impossible, because any one who +saw him would at once challenge and detain him; and the other man was +still more seriously wounded. It was not his escape that Eaton feared; +it was concealment of him. The man had been taken from the car because +his condition was so serious that there was no hope of hiding it; Eaton +thought he must be dead. He expected to find the body concealed under +dead leaves, hurriedly hidden. +</P> + +<P> +The night had cleared a little; to the north, Eaton could see stars. +Suddenly the road and the leafless bushes at its sides flashed out in +the bright light of a motor-car passing. Eaton strained forward. He +had found the place; there was no doubt a car had turned off the road +some time before and stopped there. The passing of many cars had so +tracked the road that none of the men in the motors seemed to have +noticed anything of significance there; but Eaton saw plainly in the +soft ground at the edge of the woods the footmarks of two men walking +one behind the other. When the car had passed, he crept forward in the +dark and I fingered the distinct heel and toe marks in the soft soil. +For a little distance he could follow them by feeling; then as they led +him into the edge of the woods the ground grew harder and he could no +longer follow them in that way. +</P> + +<P> +It was plain to him what had occurred; two men had got out of the car +here and had lifted out and carried away a third. He knelt where he +could feel the last footsteps he could detect and looked around. The +gray of the electric lights to the east seemed growing, spreading; +against this lightness in the sky he could see plainly the branches of +the trees; he recognized then that the grayness was the coming of the +dawn. It would be only a few minutes before he could see plainly +enough to follow the tracks. He drew aside into the deeper cover of +some bushes to wait. +</P> + +<P> +The wound in his shoulder no longer bled, but the pain of it twinged +him through and through; his head throbbed with the hurt there; his +feet were raw and bleeding where sharp roots and branches had cut +through his socks and torn the flesh; his skin was hot and dry with +fever, and his head swam. He followed impatiently the slow whitening +of the east; as soon as he could make out the ground in front of him, +he crept forward again to the tracks. +</P> + +<P> +There was not yet light enough to see any distance, but Eaton, +accustomed to the darkness and bending close to the ground, could +discern the footmarks even on the harder soil. They led away from the +road into the woods. On the rotted leaves and twigs was a dark stain; +a few steps beyond there was another. The stains had sunk into the +damp ground but were plainer on the leaves; Eaton picking up a leaf and +fingering it, knew that they were blood. So the man was not dead when +he had been lifted from the car. But he had been hurt desperately, was +unable to help himself, was probably dying; if there had been any hope +for him, his companions would not be carrying him in this way away from +any chance of surgical attention. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton followed, as the tracks led through the woods. The men had gone +very slowly, carrying this heavy weight; they had been traveling, as he +himself had traveled, in the dark, afraid to show a light and avoiding +chance of being seen by any one on the roads. They had been as +uncertain of their road as he had been of his, but the general trend of +their travel was toward the east, and this evidently was the direction +in which they wished to go. They had stopped frequently to rest and +had laid their burden down. Then suddenly he came to a place where +plainly a longer halt had been made. +</P> + +<P> +The ground was trampled around this spot; when the tracks went on they +were changed in character. The two men were still carrying the +third—a heavy man whose weight strained them and made their feet sink +in deeply where the ground was soft. But now they were not careful how +they carried him, but went forward merely as though bearing a dead +weight. Now, too, no more stains appeared on the brown leaves where +they had passed; their burden no longer bled. Eaton, realizing what +this meant, felt neither exultation nor surprise. He had known that +the man they carried, though evidently alive when taken from the car, +was dying. But now he watched the tracks more closely even than +before, looking for them to show him where the men had got rid of their +burden. +</P> + +<P> +It had grown easier to follow the tracks with the increase of the +light, but the danger that he would be seen had also grown greater. He +was obliged to keep to the hollows; twice, when he ventured onto the +higher ground, he saw motor-cars passing at a distance, but near enough +so that those in them could have seen him if they had been looking his +way. Once he saw at the edge of the woods a little group of armed men. +His dizziness and weakness from the loss of blood was increasing; he +became confused at times and lost the tracks. He went forward slowly +then, examining each clump of bushes, each heap of dead leaves, to see +whether the men had hidden in them that of which he was in search; but +always when he found the tracks again their character showed him that +the men were still carrying their burden. The tracks seemed fresher +now; in spite of his weakness he was advancing much faster than the +others had been able to do in the darkness and heavily laden. As near +as he could tell, the men had passed just before dawn. Suddenly he +came upon the pike which ran parallel to the line of the lake, some +hundred yards back from the shore. +</P> + +<P> +He shrank back, throwing himself upon his face in the bushes; the men +evidently had crossed this pike. Full day had come, and as Eaton +peered out and up and down the road, he saw no one; this road appeared +unguarded. Eaton, assured no one was in sight, leaped up and crossed +the road. As he reached its further side, a boy carrying a fishpole +appeared suddenly from behind some bushes. He stared at Eaton; then, +terrified by Eaton's appearance, he dropped the fishpole and fled +screaming up the road. Eaton stared dazedly after him for a fraction +of an instant, then plunged into the cover. He found the tracks again, +and followed them dizzily. +</P> + +<P> +But the boy had given the alarm. Eaton heard the whirring of motors on +the road and men shouting to one another; then he heard them beating +through the bushes. The noise was at some distance; evidently the boy +in his fright and confusion had not directed the men to the exact spot +where Eaton had entered the woods or they in their excitement had +failed to understand him. But the sounds were drawing nearer. Eaton, +exhausted and dizzy, followed feverishly the footmarks on the ground. +It could not be far now—the men could not have carried their burden +much further than this. They must have hidden it somewhere near here. +He would find it near by—must find it before these others found him. +But now he could see men moving among the tree-trunks. He threw +himself down among some bushes, burrowing into the dead leaves. The +men passed him, one so close that Eaton could have thrown a twig and +hit him. Eaton could not understand why the man did not see him, but +he did not; the man stopped an instant studying the footmarks imprinted +in the earth; evidently they had no significance for him, for he went +on. +</P> + +<P> +When the searchers had passed out of sight, Eaton sprang up and +followed the tracks again. They were distinct here, plainly printed, +and he followed easily. He could hear men all about him, out of sight +but calling to one another in the woods. All at once he recoiled, +throwing himself down again upon the ground. The clump of bushes +hiding him ended abruptly only a few yards away; through their bare +twigs, but far below him, the sunlight twinkled, mockingly, at him from +the surface of water. It was the lake! +</P> + +<P> +Eaton crept forward to the edge of the steep bluff, following the +tracks. He peered over the edge. The tracks did not stop at the edge +of the bluff; they went on down it. The steep sandy precipice was +scarred where the men, still bearing their burden, had slipped and +scrambled down it. The marks crossed the shingle sixty feet below; +they were deeply printed in the wet sand down to the water's very edge. +There they stopped. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton had not expected this. He stared, worn out and with his senses +in confusion, and overcome by his physical weakness. The sunlit water +only seemed to mock and laugh at him—blue, rippling under the breeze +and bearing no trail. It was quite plain what had occurred; the wet +sand below was trampled by the feet of three or four men and cut by a +boat's bow. They had taken the body away with them in the boat. To +sink it somewhere weighted with heavy stones in the deep water? Or had +it been carried away on that small, swift vessel Eaton had seen from +Santoine's lawn? In either case, Eaton's search was hopeless now. +</P> + +<P> +But it could not be so; it must not be so! Eaton's eyes searched +feverishly the shore and the lake. But there was nothing in sight upon +either. He crept back from the edge of the bluff, hiding beside a +fallen log banked with dead leaves. What was it he had said to +Harriet? "I will come back to you—as you have never known me before!" +He rehearsed the words in mockery. How would he return to her now? As +he moved, a fierce, hot pain from the clotted wound in his shoulder +shot him through and through with agony and the silence and darkness of +unconsciousness overwhelmed him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +NOT EATON—OVERTON +</H4> + +<P> +Santoine awoke at five o'clock. The messenger whom he had despatched a +few hours earlier had not yet returned. The blind man felt strong and +steady; he had food brought him; while he was eating it, his messenger +returned. Santoine saw the man alone and, when he had dismissed him, +he sent for his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet had waited helplessly at the house all day. All day the house +had been besieged. The newspaper men—or most of them—and the crowds +of the curious could be kept off; but others—neighbors, friends of her +father's or their wives or other members of their families—claimed +their prerogative of intrusion and question in time of trouble. Many +of those who thus gained admittance were unused to the flattery of +reporter's questions; and from their interviews, sensations continued +to grow. +</P> + +<P> +The stranger in Santoine's house—the man whom no one knew and who had +given his name as Philip Eaton—in all the reports was proclaimed the +murderer. The first reports in the papers had assailed him; the +stories of the afternoon papers became a public clamour for his quick +capture, trial and execution. The newspapers had sent the idle and the +sensation seekers, with the price of carfare to the country place, to +join the pack roaming the woods for Eaton. Harriet, standing at a +window, could see them beating through the trees beyond the house; and +as she watched them, wild, hot anger against them seized her. She +longed to rush out and strike them and shame them and drive them away. +</P> + +<P> +The village police station called her frequently on the telephone to +inform her of the progress of the hunt. Twice, they told her, Eaton +had been seen, but both times he had avoided capture; they made no +mention of his having been fired upon. Avery, in charge of the pursuit +in the field, was away all day; he came in only for a few moments at +lunch time and then Harriet avoided him. As the day progressed, the +pursuit had been systematized; the wooded spots which were the only +ones that Eaton could have reached unobserved from the places where he +had been seen, had been surrounded. They were being searched carefully +one by one. Through the afternoon, Harriet kept herself informed of +this search; there was no report that Eaton had been seen again, but +the places where he could be grew steadily fewer. +</P> + +<P> +The day had grown toward dusk, when a servant brought her word that her +father wished to see her. Harriet went up to him fearfully. The blind +man seemed calm and quiet; a thin, square packet lay on the bed beside +him; he held it out to her without speaking. +</P> + +<P> +She snatched it in dread; the shape of the packet and the manner in +which it was fastened told her it must be a photograph. "Open it," her +father directed. +</P> + +<P> +She snapped the string and tore off the paper. +</P> + +<P> +She stared at it, and her breath left her; she held it and stared and +stared, sobbing now as she breathed. The photograph was of Hugh, but +it showed him as she had never seen or known him; the even, direct +eyes, the good brow, the little lift of the head were his; he was +younger in the picture—she was seeing him when he was hardly more than +a boy. But it was a boy to whom something startling, amazing, horrible +had happened, numbing and dazing him so that he could only stare out +from the picture in frightened, helpless defiance. That oppression +which she had felt in him had just come upon him; he was not yet used +to bearing what had happened; it seemed incredible and unbearable to +him; she felt instinctively that he had been facing, when this picture +was taken, that injustice which had changed him into the +self-controlled, watchful man that she had known. +</P> + +<P> +So, as she contrasted this man with the boy that he had been, her love +and sympathy for him nearly overpowered her. She clutched the picture +to her, pressed it against her cheek; then suddenly conscious that her +emotion might be audible to her father, she quickly controlled herself. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it you want to know, Father?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"You have answered me already what I was going to ask, my dear," he +said to her quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"What, Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is the picture of Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought so." +</P> + +<P> +She tried to assure herself of the shade of the meaning in her father's +tone; but she could not. She understood that her recognition of the +picture had satisfied him in regard to something over which he had been +in doubt; but whether this was to work in favor of Hugh and +herself—she thought of herself now inseparably with Hugh—or whether +it threatened them, she could not tell. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, what does this mean?" she cried to him. +</P> + +<P> +"What, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your having the picture. Where did you get it?" +</P> + +<P> +Her father made no reply; she repeated it till he granted, "I knew +where it might be. I sent for it." +</P> + +<P> +"But—but, Father—" It came to her now that her father must know who +Hugh was. "Who—" +</P> + +<P> +"I know who he is now," her father said calmly. "I will tell you when +I can." +</P> + +<P> +"When you can?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he said. He was still an instant; she waited. "Where is +Avery?" he asked her, as though his mind had gone to another subject +instantly. +</P> + +<P> +"He has not been in, I believe, since noon." +</P> + +<P> +"He is overseeing the search for Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Send for him. Tell him I wish to see him here at the house; he is to +remain within the house until I have seen him." +</P> + +<P> +Something in her father's tone startled and perplexed her; she thought +of Donald now only as the most eager and most vindictive of Eaton's +pursuers. Was her father removing Donald from among those seeking +Eaton? Was he sending for him because what he had just learned was +something which would make more rigorous and desperate the search? The +blind man's look and manner told her nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean Donald is to wait here until you send for him, Father?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is it." +</P> + +<P> +It was the blind man's tone of dismissal. He seemed to have forgotten +the picture; at least, as his daughter moved toward the door, he gave +no direction concerning it. She halted, looking back at him. She +would not carry the picture away, secretly, like this. She was not +ashamed of her love for Eaton; whatever might be said or thought of +him, she trusted him; she was proud of her love for him. +</P> + +<P> +"May I take the picture?" she asked steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"Do whatever you want with it," her father answered quietly. +</P> + +<P> +And so she took it with her. She found a servant of whom she inquired +for Avery; he had not returned so she sent for him. She went down to +the deserted library and waited there with the picture of Hugh in her +hand. The day had drawn to dusk. She could no longer see the picture +in the fading light; she could only recall it; and now, as she recalled +it, the picture itself—-not her memory of her father's manner in +relation to it—gave her vague discomfort. She got up suddenly, +switched on the light and, holding the picture close to it, studied it. +What it was in the picture that gave her this strange uneasiness quite +separate and distinct from all that she had felt when she first looked +at it, she could not tell; but the more she studied it, the more +troubled and frightened she grew. +</P> + +<P> +The picture was a plain, unretouched print pasted upon common square +cardboard without photographer's emboss or signature; and printed with +the picture, were four plain, distinct numerals—8253. She did not +know what they meant or if they had any real significance, but somehow +now she was more afraid for Hugh than she had been. She trembled as +she held the picture again to her cheek and then to her lips. +</P> + +<P> +She turned; some one had come in from the hall; it was Donald. He was +in riding clothes and was disheveled and dusty from leading the men on +horseback through the woods. She saw at her first glance at him that +his search had not yet succeeded and she threw her head back in relief. +Donald seemed to have returned without meeting the servant sent for him +and, seeing the light, he had looked into the library idly; but when he +saw her, he approached her quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you there?" he demanded of her. +</P> + +<P> +She flushed at the tone. "What right have you to ask?" Her instant +impulse had been to conceal the picture, but that would make it seem +she was ashamed of it; she held it so Donald could see it if he looked. +He did look and suddenly seized the picture from her. +</P> + +<P> +"Don!" she cried at him. +</P> + +<P> +He stared at the picture and then up at her. "Where did you get this, +Harriet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don!" +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you get it?" he repeated. "Are you ashamed to say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ashamed? Father gave it to me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your father!" Avery started; but if anything had caused him +apprehension, it instantly disappeared. "Then didn't he tell you who +this man Eaton is?" +</P> + +<P> +His tone terrified her, made her confused; she snatched for the picture +but he held it from her. "Didn't he tell you what this picture is?" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" she repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"He got the picture and had me see it; he asked me if it was—Mr. +Eaton. I told him yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And then didn't he tell you who Eaton was?" Avery iterated. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean, Don?" +</P> + +<P> +He put the picture down on the table beside him and, as she rushed for +it, he seized both her hands and held her before him. "Harry, dear!" +he said to her. "Harry, dear—" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't call me that! Don't speak to me that way!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want you to." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +She struggled to free herself from him. +</P> + +<P> +"I know, of course," he said. "It's because of him." He jerked his +head toward the picture on the table; the manner made her furious. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me go, Don!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry, dear." He drew her to him, held her only closer. +</P> + +<P> +"Don; Father wants to see you! He wanted to know when he came in; he +will let you know when you can go to him." +</P> + +<P> +"When did he tell you that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just now." +</P> + +<P> +"When he gave you the picture?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Avery had almost let her go; now he held her hard again. "Then he +wanted me to tell you about this Eaton." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should he have you tell me about—Mr. Eaton?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know!" he said to her. +</P> + +<P> +She shrank and turned her head away and shut her eyes not to see him. +And he was the man whom, until some strange moment a few days ago, she +had supposed she was some time to marry. Amazement burned through her +now at the thought; because this man had been well looking, fairly +interesting and amusing and got on well both with her father and +herself and because he cared for her, she had supposed she could marry +him. His assertion of his right to intimacy with her revolted her, and +his confidence that he had ability, by something he might reveal, to +take her from Eaton and bring her back within reach of himself. +</P> + +<P> +Or wasn't it merely that? She twisted in his arms until she could see +his face and stared at him. His look and manner were full of purpose; +he was using terms of endearment toward her more freely than he ever +had dared to use them before; and it was not because of love for her, +it was for some purpose or through some necessity of his own that he +was asserting himself like this. +</P> + +<P> +So she ceased to struggle against him, only drawing away from him as +far as she could and staring at him, prepared, before she asked her +question, to deny and reject his answer, no matter what it was. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you to say about him, Donald?" +</P> + +<P> +"Harry, you haven't come to really care for him; it was just madness, +dear, only a fancy, wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"What have you to say about him?" +</P> + +<P> +"You must never think of him again, dear; you must forget him forever!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Harry—" +</P> + +<P> +"Donald, I am not a child. If you have something to say which you +consider hard for me to hear, tell it to me at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Perhaps that is best. Dear, either this man whom you have +known as Eaton will never be found or, if he is found, he cannot be let +to live. You understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why? For the shooting of Cousin Wallace? He never did that! I don't +believe that; I don't think Father believes that; you'll never make any +jury believe that. So if that's all you have to tell me, let me go!" +</P> + +<P> +She struggled again but Avery held her. "I was not talking about that; +that's not necessary—to bring that against him." +</P> + +<P> +"Necessary?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; nor is it necessary, if he is caught, even to bring him before a +jury. That's been done already, you see." +</P> + +<P> +"Done already?" +</P> + +<P> +Avery nodded again toward the photograph on the table. "Yes, Harry, +have you never seen a picture with the numbers printed in below like +that? Can't you guess yet where your father must have sent for that +picture? Don't you know what those numbers mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do they mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are the figures of his number in what is called 'The Rogue's +Gallery'; now have you heard of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"And they mean he has committed a crime and been tried and convicted of +it; they mean in this case that he has committed a murder!" +</P> + +<P> +"A murder!" +</P> + +<P> +"For which he was convicted and sentenced." +</P> + +<P> +"Sentenced!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; and is alive now only because before the sentence could be +carried out, he escaped. That man, Philip Eaton, is Hugh—" +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh Overton, Harry!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh Overton!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I found it out to-day. The police have just learned it, too. I +was coming to tell your father. He's Hugh Overton, the murderer of +Matthew Latron!" +</P> + +<P> +Harriet fought herself free. Denial, revolt stormed in her. "It isn't +so!" she cried. "He is not that man! Hugh—his name is Hugh; but he +is not Hugh Overton. Mr. Warden said Hugh—this Hugh had been greatly +wronged—terribly wronged. Mr. Warden tried to help Hugh even at the +risk of his own life. He would not—nobody would have tried to help +Hugh Overton!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Warden probably had been deceived." +</P> + +<P> +"No; no!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Harry; for this man is certainly Hugh Overton." +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't so! I know it isn't so!" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean he told you he was—some one else, Harry?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I mean—" She faced him defiantly. "Father let me keep the +photograph! I asked him, and he said, 'Do whatever you wish with it.' +He knew I meant to keep it! He knows who Hugh is, so he would not have +said that, if—if—" +</P> + +<P> +She heard a sound behind her and turned. Her father had come into the +room. And as she saw his manner and his face she knew that what Avery +had just told her was the truth. She shrank away from them. Her hands +went to her face and hid it. +</P> + +<P> +So this was that unknown thing which had stood between herself and +Hugh—that something which she had seen a hundred times check the +speech upon his lips and chill his manner toward her! Hadn't Hugh +himself told her—or almost told her it was something of that sort? He +had said to her on the train, when she urged him to defend himself +against the charge of having attacked her father, "If I told them who I +am, that would make them only more certain their charge is true; it +would condemn me without a hearing!" And his being Hugh Overton +explained everything. +</P> + +<P> +She knew now why it was that her father, on hearing Hugh's voice, had +become curious about him, had tried to place the voice in his +recollection—the voice of a prisoner on trial for his life, heard only +for an instant but fixed upon his mind by the circumstances attending +it, though those circumstances afterward had been forgotten. She knew +why she, when she had gazed at the picture a few minutes before, had +been disturbed and frightened at feeling it to be a kind of picture +unfamiliar to her and threatening her with something unknown and +terrible. She knew the reason now for a score of things Hugh had said +to her, for the way he had looked many times when she had spoken to +him. It explained all that! It seemed to her, in the moment, to +explain everything—except one thing. It did not explain Hugh himself; +the kind of man he was, the kind of man she knew him to be—the man she +loved—he could not be a murderer! +</P> + +<P> +Her hands dropped from her face; she threw her head back proudly and +triumphantly, as she faced now both Avery and her father. +</P> + +<P> +"He, the murderer of Mr. Latron!" she cried quietly. "It isn't so!" +</P> + +<P> +The blind man was very pale; he was fully dressed. A servant had +supported him and helped him down the stairs and still stood beside him +sustaining him. But the will which had conquered his disability of +blindness was holding him firmly now against the disability of his +hurts; he seemed composed and steady. She saw compassion for her in +his look; and compassion—under the present circumstances—terrified +her. Stronger, far more in control of him than his compassion for her, +she saw purpose. She recognized that her father had come to a decision +upon which he now was going to act; she knew that nothing she or any +one else could say would alter that decision and that he would employ +his every power in acting upon it. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man seemed to check himself an instant in the carrying out of +his purpose; he turned his sightless eyes toward her. There was +emotion in his look; but, except that this emotion was in part pity for +her, she could not tell exactly what his look expressed. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you wait for me outside, Harriet?" he said to her. "I shall not +be long." +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated; then she felt suddenly the futility of opposing him and +she passed him and went out into the hall. The servant followed her, +closing the door behind him. She stood just outside the door +listening. She heard her father—she could catch the tone; she could +not make out the words—asking a question; she heard the sound of +Avery's response. She started back nearer the door and put her hand on +it to open it; inside they were still talking. She caught Avery's tone +more clearly now, and it suddenly terrified her. She drew back from +the door and shrank away. There had been no opposition to Avery in her +father's tone; she was certain now that he was only discussing with +Avery what they were to do. +</P> + +<P> +She had waited nearly half an hour, but the library door had not been +opened again. The closeness of the hall seemed choking her; she went +to the front door and threw it open. The evening was clear and cool; +but it was not from the chill of the air that she shivered as she gazed +out at the woods through which she had driven with Hugh the night +before. There the hunt for him had been going on all day; there she +pictured him now, in darkness, in suffering, alone, hurt, hunted and +with all the world but her against him! +</P> + +<P> +She ran down the steps and stood on the lawn. The vague noises of the +house now no longer were audible. She stood in the silence of the +evening strained and fearfully listening. At first there seemed to be +no sound outdoors other than the gentle rush of the waves on the beach +at the foot of the bluff behind her; then, in the opposite direction, +she defined the undertone of some faraway confusion. Sometimes it +seemed to be shouting, next only a murmur of movement and noise. She +ran up the road a hundred yards in its direction and halted again. The +noise was nearer and clearer—a confusion of motor explosions and +voices; and now one sound clattered louder and louder and leaped nearer +rapidly and rose above the rest, the roar of a powerful motor car +racing with "cut-out" open. The rising racket of it terrified Harriet +with its recklessness and triumph. Yes; that was it; triumph! The +far-off tumult was the noise of shouts and cries of triumph; the racing +car, blaring its way through the night, was the bearer of news of +success of the search. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet went colder as she knew this; then she ran up the road to meet +the car coming. She saw the glare of its headlights through the trees +past a bend in the road; she ran on and the beams of the car's +headlight straightened and glared down the road directly upon her. The +car leaped at her; she ran on toward it, arms in the air. The clatter +of the car became deafening and the machine was nearly upon her when +the driver recognized that the girl in the road was heedless and might +throw herself before him unless he stopped. He brought his car up +short and skidding. "What is it?" he cried, as he muffled the engine. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it? What is it?" she cried in return. +</P> + +<P> +The man recognized her. "Miss Santoine!" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"We've got him!" the man cried. "We've got him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Him! Hugh Overton! Eaton, Miss Santoine. He's Hugh Overton; hadn't +you heard? And we've got him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Got him!" +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to the man not to understand; and he had not time to explain +further even to her. "Where is Mr. Avery?" he demanded. "I've got to +tell Mr. Avery." +</P> + +<P> +She made no response but threw herself in front of the car and clasped +a wheel as the man started to throw in his gear. He cried to her and +tried to get her off; but she was deaf to him. He looked in the +direction of the house, shut off his power and leaped down. He left +the machine and ran on the road toward the house. Harriet waited until +he was away, then she sprang to the seat; she started the car and +turned it back in the direction from which it had come. She speeded +and soon other headlights flared at hers—a number of them; four or +five cars, at least, were in file up the road and men were crowding and +horsemen were riding beside them. +</P> + +<P> +The captors of Hugh were approaching in triumphal procession. Harriet +felt the wild, savage impulse to hurl her racing car headlong and at +full speed among them. She rushed on so close that she saw she alarmed +them; they cried a warning; the horsemen and the men on foot jumped +from beside the road and the leading car swung to one side; but Harriet +caught her car on the brakes and swung it straight across the road and +stopped it; she closed the throttle and pulled the key from the +starting mechanism and flung it into the woods. So she sat in the car, +waiting for the captors of Hugh to come up. +</P> + +<P> +These appreciated the hostility of her action without yet recognizing +her. The motors stopped; the men on foot closed around. One of them +cried her name and men descended from the leading car. Harriet got +down from her machine and met them. The madness of the moments past +was gone; as the men addressed her with astonishment but with respect, +she gazed at them coolly. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is he?" she asked them. "Where is he?" +</P> + +<P> +They did not tell her; but reply was unnecessary. Others' eyes pointed +hers to Hugh. He was in the back seat of the second machine with two +men, one on each side of him. The lights from the car following and +the refractions from the other lights showed him to her. He was +sitting, or was being held, up straight; his arms were down at his +sides. She could not see whether they were tied or not. The light did +not shine so as to let her see his face clearly; but his bearing was +calm, he held his head up. She looked for his hurts; there seemed to +be bandages on his head but some one had given him a large cap which +was pulled down so as to conceal the bandages. Plainly there had been +no other capture; excitement was all centered upon him. Harriet heard +people telling her name to others; and the newspaper men, who seemed to +be all about, pushed back those who would interfere with her reaching +the second machine. +</P> + +<P> +She disregarded them and every one else but Hugh, who had seen her and +had kept his gaze steadily upon her as she approached. She stopped at +the side of the car where he was and she put her hand on the edge of +the tonneau. +</P> + +<P> +"You have been hurt again, Hugh?" she managed steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"Hurt? No," he said as constrainedly. "No." +</P> + +<P> +A blinding flare and an explosion startled her about. It was only a +flashlight fired by one of the newspaper photographers who had placed +his camera during the halt. Harriet opened the door to the tonneau. +Two men occupied the seats in the middle of the car; it was a large, +seven passenger machine. "I will take this seat, please," she said to +the man nearer. He got out and she sat down. Those who had been +trying to start the car which she had driven across the road, had given +up the task and were pushing it away to one side. Harriet sat down in +front of Eaton—it was still by that name she thought of him; her +feelings refused the other name, though she knew now it was his real +one. She understood now her impulse which had driven her to try to +block the road to her father's house if only for a moment; they were +taking him there to deliver him up to Avery—to her father—who were +consulting there over what his fate was to be. +</P> + +<P> +She put her hand on his; his fingers closed upon it, but after his +first response to her grasp he made no other; and now, as the lights +showed him to her more clearly, she was terrified to see how unable he +was to defend himself against anything that might be done to him. His +calmness was the calmness of exhaustion; his left arm was bound tightly +to his side; his eyes, dim and blank with pain and weariness, stared +only dully, dazedly at all around. +</P> + +<P> +The car started, and she sat silent, with her hand still upon his, as +they went on to her father's house. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +THE FLAW IN THE LEFT EYE +</H4> + +<P> +Santoine, after Harriet had left the library, stood waiting until he +heard the servant go out and close the door; he had instructed the man +and another with him to remain in the hall. The blind man felt no +physical weakness; he was wholly absorbed in the purpose for which he +had dressed and come downstairs; now, as he heard Avery start forward +to help him, he motioned him back. It was the rule in Santoine's house +that the furniture in the rooms he frequented should be kept always in +the same positions; the blind man could move about freely, therefore, +in these rooms. +</P> + +<P> +He walked slowly now to a large chair beside the table in the center of +the room and sat down, resting his arm on the table; when he felt the +familiar smoothness of the table under his finger-tips he knew he was +facing the part of the room where the sound he had just heard had told +him Avery must be. +</P> + +<P> +"When did you learn that Eaton was Hugh Overton, Avery?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"To-day." +</P> + +<P> +"How did you discover it?" +</P> + +<P> +He heard Avery, who had been standing, come forward and seat himself on +the arm of the chair across the table from him; the blind man turned to +face this place directly. +</P> + +<P> +"It was plain from the first there was something wrong with the man," +Avery replied; "but I had, of course, no way of placing him until he +gave himself away at polo the other day." +</P> + +<P> +"At polo? Then you knew about it the other day?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no," Avery denied. "I saw that he was pretending not to know a +game which he did know; when he put over one particular stroke I was +sure he knew the game very well. The number of men in this country +who've played polo at all isn't very large and those who can play great +polo are very few. So I sent for the polo annuals for a few years +back; the ones I wanted came to the club to-day. His picture is in the +group of the Spring Meadows Club; he played 'back' for them five years +ago. His name was under the picture, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't tell me, however, that he could play polo when you first +found it out." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I wanted to be sure of him before I spoke; besides, Harriet had +seen it as well as I; I supposed she had told you." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand. I am glad to know how it was. One less certain of your +fidelity than I am might have put another construction on your silence; +one less certain, Avery, might have thought that, already knowing +Eaton's identity, you preferred instead of telling it to me to have me +discover it for myself and so, for that reason, you trapped him into a +polo game in Harriet's presence. I, myself, do not think that. The +other possibility which might occur to one not certain of your fidelity +we will not now discuss." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment Santoine paused; the man across from him did not speak, +but—Santoine's intuition told him—drew himself suddenly together +against some shock; the blind man felt that Avery was watching him now +with tense questioning. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," said Santoine, "knowing who Eaton is, gives us no aid in +determining who the men were that fought with him in my study last +night?" +</P> + +<P> +"It gives none to me, Mr. Santoine," Avery said steadily. +</P> + +<P> +"It gives none to you," Santoine repeated; "and the very peculiar +behavior of the stock exchange to-day, I suppose that gives you no help +either. All day they have been going down, Avery—the securities, the +stocks and bonds of the properties still known as the Latron +properties; the very securities which five years ago stood staunch +against even the shock of the death of the man whose coarse but +powerful personality had built them up into the great properties they +are to-day—of Matthew Latron's death. To-day, without apparent +reason, they have been going down, and that gives you no help either, +Avery?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet you are a very clever man, Avery; there is no question about that. +Your friend and my friend who sent you to me five years ago was quite +correct in calling you clever; I have found you so; I have been willing +to pay you a good salary—a very good salary—because you are clever." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad if you have found my work satisfactory, Mr. Santoine." +</P> + +<P> +"I have even found it worth while at times to talk over with you +matters—problems—which were troubling me; to consult with you. Have +I not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; I am going to consult with you now. I have an infirmity, +as you know, Avery; I am blind. I have just found out that for several +years—for about five years, to be exact; that is, for about the same +length of time that you have been with me—my blindness has been used +by a certain group of men to make me the agent of a monstrous and +terrible injustice to an innocent man. Except for my blindness—except +for that, Avery, this injustice never could have been carried on. If +you find a certain amount of bitterness in my tone, it is due to that; +a man who has an infirmity, Avery, cannot well help being a little +sensitive in regard to it. You are willing I should consult with you +in regard to this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I am at your service, Mr. Santoine." Avery's voice was +harsh and dry. +</P> + +<P> +The blind man was silent for an instant. He could feel the uneasiness +and anxiety of the man across from him mounting swiftly, and he gave it +every opportunity to increase. He had told Eaton once that he did not +use "cat and mouse" methods; he was using them now because that was the +only way his purpose could be achieved. +</P> + +<P> +"We must go back, then, Avery, to the quite serious emergency to which +I am indebted for your faithful service. It is fairly difficult now +for one contemplating the reverence and regard in which 'big' men are +held by the public in these days of business reconstruction to recall +the attitude of only a few years ago. However, it is certainly true +that five years ago the American people appeared perfectly convinced +that the only way to win true happiness and perpetuate prosperity was +to accuse, condemn and jail for life—if execution were not legal—the +heads of the important groups of industrial properties. Just at that +time, one of these men—one of the most efficient but also, perhaps, +the one personally most obnoxious or unpopular—committed one of his +gravest indiscretions. It concerned the private use of deposits in +national banks; it was a federal offense of the most patent and +provable kind. He was indicted. Considering the temper of any +possible jury at that time, there was absolutely no alternative but to +believe that the man under indictment must spend many succeeding years, +if not the rest of his life, in the Federal penitentiary at Atlanta or +Leavenworth. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, not only the man himself but his closest associates contemplated +this certainty with dismay. The man was in complete control of a group +of the most valuable and prosperous properties in America. Before his +gaining control, the properties had been almost ruined by differences +between the minor men who tried to run them; only the calling of +Matthew Latron into control saved those men from themselves; they +required him to govern them; his taking away would bring chaos and ruin +among them again. They knew that. There were a number of important +people, therefore, who held hope against hope that Latron would not be +confined in a prison cell. Just before he must go to trial, Latron +himself became convinced that he faced confinement for the rest of his +life; then fate effectively intervened to end all his troubles. His +body, charred and almost consumed by flames—but nevertheless the +identified body of Matthew Latron—was found in the smoking ruins of +his shooting lodge which burned to the ground two days before his +trial. I have stated correctly these particulars, have I not, Avery?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Avery was no longer sitting on the arm of the chair; he had +slipped into the seat—he was hunched in the seat watching the blind +man with growing conviction and fear. +</P> + +<P> +"There were, of course," Santoine went on, "many of the violent and +passion-inflamed who carped at this timely intervention of fate and +criticised the accident which delivered Latron at this time. But these +were silenced when Latron's death was shown to have been, not accident, +but murder. A young man was shown to have followed Latron to the +shooting lodge; a witness appeared who had seen this young man shoot +Latron; a second witness had seen him set fire to the lodge. The young +man—Hugh Overton—was put on trial for his life. I, myself, as a +witness at the trial, supplied the motive for the crime; for, though I +had never met Overton, I knew that he had lost the whole of a large +fortune through investments recommended to him by Latron. Overton was +convicted, sentenced to death; he escaped before the sentence was +carried out—became a fugitive without a name, who if he ever +reappeared would be handed over for execution. For the evidence had +been perfect—complete; he had shot Latron purely for revenge, killed +him in the most despicable manner. For there was no doubt Latron was +dead, was there, Avery?" +</P> + +<P> +Santoine waited for reply. +</P> + +<P> +"What?" Avery said huskily. +</P> + +<P> +"I say there was no doubt Latron was dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"None." +</P> + +<P> +"That was the time you came into my employ, Avery, recommended to me by +one of the men who had been closest to Latron. I was not connected +with the Latron properties except as an adviser; but many papers +relating to them must go inevitably through my hands. I was rather on +the inside in all that concerned those properties. But I could not +myself see the papers; I was blind; therefore, I had to have others +serve as eyes for me. And from the first, Avery, you served as my eyes +in connection with all papers relating to the Latron properties. If +anything ever appeared in those papers which might have led me to +suspect that any injustice had been done in the punishment of Latron's +murderer, it could reach me only through you. Nothing of that sort +ever did reach me, Avery. You must have made quite a good thing out of +it." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"I say, your position here must have been rather profitable to you, +Avery; I have not treated you badly myself, recognizing that you must +often be tempted by gaining information here from which you might make +money; and your other employers must have overbid me." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand; I beg your pardon, Mr. Santoine, but I do not +follow what you are talking about." +</P> + +<P> +"No? Then we must go a little further. This last year a minor +reorganization became necessary in some of the Latron properties. My +friend, Gabriel Warden—who was an honest man, Avery—had recently +greatly increased his interest in those properties; it was inevitable +the reorganization should be largely in his hands. I remember now +there was opposition to his share in it; the fact made no impression on +me at the time; opposition is common in all things. During his work +with the Latron properties, Warden—the honest man, Avery—discovered +the terrible injustice of which I speak. +</P> + +<P> +"I suspect there were discrepancies in the lists of stockholders, +showing a concealed ownership of considerable blocks of stock, which +first excited his suspicions. Whatever it may have been Warden +certainly investigated further; his investigation revealed to him the +full particulars of the injustice done to the nameless fugitive who had +been convicted as the murderer of Matthew Latron. Evidently this +helpless, hopeless man had been thought worth watching by some one, for +Warden's discoveries gave him also Overton's address. Warden risked +and lost his life trying to help Overton. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not need to draw your attention, Avery, to the very peculiar +condition which followed Warden's death. Warden had certainly had +communication with Overton of some sort; Overton's enemies, therefore, +were unable to rid themselves of him by delivering him up to the police +because they did not know how much Overton knew. When I found that +Warden had made me his executor and I went west and took charge of his +affairs, their difficulties were intensified, for they did not dare to +let suspicion of what had been done reach me. There was no course open +to them, therefore, but to remove Overton before my suspicions were +aroused, even if it could be done only at desperate risk to themselves. +</P> + +<P> +"What I am leading up to, Avery, is your own connection with these +events. You looked after your own interests rather carefully, I think, +up to a certain point. When—knowing who Eaton was—you got him into a +polo game, it was so that, if your interests were best served by +exposing him, you could do so without revealing the real source of your +knowledge of him. But an unforeseen event arose. The drafts and lists +relating to the reorganization of the Latron properties—containing the +very facts, no doubt, which first had aroused Warden's suspicions—were +sent me through Warden's office. At first there was nothing +threatening to you in this, because their contents could reach me only +through you. But in the uncertainty I felt, I had my daughter take +these matters out of your hands; you did not dare then even to ask me +to give them back, for fear that would draw my attention to them and to +you. +</P> + +<P> +"That night, Avery, you sent an unsigned telegram from the office in +the village; almost within twenty-four hours my study was entered, the +safe inaccessible to you was broken open, the contents were carried +away. The study window had not been forced; it had been left open from +within. Do you suppose I do not know that one of the two men in the +study last night was the principal whose agents had failed in two +attempts to get rid of Overton for him, whose other agent—yourself, +Avery—had failed to intercept the evidence which would have revealed +the truth to me, so that, no longer trusting to agents, he himself had +come in desperation to prevent my learning the facts? I realize fully, +Avery, that by means of you my blindness and my reputation have been +used for five years to conceal from the public the fact that Matthew +Latron had not been murdered, but was still alive!" +</P> + +<P> +The blind man halted; he had not gone through this long conversation, +with all the strain that it entailed upon himself, without a definite +object; and now, as he listened to Avery's quick breathing and the +nervous tapping of his fingers against the arm of his chair, he +realized that this object was accomplished. Avery not only realized +that the end of deception and concealment had come; he recognized +thoroughly that Santoine would not have spoken until he had certain +proof to back his words. Avery might believe that, as yet, the blind +man had not all the proof in his possession; but Avery knew—as he was +aware that Santoine also knew—that exposure threatened so many men +that some one of them now was certain to come forward to save himself +at the expense of the others. And Avery knew that only one—and the +first one so to come forward—could be saved. +</P> + +<P> +So Santoine heard Avery now get up; he stood an instant and tried to +speak, but his breath caught nervously; he made another effort. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think you have much against me, Mr. Santoine," he managed; it +was—as the blind man had expected—only of himself that Avery was +thinking. +</P> + +<P> +"No?" Santoine asked quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't have anything to do with convicting Overton, or know anything +about it until that part was all over; I never saw him till I saw him +on the train. I didn't know Warden was going to be killed." +</P> + +<P> +"But you were accessory to the robbery of my house last night and, +therefore, accessory to the murder of Wallace Blatchford. Last night, +too, knowing Overton was innocent of everything charged against him, +you gave orders to fire upon him at sight and he was fired upon. And +what were you telling Harriet when I came in? You have told the police +that Overton is the murderer of Latron. Isn't that so the police will +refuse to believe anything he may say and return him to the death cell +for the sentence to be executed upon him? The law will call these +things attempted murder, Avery." +</P> + +<P> +The blind man heard Avery pacing the floor, and then heard him stop in +front of him. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it you want of me, Mr. Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +"The little information I still require." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean you want me to sell the crowd out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not that; because I offer you nothing. A number of men are going to +the gallows or the penitentiary for this, Avery, and you—I +suspect—among them; though I also suspect—from what I have learned +about your character in the last few days—that you'll take any means +open to you to avoid sharing their fate." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you mean by that that I'll turn State's evidence if I get a +chance, and that I might as well begin now." +</P> + +<P> +"That, I should say, is entirely up to you. The charge of what I +know—with the simultaneous arrest of a certain number of men in +different places whom I know must be implicated—will be made +to-morrow. You, perhaps, are a better judge than I of the cohesion of +your group in the contingencies which it will face to-morrow morning. +I offer you nothing now, Avery—no recommendation of clemency—nothing. +If you prefer to have me learn the full facts from the first of another +who breaks, very well." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine waited. He heard Avery take a few more steps up and down; +then he halted; now he walked again; they were uneven steps as Santoine +heard them; then Avery stopped once more. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it you want to know, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who killed Warden?" +</P> + +<P> +"John Yarrow is his name; he was a sort of hanger-on of Latron's. I +don't know where Latron picked him up." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it he who also made the attack on the train?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was the other man on the train—the one that claimed the telegram +addressed to Lawrence Hillward?" +</P> + +<P> +"His name's Hollock. He's the titular owner of the place on the +Michigan shore where Latron has been living. The telegram I sent night +before last was addressed to his place, you know. He's been a sort of +go-between for Latron and the men—those who knew—who were managing +the properties. I'd never met him, though, Mr. Santoine, and I didn't +know either him or Hollock on the train. As I said, I wasn't in the +know about killing Warden." +</P> + +<P> +"When did you learn who Eaton was, Avery?" +</P> + +<P> +"The day after we got back here from the West I got word from Latron; +they didn't tell me till they needed to use me." Avery hesitated; then +he went on—he was eager now to tell all he knew in his belief that by +doing so he was helping his own case. "You understand, sir, about +Latron's pretended death—a guide at the shooting lodge had been killed +by a chance shot in the woods; purely accidental; some one of the party +had fired at a deer, missed, and never knew he'd killed a man with the +waste shot. When the guide didn't come back to camp, they looked for +him and found his body. He was a man who never would be missed or +inquired for and was very nearly Latron's size; and that gave Latron +the idea. +</P> + +<P> +"At first there was no idea of pretending he had been murdered; it was +the coroner who first suggested that. Things looked ugly for a while, +under the circumstances, as they were made public. Either the scheme +might come out or some one else be charged as the murderer. That put +it up to Overton. He'd actually been up there to see Latron and had +had a scene with him which had been witnessed. That part—all but the +evidence which showed that he shot Latron afterwards—was perfectly +true. He thought that Latron, as he was about to go to trial, might be +willing to give him information which would let him save something from +the fortune he'd lost through Latron's manipulations. The +circumstances, motive, everything was ready to convict Overton; it +needed very little more to complete the case against him." +</P> + +<P> +"So it was completed." +</P> + +<P> +"But after Overton was convicted, he was not allowed to be punished, +sir." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine's lips straightened in contempt. "He was not allowed to be +punished?" +</P> + +<P> +"Overton didn't actually escape, you know, Mr. Santoine—that is, he +couldn't have escaped without help; Latron was thoroughly frightened +and he wanted it carried through and Overton executed; but some of the +others rebelled against this and saw that Overton got away; but he +never knew he'd been helped. I understand it was evidence of Latron's +insistence on the sentence being carried out that Warden found, after +his first suspicions had been aroused, and that put Warden in a +position to have Latron tried for his life, and made it necessary to +kill Warden." +</P> + +<P> +"Latron is dead, of course, Avery, or fatally wounded?" +</P> + +<P> +"He's dead. Over—Eaton, that is, sir—hit him last night with three +shots." +</P> + +<P> +"As a housebreaker engaged in rifling my safe, Avery." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir. Latron was dying when they took him out of the car last +night. They got him away, though; put him on the boat he'd come on. I +saw them in the woods last night. They'll not destroy the body or make +away with it, sir, at present." +</P> + +<P> +"In other words, you instructed them not to do so until you had found +out whether Overton could be handed over for execution and the facts +regarding Latron kept secret, or whether some other course was +necessary." +</P> + +<P> +The blind man did not wait for any answer to this; he straightened +suddenly, gripping the arms of his chair, and got up. There was more +he wished to ask; in the bitterness he felt at his blindness having +been used to make him an unconscious agent in these things of which +Avery spoke so calmly, he was resolved that no one who had shared +knowingly in them should go unpunished. But now he heard the noise +made by approach of Eaton's captors. He had noted it a minute or more +earlier; he was sure now that it was definitely nearing the house. He +crossed to the window, opened it and stood there listening; the people +outside were coming up the driveway. Santoine went into the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Miss Santoine?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +The servant who waited in the hall told him she had gone out. As +Santoine stood listening, the sounds without became coherent to him. +</P> + +<P> +"They have taken Overton, Avery," he commented. "Of course they have +taken no one else. I shall tell those in charge of him that he is not +the one they are to hold prisoner but that I have another for them +here." +</P> + +<P> +The blind man heard no answer from Avery. Those having Overton in +charge seemed to be coming into the house; the door opened and there +were confused sounds. Santoine stood separating the voices. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" he asked the servant. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Eaton—Mr. Overton, sir—fainted as they were taking him out of +the motor-car, sir. He seems much done up, sir." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine recognized that four or five men, holding or carrying their +prisoner between them, had come in and halted in surprise at sight of +him. +</P> + +<P> +"We have him!" he heard one of them cry importantly to him. "We have +him, sir! and he's Hugh Overton, who killed Latron!" +</P> + +<P> +Then Santoine heard his daughter's voice in a half cry, half sob of +hopeless appeal to him; Harriet ran to him; he felt her cold, trembling +fingers clasping him and beseeching him. "Father! Father! They +say—they say—they will—" +</P> + +<P> +He put his hands over hers, clasping hers and patting it, "My dear," he +said, "I thought you would wait for me; I told you to wait." +</P> + +<P> +He heard others coming into the house now; and he held his daughter +beside him as he faced them. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is in charge here?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +The voice of one of those who had just come in answered him. "I, +sir—I am the chief of police." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to speak to you; I will not keep you long. May I ask you to +have your prisoner taken to the room he occupied here in my house and +given attention by a doctor? You can have my word that it is not +necessary to guard him. Wait! Wait!" he directed, as he heard +exclamations and ejaculations to correct him. "I do not mean that you +have mistaken who he is. He is Hugh Overton, I know; it is because he +is Hugh Overton that I say what I do." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine abandoned effort to separate and comprehend or to try to +answer the confusion of charge and questioning around him. He +concerned himself, at the moment, only with his daughter; he drew her +to him, held her and said gently, "There, dear; there! Everything is +right. I have not been able to explain to you, and I cannot take time +now; but you, at least, will take my word that you have nothing to fear +for him—nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +He heard her gasp with incredulity and surprise; then, as she drew back +from him, staring at him, she breathed deep with relief and clasped +him, sobbing. He still held her, as the hall was cleared and the +footsteps of those carrying Overton went up the stairs; then, knowing +that she wished to follow them, he released her. She drew away, then +clasped his hand and kissed it; as she did so, she suddenly stiffened +and her hand tightened on his spasmodically. +</P> + +<P> +Some one else had come into the hall and he heard another voice—a +woman's, which he recognized as that of the stenographer, Miss Davis. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is he? Hugh! Hugh! What have you done to him? Mr. Santoine! +Mr. Santoine! where is he?" +</P> + +<P> +The blind man straightened, holding his daughter to him; there was +anxiety, horror, love in the voice he heard; Harriet's perplexity was +great as his own. "Is that you, Miss Davis?" he inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; yes," the girl repeated. "Where is—Hugh, Mr. Santoine?" +</P> + +<P> +"You do not understand," the voice of a young man—anxious and strained +now, but of pleasing timbre—broke in on them. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I don't," Santoine said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"She is Hugh's sister, Mr. Santoine—she is Edith Overton." +</P> + +<P> +"Edith Overton? And who are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You do not know me. My name is Lawrence Hillward." +</P> + +<P> +Santoine asked nothing more for the moment. His daughter had left his +side. He stood an instant listening to the confusion of question and +answer in the hall; then he opened the door into the library and held +it for the police chief to enter. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"IT'S ALL RIGHT, HUGH"—AT LAST +</H4> + +<P> +Eaton—he still, with the habit of five years of concealment, even +thought of himself by that name—awoke to full consciousness at eight +o'clock the next morning. He was in the room he had occupied before in +Santoine's house; the sunlight, reflected from the lake, was playing on +the ceiling. His wounds had been dressed; his body was comfortable and +without fever. He had indistinct memories of being carried, of people +bending over him, of being cared for; but of all else that had happened +since his capture he knew nothing. +</P> + +<P> +He saw and recognized, against the lighted square of the window, a man +standing looking out at the lake. +</P> + +<P> +"Lawrence," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The man turned and came toward the bed. "Yes, Hugh." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton raised himself excitedly upon his pillows. "Lawrence, that was +he—last night—in the study. It was Latron! I saw him! You'll +believe me, Lawrence—you at least will. They got away on a boat—they +must be followed—" With the first return of consciousness he had +taken up again that battle against circumstances which had been his +only thought for five years. +</P> + +<P> +But now, suddenly he was aware that his sister was also in the room, +sitting upon the opposite side of the bed. Her hand came forward and +clasped his; she bent over him, holding him and fondling him. +</P> + +<P> +"It is all right, Hugh," she whispered—"Oh, Hugh! it is all right now." +</P> + +<P> +"All right?" he questioned dazedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; Mr. Santoine knows; he—he was not what we thought him. He +believed all the while that you were justly sentenced. Now he knows +otherwise—" +</P> + +<P> +"He—Santoine—believed that?" Eaton asked incredulously. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; he says his blindness was used by them to make him think so. So +now he is very angry; he says no one who had anything to do with it +shall escape. He figured it all out—most wonderfully—that it must +have been Latron in the study. He has been working all night—they +have already made several arrests and every port on the lake is being +watched for the boat they got away on." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that true, Edith? Lawrence, is it true?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; quite true, Hugh!" Hillward choked and turned away. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton sank back against his pillows; his eyes—dry, bright and filled +still with questioning for a time, as, he tried to appreciate what he +just had heard and all that it meant to him—dampened suddenly as he +realized that it was over now, that long struggle to clear his name +from the charge of murder—the fight which had seemed so hopeless. He +could not realize it to the full as yet; concealment, fear, the sense +of monstrous injustice done him had marked so deeply all his thoughts +and feelings that he could not sense the fact that they were gone for +good. So what came to him most strongly now was only realization that +he had been set right with Santoine—Santoine, whom he himself had +misjudged and mistrusted. And Harriet? He had not needed to be set +right with her; she had believed and trusted him from the first, in +spite of all that had seemed against him. Gratitude warmed him as he +thought of her—and that other feeling, deeper, stronger far than +gratitude, or than anything else he ever had felt toward any one but +her, surged up in him and set his pulses wildly beating, as his thought +strained toward the future. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is—Miss Santoine?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +His sister answered. "She has been helping her father. They left word +they were to be sent for as soon as you woke up, and I've just sent for +them." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton lay silent till he heard them coming. The blind man was +unfamiliar with this room; his daughter led him in. Her eyes were very +bright, her cheeks which had been pale flushed as she met Eaton's look, +but she did not look away. He kept his gaze upon her. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine, under her guidance, took the chair Hillward set beside the +bed for him. The blind man was very quiet; he felt for and found +Eaton's hand and pressed it. Eaton choked, as he returned the +pressure. Then Santoine released him. +</P> + +<P> +"Who else is here?" the blind man asked his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Overton and Mr. Hillward," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine found with his blind eyes their positions in the room and +acknowledged their presence; afterward he turned back to Eaton. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand, I think, everything now, except some few particulars +regarding yourself," he said. "Will you tell me those?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean—-" Eaton spoke to Santoine, but he looked at Harriet. "Oh, +I understand, I think. When I—escaped, Mr. Santoine of course, my +picture had appeared in all the newspapers and I was not safe from +recognition anywhere in this country. I got into Canada and, from +Vancouver, went to China. We I had very little money left, Mr. +Santoine; what had not been—lost through Latron had been spent in my +defense. I got a position in a mercantile house over there. It was a +good country for me; people over there don't ask questions for fear +some one will ask questions about them. We had no near relatives for +Edith to go to and she had to take up stenography to support herself +and—and change her name, Mr. Santoine, because of me." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton's hand went out and clasped his sister's. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Hugh; it didn't matter—about me, I mean!" she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Hillward met her and asked her to marry him and she—wouldn't consent +without telling him who she was. He—Lawrence—believed her when she +said I hadn't killed Latron; and he suggested that she come out here +and try to get employed by you. We didn't suspect, of course, that +Latron was still alive. We thought he had been killed by some of his +own crowd—in some quarrel or because his trial was likely to involve +some one else so seriously that they killed him to prevent it; and that +it was put upon me to—to protect that person and that you—" +</P> + +<P> +Eaton hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," said Santoine. "You thought I knew who Latron's murderer was +and morally, though not technically, perjured myself at your trial to +convict you in his place. What next?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was it," Eaton assented. "We thought you knew that and that some +of those around you who served as your eyes must know it, too." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet gasped. Eaton looking at her, knew that she understood now +what had come between them when she had told him that she herself had +served as her father's eyes all through the Latron trial. He felt +himself flushing as he looked at her; he could not understand now how +he could have believed that she had aided in concealing an injustice +against him, no matter what influence had been exerted upon her. She +was all good; all true! +</P> + +<P> +"At first," Eaton went on, "Edith did not find out anything. Then, +this year, she learned that there was to be a reorganization of some of +the Latron properties. We hoped that, during that, something would +come out which might help us. I had been away almost five years; my +face was forgotten, and we thought I could take the chance of coming +back to be near at hand so I could act if anything did come out. +Lawrence met me at Vancouver. We were about to start East when I +received a message from Mr. Warden. I did not know Warden and I don't +know now how he knew who I was or where he could reach me. His message +merely said he knew I needed help and he was prepared to give it and +made an appointment for me to see him at his house. He was one of the +Latron crowd but, I found out, one of those least likely to have had a +hand in my conviction. I thought possibly Warden was going to tell me +the name of Latron's murderer and I decided to take the risk of seeing +him. You know what happened when I tried to keep the appointment. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you came to Seattle and took charge of Warden's affairs. I felt +certain that if there was any evidence among Warden's effects as to who +had killed Latron, you would take it back with you with the other +matters relating to the Latron reorganization. You could not recognize +me from your having been at my trial because you were blind; I decided +to take the train with you and try to get possession of the draft of +the reorganization agreement and the other documents with it which +Warden had been working on. I had suspected that I was being watched +by agents of the men protecting Latron's murderer while I was in +Seattle. I had changed my lodgings there because of that, but Lawrence +had remained at the old lodgings to find out for me. He found there +was a man following me who disappeared after I had taken the train, and +Lawrence, after questioning the gateman at Seattle decided the man had +taken the same train I did. He wired me in the cipher we had sometimes +used in communicating with each other, but not knowing what name I was +using on the train he addressed it to himself, confident that if a +telegram reached the train addressed to 'Lawrence Hillward' I would +understand and claim it. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, I could not follow his instructions and leave the train; we +were snowed in. Besides, I could not imagine how anybody could have +followed me onto the train, as I had taken pains to prevent that very +thing by being the last passenger to get aboard it." +</P> + +<P> +"The man whom the gateman saw did not follow you; he merely watched you +get on the train and notified two others, who took the train at +Spokane. They had planned to get rid of you after you left Seattle so +as to run less risk of your death being connected with that of Warden. +It was my presence which made it necessary for them to make the +desperate attempt to kill you on the train." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I understand. The other telegram was sent me, of course, by +Edith from Chicago, when she learned here that you were using the name +of Dorne on your way home. I learned from her when I got here that the +documents relating to the Latron properties, which I had decided you +did not have with you, were being sent you through Warden's office. +Through Edith I learned that they had reached you and had been put in +the safe. I managed to communicate with Hillward at the country club, +and that night he brought me the means of forcing the safe." +</P> + +<P> +Eaton felt himself flushing again, as he looked at Harriet. Did she +resent his having used her in that way? He saw only sympathy in her +face. +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter told me that she helped you to that extent," Santoine +offered, "and I understood later what must have been your reason for +asking her to take you out that night." +</P> + +<P> +"When I reached the study," Eaton continued, "I found others already +there. The light of an electric torch flashed on the face of one of +them and I recognized the man as Latron—the man for whose murder I had +been convicted and sentenced! Edith tells me that you know the rest." +</P> + +<P> +There was silence in the room for several minutes. Santoine again felt +for Eaton's hand and pressed it. "We've tired you out," he said. "You +must rest." +</P> + +<P> +"You must sleep, Hugh, if you can," Edith urged. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton obediently closed his eyes, but opened them at once to look for +Harriet. She had moved out of his line of vision. +</P> + +<P> +Santoine rose; he stood an instant waiting for his daughter, then +suddenly he comprehended that she was no longer in the room. "Mr. +Hillward, I must ask your help," he said, and he went out with Hillward +guiding him. +</P> + +<P> +Eaton, turning anxiously on his pillow and looking about the room, saw +no one but his sister. He had known when Harriet moved away from +beside the bed; but he had not suspected that she was leaving the room. +Now suddenly a great fear filled him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did Miss Santoine go away? Why did she go, Edith?" he questioned. +</P> + +<P> +"You must sleep, Hugh," his sister answered only. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet, when she slipped out of the room, had gone downstairs. She +could not have forced herself to leave before she had heard Hugh's +story, and she could not define definitely even to herself what the +feeling had been that had made her leave as soon as he had finished; +but she sensed the reason vaguely. Hugh had told her two days before, +"I will come back to you as you have never known me yet"—and it had +proved true. She had known him as a man in fear, constrained, +carefully guarding himself against others and against betrayal by +himself; a man to whom all the world seemed opposed; so that her +sympathy—and afterward something more than her sympathy—had gone out +to him. To that repressed and threatened man, she had told all she +felt toward him, revealing her feelings with a frankness that would +have been impossible except that she wanted him to know that she was +ready to stand against the world with him. +</P> + +<P> +Now the world was no longer against him; he had friends, a place in +life was ready to receive him; he would be sought after, and his name +would be among those of the people of her own sort. She had no shame +that she had let him—and others—know all that she felt toward him; +she gloried still in it; only now—now, if he wished her, he must make +that plain; she could not, of herself, return to him. +</P> + +<P> +So unrest possessed her and the suspense of something hoped for but +unfulfilled. She went from room to room, trying to absorb herself on +her daily duties; but the house—her father's house—spoke to her now +only of Hugh and she could think of nothing but him. Was he awake? +Was he sleeping? Was he thinking of her? Or, now that the danger was +over through which she had served him, were his thoughts of some one +else? +</P> + +<P> +Her heart halted at each recurrence of that thought; and again and +again she repeated his words to her at parting from her the night +before. "I will come back to you as you have never known me yet!" To +her he would come back, he said; to her, not to any one else. But his +danger was not over then; in his great extremity and in his need of +her, he might have felt what he did not feel now. If he wanted her, +why did he not send for her? +</P> + +<P> +She stood trembling as she saw Edith Overton in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh has been asking for you continually, Miss Santoine. If you can +find time, please go in and see him." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet did not know what answer she made. She went upstairs: she ran, +as soon as she was out of sight of Hugh's sister; then, at Hugh's door, +she had to halt to catch her breath and compose herself before she +opened the door and looked in upon him. He was alone and seemed +asleep; at least his eyes were closed. Harriet stood an instant gazing +at him. +</P> + +<P> +His face was peaceful now but worn and his paleness was more evident +than when he had been talking to her father. As she stood watching +him, she felt her blood coursing through her as never before and +warming her face and her fingertips; and fear—fear of him or of +herself, fear of anything at all in the world—fled from her; and +love—love which she knew that she need no longer try to +deny—possessed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet!" She heard her name from his lips and she saw, as he opened +his eyes and turned to her, there was no surprise in his look; if he +had been sleeping, he had been dreaming she was there; if awake, he had +been thinking of her. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Hugh?" She was beside him and he was looking up into her +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You meant it, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Meant it, Hugh?" +</P> + +<P> +"All you said and—and all you did when we—you and I—were alone +against them all! It's so, Harriet! You meant it!" +</P> + +<P> +"And you did too! Dear, it was only to me that you could come +back—only to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only to you!" He closed his eyes in his exaltation. "Oh, my dear, I +never dreamed—Harriet in all the days and nights I've had to plan and +wonder what might be for me if everything could come all right, I've +never dreamed I could win a reward like this." +</P> + +<P> +"Like this?" +</P> + +<P> +He opened his eyes again and drew her down toward him. "Like you!" +</P> + +<P> +She bent until her cheek touched his and his arms were about her. He +felt her tears upon his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Not that; not that—you mustn't cry, dear," he begged. "Oh, Harriet, +aren't you happy now?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's why. Happy! I didn't know before there could be anything like +this." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor I.... So it's all right, Harriet; everything is all right now?" +</P> + +<P> +"All right? Oh, it's all right now, if I can make it so for you," she +answered. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<HR> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Popular Copyright Novels +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +<I>AT MODERATE PRICES</I> +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of +<BR> +A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction +</H4> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard.<BR> +Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. 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Richmond.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Second Choice. By Will N. Harben.<BR> +Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond.<BR> +Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.<BR> +Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss.<BR> +Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris.<BR> +Shavings. By Joseph C. Lincoln.<BR> +Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright.<BR> +Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.<BR> +Sherry. By George Barr McCutcheon.<BR> +Side of the Angels, The. By Basil King.<BR> +Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach.<BR> +Sin That Was His, The. By Frank L. Packard.<BR> +Sixty-first Second, The. By Owen Johnson.<BR> +Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.<BR> +Son of His Father, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.<BR> +Son of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.<BR> +Source, The. By Clarence Buddington Kelland.<BR> +Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.<BR> +Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens.<BR> +Spirit of the Border, The. (New Edition.) By Zane Grey.<BR> +Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach.<BR> +Steele of the Royal Mounted. By James Oliver Curwood.<BR> +Still Jim. By Honoré Willsie.<BR> +Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.<BR> +Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter.<BR> +Strange Case of Cavendish, The. By Randall Parrish.<BR> +Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond.<BR> +Sudden Jim. By Clarence B. Kelland.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.<BR> +Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs.<BR> +Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Blind Man's Eyes, by +William MacHarg and Edwin Balmer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLIND MAN'S EYES *** + +***** This file should be named 33064-h.htm or 33064-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/0/6/33064/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Blind Man's Eyes + +Author: William MacHarg + Edwin Balmer + +Illustrator: Wilson C. Dexter + +Release Date: July 3, 2010 [EBook #33064] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLIND MAN'S EYES *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: Cover art] + + + +[Frontispiece: "Until I come to you as--as you have never known me +yet!"] + + + + +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + + +By WILLIAM MACHARG & EDWIN BALMER + + + + +With Frontispiece + +By WILSON C. DEXTER + + + + +A. L. BURT COMPANY + +Publishers ---- New York + + +Published by Arrangements with LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY + + + + +_Copyright, 1916,_ + +BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY + + +_All rights reserved_ + + + + +To + +R. G. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + + I A FINANCIER DIES + II THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE + III MISS DORNE MEETS EATON + IV TRUCE + V ARE YOU HILLWARD? + VI THE HAND IN THE AISLE + VII "ISN'T THIS BASIL SANTOINE?" + VIII SUSPICION FASTENS ON EATON + IX QUESTIONS + X THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + XI PUBLICITY NOT WANTED + XII THE ALLY IN THE HOUSE + XIII THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN + XIV IT GROWS PLAINER + XV DONALD AVERY IS MOODY + XVI SANTOINE'S "EYES" FAIL HIM + XVII THE FIGHT IN THE STUDY + XVIII UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS + XIX PURSUIT + XX WAITING + XXI WHAT ONE CAN DO WITHOUT EYES + XXII THE MAN HUNT + XXIII NOT EATON--OVERTON + XXIV THE FLAW IN THE LEFT EYE + XXV "IT'S ALL RIGHT, HUGH"--AT LAST + + + + +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + + +CHAPTER I + +A FINANCIER DIES + +Gabriel Warden--capitalist, railroad director, owner of mines and +timber lands, at twenty a cow-puncher, at forty-eight one of the +predominant men of the Northwest Coast--paced with quick, uneven steps +the great wicker-furnished living room of his home just above Seattle +on Puget Sound. Twice within ten minutes he had used the telephone in +the hall to ask the same question and, apparently to receive the same +reply--that the train from Vancouver, for which he had inquired, had +come in and that the passengers had left the station. + +It was not like Gabriel Warden to show nervousness of any sort; Kondo, +the Japanese doorman, who therefore had found something strange in this +telephoning, watched him through the portieres which shut off the +living-room from the hall. Three times Kondo saw him--big, uncouth in +the careless fit of his clothes, powerful and impressive in his +strength of feature and the carriage of his well-shaped head--go to the +window and, watch in hand, stand staring out. It was a Sunday evening +toward the end of February--cold, cloudy and with a chill wind driving +over the city and across the Sound. Warden evidently saw no one as he +gazed out into the murk; but each moment, Kondo observed, his +nervousness increased. He turned suddenly and pressed the bell to call +a servant. Kondo, retreating silently down the hall, advanced again +and entered the room; he noticed then that Warden's hand, which was +still holding the watch before him, was shaking. + +"A young man who may, or may not, give a name, will ask for me in a few +moments. He will say he called by appointment. Take him at once to my +smoking-room, and I will see him there. I am going to Mrs. Warden's +room now." + +He went up the stairs, Kondo noticed, still absently holding his watch +in his hand. + +Warden controlled his nervousness before entering his wife's +room,--where she had just finished dressing to go out,--so that she did +not at first sense anything unusual. In fact, she talked with him +casually for a moment or so before she even sent away her maid. He had +promised a few days before to accompany her to a concert; she thought +he had come simply to beg off. When they were alone, she suddenly saw +that he had come to her to discuss some serious subject. + +"Cora," he said, when he had closed the door after the maid, "I want +your advice on a business question." + +"A business question!" She was greatly surprised. She was a number of +years younger than he; he was one of those men who believe all business +matters should be kept from their wives. + +"I mean it came to me through some business--discoveries." + +"And you cannot decide it for yourself?" + +"I had decided it." He looked again at his watch. "I had quite +decided it; but now--It may lead to some result which I have suddenly +felt that I haven't the right to decide entirely for myself." + +Warden's wife for the first time felt alarmed. She could not well +describe his manner; it did not suggest fear for himself; she could not +imagine his feeling such fear; but she was frightened. She put her +hand on his arm. + +"You mean it affects me directly?" + +"It may. For that reason I feel I must do what you would have me do." + +He seized both her hands in his and held her before him; she waited for +him to go on. + +"Cora," he said, "what would you have me do if you knew I had found out +that a young man--a man who, four or five years ago, had as much to +live for as any man might--had been outraged in every right by men who +are my friends? Would you have me fight the outfit for him? Or would +you have me--lie down?" + +His fingers almost crushed hers in his excitement. She stared at him +with only pride then; she was proud of his strength, of his ability to +fight, of the power she knew he possessed to force his way against +opposition. "Why, you would fight them!" + +"You mean you want me to?" + +"Isn't that what you had decided to do?" + +He only repeated. "You want me to fight them?" + +"Of course." + +"No matter what it costs?" + +She realized then that what he was facing was very grave. + +"Cora," he said, "I didn't come to ask your advice without putting this +squarely to you. If I go into this fight, I shall be not only an +opponent to some of my present friends; I shall be a threat to +them--something they may think it necessary to remove." + +"Remove?" + +"Such things have happened--to better men than I, over smaller matters." + +She cried out. "You mean some one might kill you?" + +"Should that keep me from going in?" + +She hesitated. He went on: "Would you have me afraid to do a thing +that ought to be done, Cora?" + +"No," she said; "I would not." + +"All right, then. That's all I had to know now. The young man is +coming to see me to-night, Cora. Probably he's downstairs. I'll tell +you all I can after I've talked with him." + +Warden's wife tried to hold him a moment more, but he loosed himself +from her and left her. + +He went directly downstairs; as he passed through the hall, the +telephone bell rang. Warden himself answered it. Kondo, who from his +place in the hall overheard Warden's end of the conversation, made out +only that the person at the other end of the line appeared to be a +friend, or at least an acquaintance, of Warden's. Kondo judged this +from the tone of the conversation; Warden spoke no names. Apparently +the other person wished to see Warden at once. Warden finished, "All +right; I'll come and get you. Wait for me there." Then he hung up. + +Turning to Kondo, he ordered his limousine car. Kondo transmitted the +order and brought Warden's coat and cap; then Kondo opened the house +door for him and the door of the limousine, which had been brought +under the porte-cochere. Kondo heard Warden direct the chauffeur to a +drug store near the center of the city; the chauffeur was Patrick +Corboy, a young Irishman who had been in Warden's employ for more than +five years; his faithfulness to Warden was never questioned. Corboy +drove to the place Warden had directed. As they stopped, a young man +of less than medium height, broad-shouldered and wearing a mackintosh, +came to the curb and spoke to Warden. Corboy did not hear the name, +but Warden immediately asked the man into the car; he directed Corboy +to return home. The chauffeur did this, but was obliged on the way to +come to a complete stop several times, as he met streetcars or other +vehicles on intersecting streets. + +Almost immediately after Warden had left the house, the door-bell rang +and Kondo answered it. A young man with a quiet and pleasant bearing +inquired for Mr. Warden and said he came by appointment. Kondo ushered +him into the smoking room, where the stranger waited. The Jap did not +announce this arrival to any one, for he had already received his +instructions; but several times in the next half hour he looked in upon +him. The stranger was always sitting where he had seated himself when +Kondo showed him in; he was merely waiting. In about forty minutes, +Corboy drove the car under the porte-cochere again and got down and +opened the door. Kondo had not heard the car at once, and the +chauffeur had not waited for him. There was no motion inside the +limousine. The chauffeur looked in and saw Mr. Warden lying back +quietly against the cushions in the back of the seat; he was alone. + +Corboy noticed then that the curtains all about had been pulled down; +he touched the button and turned on the light at the top of the car, +and then he saw that Warden was dead; his cap was off, and the top of +his head had been smashed in by a heavy blow. + +The chauffeur drew back, gasping; Kondo, behind him on the steps, cried +out and ran into the house calling for help. Two other servants and +Mrs. Warden, who had remained nervously in her room, ran down. The +stranger who had been waiting, now seen for the first time by Mrs. +Warden, came out from the smoking room to help them. He aided in +taking the body from the car and helped to carry it into the living +room and lay it on a couch; he remained until it was certain that +Warden had been killed and nothing could be done. When this had been +established and further confirmed by the doctor who was called, Kondo +and Mrs. Warden looked around for the young man--but he was no longer +there. + +The news of the murder brought extras out upon the streets of Seattle, +Tacoma, and Portland at ten o'clock that night; the news took the first +page in San Francisco, Chicago, and New York papers, in competition +with the war news, the next morning. Seattle, stirred at once at the +murder of one of its most prominent citizens, stirred still further at +the new proof that Warden had been a power in business and finance; +then, as the second day's dispatches from the larger cities came in, it +stirred a third time at the realization--for so men said--that this was +the second time such a murder had happened. + +Warden had been what was called among men of business and finance a +member of the "Latron crowd"; he had been close, at one time, to the +great Western capitalist Matthew Latron; the properties in which he had +made his wealth, and whose direction and administration had brought him +the respect and attention of other men, had been closely allied with or +even included among those known as the "Latron properties"; and Latron, +five years before, had been murdered. The parallel between the two +cases was not as great as the newspapers in their search for the +startling made it appear; nevertheless, there was a parallel. Latron's +murderer had been a man who called upon him by appointment, and +Warden's murderer, it appeared, had been equally known to him, or at +least equally recommended. Of this as much was made as possible in the +suggestion that the same agency was behind the two. + +The statement of Cora Warden, indicating that Warden's death might have +been caused by men with whom he was--or had been at one +time--associated, was compared with the fact that Latron's death had +occurred at a time of fierce financial stress and warfare. But in this +comparison Warden's statement to his wife was not borne out. Men of +high place in the business world appeared, from time to time during the +next few days, at Warden's offices and even at his house, coming from +other cities on the Coast and from as far east as Chicago; they felt +the need, many of them, of looking after interests of their own which +were involved with Warden's. All concurred in saying that, so far as +Warden and his properties were concerned, the time was one of peace; +neither attack nor serious disagreement had threatened him. + +More direct investigation of the murder went on unceasingly through +these days. The statements of Kondo and Corboy were verified; it was +even learned at what spot Warden's murderer had left the motor +unobserved by Corboy. Beyond this, no trace was found of him, and the +disappearance of the young man who had come to Warden's house and +waited there for three quarters of an hour to see him was also complete. + +No suspicion attached to this young man; Warden's talk with his wife +made it completely clear that, if he had any connection with the +murder, it was only as befriending him brought danger to Warden. His +disappearance seemed explicable therefore only in one way. Appeals to +him to come forward were published in the newspapers; he was offered +the help of influential men, if help was what he needed, and a money +reward was promised for revealing himself and explaining why Warden saw +inevitable danger in befriending him. To these offers he made no +response. The theory therefore gained ground that his appointment with +Warden had involved him in Warden's fate; it was generally credited +that he too must have been killed; or, if he was alive, he saw in +Warden's swift and summary destruction a warning of his own fate if he +came forward and sought to speak at this time. + +Thus after ten days no information from or about this mysterious young +man had been gained. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE EXPRESS IS HELD FOR A PERSONAGE + +On the morning of the eleventh day, Bob Connery, special conductor for +the Coast division of one of the chief transcontinentals, was having +late breakfast on his day off at his little cottage on the shore of +Puget Sound, when he was treated to the unusual sight of a large +touring car stopping before his door. The car carried no one but the +chauffeur, however, and he at once made it plain that he came only as a +message-bearer when he hurried from the car to the house with an +envelope in his hand. Connery, meeting him at the door, opened the +envelope and found within an order in the handwriting of the president +of the railroad and over his signature. + + +Connery: + +No. 5 being held at Seattle terminal until nine o'clock--will run one +hour late. This is your authority to supersede the regular man as +conductor--prepared to go through to Chicago. You will facilitate +every desire and obey, when possible, any request even as to running of +the train, which may be made by a passenger who will identify himself +by a card from me. + +H. E. JARVIS. + + +The conductor, accustomed to take charge of trains when princes, +envoys, presidents and great people of any sort took to travel publicly +or privately, fingered the heavy cream-colored note-paper upon which +the order was written and looked up at the chauffeur. + +The order itself was surprising enough even to Connery. Some passenger +of extraordinary influence, obviously, was to take the train; not only +the holding of the transcontinental for an hour told this, but there +was the further plain statement that the passenger would be incognito. +Astonishing also was the fact that the order was written upon private +note-paper. There had been a monogram at the top of the sheet, but it +had been torn off; that would not have been if Mr. Jarvis had sent the +order from home. Who could have had the president of the road call +upon him at half past seven in the morning and have told Mr. Jarvis to +hold the Express for an hour? + +Connery, having served for twenty of his forty-two years under Mr. +Jarvis, and the last five, at least, in almost a confidential capacity, +was certain of the distinctive characters of the president's +handwriting. The enigma of the order, however, had piqued him so that +he pretended doubt. + +"Where did you get this?" he challenged the chauffeur. + +"From Mr. Jarvis." + +"Of course; but where?" + +"You mean you want to know where he was?" + +Connery smiled quietly. If he himself was trusted to be cautious and +circumspect, the chauffeur also plainly was accustomed to be in the +employ of one who required reticence. Connery looked from the note to +the bearer more keenly. There was something familiar in the +chauffeur's face--just enough to have made Connery believe, at first, +that probably he had seen the man meeting some passenger at the station. + +"You are--" Connery ventured more casually. + +"In private employ; yes, sir," the man cut off quickly. Then Connery +knew him; it was when Gabriel Warden traveled on Connery's train that +the conductor had seen this chauffeur; this was Patrick Corboy, who had +driven Warden the night he was killed. But Connery, having won his +point, knew better than to show it. "Waiting for a receipt from me?" +he asked as if he had abandoned his curiosity. + +The chauffeur nodded. Connery took a sheet of paper, wrote on it, +sealed it in an envelope and handed it over; the chauffeur hastened +back to his car and drove off. Connery, order in hand, stood at the +door watching the car depart. He whistled softly to himself. +Evidently his passenger was to be one of the great men in Eastern +finance who had been brought West by Warden's death. As the car +disappeared, Connery gazed off to the Sound. + +The March morning was windy and wet, with a storm blowing in from the +Pacific. East of the mountains--in Idaho and Montana--there was snow, +and a heavy fall of it, as the conductor well knew from the long list +of incoming trains yesterday stalled or badly overdue; but at Seattle, +so far, only rain or a soft, sloppy sleet had appeared. Through this +rose the smoke from tugs and a couple of freighters putting out in +spite of the storm, and from further up Eliot Bay reverberated the roar +of the steam-whistle of some large ship signaling its intention to pass +another to the left. The incoming vessel loomed in sight and showed +the graceful lines, the single funnel and the white- and red-barred +flag of the Japanese line, the Nippon Yusen Kaisha. Connery saw that +it was, as he anticipated, the _Tamba Maru_, due two days before, +having been delayed by bad weather over the Pacific. It would dock, +Connery estimated, just in time to permit a passenger to catch the +Eastern Express if that were held till nine o'clock. So, as he +hastened to the car-line, Connery smiled at himself for taking the +trouble to make his earlier surmises. More probably the train was +being held just for some party on the boat. Going to the chief +dispatcher's office to confirm understanding of his orders, he found +that Mr. Jarvis had sent simply the curt command, "Number Five will run +one hour late." Connery went down to the trainsheds. + +The Eastern Express, with its gleaming windows, shining brass and +speckless, painted steel, was standing between the sooty, +slush-splashed trains which had just struggled in from over the +mountain; a dozen passengers, tired of waiting on the warm, cushioned +seats of the Pullmans, sauntered up and down beside the cars, +commenting on the track-conditions which, apparently, prevented even +starting a train on time. Connery looked these over and then got +aboard the train and went from observation to express car. Travel was +light that trip; in addition to the few on the platform, Connery +counted only fourteen passengers on the train. He scrutinized these +without satisfaction; all appeared to have arrived at the train long +before and to have been waiting. Connery got off and went back to the +barrier. + +Old Sammy Seaton, the gateman, stood in his iron coop twirling a punch +about his finger. Old Sammy's scheme of sudden wealth--every one has a +plan by which at any moment wealth may arrive--was to recognize and +apprehend some wrongdoer, or some lost or kidnaped person for whom a +great reward would be given. His position at the gate through which +must pass most of the people arriving at the great Coast city, or +wishing to depart from it, certainly was excellent; and by constant and +careful reading of the papers, classifying and memorizing faces, he +prepared himself to take advantage of any opportunity. Indeed, in his +years at the gate, he had succeeded in no less than seven acknowledged +cases in putting the police upon the track of persons "wanted"; these, +however, happened to be worth only minor rewards. Sammy still awaited +his great "strike." + +"Any one off on Number Five, Sammy?" Connery questioned carelessly as +he approached. Sammy's schemes involved the following of the comings +and goings of the great as well as of the "wanted." + +Old Sammy shook his head. "What're we holding for?" he whispered. +"Ah--for them?" + +A couple of station-boys, overloaded with hand-baggage, scurried in +from the street; some one shouted for a trunk-truck, and baggagemen +ran. A group of people, who evidently had come to the station in +covered cars, crowded out to the gate and lined up to pass old Sammy. +The gateman straightened importantly and scrutinized each person +presenting a ticket. Much of the baggage carried by the boys, and also +the trunks rushed by on the trucks, bore foreign hotel and steamship +"stickers." Connery observed the label of the Miyaka Hotel, Kioto, +leaving visible only the "Bombay" of another below it; others +proclaimed "Amoy," "Tonkin," and "Shanghai." This baggage and some of +the people, at least, undoubtedly had just landed from the _Tamba +Maru_. Connery inspected with even greater attention the file at the +gate and watched old Sammy also as each passed him. + +The first of the five in line was a girl--a girl about twenty-two or +three, Connery guessed. She was of slightly more than medium height, +slender and erect in figure, and with slim, gloved hands. She had the +easy, interested air of a person of assured position. She evidently +had come to the station in a motor-car which had kept off the sleet, +but had let in the wind--a touring-car, possibly, with top up. Her +fair cheeks were ruddy and her blue eyes bright; her hair, which was +deep brown and abundant, was caught back from her brow, giving her a +more outdoor and boyish look. When Connery first saw her, she seemed +to be accompanying the man who now was behind her; but she offered her +own ticket for perusal at the gate, and as soon as she was through, she +hurried on ahead alone. + +Whether or not she had come from the Japanese boat, Connery could not +tell; her ticket, at least, disclaimed for her any connection with the +foreign baggage-labels, for it was merely the ordinary form calling for +transportation from Seattle to Chicago. Connery was certain he did not +know her. He noticed that old Sammy had held her at the gate as long +as possible, as if hoping to recollect who she might be; but now that +she was gone, the gateman gave his attention more closely to the first +man--a tall, strongly built man, neither heavy nor light, and with a +powerful patrician face. His hair and his mustache, which was clipped +short and did not conceal his good mouth, were dark; his brows were +black and distinct, but not bushy or unpleasantly thick; his eyes were +hidden by smoked glasses such as one wears against a glare of snow. + +"Chicago?" old Sammy questioned. Connery knew that it was to draw the +voice in reply; but the man barely nodded, took back his ticket--which +also was the ordinary form of transportation from Seattle to +Chicago--and strode on to the train. Connery found his gaze following +this man; the conductor did not know him, nor had old Sammy recognized +him; but both were trying to place him. He, unquestionably, was a man +to be known, though not more so than many who traveled in the +transcontinental trains. + +A trim, self-assured man of thirty--his open overcoat showed a cutaway +underneath--came past next, proffering the plain Seattle-Chicago ticket. + +An Englishman, with red-veined cheeks, fumbling, clumsy fingers and +curious, interested eyes, immediately followed. To him, plainly, the +majority of the baggage on the trucks belonged; he had "booked" the +train at Hong Kong and seemed pleasantly surprised that his tourist +ticket was instantly accepted. The name upon the strip, "Henry +Standish," corresponded with the "H. S., Nottingham," emblazoned on the +luggage. + +The remaining man, carrying his own grips, which were not initialed, +set them down in the gate and felt in his pocket for his transportation. + +This fifth person had appeared suddenly after the line of four had +formed in front of old Sammy at the gate; he had taken his place with +them only after scrutiny of them and of the station all around. Like +the Englishman's, his ticket was a strip which originally had held +coupons for the Pacific voyage and some indefinite journey in Asia +before; unlike the Englishman's,--and his baggage did not bear the +pasters of the Nippon Yusen Kaisha,--the ticket was close to the date +when it would have expired. It bore upon the line where the purchaser +signed, the name "Philip D. Eaton" in plain, vigorous characters +without shading or flourish. An American, and too young to have gained +distinction in any of the ordinary ways by which men lift themselves +above others, he still made a profound impression upon Connery. There +was something about him which said, somehow, that these strips of +transportation were taking him home after a long and troublesome +absence. He combined, in some strange way, exaltation with weariness. +He was, plainly, carefully observant of all that went on about him, +even these commonplace formalities connected with taking the train; and +Connery felt that it was by premeditation that he was the last to pass +the gate. + +As a sudden eddy of the gale about the shed blew the ticket from old +Sammy's cold fingers, the young man stooped to recover it. The wind +blew off his cloth cap as he did so, and as he bent and straightened +before old Sammy, the old man suddenly gasped; and while the traveler +pulled on his cap, recovered his ticket and hurried down the platform +to the train, the gateman stood staring after him as though trying to +recall who the man presenting himself as Philip D. Eaton was. + +Connery stepped beside the old man. + +"Who is it, Sammy?" he demanded. + +"Who?" Sammy repeated. His eyes were still fixed on the retreating +figure. "Who? I don't know." + +The gateman mumbled, repeating to himself the names of the famous, the +great, the notorious, in his effort to fit one to the man who had just +passed. Connery awaited the result, his gaze following Eaton until he +disappeared aboard the train. No one else belated and bound for the +Eastern Express was in sight. The president's order to the conductor +and to the dispatcher simply had directed that Number Five would run +one hour late; it must leave in five minutes; and Connery, guided by +the impression the man last through the gate had made upon him and old +Sammy both, had no doubt that the man for whom the train had been held +was now on board. + +For a last time, the conductor scrutinized old Sammy. The gateman's +mumblings were clearly fruitless; if Eaton were not the man's real +name, old Sammy was unable to find any other which fitted. As Connery +watched, old Sammy gave it up. Connery went out to the train. The +passengers who had been parading the platform had got aboard; the last +five to arrive also had disappeared into the Pullmans, and their +luggage had been thrown into the baggage car. Connery jumped aboard. +He turned back into the observation car and then went forward into the +next Pullman. In the aisle of this car the five whom Connery had just +watched pass the gate were gathered about the Pullman conductor, +claiming their reservations. Connery looked first at Eaton, who stood +beside his grips a little apart, but within hearing of the rest; and +then, passing him, he joined the Pullman conductor. + +The three who had passed the gate first--the girl, the man with the +glasses and the young man in the cutaway--it had now become clear were +one party. They had had reservations made, apparently, in the name of +Dorne; and these reservations were for a compartment and two sections +in this car, the last of the four Pullmans. As they discussed the +disposition of these, the girl's address to the spectacled man made +plain that he was her father; her name, apparently, was Harriet; the +young man in the cutaway coat was "Don" to her and "Avery" to her +father. His relation, while intimate enough to permit him to address +the girl as "Harry," was unfailingly respectful to Mr. Dorne; and +against them both Dorne won his way; his daughter was to occupy the +drawing-room; he and Avery were to have sections in the open car. + +"You have Sections One and Three, sir," the Pullman conductor told him. +And Dorne directed the porter to put Avery's luggage in Section One, +his own in Section Three. + +The Englishman who had come by the Japanese steamer was unsupplied with +a sleeping-car ticket; he accepted, after what seemed only an automatic +and habitual debate on his part, Section Four in Car Three--the next +car forward--and departed at the heels of the porter. Connery watched +more closely, as now it came the turn of the young man whose ticket +bore the name of Eaton. Like the Englishman with the same sort of +ticket from Asia, Eaton had no reservation in the sleepers; he +appeared, however, to have some preference as to where he slept. + +"Give me a Three, if you have one," he requested of the Pullman +conductor. His voice, Connery noted, was well modulated, rather deep, +distinctly pleasant. At sound of it, Dorne, who with his daughter's +help was settling himself in his section, turned and looked that way +and said something in a low tone to the girl. Harriet Dorne also +looked, and with her eyes on Eaton, Connery saw her reply inaudibly, +rapidly and at some length. + +"I can give you Three in Car Three, opposite the gentleman I just +assigned," the Pullman conductor offered. + +"That'll do very well," Eaton answered in the same pleasant voice. + +As the porter now took his bags, Eaton followed him out of the car. +Connery looked around the sleeper; then, having allowed a moment to +pass so that he would not too obviously seem to be following Eaton, he +went after them into the next car. He expected, rather, that Eaton +would at once identify himself to him as the passenger to whom +President Jarvis' short note had referred. Eaton, however, paid no +attention to him, but was busy taking off his coat and settling himself +in his section as Connery passed. + +The conductor, willing that Eaton should choose his own time for +identifying himself, passed slowly on, looking over the passengers as +he went. The cars were far from full. + +Besides Eaton, Connery saw but half a dozen people in this car: the +Englishman in Section Four; two young girls of about nineteen and +twenty and their parents--uninquisitive-looking, unobtrusive, +middle-aged people who possessed the drawing-room; and an alert, +red-haired, professional-looking man of forty whose baggage was marked +"D. S.--Chicago." Connery had had nothing to do with putting Eaton in +this car, but his survey of it gave him satisfaction; if President +Jarvis inquired, he could be told that Eaton had not been put near to +undesirable neighbors. The next car forward, perhaps, would have been +even better; for Connery saw, as he entered it, that but one of its +sections was occupied. The next, the last Pullman, was quite well +filled; beyond this was the diner. Connery stood a few moments in +conversation with the dining car conductor; then he retraced his way +through the train. He again passed Eaton, slowing so that the young +man could speak to him if he wished, and even halting an instant to +exchange a word with the Englishman; but Eaton allowed him to pass on +without speaking to him. Connery's step quickened as he entered the +next car on his way back to the smoking compartment of the observation +car, where he expected to compare sheets with the Pullman conductor +before taking up the tickets. As he entered this car, however, Avery +stopped him. + +"Mr. Dorne would like to speak to you," Avery said. The tone was very +like a command. + +Connery stopped beside the section, where the man with the spectacles +sat with his daughter. Dorne looked up at him. + +"You are the train conductor?" he asked, seeming either unsatisfied of +this by Connery's presence or merely desirous of a formal answer. + +"Yes, sir," Connery replied. + +Dorne fumbled in his inner pocket and brought out a card-case, which he +opened, and produced a card. Connery, glancing at the card while the +other still held it, saw that it was President Jarvis' visiting card, +with the president's name in engraved block letters; across its top was +written briefly in Jarvis' familiar hand, "_This is the passenger_"; +and below, it was signed with the same scrawl of initials which had +been on the note Connery had received that morning--"_H. R. J._" + +Connery's hand shook as, while trying to recover himself, he took the +card and looked at it more closely, and he felt within him the sinking +sensation which follows an escape from danger. He saw that his too +ready and too assured assumption that Eaton was the man to whom Jarvis' +note had referred, had almost led him into the sort of mistake which is +unpardonable in a "trusted" man; he had come within an ace, he +realized, of speaking to Eaton and so betraying the presence on the +train of a traveler whose journey his superiors were trying to keep +secret. + +"You need, of course, hold the train no longer," Dorne said to Connery. + +"Yes, sir; I received word from Mr. Jarvis about you, Mr. Dorne. I +shall follow his instructions fully." Connery recalled the discussion +about the drawing-room which had been given to Dorne's daughter. "I +shall see that the Pullman conductor moves some one in one of the other +cars to have a compartment for you, sir." + +"I prefer a place in the open car," Dorne replied. "I am well situated +here. Do not disturb any one." + +As he went forward again after the train was under way, Connery tried +to recollect how it was that he had been led into such a mistake, and +defending himself, he laid it all to old Sammy. But old Sammy was not +often mistaken in his identifications. If Eaton was not the person for +whom the train was held, might he be some one else of importance? Now +as he studied Eaton, he could not imagine what had made him accept this +passenger as a person of great position. It was only when he passed +Eaton a third time, half an hour later, when the train had long left +Seattle, that the half-shaped hazards and guesses about the passenger +suddenly sprang into form. Connery stood and stared back. Eaton did +not look like any one whom he remembered having seen; but he fitted +perfectly some one whose description had been standing for ten days in +every morning and evening edition of the Seattle papers. Yes, allowing +for a change of clothes and a different way of brushing his hair, Eaton +was exactly the man whom Warden had expected at his house and who had +come there and waited while Warden, away in his car, was killed. + +Connery was walking back through the train, absent-minded in trying to +decide whether he could be at all sure of this from the mere printed +description, and trying to decide what he should do if he felt sure, +when Mr. Dorne stopped him. + +"Conductor, do you happen to know," he questioned, "who the young man +is who took Section Three in the car forward?" + +Connery gasped; but the question put to him the impossibility of his +being sure of any recognition from the description. "He gave his name +on his ticket as Philip D. Eaton, sir," Connery replied. + +"Is that all you know about him?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"If you find out anything about him, let me know," Dorne bade. + +"Yes, sir." Connery moved away and soon went back to look again at +Eaton. Had Mr. Dorne also seen the likeness of Eaton in the published +descriptions of the man whom Warden had said was most outrageously +wronged? the man for whom Warden had been willing to risk his life, who +afterwards had not dared to come forward to aid the police with +anything he might know? Connery determined to let nothing interfere +with learning more of Eaton; Dorne's request only gave him added +responsibility. + +Dorne, however, was not depending upon Connery alone for further +information. As soon as the conductor had gone, he turned back to his +daughter and Avery upon the seat opposite. + +"Avery," he said in a tone of direction, "I wish you to get in +conversation with this Philip Eaton. It will probably be useful if you +let Harriet talk with him too. She would get impressions helpful to me +which you can't." + +The girl started with surprise but recovered at once. "Yes, Father," +she said. + +"What, sir?" Avery ventured to protest. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +MISS DORNE MEETS EATON + +Dorne motioned Avery to the aisle, where already some of the +passengers, having settled their belongings in their sections, were +beginning to wander through the cars seeking acquaintances or players +to make up a card game. Eaton, however, was not among these. On the +contrary, when these approached him in his section, he frankly avoided +chance of their speaking to him, by an appearance of complete immersion +in his own concerns. The Englishman directly across the aisle from +Eaton clearly was not likely to speak to him, or to anybody else, +without an introduction; the red-haired man, "D. S.," however, seemed a +more expansive personality. Eaton, seeing "D. S." look several times +in his direction, pulled a newspaper from the pocket of his overcoat +and engrossed himself in it; the newspaper finished, he opened his +traveling bag and produced a magazine. + +But as the train settled into the steady running which reminded of the +days of travel ahead during which the half-dozen cars of the train must +create a world in which it would be absolutely impossible to avoid +contact with other people, Eaton put the magazine into his traveling +bag, took from the bag a handful of cigars with which he filled a +plain, uninitialed cigar-case, and went toward the club and observation +car in the rear. As he passed through the sleeper next to him,--the +last one,--Harriet Dorne glanced up at him and spoke to her father; +Dorne nodded but did not look up. Eaton went on into the wide-windowed +observation-room beyond, which opened onto the rear platform protected +on three sides. + +The observation-room was nearly empty. The sleet which had been +falling when they left Seattle had changed to huge, heavy flakes of +fast-falling snow, which blurred the windows, obscured the landscape +and left visible only the two thin black lines of track that, streaming +out behind them, vanished fifty feet away in the white smother. The +only occupants of the room were a young woman who was reading a +magazine, and an elderly man. Eaton chose a seat as far from these two +as possible. + +He had been there only a few minutes, however, when, looking up, he saw +Harriet Dorne and Avery enter the room. They passed him, engaged in +conversation, and stood by the rear door looking out into the storm. +It was evident to Eaton, although he did not watch them, that they were +arguing something; the girl seemed insistent, Avery irritated and +unwilling. Her manner showed that she won her point finally. She +seated herself in one of the chairs, and Avery left her. He wandered, +as if aimlessly, to the reading table, turning over the magazines +there; abandoning them, he gazed about as if bored; then, with a wholly +casual manner, he came toward Eaton and took the seat beside him. + +"Rotten weather, isn't it?" Avery observed somewhat ungraciously. + +Eaton could not well avoid reply. "It's been getting worse," he +commented, "ever since we left Seattle." + +"We're running into it, apparently." Again Avery looked toward Eaton +and waited. + +"It'll be bad in the mountains, I suspect," Eaton said. + +"Yes--lucky if we get through." + +The conversation on Avery's part was patently forced; and it was +equally forced on Eaton's; nevertheless it continued. Avery introduced +the war and other subjects upon which men, thrown together for a time, +are accustomed to exchange opinions. But Avery did not do it easily or +naturally; he plainly was of the caste whose pose it is to repel, not +seek, overtures toward a chance acquaintance. His lack of practice was +perfectly obvious when at last he asked directly: "Beg pardon, but I +don't think I know your name." + +Eaton was obliged to give it. + +"Mine's Avery," the other offered; "perhaps you heard it when we were +getting our berths assigned." + +And again the conversation, enjoyed by neither of them, went on. +Finally the girl at the end of the car rose and passed them, as though +leaving the car. Avery looked up. + +"Where are you going, Harry?" + +"I think some one ought to be with Father." + +"I'll go in just a minute." + +She had halted almost in front of them. Avery, hesitating as though he +did not know what he ought to do, finally arose; and as Eaton observed +that Avery, having introduced himself, appeared now to consider it his +duty to present Eaton to Harriet Dorne, Eaton also arose. Avery +murmured the names. Harriet Dorne, resting her hand on the back of +Avery's chair, joined in the conversation. As she replied easily and +interestedly to a comment of Eaton's, Avery suddenly reminded her of +her father. After a minute, when Avery--still ungracious and still +irritated over something which Eaton could not guess--rather abruptly +left them, she took Avery's seat; and Eaton dropped into his chair +beside her. + +Now, this whole proceeding--though within the convention which, +forbidding a girl to make a man's acquaintance directly, says nothing +against her making it through the medium of another man--had been so +unnaturally done that Eaton understood that Harriet Dorne deliberately +had arranged to make his acquaintance, and that Avery, angry and +objecting, had been overruled. + +She seemed to Eaton less alertly boyish now than she had looked an hour +before when they had boarded the train. Her cheeks were smoothly +rounded, her lips rather full, her lashes very long. He could not look +up without looking directly at her, for her chair, which had not been +moved since Avery left it, was at an angle with his own. A faint, +sweet fragrance from her hair and clothing came to him and made him +recollect how long it was--five years--since he had talked with, or +even been near, such a girl as this; and the sudden tumult of his +pulses which her nearness caused warned him to keep watch of what he +said until he had learned why she had sought him out. + +To avoid the appearance of studying her too openly, he turned slightly, +so that his gaze went past her to the white turmoil outside the windows. + +"It's wonderful," she said, "isn't it?" + +"You mean the storm?" A twinkle of amusement came to Eaton's eyes. +"It would be more interesting if it allowed a little more to be seen. +At present there is nothing visible but snow." + +"Is that the only way it affects you?" She turned to him, apparently a +trifle disappointed. + +"I don't exactly understand." + +"Why, it must affect every man most as it touches his own interests. +An artist would think of it as a background for contrasts--a thing to +sketch or paint; a writer as something to be written down in words." + +Eaton understood. She could not more plainly have asked him what he +was. + +"And an engineer, I suppose," he said, easily, "would think of it only +as an element to be included in his formulas--an _x_, or an _a_, or a +_b_, to be put in somewhere and square-rooted or squared so that the +roof-truss he was figuring should not buckle under its weight." + +"Oh--so that is the way you were thinking of it?" + +"You mean," Eaton challenged her directly, "am I an engineer?" + +"Are you?" + +"Oh, no; I was only talking in pure generalities, just as you were." + +"Let us go on, then," she said gayly. "I see I can't conceal from you +that I am doing you the honor to wonder what you are. A lawyer would +think of it in the light of damage it might create and the subsequent +possibilities of litigation." She made a little pause. "A business +man would take it into account, as he has to take into account all +things in nature or human; it would delay transportation, or harm or +aid the winter wheat." + +"Or stop competition somewhere," he observed, more interested. + +The flash of satisfaction which came to her face and as quickly was +checked and faded showed him she thought she was on the right track. + +"Business," she said, still lightly, "will--how is it the newspapers +put it?--will marshal its cohorts; it will send out its generals in +command of brigades of snowplows, its colonels in command of regiments +of snow-shovelers and its spies to discover and to bring back word of +the effect upon the crops." + +"You talk," he said, "as if business were a war." + +"Isn't it?--like war, but war in higher terms." + +"In higher terms?" he questioned, attempting to make his tone like +hers, but a sudden bitterness now was betrayed by it. "Or in lower?" + +"Why, in higher," she declared, "demanding greater courage, greater +devotion, greater determination, greater self-sacrifice." + +"What makes you say that?" + +"Soldiers themselves say it, Mr. Eaton, and all the observers in this +horrible war say it when they say that they find almost no cowards and +very few weaklings among all the millions of every sort of men at the +front. They could not say the same of those identical millions under +the normal conditions of everyday business life." + +He remained silent, though she waited for him to reply. + +"You know that is so, Mr. Eaton," she said. "One has only to look on +the streets of any great city to find thousands of men who have not had +the courage and determination to carry on their share of the ordinary +duties of life. Recruiting officers can pick any man off the streets +and make a good soldier of him, but no one could be so sure of finding +a satisfactory employee in that way. Doesn't that show that daily +life, the everyday business of earning a living and bearing one's share +in the workaday world, demands greater qualities than war?" + +Her face had flushed eagerly as she spoke; a darker, livid flush +answered her words on his. + +"But the opportunities for evil are greater, too," he asserted almost +fiercely. + +"What do you mean?" + +"For deceit, for lies, for treachery, Miss Dorne! Violence is the evil +of war, and violence is the evil most easily punished, even if it does +not bring its own punishment upon itself. But how many of those men +you speak of on the streets have been deliberately, mercilessly, even +savagely sacrificed to some business expediency, their future +destroyed, their hope killed!" Some storm of passion, whose meaning +she could not divine, was sweeping him. + +"You mean," she asked after an instant's silence, "that you, Mr. Eaton, +have been sacrificed in such a way?" + +"I am still talking in generalities," he denied ineffectively. + +He saw that she sensed the untruthfulness of these last words. Her +smooth young forehead and her eyes were shadowy with thought. Eaton +was uneasily silent. The train roared across some trestle, giving a +sharp glimpse of gray, snow-swept water far below. Finally Harriet +Dorne seemed to have made her decision. + +"I think you should meet my father, Mr. Eaton," she said. "Would you +like to?" + +He did not reply at once. He knew that his delay was causing her to +study him now with greater surprise. + +"I would like to meet him, yes," he said, "but,"--he hesitated, tried +to avoid answer without offending her, but already he had affronted +her,--"but not now, Miss Dorne." + +She stared at him, rebuffed and chilled. + +"You mean--" The sentence, obviously, was one she felt it better not +to finish. As though he recognized that now she must wish the +conversation to end, he got up. She rose stiffly. + +"I'll see you into your car, if you're returning there," he offered. + +Neither spoke, as he went with her into the next car; and at the +section where her father sat, Eaton bowed silently, nodded to Avery, +who coldly returned his nod, and left her. Eaton went on into his own +car and sat down, his thoughts in mad confusion. + +How near he had come to talking to this girl about himself, even +though, he had felt from the first that that was what she was trying to +make him do! Was he losing his common sense? Was the self-command on +which he had so counted that he had dared to take this train deserting +him? He felt that he must not see Harriet Dorne again alone. At first +this was all he felt; but as he sat, pale and quiet, staring vacantly +at the snow-flakes which struck and melted on the window beside him, +his thoughts grew more clear. In Avery he had recognized, by that +instinct which so strangely divines the personalities one meets, an +enemy from the start; Dorne's attitude toward him, of course, was not +yet defined; as for Harriet Dorne--he could not tell whether she was +prepared to be his enemy or friend. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +TRUCE + +The Eastern Express, mantled in a seething whirl of snow, but still +maintaining very nearly its scheduled time and even regaining a few +lost minutes from hour to hour as, now well past the middle of the +State, it sped on across the flatter country in its approach to the +mountains, proceeded monotonously through the afternoon. Eaton watched +the chill of the snow battle against the warmth of the double windows +on the windward side of the car, until finally it conquered and the +windows became--as he knew the rest of the outside of the cars must +have been long before--merely a wall of white. This coating, +thickening steadily with the increasing severity of the storm as they +approached the Rockies, dimmed the afternoon daylight within the car to +dusk. + +Presently all became black outside the windows, and the passengers from +the rear cars filed forward to the dining car and then back to their +places again. Eaton took care to avoid the Dorne party in the diner. +Soon the porter began making up the berths to be occupied that night; +but as yet no one was retiring. The train was to reach Spokane late in +the evening; there would be a stop there for half an hour; and after +the long day on the train, every one seemed to be waiting up for a walk +about the station before going to bed. But as the train slowed, and +with a sudden diminishing of the clatter of the fishplates under its +wheels and of the puffings of exhausted steam, slipped into the lighted +trainsheds at the city, Eaton sat for some minutes in thought. Then he +dragged his overcoat down from its hook, buttoned it tightly about his +throat, pulled his traveling cap down on his head and left the car. +All along the train, vestibule doors of the Pullmans had been opened, +and the passengers were getting out, while a few others, snow-covered +and with hand-luggage, came to board the train. Eaton, turning to +survey the sleet-shrouded car he had left, found himself face to face +with Miss Dorne, standing alone upon the station platform. + +Her piquant, beautiful face was half hidden in the collar of the great +fur coat she had worn on boarding the train, and her cheeks were ruddy +with the bite of the crisp air. + +"You see before you a castaway," she volunteered, smiling. + +He felt it necessary to take the same tone. "A castaway?" he +questioned. "Cast away by whom?" + +"By Mr. Avery, if you must know, though your implication that anybody +should have cast me away--anybody at all, Mr. Eaton--is unpleasant." + +"There was no implication; it was simply inquiry." + +"You should have put it, then, in some other form; you should have +asked how I came to be in so surprising a position." + +"'How,' in this part of the country, Miss Dorne, is not regarded as a +question, but merely as a form of salutation," he bantered. "It was +formerly employed by the Indian aborigines inhabiting these parts, who +exchanged 'How's' when passing each other on the road. If I had said +'How,' you might simply have replied 'How,' and I should have been +under the necessity of considering the incident closed." + +She laughed. "You do not wish it to be closed." + +"Not till I know more about it." + +"Very well; you shall know more. Mr. Avery brought me out to take a +walk. He remembered, after bringing me as far as this, that we had not +asked my father whether he had any message to be sent from here or any +commission to execute; so he went back to find out. I have now waited +so many minutes that I feel sure it is my father who has detained him. +The imperfectly concealed meaning of what I am telling you is that I +consider that Mr. Avery, by his delay, has forfeited his right. The +further implication--for _I_ do imply things, Mr. Eaton--is that you +cannot very well avoid offering to take the post of duty he has +abandoned." + +"You mean walk with you?" + +"I do." + +He slipped his hand inside her arm, sustaining her slight, active body +against the wind which blew strongly through the station and scattered +over them snow-flakes blown from the roofs of the cars, as they walked +forward along the train. Her manner had told him that she meant to +ignore her resentment of the morning; but as, turning, they commenced +to walk briskly up and down the platform, he found he was not wholly +right in this. + +"You must admit, Mr. Eaton, that I am treating you very well." + +"In pardoning an offense where no offense was meant?" + +"It is partly that--that I realized no offense was meant. Partly it is +because I do not pass judgment on things I do not understand. I could +imagine no possible reason for your very peculiar refusal." + +"Not even that I might be perhaps the sort of person who ought not to +be introduced into your party in quite that way?" + +"That least of all. Persons of that sort do not admit themselves to be +such; and if I have lived for twen--I shall not tell you just how many +years--the sort of life I have been obliged to live almost since I was +born, without learning to judge men in that respect, I must have failed +to use my opportunities." + +"Thank you," he returned quietly; then, as he recollected his +instinctive prejudice against Avery: "However, I am not so sure." + +She plainly waited for him to go on, but he pretended to be concerned +wholly with guiding her along the platform. + +"Mr. Eaton!" + +"Yes." + +"Do you know that you are a most peculiar man?" + +"Exactly in what way, Miss Dorne?" + +"In this: The ordinary man, when a woman shows any curiosity about +himself, answers with a fullness and particularity and eagerness which +seems to say, 'At last you have found a subject which interests me!'" + +"Does he?" + +"Is that the only reply you care to make?" + +"I can think of none more adequate." + +"Meaning that after my altogether too open display of curiosity +regarding you, I can still do nothing better than guess, without any +expectation that you, on your part, will deign to tell me whether I am +right or wrong. Very well; my first guess is that you have not done +much walking with young women on station platforms--certainly not much +of late." + +"I'll try to do better, if you'll tell me how you know that?" + +"You do very well. I was not criticising you, and I don't have to tell +why. Ask no questions; it is a clairvoyant diviner who is speaking." + +"Divinity?" + +"Diviner only. My second guess is that you have been abroad in far +lands." + +"My railroad ticket showed as much as that." + +"Pardon me, if it seriously injures your self-esteem; but I was not +sufficiently interested in you when you came aboard the train, to +observe your ticket. What I know is divined from the exceedingly odd +and reminiscent way in which you look at all things about you--at this +train, this station, the people who pass." + +"You find nothing reminiscent, I suppose, in the way I look at you?" + +"You do yourself injustice. You do not look at me at all, so I cannot +tell; but there could hardly be any reminiscence extending beyond this +morning, since you never saw me before then." + +"No; this is all fresh experience." + +"I hope it is not displeasing. My doubt concerning your evidently +rather long absence abroad is as to whether you went away to get or to +forget." + +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." + +"Those are the two reasons for which young men go to Asia, are they +not?--to get something or to forget something. At least, so I have +been given to understand. Shall I go on?" + +"Go on guessing, you mean? I don't seem able to prevent it." + +"Then my third guess is this--and you know no one is ever allowed more +than three guesses." She hesitated; when she went on, she had entirely +dropped her tone of banter. "I guess, Mr. Eaton, that you have been--I +think, are still--going through some terrible experience which has +endured for a very long time--perhaps even for years--and has nearly +made of you and perhaps even yet may make of you something far +different and--and something far less pleasing than you--you must have +been before. There! I have transcended all bounds, said everything I +should not have said, and left unsaid all the conventional things which +are all that our short acquaintance could have allowed. Forgive +me--because I'm not sorry." + +He made no answer. They walked as far as the rear of the train, turned +and came back before she spoke again: + +"What is it they are doing to the front of our train, Mr. Eaton?" + +He looked. "They are putting a plow on the engine." + +"Oh!" + +"That seems to be only the ordinary push-plow, but if what I have been +overhearing is correct, the railroad people are preparing to give you +one of the minor exhibitions of that everyday courage of which you +spoke this morning, Miss Dorne." + +"In what particular way?" + +"When we get across the Idaho line and into the mountains, you are to +ride behind a double-header driving a rotary snow-plow." + +"A double-header? You mean two locomotives?" + +"Yes; the preparation is warrant that what is ahead of us in the way of +travel will fully come up to anything you may have been led to expect." +They stood a minute watching the trainmen; as they turned, his gaze +went past her to the rear cars. "Also," he added, "Mr. Avery, with his +usual gracious pleasure at my being in your company, is hailing you +from the platform of your car." + +She looked up at Eaton sharply, seemed about to speak, and then checked +what was upon her tongue. "You are going into your own car?" She held +out to him her small gloved hand. "Good-by, then--until we see one +another again." + +"Good night, Miss Dorne." + +He took her hand and retaining it hardly the fraction of an instant, +let it go. Was it her friendship she had been offering him? Men use +badinage without respect to what their actual feelings may be; +women--some memory from the past in which he had known such girls as +this, seemed to recall--use it most frequently when their feelings, +consciously or unconsciously, are drawing toward a man. + +Eaton now went into the men's compartment of his car, where he sat +smoking till after the train was under way again. The porter looked in +upon him there to ask if he wished his berth made up now; Eaton nodded +assent, and fifteen minutes later, dropping the cold end of his cigar +and going out into the car, he found the berth ready for him. "D. +S.'s" section, also made up but with the curtains folded back +displaying the bedding within, was unoccupied; jerkings of the +curtains, and voices and giggling in the two berths at the end of the +car, showed that Amy and Constance were getting into bed; the +Englishman was wide awake in plain determination not to go to bed until +his accustomed Nottingham hour. Eaton, drawing his curtains together +and buttoning them from the inside, undressed and went to bed. A +half-hour later the passage of some one through the aisle and the +sudden dimming of the crack of light which showed above the curtains +told him that the lights in the car had been turned down. Eaton closed +his eyes, but sleep was far from him. + +Presently he began to feel the train beginning to labor with the +increasing grade and the deepening snow. It was well across the State +line and into Idaho; it was nearing the mountains, and the weather was +getting colder and the storm more severe. Eaton lifted the curtain +from the window beside him and leaned on one elbow to look out. The +train was running through a bleak, white desolation; no light and no +sign of habitation showed anywhere. Eaton lay staring out, and now the +bleak world about him seemed to assume toward him a cruel and merciless +aspect. The events of the day ran through his mind again with sinister +suggestion. He had taken that train for a certain definite, dangerous +purpose which required his remaining as obscure and as inconspicuous as +possible; yet already he had been singled out for attention. So far, +he was sure, he had received no more than that--attention, curiosity +concerning him. He had not suffered recognition; but that might come +at any moment. Could he risk longer waiting to act? + +He dropped on his back upon the bed and lay with his hands clasped +under his head, his eyes staring up at the roof of the car. + +In the card-room of the observation car, playing and conversation still +went on for a time; then it diminished as one by one the passengers +went away to bed. Connery, looking into this car, found it empty and +the porter cleaning up; he slowly passed on forward through the train, +stopping momentarily in the rear Pullman opposite the berth of the +passenger whom President Jarvis had commended to his care. His +scrutiny of the car told him all was correct here; the even breathing +within the berth assured him the passenger slept. + +Connery went on through to the next car and paused again outside the +berth occupied by Eaton. He had watched Eaton all day with results +that still he was debating with himself; he had found in a newspaper +the description of the man who had waited at Warden's, and he reread +it, comparing it with Eaton. It perfectly confirmed Connery's first +impression; but the more Connery had seen of Eaton, and the more he had +thought over him during the day, the more the conductor had become +satisfied that either Eaton was not the man described or, if he was, +there was no harm to come from it. After all, was not all that could +be said against Eaton--if he was the man--simply that he had not +appeared to state why Warden was befriending him? Was it not possible +that he was serving Warden in some way by not appearing? Certainly Mr. +Dorne, who was the man most on the train to be considered, had +satisfied himself that Eaton was fit for an acquaintance; Connery had +seen what was almost a friendship, apparently, spring up between Eaton +and Dorne's daughter during the day. + +The conductor went on, his shoulders brushing the buttoned curtains on +both sides of the narrow aisle. Except for the presence of the +passenger in the rear sleeper, this inspection was to the conductor the +uttermost of the commonplace; in its monotonous familiarity he had +never felt any strangeness in this abrupt and intimate bringing +together of people who never had seen one another before, who after +these few days of travel together, might probably never see one another +again, but who now slept separated from one another and from the +persons passing through the cars by no greater protection than these +curtains designed only to shield them from the light and from each +other's eyes. He felt no strangeness in this now. He merely assured +himself by his scrutiny that within his train all was right. Outside-- + +Connery was not so sure of that; rather, he had been becoming more +certain hour by hour all through the evening, that they were going to +have great difficulty in getting the train through. Though he knew by +President Jarvis' note that the officials of the road must be watching +the progress of this especial train with particular interest, he had +received no train-orders from the west for several hours. His inquiry +at the last stop had told him the reason for this; the telegraph wires +to the west had gone down. To the east, communication was still open, +but how long it would remain so he could not guess. Here in the deep +heart of the great mountains--they had passed the Idaho boundary-line +into Montana--they were getting the full effect of the storm; their +progress, increasingly slow, was broken by stops which were becoming +more frequent and longer as they struggled on. As now they fought +their way slower and slower up a grade, and barely topping it, +descended the opposite slope at greater speed as the momentum of the +train was added to the engine-power, Connery's mind went back to the +second sleeper with its single passenger, and he spoke to the Pullman +conductor, who nodded and went toward that car. The weather had +prevented the expected increase of their number of passengers at +Spokane; only a few had got aboard there; there were worse grades +ahead, in climbing which every pound of weight would count; so +Connery--in the absence of orders and with Jarvis' note in his +pocket--had resolved to drop the second sleeper. + +At Fracroft--the station where he was to exchange the ordinary plow +which so far had sufficed, and couple on the "rotary" to fight the +mountain drifts ahead--he swung himself down from the train, looked in +at the telegraph office and then went forward to the two giant +locomotives, on whose sweating, monstrous backs the snow, suddenly +visible in the haze of their lights, melted as it fell. He waited on +the station platform while the second sleeper was cut out and the train +made up again. Then, as they started, he swung aboard and in the +brightly lighted men's compartment of the first Pullman checked up his +report-sheets with a stub of pencil. They had stopped again, he +noticed; now they were climbing a grade, more easily because of the +decrease of weight; now a trestle rumbled under the wheels, telling him +just where they were. Next was the powerful, steady push against +opposition--the rotary was cutting its way through a drift. + +Again they stopped--once more went on. Connery, having put his papers +into his pocket, dozed, awoke, dozed again. The snow was certainly +heavy, and the storm had piled it up across the cuts in great drifts +which kept the rotary struggling almost constantly now. The progress +of the train halted again and again; several times it backed, charged +forward again--only to stop, back and charge again and then go on. But +this did not disturb Connery. Then something went wrong. All at once +he found himself, by a trainman's instinctive and automatic action, +upon his feet; for the shock had been so slight as barely to be felt, +far too slight certainly to have awakened any of the sleeping +passengers in their berths. He went to the door of the car, lifted the +platform stop, threw open the door of the vestibule and hanging by one +hand to the rail, swung himself out from the side of the car to look +ahead. He saw the forward one of the two locomotives wrapped in clouds +of steam, and men arm-deep in snow wallowing forward to the rotary +still further to the front, and the sight confirmed fully his +apprehension that this halt was more important and likely to last much +longer than those that had gone before. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +ARE YOU HILLWARD? + +It is the wonder of the moment of first awakening that one--however +tried or troubled he may be when complete recollection returns--may +find, at first, rehearsal of only what is pleasant in his mind. Eaton, +waking and stretching himself luxuriously in his berth in the reverie +halfway between sleep and full consciousness, found himself supremely +happy. His feelings, before recollection came to check them, reminded +him only that he had been made an acquaintance, almost a friend, the +day before, by a wonderful, inspiring, beautiful girl. Then suddenly, +into his clearing memory crushed and crowded the reason for his being +where he was. By an instinctive jerk of his shoulders, almost a +shudder, he drew the sheet and blanket closer about him; the smile was +gone from his lips; he lay still, staring upward at the berth above his +head and listening to the noises in the car. + +The bell in the washroom at the end of the car was ringing violently, +and some one was reinforcing his ring with a stentorian call for +"Porter! Porter!" + +Eaton realized that it was very cold in his berth--also that the train, +which was standing still, had been in that motionless condition for +some time. He threw up the window curtain as he appreciated that and, +looking out, found that he faced a great unbroken bank of glistening +white snow as high as the top of the car at this point and rising even +higher ahead. He listened, therefore, while the Englishman--for the +voice calling to the porter was his--extracted all available +information from the negro. + +"Porter!" Standish called again. + +"Yessuh!" + +"Close my window and be quick about it!" + +"It's closed, suh." + +"Closed?" + +"Yessuh; I shut it en-durin' the night." + +"Closed!" the voice behind the curtains iterated skeptically; there was +a pause during which, probably, there was limited exploration. "I say, +then, how cold is it outside?" + +"Ten below this morning, suh." + +"What, what? Where are we?" + +"Between Fracroft and Simons, suh." + +"Yet?" + +"Yessuh, yit!" + +"Hasn't your silly train moved since four o'clock?" + +"Moved? No, suh. Not mo'n a yahd or two nohow, suh, and I reckon we +backed them up again." + +"That foolish snow still?" + +"Yessuh; and snow some more, suh." + +"But haven't we the plow still ahead?" + +"Oh, yessuh; the plow's ahaid. We still got it; but that's all, suh. +It ain't doin' much; it's busted." + +"Eh--what?" + +"Yessuh--busted! There was right smart of a slide across the track, +and the crew, I understands, diagnosed it jus' fo' a snowbank and done +bucked right into it. But they was rock in this, suh; we's layin' +right below a hill; and that rock jus' busted that rotary like a +Belgium shell hit it. Yessuh--pieces of that rotary essentially +scattered themselves in four directions besides backwards and fo'wards. +We ain't done much travelin' since then." + +"Ah! But the restaurant car's still attached?" + +"De restaur--oh, yessuh. We carries the diner through--from the Coast +to Chicago." + +"H'm! Ten below! Porter, is that wash-compartment hot? And are they +serving breakfast yet?" + +"Yessuh; yessuh!" + +The Briton, from behind his curtains, continued; but Eaton no longer +paid attention. + +"Snowed in and stopped since four!" The realization startled him with +the necessity of taking it into account in his plans. He jerked +himself up in his berth and began pulling his clothes down from the +hooks; then, as abruptly, he stopped dressing and sat absorbed in +thought. Finally he parted the curtains and looked out into the aisle. + +The Englishman, having elicited all he desired, or could draw, from the +porter, now bulged through his curtains and stood in the aisle, +unabashed, in gaudy pajamas and slippers, while he methodically bundled +his clothes under his arm; then, still garbed only in pajamas, he +paraded majestically to the washroom. The curtains over the berths at +the other end of the car also bulged and emitted the two dark-haired +girls. They were completely kimono-ed over any temporary deficiency of +attire and skipped to the drawing-room inhabited by their parents. The +drawing-room door instantly opened at Amy's knock, admitted the girls +and shut again. Section Seven gave to the aisle the reddish-haired D. +S. He carried coat, collar, hairbrushes and shaving case and went to +join the Briton in the men's washroom. + +There was now no one else in the main part of the car; and no berths +other than those already accounted for had been made up. Yet Eaton +still delayed; his first impulse to get up and dress had been lost in +the intensity of the thought in which he was engaged. He had let +himself sink back against the pillows, while he stared, unseeingly, at +the solid bank of snow beside the car, when the door at the further end +of the coach opened and Conductor Connery entered, calling a name. +"Mr. Hillward! Mr. Lawrence Hillward! Telegram for Mr. Hillward!" + +Eaton started at the first call of the name; he sat up and faced about. + +"Mr. Hillward! Telegram for Mr. Lawrence Hillward!" + +The conductor was opposite Section Three; Eaton now waited tensely and +delayed until the conductor was past; then putting his head out of his +curtains and assuring himself that the car was otherwise empty as when +he had seen it last, he hailed as the conductor was going through the +door. + +"What name? Who is that telegram for?" + +"Mr. Lawrence Hillward." + +"Oh, thank you; then that's mine." He put his hand out between the +curtains to take the yellow envelope. + +Connery held back. "I thought your name was Eaton." + +"It is. Mr. Hillward--Lawrence Hillward--is an associate of mine who +expected to make this trip with me but could not. So I should have +telegrams or other communications addressed to him. Is there anything +to sign?" + +"No, sir--train delivery. It's not necessary." + +Eaton drew his curtains close again and ripped the envelope open; but +before reading the message, he observed with alarm that his pajama +jacket had opened across the chest, and a small round scar, such as +that left by a high-powered bullet penetrating, was exposed. He gasped +almost audibly, realizing this, and clapped his hand to his chest and +buttoned his jacket. The message--nine words without signature--lay +before him: + + +Thicket knot youngster omniscient issue foliage lecture tragic +instigation. + + +It was some code which Eaton recognized but could not decipher at once. +It was of concern, but at that instant, less of concern than to know +whether his jacket had been open and his chest exposed when he took the +message. The conductor was still standing in the aisle. + +"When did you get this?" Eaton asked, looking out. + +"Just now." + +"How could you get it here?" Eaton questioned, watching the conductor's +face. + +"We've had train instruments--the emergency telegraph--on the wires +since four o'clock and just got talking with the stations east; wires +are still down to the west. That message came through yesterday some +time and was waiting for you at Simons; when we got them this morning, +they sent it on." + +"I see; thanks." Eaton, assured that if the conductor had seen +anything, he suspected no significance in what he saw, closed his +curtains and buttoned them carefully. The conductor moved on. Eaton +took a small English-Chinese pocket-dictionary from his vest pocket and +opened it under cover of the blanket; counting five words up from +_thicket_ he found _they_; five down from _knot_ gave him _know_; six +up from _youngster_ was _you_; six down from _omniscient_ was _one_; +seven up from _issue_ was _is_; and so continuing, he translated the +nine words to: + +"They know you. One is following. Leave train instantly." + +Eaton, nervous and jerky, as he completed the first six words, laughed +as he compiled the final three. "Leave train instantly!" The humor of +that advice in his present situation, as he looked out the window at +the solid bank of snow, appealed to him. He slapped the little +dictionary shut and returned it to his pocket. A waiter from the +dining car came back, announcing the first call for breakfast, and +spurred him into action. Passengers from the Pullman at the rear +passed Eaton's section for the diner. He glanced out at the first two +or three; then he heard Harriet Dorne's voice in some quiet, +conventional remark to the man who followed her. Eaton started at it; +then he dressed swiftly and hurried into the now deserted washroom and +then on to breakfast. + +The dining car, all gleaming crystal and silver and white covers +within, also was surrounded by snow. The space outside the windows +seemed somewhat wider than that about the sleeping car. And a moment +before Eaton went forward, the last cloud had cleared and the sun had +come out bright. The train was still quite motionless; the great +drifts of snow, even with the tops of the cars on either side, made +perfectly plain how hopeless it would be to try to proceed without the +plow; and the heavy white frost which had not yet cleared from some of +the window-panes, told graphically of the cold without. But the dining +car was warm and cheerful, and it gave assurance that, if the train was +helpless to move, it at least offered luxuries in its idleness. As +Eaton stepped inside the door, the car seemed all cheer and good +spirits. + +Fresh red carnations and ruddy roses were, as usual, in the cut-glass +vases on the white cloths; the waiters bore steaming pots of coffee and +bowls of hot cereals to the different tables. These, as usual, were +ten in number--five with places for four persons each, on one side of +the aisle, and five, each with places for two persons, beside the +windows on the other side of the car. + +Harriet Dorne was sitting facing the door at the second of the larger +tables; opposite her, and with his back to Eaton, sat Donald Avery. A +third place was laid beside the girl, as though they expected Dorne to +join them; but they had begun their fruit without waiting. The girl +glanced up as Eaton halted in the doorway; her blue eyes brightened +with a look part friendliness, part purpose. She smiled and nodded, +and Avery turned about. + +"Good morning, Mr. Eaton," the girl greeted. + +"Good morning, Miss Dorne," Eaton replied collectedly. He nodded also +to Avery, who, stiffly returning the nod, turned back again to Miss +Dorne. + +Amy and Constance, with their parents, occupied the third large table; +the other three large tables were empty. "D. S." was alone at the +furthest of the small tables; a traveling-salesman-looking person was +washing down creamed Finnan haddock with coffee at the next; the +passenger who had been alone in the second car was at the third; the +Englishman, Standish, was beginning his iced grape-fruit at the table +opposite Miss Dorne; and at the place nearest the door, an +insignificant broad-shouldered and untidy young man, who had boarded +the train at Spokane, had just spilled half a cup of coffee over the +egg spots on his lapels as his unsteady and nicotine-stained fingers +all but dropped the cup. + +The dining car conductor, in accordance with the general determination +to reserve the larger tables for parties traveling together, pulled +back the chair opposite the untidy man; but Eaton, with a sharp sense +of disgust, went past to the chair opposite the Englishman. + +As he was about to seat himself there, the girl again looked up. "Oh, +Mr. Eaton," she smiled, "wouldn't you like to sit with us? I don't +think Father is coming to breakfast now; and if he does, of course +there's still room." + +She pulled back the chair beside her enticingly; and Eaton accepted it. + +"Good morning, Mr. Avery," he said to Miss Dorne's companion formally +as he sat down, and the man across the table murmured something +perforce. + +As Eaton ordered his breakfast, he appreciated for the first time that +his coming had interrupted a conversation--or rather a sort of +monologue of complaint on the part of Standish addressed impersonally +to Avery. + +"Extraordinarily exposed in these sleeping cars of yours, isn't one, +wouldn't you say?" the Englishman appealed across the aisle. + +"Exposed?" Avery repeated, more inclined to encourage the conversation. + +"I say, is it quite the custom for a train servant--whenever he fancies +he should--to reach across one, sleeping?" + +"He means the porter closed his window during the night," Eaton +explained to Avery. + +"Quite so; and I knew nothing about it--nothing at all. Fancy! There +was I in the bunk, and the beggar comes along, pulls my curtains aside, +reaches across me--" + +"It got very cold in the night," Avery offered. + +"I know; but is that any reason for the beggar invading my bunk that +way? He might have done anything to me! Any one in the car might have +done anything to me! Any one in your bally corridor-train might have +done anything. There was I, asleep--quite unconscious; people passing +up and down the aisle just the other side of a foolish fall of curtain! +How does any one know one of those people might not be an enemy of +mine? Remarkable people, you Americans--inconsistent, I say. Lock +your homes with most complicated fastenings--greatest lock-makers in +the world--burglar alarms on windows; but when you travel, expose +yourselves as one wouldn't dream of exposing oneself elsewhere. +Amazing places, your Pullman coaches! Why, any one might do anything +to any one! What's to stop him, what?" + +Eaton, suddenly reminded of his telegram, put a hand into his pocket +and fingered the torn scraps; he had meant to remove and destroy them, +but had forgotten. He glanced at Harriet Dorne. + +"What he says is quite true," she observed. She was smiling, however, +as most of the other passengers were, at the Englishman's vehemence. + +They engaged in conversation as they breakfasted--a conversation in +which Avery took almost no part, though Miss Dorne tried openly to draw +him in; then the sudden entrance of Connery, followed closely by a +stout, brusque man who belonged to the rear Pullman, took Eaton's +attention and hers. + +Other passengers also looked up; and the nervous, untidy young man at +the table near the door again slopped coffee over himself as the +conductor gazed about. + +"Which is him?" the man with Connery demanded loudly. + +Connery checked him, but pointed at the same time to Eaton. + +"That's him, is it?" the other man said. "Then go ahead." + +Eaton observed that Avery, who had turned in his seat, was watching +this diversion on the part of the conductor with interest. Connery +stopped beside Eaton's seat. + +"You took a telegram for Lawrence Hillward this morning," he asserted. + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"Because it was mine, or meant for me, as I said at the time. My name +is Eaton; but Mr. Hillward expected to make this trip with me." + +The stout man with the conductor forced himself forward. + +"That's pretty good, but not quite good enough!" he charged. +"Conductor, get that telegram for me!" + +Eaton got up, controlling himself under the insult of the other's +manner. + +"What business is it of yours?" he demanded. + +"What business? Why, only that I'm Lawrence Hillward--that's all, my +friend! What are you up to, anyway? Lawrence Hillward traveling with +you! I never set eyes on you until I saw you on this train; and you +take my telegram!" The charge was made loudly and distinctly; every +one in the dining car--Eaton could not see every one, but he knew it +was so--had put down fork or cup or spoon and was staring at him. +"What did you do it for? What did you want with it?" the stout man +blared on. "Did you think I wasn't on the train? What? + +"I was in the washroom," he continued, roaring for the benefit of the +car, "when the conductor went by with it. I couldn't take the telegram +then--so I waited for the conductor to come back. When I got dressed, +I found him, and he said you'd claimed my message. Say, hand it over +now! What were you up to? What did you do that for?" + +Eaton felt he was paling as he faced the blustering smaller man. He +realized that the passengers he could see--those at the smaller +tables--already had judged his explanation and found him wanting; the +others unquestionably had done the same. Avery was gazing up at him +with a sort of contented triumph. + +"The telegram was for me, Conductor," he repeated. + +"Get that telegram, Conductor!" the stout man demanded again. + +"I suppose," Connery suggested, "you have letters or a card or +something, Mr. Eaton, to show your relationship to Lawrence Hillward." + +"No; I have not." + +The man asserting himself as Hillward grunted. + +"Have you anything to show you are Lawrence Hillward?" Eaton demanded +of him. + +"Did you tell any one on the train that your name was Hillward before +you wanted this telegram?" + +It was Harriet Dorne's voice which interposed; and Eaton felt his pulse +leap as she spoke for him. + +"I never gave any other name than Lawrence Hillward," the other +declared. + +Connery gazed from one claimant to the other. "Will you give this +gentleman the telegram?" he asked Eaton. + +"I will not." + +"Then I shall furnish him another copy; it was received here on the +train by our express-clerk as the operator. I'll go forward and get +him another copy." + +"That's for you to decide," Eaton said; and as though the matter was +closed for him, he resumed his seat. He was aware that, throughout the +car, the passengers were watching him curiously; he would have foregone +the receipt of the telegram rather than that attention should be +attracted to him in this way. Avery was still gazing at him with that +look of quiet satisfaction; Eaton had not dared, as yet, to look at +Harriet Dorne. When, constraining himself to a manner of indifference, +he finally looked her way, she began to chat with him as lightly as +before. Whatever effect the incident just closed had had upon the +others, it appeared to have had none at all upon her. + +"Are you ready to go back to our car now, Harriet?" Avery inquired when +she had finished her breakfast, though Eaton was not yet through. + +"Surely there's no hurry about anything to-day," the girl returned. +They waited until Eaton had finished. + +"Shall we all go back to the observation car and see if there's a walk +down the track or whether it's snowed over?" she said impartially to +the two. They went through the Pullmans together. + +The first Pullman contained four or five passengers; the next, in which +Eaton had his berth, was still empty as they passed through. The +porter had made up all the berths, and only luggage and newspapers and +overcoats occupied the seats. The next Pullman also, at first glance, +seemed to have been deserted in favor of the diner forward or of the +club-car further back. The porter had made up all the berths there +also, except one; but some one still was sleeping behind the curtains +of Section Three, for a man's hand hung over the aisle. It was a +gentleman's hand, with long, well-formed fingers, sensitive and at the +same time strong. That was the berth of Harriet Dorne's father; Eaton +gazed down at the hand as he approached the section, and then he looked +up quickly to the girl. She had observed the hand, as also had Avery; +but, plainly, neither of them noticed anything strange either in its +posture or appearance. Their only care had been to avoid brushing +against it on their way down the aisle so as not to disturb the man +behind the curtain; but Eaton, as he saw the hand, started. + +He was the last of the three to pass, and so the others did not notice +his start; but so strong was the fascination of the hand in the aisle +that he turned back and gazed at it before going on into the last car. +Some eight or ten passengers--men and women--were lounging in the +easy-chairs of the observation-room; a couple, ulstered and fur-capped, +were standing on the platform gazing back from the train. + +The sun was still shining, and the snow had stopped some hours before; +but the wind which had brought the storm was still blowing, and +evidently it had blown a blizzard after the train stopped at four that +morning. The canyon through the snowdrifts, bored by the giant rotary +plow the night before, was almost filled; drifts of snow eight or ten +feet high and, in places, pointing still higher, came up to the rear of +the train; the end of the platform itself was buried under three feet +of snow; the men standing on the platform could barely look over the +higher drifts. + +"There's no way from the train in that direction now," Harriet Dorne +lamented as she saw this. + +"There was no way five minutes after we stopped," one of the men +standing at the end of the car volunteered. "From Fracroft on--I was +the only passenger in sleeper Number Two, and they'd told me to get up; +they gave me a berth in another car and cut my sleeper out at +Fracroft--we were bucking the drifts about four miles an hour; it +seemed to fill in behind about as fast and as thick as we were cutting +it out in front. It all drifted in behind as soon as we stopped, the +conductor tells me." + +The girl made polite acknowledgment and referred to her two companions. + +"What shall we do with ourselves, then?" + +"Cribbage, Harriet? You and I?" Avery invited. + +She shook her head. "If we have to play cards, get a fourth and make +it auction; but must it be cards? Isn't there some way we can get out +for a walk?" + +CHAPTER VI + +THE HAND IN THE AISLE + +The man whose interest in the passenger in Section Three of the last +sleeper was most definite and understandable and, therefore, most +openly acute, was Conductor Connery. Connery had passed through the +Pullmans several times during the morning--first in the murk of the +dawn before the dimmed lamps in the cars had been extinguished; again +later, when the passengers had been getting up; and a third time after +all the passengers had left their berths except Dorne, and after nearly +all the berths had been unmade and the bedding packed away behind the +panels overhead. Each time he passed, Connery had seen the hand which +hung out into the aisle from between the curtains; but the only +definite thought that came to him was that Dorne was a sound sleeper. + +Nearly all the passengers had now breakfasted. Connery, therefore, +took a seat in the diner, breakfasted leisurely and after finishing, +went forward to see what messages had been received as to the relieving +snow-plows. Nothing definite yet had been learned; the snow ahead of +them was fully as bad as this where they were stopped, and it would be +many hours before help could get to them. Connery walked back through +the train. Dorne by now must be up, and might wish to see the +conductor. Unless Dorne stopped him, however, Connery did not intend +to speak to Dorne. The conductor had learned in his many years of +service that nothing is more displeasing to the sort of people for whom +trains are held than officiousness. + +As Connery entered the last sleeper, his gaze fell on the dial of +pointers which, communicating with the pushbuttons in the different +berths, tell the porter which section is calling him, and he saw that +while all the other arrows were pointing upward, the arrow marked "3" +was pointing down. Dorne was up, then--for this was the arrow denoting +his berth--or at least was awake and had recently rung his bell. + +Connery looked in upon the porter, who was cleaning up the washroom. + +"Section Three's getting up?" he asked. + +"No, Mistah Connery--not yet," the porter answered. + +"What did he ring for?" Connery thought Dorne might have asked for him. + +"He didn't ring. He ain't moved or stirred this morning." + +"He must have rung." Connery looked to the dial, and the porter came +out of the washroom and looked at it also. + +"Fo' the lan's sake. I didn't hear no ring, Mistah Connery. It mus' +have been when I was out on the platform." + +"When was that?" + +"Jus' now. There ain't been nobody but him in the car for fifteen +minutes, and I done turn the pointers all up when the las' passenger +went to the diner. It can't be longer than a few minutes, Mistah +Connery." + +"Answer it, then," Connery directed. + +As the negro started to obey, Connery followed him into the open car. +He could see over the negro's shoulder the hand sticking out into the +aisle, and this time, at sight of it, Connery started violently. If +Dorne had rung, he must have moved; a man who is awake does not let his +hand hang out into the aisle. Yet the hand had not moved. Nothing was +changed about it since Connery had seen it before. The long, sensitive +fingers fell in precisely the same position as before, stiffly +separated a little one from another; they had not changed their +position at all. + +"Wait!" Connery seized the porter by the arm. "I'll answer it myself." + +He dismissed the negro and waited until he had gone. He looked about +and assured himself that the car, except for himself and the man lying +behind the curtains of Section Three, was empty. He slowed, as he +approached the hand. He halted and stood a moment beside the berth, +himself almost breathless as he listened for the sound of breathing +within. He heard nothing, though he bent closer to the curtain. Yet +he still hesitated, and retreating a little and walking briskly as +though he were carelessly passing up the aisle, he brushed hard against +the hand and looked back, exclaiming an apology for his carelessness. + +The hand fell back heavily, inertly, and resumed its former position +and hung as white and lifeless as before. No response to the apology +came from behind the curtains; the man in the berth had not roused. +Connery rushed back to the curtains and touched the hand with his +fingers. It was cold! He seized the hand and felt it all over; then, +gasping, he parted the curtains and looked into the berth. He stared; +his breath whistled out; his shoulders jerked, and he drew back, +instinctively pressing his two clenched hands against his chest and the +pocket which held President Jarvis' order. + +The man in the berth was lying on his right side facing the aisle; the +left side of his face was thus exposed; and it had been crushed in by a +violent blow from some heavy weapon which, too blunt to cut the skin +and bring blood, had fractured the cheekbone and bludgeoned the temple. +The proof of murderous violence was so plain that the conductor, as he +saw the face in the light, recoiled with starting eyes, white with +horror. + +He looked up and down the aisle to assure himself that no one had +entered the car during his examination; then he carefully drew the +curtains together again, and hurried to the forward end of the car +where he had left the porter. + +"Lock the rear door of the car," he commanded. "Then come back here." + +He gave the negro the keys, and himself waited to prevent any one from +entering the car at his end. Looking through the glass of the door, he +saw the young man Eaton standing in the vestibule of the car next +ahead. Connery hesitated; then he opened the door and beckoned Eaton +to him. + +"Will you go forward, please," he requested, "and see if there isn't a +doctor--" + +"You mean the man with red hair in my car?" Eaton inquired. + +"That's the one." + +Eaton started off without asking any questions. The porter, having +locked the rear door of the car, returned and gave Connery back the +keys. Connery still waited, until Eaton returned with the red-haired +man, "D. S." He let them in and locked the door behind them. + +"You are a doctor?" Connery questioned the red-haired man. + +"I am a surgeon; yes." + +"That's what's wanted. Doctor--" + +"My name is Sinclair. I am Douglas Sinclair, of Chicago." + +Connery nodded. "I have heard of you." He turned then to Eaton. "Do +you know where the gentleman is who belongs to Mr. Dorne's +party?--Avery, I believe his name is." + +"He is in the observation car," Eaton answered. + +"Will you go and get him? The car-door is locked. The porter will let +you in and out. Something serious has happened here--to Mr. Dorne. +Get Mr. Avery, if you can, without alarming Mr. Dorne's daughter." + +Eaton nodded understanding and followed the porter, who, taking the +keys again from the conductor, let him out at the rear door of the car +and reclosed the door behind him. Eaton went on into the observation +car. As he passed the club compartment of this car, he sensed an +atmosphere of disquiet which gave him first the feeling that some of +these people must know already that there was something wrong farther +forward; but this was explained when he heard some one say that the +door of the car ahead was locked. Another asked Eaton how he had got +through; he put the questioner off and went on into the +observation-room. No suspicion of anything having occurred had as yet +penetrated there. + +"How long you've been!" Harriet Dorne remarked as he came near. "And +how is it about the roof promenade?" + +"Why, all right, I guess, Miss Dorne--after a little." Controlling +himself to an appearance of casualness, he turned then to Avery: "By +the way, can I see you a moment?" + +Without alarming Harriet Dorne, he got Avery away and out of the car. +A few passengers now were collected upon the platforms between this car +and the next, who questioned and complained as Eaton, pushing by them +with Avery, was admitted by the negro, who refused the others +admittance. + +"Is it something wrong with Mr. Dorne?" Donald Avery demanded as Eaton +drew back to let Avery precede him into the open part of the car. + +"So the conductor says." + +Avery hurried forward toward the berth where Connery was standing +beside the surgeon. Connery turned toward him. + +"I sent for you, sir, because you are the companion of the man who had +this berth." + +Avery pushed past him, and leaped forward as he looked past the +surgeon. "What has happened to Mr. Dorne?" + +"You see him as we found him, sir." Connery stared down nervously +beside him. + +Avery leaned inside the curtains and recoiled. "He's dead!" + +"The doctor hasn't made his examination yet; but, there seems no doubt +he's dead." Connery was very pale but controlled. + +"He's been murdered!" + +"It looks so, Mr. Avery. Yes; if he's dead, he's certainly been +murdered," Connery agreed. "This is Doctor Douglas Sinclair, a Chicago +surgeon. I called him just now to make an examination; but since Mr. +Dorne seems to have been dead for some time, I waited for you before +moving the body. You can tell,"--Connery avoided mention of President +Jarvis' name,--"tell any one who asks you, Mr. Avery, that you saw him +just as he was found." + +He looked down again at the form in the berth, and Avery's gaze +followed his; then, abruptly, it turned away. Avery stood clinging to +the curtain, his eyes darting from one to another of the three men. + +"As he was found? When?" he demanded. "Who found him that way? When? +How?" + +"I found him so," Connery answered. + +Avery said nothing more. + +"Will you start your examination now, Dr. Sinclair," Connery suggested. +"No--I'll ask you to wait a minute." + +Noises were coming to them from the platforms at both ends of the car, +and the doors were being tried and pounded on, as passengers attempted +to pass through. Connery went to the rear, where the negro had been +posted; then, repassing them, he went to the other end of the car. The +noises ceased. "The Pullman conductor is forward, and the brakeman is +back there now," he said, as he turned to them. "You will not be +interrupted, Dr. Sinclair." + +"What explanation did you give them?" Eaton asked. + +"Why?" Connery returned. + +"I was thinking of Miss Dorne." + +"I told them nothing which could disturb her." Connery, as he spoke, +pulled back the curtains, entirely exposing the berth. + +The surgeon, before examining the man in the berth more closely, lifted +the shades from the windows. Everything about the berth was in place, +undisturbed; except for the mark of the savage blow on the side of the +man's head, there was no evidence of anything unusual. The man's +clothes were carefully and neatly hung on the hooks or in the little +hammock; his glasses were in their case beside the pillow; his watch +and purse were under the pillow; the window at his feet was still +raised a crack to let in fresh air while he slept. Save for the marks +upon the head, the man might yet be sleeping. It was self-evident +that, whatever had been the motives of the attack, robbery was not one; +whoever had struck had done no more than reach in and deliver his +murderous blow; then he had gone on. + +Connery shut the window. + +As the surgeon carefully and deliberately pulled back the bedclothing +and exposed the body of the man clothed in pajamas, the others watched +him. Sinclair made first an examination of the head; completing this, +he unbuttoned the pajamas upon the chest, loosened them at the waist +and prepared to make his examination of the body. + +"How long has he been dead?" Connery asked. + +"He is not dead yet." + +"You mean he is still dying?" + +"I did not say so." + +"You mean he is alive, then?" + +"Life is still present," Sinclair answered guardedly. "Whether he will +live or ever regain consciousness is another question." + +"One you can't answer?" + +"The blow, as you can see,"--Sinclair touched the man's face with his +deft finger-tips,--"fell mostly on the cheek and temple. The cheekbone +is fractured. He is in a complete state of coma; and there may be some +fracture of the skull. Of course, there is some concussion of the +brain." + +Any inference to be drawn from this as to the seriousness of the +injuries was plainly beyond Connery. "How long ago was he struck?" he +asked. + +"Some hours." + +"You can't tell more than that?" + +"Longer ago than five hours, certainly." + +"Since four o'clock, then, rather than before?" + +"Since midnight, certainly; and longer ago than five o'clock this +morning." + +"Could he have revived half an hour ago--say within the hour--enough to +have pressed the button and rung the bell from his berth?" + +Sinclair straightened and gazed at the conductor curiously. "No, +certainly not," he replied. "That is completely impossible. Why did +you ask?" + +Connery avoided answer. + +The doctor glanced down quickly at the form of the man in the berth; +then again he confronted Connery. "Why did you ask that?" he +persisted. "Did the bell from this berth ring recently?" + +Connery shook his head, not in negation of the question, but in refusal +to answer then. But Avery pushed forward. "What is that? What's +that?" he demanded. + +"Will you go on with your examination, Doctor?" Connery urged. + +"You said the bell from this berth rang recently!" Avery accused +Connery. + +"I did not say that; he asked it," the conductor evaded. + +"But is it true?" + +"The pointer in the washroom, indicating a signal from this berth, was +turned down a minute ago," Connery had to reply. "A few moments +earlier, all pointers had been set in the position indicating no call." + +"What!" Avery cried. "What was that?" + +Connery repeated the statement. + +"That was before you found the body?" + +"That was why I went to the berth--yes," Connery replied; "that was +before I found the body." + +"Then you mean you did not find the body," Avery charged. "Some one, +passing through this car a minute or so before you, must have found +him!" + +Connery attended without replying. + +"And evidently that man dared not report it and could not wait longer +to know whether Mr.--Mr. Dorne, was really dead; so he rang the bell!" + +"Ought we keep Dr. Sinclair any longer from the examination, sir?" +Connery now seized Avery's arm in appeal. "The first thing for us to +know is whether Mr. Dorne is dying. Isn't--" + +Connery checked himself; he had won his appeal. Eaton, standing +quietly watchful, observed that Avery's eagerness to accuse now had +been replaced by another interest which the conductor's words had +recalled. Whether the man in the berth was to live or die--evidently +that was momentously to affect Donald Avery one way or the other. + +"Of course, by all means proceed with your examination, Doctor," Avery +directed. + +As Sinclair again bent over the body, Avery leaned over also; Eaton +gazed down, and Connery--a little paler than before and with lips +tightly set. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +"ISN'T THIS BASIL SANTOINE?" + +The surgeon, having finished loosening the pajamas, pulled open and +carefully removed the jacket part, leaving the upper part of the body +of the man in the berth exposed. Conductor Connery turned to Avery. + +"You have no objection to my taking a list of the articles in the +berth?" + +Avery seemed to oppose; then, apparently, he recognized that this was +an obvious part of the conductor's duty. "None at all," he replied. + +Connery gathered up the clothing, the glasses, the watch and purse, and +laid them on the seat across the aisle. Sitting down, then, opposite +them, he examined them and, taking everything from the pockets of the +clothes, he began to catalogue them before Avery. In the coat he found +only the card-case, which he noted without examining its contents, and +in the trousers a pocket-knife and bunch of keys. He counted over the +gold and banknotes in the purse and entered the amount upon his list. + +"You know about what he had with him?" he asked. + +"Very closely. That is correct. Nothing is missing," Avery answered. + +The conductor opened the watch. "The crystal is missing." + +Avery nodded. "Yes; it always--that is, it was missing yesterday." + +Connery looked up at him, as though slightly puzzled by the manner of +the reply; then, having finished his list, he rejoined the surgeon. + +Sinclair was still bending over the naked torso. With Eaton's help, he +had turned the body upon its back in order to look at its right side, +which before had been hidden. It had been a strong, healthy body; +Sinclair guessed its age at fifty. As a boy, the man might have been +an athlete,--a college track-runner or oarsman,--and he had kept +himself in condition through middle age. There was no mark or bruise +upon the body, except that on the right side and just below the ribs +there now showed a scar about an inch and a half long and of peculiar +crescent shape. It was evidently a surgical scar and had completely +healed. + +Sinclair scrutinized this carefully and then looked up to Avery. "He +was operated on recently?" + +"About two years ago." + +"For what?" + +"It was some operation on the gall-bladder." + +"Performed by Kuno Garrt?" + +Avery hesitated. "I believe so." + +He watched Sinclair more closely as he continued his examination; the +surgeon had glanced quickly at the face on the pillow and seemed about +to question Avery again; but instead he laid the pajama jacket over the +body and drew up the sheet and blanket. Connery touched the surgeon on +the arm. "What must be done, Doctor? And where and when do you want +to do it?" + +Sinclair, however, it appeared, had not yet finished his examination. +"Will you pull down the window-curtains?" he directed. + +As Connery, reaching across the body, complied, the surgeon took a +matchbox from his pocket, and glancing about at the three others as +though to select from them the one most likely to be an efficient aid, +he handed it to Eaton. "Will you help me, please?" + +"What is it you want done?" + +"Strike a light and hold it as I direct--then draw it away slowly." + +He lifted the partly closed eyelid from one of the eyes of the +unconscious man and nodded to Eaton: "Hold the light in front of the +pupil." + +Eaton obeyed, drawing the light slowly away as Sinclair had directed, +and the surgeon dropped the eyelid and exposed the other pupil. + +"What's that for?" Avery now asked. + +"I was trying to determine the seriousness of the injury to the brain. +I was looking to see whether light could cause the pupil to contract." + +"Could it?" Connery asked. + +"No; there was no reaction." + +Avery started to speak, checked himself--and then he said: "There could +be no reaction, I believe, Dr. Sinclair." + +"What do you mean?" + +"His optic nerve is destroyed." + +"Ah! He was blind?" + +"Yes, he was blind," Avery admitted. + +"Blind!" Sinclair ejaculated. "Blind, and operated upon within two +years by Kuno Garrt!" Kuno Garrt operated only upon the all-rich and +-powerful or upon the completely powerless and poor; the unconscious +man in the berth could belong only to the first class of Garrt's +clientele. The surgeon's gaze again searched the features in the +berth; then it shifted to the men gathered about him in the aisle. + +"Who did you say this was?" he demanded of Avery. + +"I said his name was Nathan Dorne," Avery evaded. + +"No, no!" Sinclair jerked out impatiently. "Isn't this--" He +hesitated, and finished in a voice suddenly lowered: "Isn't this Basil +Santoine?" + +Avery, if he still wished to do so, found it impossible to deny. + +"Basil Santoine!" Connery breathed. + +To the conductor alone, among the four men standing by the berth, the +name seemed to have come with the sharp shock of a surprise; with it +had come an added sense of responsibility and horror over what had +happened to the passenger who had been confided to his care, which made +him whiten as he once more repeated the name to himself and stared down +at the man in the berth. + +Conductor Connery knew Basil Santoine only in the way that Santoine was +known to great numbers of other people--that is, by name but not by +sight. There was, however, a reason why the circumstances of +Santoine's life had remained in the conductor's mind while he forgot or +had not heeded the same sort of facts in regard to men who traveled +much more often on trans-continental trains. Thus Connery, staring +whitely at the form in the berth, recalled for instance Santoine's age; +Santoine was fifty-one. + +Basil Santoine at twenty-two had been graduated from Harvard, though +blind. His connections,--the family was of well-to-do Southern +stock,--his possession of enough money for his own support, made it +possible for him to live idly if he wished; but Santoine had not chosen +to make his blindness an excuse for doing this. He had disregarded too +the thought of foreign travel as being useless for a man who had no +eyes; and he had at once settled himself to his chosen profession, +which was law. He had not found it easy to get a start in this; +lawyers had shown no willingness to take into their offices a blind boy +to whom the surroundings were unfamiliar and to whom everything must be +read; and he had succeeded only after great effort in getting a place +with a small and unimportant firm. Within a short time, well within +two years, men had begun to recognize that in this struggling law-firm +there was a powerful, clear, compelling mind. Santoine, a youth living +in darkness, unable to see the men with whom he talked or the documents +and books which must be read to him, was beginning to put the stamp of +his personality on the firm's affairs. A year later, his name appeared +with others of the firm; at twenty-eight, his was the leading name. He +had begun to specialize long before that time, in corporation law; he +married shortly after this. At thirty, the firm name represented to +those who knew its particulars only one personality, the personality of +Santoine; and at thirty-five--though his indifference to money was +proverbial--he was many times a millionaire. But except among the +small and powerful group of men who had learned to consult him, +Santoine himself at that time was utterly unknown. + +There are many such men in all countries,--more, perhaps, in America +than anywhere else,--and in their anonymity they are like minds without +physical personality; they advise only, and so they remain out of +public view, behind the scenes. Now and then one receives publicity +and reward by being sent to the Senate by the powers that move behind +the screen, or being called to the President's cabinet. More often, +the public knows little of them until they die and men are astonished +by the size of the fortunes or of the seemingly baseless reputations +which they leave. So Santoine--consulted continually by men concerned +in great projects, immersed day and night in vast affairs, capable of +living completely as he wished--had been, at the age of forty-six, +great but not famous, powerful but not publicly known. At that time an +event had occurred which had forced the blind man out unwillingly from +his obscurity. + +This event had been the murder of the great Western financier Matthew +Latron. There had been nothing in this affair which had in any way +shadowed dishonor upon Santoine. So much as in his role of a mind +without personality Santoine ever fought, he had fought against Latron; +but his fight had been not against the man but against methods. There +had come then a time of uncertainty and unrest; public consciousness +was in the process of awakening to the knowledge that strange things, +approaching close to the likeness of what men call crime, had been +being done under the unassuming name of business. Government +investigation threatened many men, Latron among others; no precedent +had yet been set for what this might mean; no one could foresee the +end. Scandal--financial scandal--breathed more strongly against Latron +than perhaps against any of the other Western men. He had been among +their biggest; he had his enemies, of whom impersonally Santoine might +have been counted one, and he had his friends, both in high places; he +was a world figure. Then, all of a sudden, the man had been struck +down--killed, because of some private quarrel, men whispered, by an +obscure and till then unheard-of man. + +The trembling wires and cables, which should have carried to the +waiting world the expected news of Latron's conviction, carried instead +the news of Latron's death; and disorder followed. The first public +concern had been, of course, for the stocks and bonds of the great +Latron properties; and Latron's bigness had seemed only further +evidenced by the stanchness with which the Latron banks, the Latron +railroads and mines and public utilities stood firm even against the +shock of their builder's death. Assured of this, public interest had +shifted to the trial, conviction and sentence of Latron's murderer; and +it was during this trial that Santoine's name had become more publicly +known. Not that the blind man was suspected of any knowledge--much +less of any complicity--in the crime; the murder had been because of a +purely private matter; but in the eager questioning into Latron's +circumstances and surroundings previous to the crime, Santoine was +summoned into court as a witness. + +The drama of Santoine's examination had been of the sort the +public--and therefore the newspapers--love. The blind man, led into +the court, sitting sightless in the witness chair, revealing himself by +his spoken, and even more by his withheld, replies as one of the +unknown guiders of the destiny of the Continent and as counselor to the +most powerful,--himself till then hardly heard of but plainly one of +the nation's "uncrowned rulers,"--had caught the public sense. The +fate of the murderer, the crime, even Latron himself, lost temporarily +their interest in the public curiosity over the personality of +Santoine. So, ever since, Santoine had been a man marked out; his +goings and comings, beside what they might actually reveal of +disagreements or settlements among the great, were the object of +unfounded and often disturbing guesses and speculations; and +particularly at this time when the circumstances of Warden's death had +proclaimed dissensions among the powerful which they had hastened to +deny, it was natural that Santoine's comings and goings should be as +inconspicuous as possible. + +It had been reported for some days that Santoine had come to Seattle +directly after Warden's death; but when this was admitted, his +associates had always been careful to add that Santoine, having been a +close personal friend of Gabriel Warden, had come purely in a personal +capacity, and the impression was given that Santoine had returned +quietly some days before. The mere prolonging of his stay in the West +was more than suggestive that affairs among the powerful were truly in +such state as Warden had proclaimed; this attack upon Santoine, so +similar to that which had slain Warden, and delivered within eleven +days of Warden's death, must be of the gravest significance. + +Connery stood overwhelmed for the moment with this fuller recognition +of the seriousness of the disaster which had come upon this man +entrusted to his charge; then he turned to the surgeon. + +"Can you do anything for him here, Doctor?" he asked. + +The surgeon glanced down the car. "That stateroom--is it occupied?" + +"It's occupied by his daughter." + +"We'll take him in there, then. Is the berth made?" + +The conductor went to the rear of the car and brought the porter who +had been stationed there, with the brakeman. He set the negro to +making up the berth; and when it was finished, the four men lifted the +inert figure of Basil Santoine, carried it into the drawing-room and +laid it on its back upon the bed. + +"I have my instruments," Sinclair said. "I'll get them; but before I +decide to do anything, I ought to see his daughter. Since she is here, +her consent is necessary before any operation on him." + +The surgeon spoke to Avery. Eaton saw by Avery's start of recollection +that Harriet Dorne's--or Harriet Santoine's--friend could not have been +thinking of her at all during the recent moments. The chances of life +or death of Basil Santoine evidently so greatly and directly affected +Donald Avery that he had been absorbed in them to the point of +forgetting all other interests than his own. Eaton's own thought had +gone often to her. Had Connery in his directions said anything to the +trainmen guarding the door or to the passengers on the platforms, that +had frightened her with suspicions of what had happened here? When the +first sense of something wrong spread back to the observation car, what +word had reached her? Did she connect it with her father? Was +she--the one most closely concerned--among those who had been on the +rear platform seeking admittance? Was she standing there in the aisle +of the next car waiting for confirmation of her dread? Or had no word +reached her, and must the news of the attack upon her father come to +her with all the shock of suddenness? + +Eaton had been about to leave the car, where he now was plainly of no +use, but these doubts checked him. + +"Miss Santoine is in the observation car," Avery said. "I'll get her." + +The tone was in some way false--Eaton could not tell exactly how. +Avery started down the aisle. + +"One moment, please, Mr. Avery!" said the conductor. "I'll ask you not +to tell Miss Santoine before any other passengers that there has been +an attack upon her father. Wait until you get her inside the door of +this car." + +"You yourself said nothing, then, that can have made her suspect it?" +Eaton asked. + +Connery shook his head; the conductor, in doubt and anxiety over +exactly what action the situation called for,--unable, too, to +communicate any hint of it to his superiors to the West because of the +wires being down,--clearly had resolved to keep the attack upon +Santoine secret for the time. "I said nothing definite even to the +trainmen," he replied; "and I want you gentlemen to promise me before +you leave this car that you will say nothing until I give you leave." + +His eyes shifted from the face of one to another, until he had assured +himself that all agreed. As Avery left the car, Eaton found a seat in +one of the end sections near the drawing-room. Sinclair and the +conductor had returned to Santoine. The porter was unmaking the berth +in the next section which Santoine had occupied, having been told to do +so by Connery; the negro bundled together the linen and carried it to +the cupboard at the further end of the car; he folded the blankets and +put them in the upper berth; he took out the partitions and laid them +on top of the blankets. Eaton stared out the window at the bank of +snow. He did not know whether to ask to leave the car, or whether he +ought to remain; and he would have gone except for recollection of +Harriet Santoine. He had heard the rear door of the car open and close +some moments before, so he knew that she must be in the car and that, +in the passage at that end, Avery must be telling her about her father. +Then the curtain at the end of the car was pushed further aside, and +Harriet Santoine came in. + +She was very pale, but quite controlled, as Eaton knew she would be. +She looked at Eaton, but did not speak as she passed; she went directly +to the door of the drawing-room, opened it and went in, followed by +Avery. The door closed, and for a moment Eaton could hear voices +inside the room--Harriet Santoine's, Sinclair's, Connery's. The +conductor then came to the door of the drawing-room and sent the porter +for water and clean linen; Eaton heard the rip of linen being torn, and +the car became filled with the smell of antiseptics. + +Donald Avery came out of the drawing-room and dropped into the seat +across from Eaton. He seemed deeply thoughtful--so deeply, indeed, as +to be almost unaware of Eaton's presence. And Eaton, observing him, +again had the sense that Avery's absorption was completely in +consequences to himself of what was going on behind the door--in how +Basil Santoine's death or continued existence would affect the fortunes +of Donald Avery. + +"Is he going to operate?" Eaton asked. + +"Operate? Yes; he's doing it," Avery replied shortly. + +"And Miss Santoine?" + +"She's helping--handing instruments and so on." + +Avery could not have replied, as he did, if the strain this period must +impose upon Harriet Santoine had been much in his mind. Eaton turned +from him and asked nothing more. A long time passed--how long, Eaton +could not have told; he noted only that during it the shadows on the +snowbank outside the window appreciably changed their position. Once +during this time, the door of the drawing-room was briefly opened, +while Connery handed something out to the porter, and the smell of the +antiseptics grew suddenly stronger; and Eaton could see behind Connery +the surgeon, coatless and with shirt-sleeves rolled up, bending over +the figure on the bed. Finally the door opened again, and Harriet +Santoine came out, paler than before, and now not quite so steady. + +Eaton rose as she approached them; and Avery leaped up, all concern and +sympathy for her immediately she appeared. He met her in the aisle and +took her hand. + +"Was it successful, dear?" Avery asked. + +She shut her eyes before she answered, and stood holding to the back of +a seat; then she opened her eyes, saw Eaton and recognized him and sat +down in the seat where Avery had been sitting. + +"Dr. Sinclair says we will know in four or five days," she replied to +Avery; she turned then directly to Eaton. "He thought there probably +was a clot under the skull, and he operated to find it and relieve it. +There was one, and we have done all we can; now we may only wait. Dr. +Sinclair has appointed himself nurse; he says I can help him, but not +just yet. I thought you would like to know." + +"Thank you; I did want to know," Eaton acknowledged. He moved away +from them, and sat down in one of the seats further down the car. +Connery came out from the drawing-room, went first to one end of the +car, then to the other; and returning with the Pullman conductor, began +to oversee the transfer of the baggage of all other passengers than the +Santoine party to vacant sections in the forward sleepers. People +began to pass through the aisle; evidently the car doors had been +unlocked. Eaton got up and left the car, finding at the door a porter +from one of the other cars stationed to warn people not to linger or +speak or make other noises in going through the car where Santoine was. + +As the door was closing behind Eaton, a sound came to his ears from the +car he just had left--a young girl suddenly crying in abandon. Harriet +Santoine, he understood, must have broken down for the moment, after +the strain of the operation; and Eaton halted as though to turn back, +feeling the blood drive suddenly upon his heart. Then, recollecting +that he had no right to go to her, he went on. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +SUSPICION FASTENS ON EATON + +As he entered his own car, Eaton halted; that part of the train had +taken on its usual look and manner, or as near so, it seemed, as the +stoppage in the snow left possible. Knowing what he did, Eaton stared +at first with astonishment; and the irrational thought came to him that +the people before him were acting. Then he realized that they were +almost as usual because they did not know what had happened; the fact +that Basil Santoine had been attacked--or that he was on the +train--still had been carefully kept secret by the spreading of some +other explanation of the trouble in the car behind. So now, in their +section, Amy and Constance were reading and knitting; their parents had +immersed themselves in double solitaire; the Englishman looked out the +window at the snow with no different expression than that with which he +would have surveyed a landscape they might have been passing. +Sinclair's section, of course, remained empty; and a porter came and +transferred the surgeon's handbag and overcoat to the car behind in +which he was caring for Santoine. + +Eaton found his car better filled than it had been before, for the +people shifted from the car behind had been scattered through the +train. He felt a hand on his arm as he started to go to his seat, and +turned and faced Connery. + +"If you must say anything, say it was appendicitis," the conductor +warned when he had brought Eaton back to the vestibule. "Mr. Dorne--if +a name is given, it is that--was suddenly seized with a recurrence of +an attack of appendicitis from which he had been suffering. An +immediate operation was required to save him; that was what Dr. +Sinclair did." + +Eaton reaffirmed his agreement to give no information. He learned by +the conversation of the passengers that Connery's version of what had +happened had been easily received; some one, they said, had been taken +suddenly and seriously ill upon the train. Their speculation, after +some argument, had pitched on the right person; it was the tall, +distinguished-looking man in the last car who wore glasses. At noon, +food was carried into the Santoine car. + +Keeping himself to his section, Eaton watched the car and outside the +window for signs of what investigation Connery and Avery were making. +What already was known had made it perfectly clear that whoever had +attacked Santoine must still be upon the train; for no one could have +escaped through the snow. No one could now escape. Avery and Connery +and whoever else was making investigation with them evidently were not +letting any one know that an investigation was being made. A number of +times Eaton saw Connery and the Pullman conductor pass through the +aisles. Eaton went to lunch; on his way back from the diner, he saw +the conductors with papers in their hands questioning a passenger. +They evidently were starting systematically through the cars, examining +each person; they were making the plea of necessity of a report to the +railroad offices of names and addresses of all held up by the stoppage +of the train. As Eaton halted at his section, the two conductors +finished with the man from the rear who had been installed in Section +One, and they crossed to the Englishman opposite. Eaton heard them +explain the need of making a report and heard the Englishman's answer, +with his name, his address and particulars as to who he was, where he +was coming from and whither he was going. + +Eaton started on toward the rear of the train. + +"A moment, sir!" Connery called. + +Eaton halted. The conductors confronted him. + +"Your name, sir?" Connery asked. + +"Philip D. Eaton." + +Connery wrote down the answer. "Your address?" + +"I--have no address." + +"You mean you don't want to give it?" + +"No, I have none. I was going to a hotel in Chicago--which one I +hadn't decided yet." + +"Where are you coming from?" + +"From Asia." + +"That's hardly an address, Mr. Eaton!" + +"I can give you no address abroad. I had no fixed address there. I +was traveling most of the time. You could not reach me or place me by +means of any city or hotel there. I arrived in Seattle by the Asiatic +steamer and took this train." + +"Ah! you came on the _Tamba Maru_." + +Connery made note of this, as he had made note of all the other +questions and answers. Then he said something to the Pullman +conductor, who replied in the same low tone; what they said was not +audible to Eaton. + +"You can tell us at least where your family is, Mr. Eaton," Connery +suggested. + +"I have no family." + +"Friends, then?" + +"I--I have no friends." + +"What?" + +"I say that I can refer you to no friends." + +"Nowhere?" + +"Nowhere." + +Connery pondered for several moments. "The Mr. Hillward--Lawrence +Hillward, to whom the telegram was addressed which you claimed this +morning, your associate who was to have taken this train with you--will +you give me his address?" + +"I thought you had decided the telegram was not meant for me." + +"I am asking you a question, Mr. Eaton--not making explanations. It +isn't impossible there should be two Lawrence Hillwards." + +"I don't know Hillward's address." + +"Give me the address, then, of the man who sent the telegram." + +"I am unable to do that, either." + +Connery spoke again to the Pullman conductor, and they conversed +inaudibly for a minute. "That is all, then," Connery said finally. + +He signed his name to the sheet on which he had written Eaton's +answers, and handed it to the Pullman conductor, who also signed it and +returned it to him; then they went on to the passenger now occupying +Section Four, without making any further comment. + +Eaton abandoned his idea of going to the rear of the train; he sat +down, picked up his magazine and tried to read; but after an instant, +he leaned forward and looked at himself in the little mirror between +the windows. It reassured him to find that he looked entirely normal; +he had been afraid that during the questioning he might have turned +pale, and his paleness--taken in connection with his inability to +answer the questions--might have seriously directed the suspicions of +the conductors toward him. The others in the car, who might have +overheard his refusal to reply to the questions, would be regarding him +only curiously, since they did not know the real reasons for the +examination. But the conductors--what did they think? + +Already, Eaton reflected, before the finding of the senseless form of +Basil Santoine, there had occurred the disagreeable incident of the +telegram to attract unfavorable attention to him. On the other hand, +might not the questioning of him have been purely formal? Connery +certainly had treated him, at the time of the discovery of Santoine, as +one not of the class to be suspected of being the assailant of +Santoine. Avery, to be sure, had been uglier, more excited and +hostile; but Harriet Santoine again had treated him trustfully and +frankly as one with whom thought of connection with the attack upon her +father was impossible. Eaton told himself that there should be no +danger to himself from this inquiry, directed against no one, but +including comprehensively every one on the train. + +As Eaton pretended to read, he could hear behind him the low voices of +the conductors, which grew fainter and fainter as they moved further +away, section by section, down the car. Finally, when the conductors +had left the car, he put his magazine away and went into the men's +compartment to smoke and calm his nerves. His return to America had +passed the bounds of recklessness; and what a situation he would now be +in if his actions brought even serious suspicions against him! He +finished his first cigar and was debating whether to light another, +when he heard voices outside the car, and opening the window and +looking out, he saw Connery and the brakeman struggling through the +snow and making, apparently, some search. They had come from the front +of the train and had passed under his window only an instant before, +scrutinizing the snowbank beside the car carefully and looking under +the car--the brakeman even had crawled under it; now they went on. +Eaton closed the window and lighted his second cigar. Presently +Connery passed the door of the compartment carrying something loosely +wrapped in a newspaper in his hands. Eaton finished his cigar and went +back to his seat in the car. + +As he glanced at the seat where he had left the magazine and his locked +traveling-bag, he saw that the bag was no longer there. It stood now +between the two seats on the floor, and picking it up and looking at +it, he found it unfastened and with marks about the lock which told +plainly that it had been forced. + +His quick glance around at the other passengers, which showed him that +his discovery of this had not been noticed, showed also that they had +not seen the bag opened. They would have been watching him if they +had; clearly the bag had been carried out of the car during his +absence, and later had been brought back. He set it on the floor +between his knees and checked over its contents. Nothing had been +taken, so far as he could tell; for the bag had contained only +clothing, the Chinese dictionary and the box of cigars, and these all +apparently were still there. He had laid out the things on the seat +across from him while checking them up, and now he began to put them +back in the bag. Suddenly he noticed that one of his socks was +missing; what had been eleven pairs was now only ten pairs and one odd +sock. + +The disappearance of a single sock was so strange, so bizarre, so +perplexing that--unless it was accidental--he could not account for it +at all. No one opens a man's bag and steals one sock, and he was quite +sure there had been eleven complete pairs there earlier in the day. +Certainly then, it had been accidental: the bag had been opened, its +contents taken out and examined, and in putting them back, one sock had +been dropped unnoticed. The absence of the sock, then, meant no more +than that the contents of the bag had been thoroughly investigated. By +whom? By the man against whom the telegram directed to Lawrence +Hillward had warned Eaton? + +Ever since his receipt of the telegram, Eaton--as he passed through the +train in going to and from the diner or for other reasons--had been +trying covertly to determine which, if any one, among the passengers +was the "one" who, the telegram had warned him, was "following" him. +For at first he had interpreted it to mean that one of "them" whom he +had to fear must be on the train. Later he had felt certain that this +could not be the case, for otherwise any one of "them" who knew him +would have spoken by this time. He had watched particularly for a time +the man who had claimed the telegram and given the name of Hillward; +but the only conclusion he had been able to reach was that the man's +name might be Hillward, and that coincidence--strange as such a thing +seemed--might have put aboard the train a person by this name. Now his +suspicions that one of "them" must be aboard the train returned. + +The bag certainly had not been carried out the forward door of the car, +or he would have seen it from the compartment at that end of the car +where he had sat smoking. As he tried to recall who had passed the +door of the compartment, he remembered no one except trainmen. The +bag, therefore, had been carried out the rear door, and the man who had +opened it, if a passenger, must still be in the rear part of the train. + +Eaton, refilling his cigar-case to give his action a look of +casualness, got up and went toward the rear of the train. A porter was +still posted at the door of the Santoine car, who warned him to be +quiet in passing through. The car, he found, was entirely empty; the +door to the drawing-room where Santoine lay was closed. Two berths +near the farther end of the car had been made up, no doubt for the +surgeon and Harriet Santoine to rest there during the intervals of +their watching; but the curtains of these berths were folded back, +showing both of them to be empty, though one apparently had been +occupied. Was Harriet Santoine with her father? + +He went on into the observation-car. The card-room was filled with +players, and he stood an instant at the door looking them over, but +"Hillward" was not among them, and he saw no one whom he felt could +possibly be one of "them." In the observation-room, the case was the +same; a few men and women passengers here were reading or talking. +Glancing on past them through the glass door at the end of the car, he +saw Harriet Santoine standing alone on the observation platform. The +girl did not see him; her back was toward the car. As he went out onto +the platform and the sound of the closing door came to her, she turned +to meet him. + +She looked white and tired, and faint gray shadows underneath her eyes +showed where dark circles were beginning to form. + +"I am supposed to be resting," she explained quietly, accepting him as +one who had the right to ask. + +"Have you been watching all day?" + +"With Dr. Sinclair, yes. Dr. Sinclair is going to take half the night +watch, and I am going to take the other half. That is why I am +supposed to be lying down now to get ready for it; but I could not +sleep." + +"How is your father?" + +"Just the same; there may be no change, Dr. Sinclair says, for days. +It seems all so sudden and so--terrible, Mr. Eaton. You can hardly +appreciate how we feel about it without knowing Father. He was so +good, so strong, so brave, so independent! And at the same time so--so +dependent upon those around him, because of his blindness! He started +out so handicapped, and he has accomplished so much, and--and it is so +unjust that there should have been such an attack upon him." + +Eaton, leaning against the rail beside her and glancing at her, saw +that her lashes were wet, and his eyes dropped as they caught hers. + +"They have been investigating the attack?" + +"Yes; Donald--Mr. Avery, you know--and the conductor have been working +on it all day." + +"What have they learned?" + +"Not much, I think; at least not much that they have told me. They +have been questioning the porter." + +"The porter?" + +"Oh, I don't mean that they think the porter had anything to do with +it; but the bell rang, you know." + +"The bell?" + +"The bell from Father's berth. I thought you knew. It rang some time +before Father was found--some few minutes before; the porter did not +hear it, but the pointer was turned down. They have tested it, and it +cannot be jarred down or turned in any way except by means of the bell." + +Eaton looked away from her, then back again rather strangely. + +"I would not attach too much importance to the bell," he said. + +"Father could not have rung it; Dr. Sinclair says that is impossible. +So its being rung shows that some one was at the berth, some one must +have seen Father lying there and--and rung the bell, but did not tell +any one about Father. That could hardly have been an innocent person, +Mr. Eaton." + +"Or a guilty one, Miss Santoine, or he would not have rung the bell at +all." + +"I don't know--I don't understand all it might mean. I have tried not +to think about anything but Father." + +"Is that all they have learned?" + +"No; they have found the weapon." + +"The weapon with which your father was struck?" + +"Yes; the man who did it seems not to have realized that the train was +stopped--or at least that it would be stopped for so long--and he threw +it off the train, thinking, I suppose, we should be miles away from +there by morning. But the train didn't move, and the snow didn't cover +it up, and it was found lying against the snowbank this afternoon. It +corresponds, Dr. Sinclair says, with Father's injuries." + +"What was it?" + +"It seems to have been a bar of metal--of steel, they said, I think, +Mr. Eaton--wrapped in a man's black sock." + +"A sock!" Eaton's voice sounded strange to himself; he felt that the +blood had left his cheeks, leaving him pale, and that the girl must +notice it. "A man's sock!" + +Then he saw that she had not noticed, for she had not been looking at +him. + +"It could be carried in that way through the sleepers, you know, +without attracting attention," she observed. + +Eaton had controlled himself. "A sock!" he said again, reflectively. + +He felt suddenly a rough tap upon his shoulder, and turning, he saw +that Donald Avery had come out upon the platform and was standing +beside him; and behind Avery, he saw Conductor Connery. There was no +one else on the platform. + +"Will you tell me, Mr. Eaton--or whatever else your name may be--what +it is that you have been asking Miss Santoine?" Avery demanded harshly. + +Eaton felt his blood surge at the tone. Harriet Santoine had turned, +and sensing the strangeness of Avery's manner, she whitened. "What is +it, Don?" she cried. "What is the matter? Is something wrong with +Father?" + +"No, dear; no! Harry, what has this man been saying to you?" + +"Mr. Eaton?" Her gaze went wonderingly from Avery to Eaton and back +again. "Why--why, Don! He has only been asking me what we had found +out about the attack on Father!" + +"And you told him?" Avery swung toward Eaton. "You dog!" he mouthed. +"Harriet, he asked you that because he needed to know--he had to know! +He had to know how much we had found out, how near we were getting to +him! Harry, this is the man that did it!" + +Eaton's fists clenched; but suddenly, recollecting, he checked himself. +Harriet, not yet comprehending, stood staring at the two; then Eaton +saw the blood rush to her face and dye forehead and cheek and neck as +she understood. + +"Not here, Mr. Avery; not here!" Conductor Connery had stepped +forward, glancing back into the car to assure himself the disturbance +on the platform had not attracted the attention of the passengers in +the observation-room. He put his hand on Eaton's arm. "Come with me, +sir," he commanded. + +Eaton thought anxiously for a moment. He looked to Harriet Santoine as +though about to say something to her, but he did not speak; instead, he +quietly followed the conductor. As they passed through the +observation-car into the car ahead, he heard the footsteps of Harriet +Santoine and Avery close behind them. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +QUESTIONS + +Connery pulled aside the curtain of the washroom at the end of the +Santoine car--the end furthest from the drawing-room where Santoine lay. + +"Step in here, sir," he directed. "Sit down, if you want. We're far +enough from the drawing-room not to disturb Mr. Santoine." + +Eaton, seating himself in the corner of the leather seat built against +two walls of the room, and looking up, saw that Avery had come into the +room with them. The girl followed. With her entrance into the room +came to him--not any sound from her or anything which he could describe +to himself as either audible or visual--but a strange sensation which +exhausted his breath and stopped his pulse for a beat. To be +accused--even to be suspected--of the crime against Santoine was to +have attention brought to him which--with his unsatisfactory account of +himself--threatened ugly complications. Yet, at this moment of +realization, that did not fill his mind. Whether his long dwelling +close to death had numbed him to his own danger, however much more +immediate it had become, he could not know; probably he had prepared +himself so thoroughly, had inured himself so to expect arrest and +imminent destruction, that now his finding himself confronted with +accusers in itself failed to stir new sensation; but till this day, he +had never imagined or been able to prepare himself for accusation +before one like Harriet Santoine; so, for a moment, thought solely of +himself was a subcurrent. Of his conscious feelings, the terror that +she would be brought to believe with the others that he had struck the +blow against her father was the most poignant. + +Harriet Santoine was not looking at him; but as she stood by the door, +she was gazing intently at Avery; and she spoke first: + +"I don't believe it, Don!" + +Eaton felt the warm blood flooding his face and his heart throb with +gratitude toward her. + +"You don't believe it because you don't understand yet, dear," Avery +declared. "We are going to make you believe it by proving to you it is +true." + +Avery pulled forward one of the leather chairs for her to seat herself +and set another for himself facing Eaton. Eaton, gazing across +steadily at Avery, was chilled and terrified as he now fully realized +for the first time the element which Avery's presence added. What the +relations were between Harriet Santoine and Avery he did not know, but +clearly they were very close; and it was equally clear that Avery had +noticed and disliked the growing friendship between her and Eaton. +Eaton sensed now with a certainty that left no doubt in his own mind +that as he himself had realized only a moment before that his strongest +feeling was the desire to clear himself before Harriet Santoine, so +Avery now was realizing that--since some one on the train had certainly +made the attack on Santoine--he hoped he could prove before her that +that person was Eaton. + +"Why did you ring the bell in Mr. Santoine's berth?" Avery directed the +attack upon him suddenly. + +"To call help," Eaton answered. + +Question and answer, Eaton realized, had made some effect upon Harriet +Santoine, as he did not doubt Avery intended they should; yet he could +not look toward her to learn exactly what this effect was but kept his +eyes on Avery. + +"You had known, then, that he needed help?" + +"I knew it--saw it then, of course." + +"When?" + +"When I found him." + +"'Found' him?" + +"Yes." + +"When was that?" + +"When I went forward to look for the conductor to ask him about taking +a walk on the roof of the cars." + +"You found him then--that way, the way he was?" + +"That way? Yes." + +"How?" + +"How?" Eaton iterated. + +"Yes; how, Mr. Eaton, or Hillward, or whatever your name is? How did +you find him? The curtains were open, perhaps; you saw him as you went +by, eh?" + +Eaton shook his head. "No; the curtains weren't open; they were +closed." + +"Then why did you look in?" + +"I saw his hand in the aisle." + +"Go on." + +"When I came back it didn't look right to me; its position had not been +changed at all, and it hadn't looked right to me before. So I stopped +and touched it, and I found that it was cold." + +"Then you looked into the berth?" + +"Yes." + +"And having looked in and seen Mr. Santoine injured and lying as he +was, you did not call any one, you did not bring help--you merely +leaned across him and pushed the bell and went on quickly out of the +car before any one could see you?" + +"Yes; but I waited on the platform of the next car to see that help did +come; and the conductor passed me, and I knew that he and the porter +must find Mr. Santoine as they did." + +"Do you expect us to believe that very peculiar action of yours was the +act of an innocent man?" + +"If I had been guilty of the attack on Mr. Santoine, I'd not have +stopped or looked into the berth at all." + +"If you are innocent, you had, of course, some reason for acting as you +did. Will you explain what it was?" + +"No--I cannot explain." + +With a look almost of triumph Avery turned to Harriet Santoine, and +Eaton felt his flesh grow warm with gratitude again as he saw her meet +Avery's look with no appearance of being convinced. + +"Mr. Eaton spoke to me about that," she said quietly. + +"You mean he told you he was the one who rang the bell?" + +"No; he told me we must not attach too much importance to the ringing +of the bell in inquiring into the attack on Father." + +Avery smiled grimly. "He did, did he? Don't you see that that only +shows more surely that he did not want the ringing of the bell +investigated because it would lead us to himself? He did not happen to +tell you, did he, that the kind and size of socks he wears and carries +in his traveling-bag are very nearly the same as the black sock in +which the bar was wrapped with which your father was struck?" + +"It was you, then, who took the sock from my bag?" Eaton demanded. + +"It was the conductor, and I can assure you, Mr. Eaton-Hillward, that +we are preserving it very carefully along with the one which was found +in the snow." + +"But the socks were not exactly the same, were they?" Harriet Santoine +asked. + +Avery made a vexed gesture, and turned to Connery. "Tell her the rest +of it," he directed. + +Connery, who had remained standing back of the two chairs, moved +slightly forward. His responsibility in connection with the crime that +had been carried out on his train had weighed heavily on the conductor; +he was worn and nervous. + +"Where shall I begin?" he asked of Avery; he was looking not at the +girl but at Eaton. + +"At the beginning," Avery directed. + +"Mr. Eaton, when you came to this train, the gateman at Seattle called +my attention to you," Connery began. "I didn't attach enough +importance, I see now, to what he said; I ought to have watched you +closer and from the first. Old Sammy has recognized men with criminal +records time and time again. He's got seven rewards out of it." + +Eaton felt his pulses close with a shock. "He recognized me?" he asked +quietly. + +"No, he didn't; he couldn't place you," Connery granted. "He couldn't +tell whether you were somebody that was 'wanted' or some one well +known--some one famous, maybe; but I ought to have kept my eye on you +because of that, from the very start. Now this morning you claim a +telegram meant for another man--a man named Hillward, on this train, +who seems to be all right--that is, by his answers and his account of +himself he seems to be exactly what he claims to be." + +"Did he read the telegram to you?" Eaton asked. "It was in code. If +it was meant for him, he ought to be able to read it." + +"No, he didn't. Will you?" + +Eaton halted while he recalled the exact wording of the message. "No." + +Connery also paused. + +"Is this all you have against me?" Eaton asked. + +"No; it's not. Mr. Avery's already told you the next thing, and you've +admitted it. But we'd already been able by questioning the porter of +this car and the ones in front and back of it to narrow down the time +of the ringing of Mr. Santoine's bell not to quarter-hours but to +minutes; and to find out that during those few minutes you were the +only one who passed through the car. So there's no use of my going +into that." Connery paused and looked to Avery and the girl. "You'll +wait a minute, Mr. Avery; and you, Miss Santoine. I won't be long." + +He left the washroom, and the sound of the closing of a door which came +to Eaton a half-minute later told that he had gone out the front end of +the car. + +As the three sat waiting in the washroom, no one spoke. Eaton, looking +past Avery, gazed out the window at the bank of snow. Eaton understood +fully that the manner in which the evidence against him was being +presented to him was not with any expectation that he could defend +himself; Avery and Connery were obviously too certain of their +conclusion for that; rather, as it was being given thus under Avery's +direction, it was for the effect upon Harriet Santoine and to convince +her fully. But Eaton had understood this from the first. It was for +this reason he had not attempted to deny having rung Santoine's bell, +realizing that if he denied it and it afterwards was proved, he would +appear in a worse light than by his inability to account for or assign +a reason for his act. And he had proved right in this; for the girl +had not been convinced. So now he comprehended that something far more +convincing and more important was to come; but what that could be, he +could not guess. + +As he glanced at her, he saw her sitting with hands clasped in her lap, +pale, and merely waiting. Avery, as though impatient, had got up and +gone to the door, where he could look out into the passage. From time +to time people had passed through the car, but no one had stopped at +the washroom door or looked in; the voices in the washroom had not been +raised, and even if what was going on there could have attracted +momentary attention, the instructions to pass quickly through the car +would have prevented any one from stopping to gratify his curiosity. +Eaton's heart-beat quickened as, listening, he heard the car door open +and close again and footsteps, coming to them along the aisle, which he +recognized as those of Conductor Connery and some one else with him. + +Avery returned to his seat, as the conductor appeared in the door of +the washroom followed by the Englishman from Eaton's car, Henry +Standish. Connery carried the sheet on which he had written the +questions he had asked Eaton, and Eaton's answers. + +"What name were you using, Mr. Eaton, when you came from Asia to the +United States?" the conductor demanded. + +Eaton reflected. "My own," he said. "Philip D. Eaton." + +Connery brought the paper nearer to the light of the window, running +his finger down it till he found the note he wanted. "When I asked +this afternoon where you came from in Asia, Mr. Eaton, you answered me +something like this: You said you could give me no address abroad; you +had been traveling most of the time; you could not be placed by +inquiring at any city or hotel; you came to Seattle by the Asiatic +steamer and took this train. That was your reply, was it not?" + +"Yes," Eaton answered. + +"The 'Asiatic steamer'--the _Tamba Maru_ that was, Mr. Eaton." + +Eaton looked up quickly and was about to speak; but from Connery his +gaze shifted swiftly to the Englishman, and checking himself, he said +nothing. + +"Mr. Standish,"--Connery faced the Englishman,--"you came from Yokohama +to Seattle on the _Tamba Maru_, didn't you?" + +"I did, yes." + +"Do you remember this Mr. Eaton among the passengers?" + +"No." + +"Do you know he was not among the passengers?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"How do you know?" + +The Englishman took a folded paper from his pocket, opened it and +handed it to the conductor. Connery, taking it, held it out to Eaton. + +"Here, Mr. Eaton," he said, "is the printed passenger-list of the +people aboard the _Tamba Maru_ prepared after leaving Yokohama for +distribution among the passengers. It's unquestionably correct. Will +you point out your name on it?" + +Eaton made no move to take the paper; and after holding it long enough +to give him full opportunity, Connery handed it back to the Englishman. + +"That's all, Mr. Standish," he said. + +Eaton sat silent as the Englishman, after staring curiously around at +them with his bulging, interested eyes, left the washroom. + +"Now, Mr. Eaton," Connery said, as the sound of Standish's steps became +inaudible, "either you were not on the _Tamba Maru_ or you were on it +under some other name than Eaton. Which was it?" + +"I never said I was on the _Tamba Maru_," Eaton returned steadily. "I +said I came from Asia by steamer. You yourself supplied the name +_Tamba Maru_." + +"In case of questioning like that, Mr. Eaton, it makes no difference +whether you said it or I supplied it in your hearing. If you didn't +correct me, it was because you wanted me to get a wrong impression +about you. You can take notice that the only definite fact about you +put down on this paper has proved to be incorrect. You weren't on the +_Tamba Maru_, were you?" + +"No, I was not." + +"Why didn't you say so while Mr. Standish was here?" + +"I didn't know how far you had taken him into your confidence in this +matter." + +"You did come from Asia, though, as your railroad ticket seemed to +show?" + +"Yes." + +"From where?" + +Eaton did not answer. + +"From Yokohama?" + +"The last port we stopped at before sailing for Seattle was +Yokohama--yes." + +Connery reflected. "You had been in Seattle, then, at least five days; +for the last steamer you could have come on docked five days before the +_Tamba Maru_." + +"You assume that; I do not tell you so." + +"I assume it because it must be so. You'd been in Seattle--or at least +you had been in America--for not less than five days. In fact, Mr. +Eaton, you had been on this side of the water for as many as eleven +days, had you not?" + +"Eleven days?" Eaton repeated. + +"Yes; for it was just eleven days before this train left Seattle that +you came to the house of Mr. Gabriel Warden and waited there for him +till he was brought home dead!" + +Eaton, sitting forward a little, looked up at the conductor; his glance +caught Avery's an instant; he gazed then to Harriet Santoine. At the +charge, she had started; but Avery had not. The identification, +therefore, was Connery's, or had been agreed upon by Connery and Avery +between them; suggestion of it had not come from the Santoines. And +Connery had made the charge without being certain of it; he was +watching the effect, Eaton now realized, to see if what he had accused +was correct. + +"What do you mean by that?" Eaton returned. + +"What I said. You came to see Gabriel Warden in Seattle eleven days +ago," Connery reasserted. "You are the man who waited in his house +that night and whom every one has been looking for since!" + +"Well?" inquired Eaton. + +"Isn't that so?" Connery demanded. "Or do you want to deny that too +and have it proved on you later?" + +Again for a moment Eaton sat silent. "No," he decided, "I do not deny +that." + +"Then you are the man who was at Warden's the night he was murdered?" + +"Yes," said Eaton, "I was there that evening. I was the one who came +there by appointment and waited till after Mr. Warden was brought home +dead." + +"So you admit that?" Connery gloated; but he could not keep from Eaton +a sense that, by Eaton's admission of the fact, Connery had been +disappointed. Avery too plainly had expected Eaton to deny it; the +identification of Eaton with the man who had waited at Warden's was +less a triumph to Avery, now that it was confessed. Indeed, Eaton's +heart leaped with quick gratitude as he now met Harriet Santoine's eyes +and as he heard her turning it into a fact in his favor. + +"All you have brought against Mr. Eaton is that he has been indefinite +in his replies to your questions or has refused answers; isn't that +all, Don?" she said. "So if Mr. Eaton is the one who had the +appointment with Mr. Warden that night, does not that explain his +silence?" + +"Explain it?" Avery demanded. "How?" + +"We have Mr. Warden's word that Mr. Eaton came that night because he +was in trouble--he had been outrageously wronged, Don. He was in +danger. Because of that danger, undoubtedly, he has not made himself +known since. May not that be the only reason he has avoided answering +your questions now?" + +"No!" Avery jerked out shortly. + +Eaton's heart, from pulsating fast with Harriet Santoine's attempt at +his defense, now constricted with a sudden increase of his terror and +anxiety. + +"All right, Mr. Eaton!" Connery now returned to his charge. "You are +that man. So besides whatever else that means, you'd been in Seattle +eleven days and yet you were the last person to get aboard this train, +which left a full hour after its usual starting time. Who were you +waiting to see get on the train before you yourself took it?" + +Eaton wet his lips. To what was Connery working up? The probability, +now rapidly becoming certainty, that in addition to the recognition of +him as the man who had waited at Warden's--which fact any one at any +time might have charged--Connery knew something else which the +conductor could not have been expected to know--this dismayed Eaton the +more by its indefiniteness. And he saw, as his gaze shifted to Avery, +that Avery knew this thing also. All that had gone before had been +only preliminary, then; they had been leading up step by step to the +circumstance which had finally condemned him in their eyes and was to +condemn him in the eyes of Harriet Santoine. + +She, he saw, had also sensed the feeling that something else more +definite and conclusive was coming. She had paled after the flush in +which she had spoken in Eaton's defense, and her hands in her lap were +clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed only as spots of white. + +Eaton controlled himself to keep his voice steady. + +"What do you mean by that question?" he asked. + +"I mean that--however innocent or guilty may be the chance of your +being at Mr. Warden's the night he was killed--you'll have a hard time +proving that you did not wait and watch and take this train because +Basil Santoine had taken it; and that you were not following him. Do +you deny it?" + +Eaton was silent. + +"You asked the Pullman conductor for a Section Three after hearing him +assign Mr. Santoine to Section Three in this car. Do you deny that you +did this so as not to be put in the same car with him?" + +Eaton, in his uncertainty, still said nothing. Connery, bringing the +paper in his hand nearer to the window again, glanced down once more at +the statement Eaton had made. "I asked you who you knew in Chicago," +he said, "and you answered 'No one.' That was your reply, was it not?" + +"Yes." + +"You still make the same statement?" + +"Yes." + +"You know no one in Chicago?" + +"No one," Eaton repeated. + +"And certainly no one there knows you well enough to follow your +movements in relation to Mr. Santoine. That's a necessary assumption +from the fact that you know no one at all there." + +The conductor pulled a telegram from his pocket and handed it to Avery, +who, evidently having already seen it, passed it on to Harriet +Santoine. She took it, staring at it mechanically and vacantly; then +suddenly she shivered, and the yellow paper which she had read slipped +from her hand and fluttered to the floor. Connery stooped and picked +it up and handed it toward Eaton. + +"This is yours," he said. + +Eaton had sensed already what the nature of the message must be, though +as the conductor held it out to him he could read only his name at the +top of the sheet and did not know yet what the actual wording was +below. Acceptance of it must mean arrest, indictment for the crime +against Basil Santoine; and that, whether or not he later was +acquitted, must destroy him; but denial of the message now would be +hopeless. + +"It is yours, isn't it?" Connery urged. + +"Yes; it's mine," Eaton admitted; and to make his acceptance definite, +he took the paper from Connery. As he looked dully down at it, he read: + + +He is on your train under the name of Dorne. + + +The message was not signed. + +Connery touched him on the shoulder. "Come with me, Mr. Eaton." + +Eaton got up slowly and mechanically and followed the conductor. At +the door he halted and looked back; Harriet Santoine was not looking; +her face was covered with her hands; Eaton hesitated; then he went on. +Connery threw open the door of the compartment next to the washroom and +corresponding to the drawing-room at the other end of the car, but +smaller. + +"You'll do well enough in here." He looked over Eaton deliberately. +"Judging from your manner, I suppose there's not much use expecting you +to answer anything more about yourself--either in relation to the +Warden murder or this?" + +"No," said Eaton, "there is not." + +"You prefer to make us find out anything more?" + +Eaton made no answer. + +"All right," Connery concluded. "But if you change your mind for the +better, or if you want anything bad enough to send for me, ring for the +porter and he'll get me." + +He closed the door upon Eaton and locked it. As Eaton stood staring at +the floor, he could hear through the metal partition of the washroom +the nervous, almost hysterical weeping of an overstrained girl. The +thing was done; in so far as the authorities on the train were +concerned, it was known that he was the man who had had the appointment +with Gabriel Warden and had disappeared; and in so far as the train +officials could act, he was accused and confined for the attack upon +Basil Santoine. But besides being overwhelmed with the horror of this +position, the manner in which he had been accused had roused him to +helpless anger, to rage at his accusers which still increased as he +heard the sounds on the other side of the partition where Avery was now +trying to silence Harriet Santoine and lead her away. + +Why had Avery gone at his accusation of him in that way? Connery had +had the telegram in his pocket from the start of the questioning in the +washroom; Avery had seen and read it; they could have condemned him +with whomever they wished, merely by showing it. Why, then, had Avery +chosen to drag this girl--strained and upset already by the attack upon +her father and with long hours of nursing ahead of her before expert +help could be got--step by step through their accusation of him? Eaton +saw that--whatever Harriet Santoine's casual interest in himself might +be--this showed at least that Avery's relation to her was not so +completely accepted by her and so definite as appeared on the surface, +since Avery thought it necessary to convince her rather than merely +tell her. And what sent the blood hot and throbbing into Eaton's +temples was the cruelty of Avery's action. + +So Avery was that kind of a man! The kind that, when an end is to be +attained, is ready to ignore as though unimportant the human side of +things. Concurrently with these thoughts--as always with all his +thoughts--was running the memory of his own experience--that experience +of which Eaton had not spoken and of which he had avoided speaking at +any cost; and as he questioned now whether Avery might be one of those +men who to gain an end they deem necessary are ready to disregard +humanity,--to inflict suffering, wrong, injustice,--he realized that he +was beginning to hate Avery for himself, for what he was, aside from +the accusation he brought. + +No sounds came to him now from the washroom--the girl must have +controlled herself; footsteps passing the door of his compartment told +him then that the two had gone out into the open car. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BLIND MAN'S EYES + +Half an hour later, Connery unlocked the door of Eaton's compartment, +entered and closed the door behind him. He had brought in Eaton's +traveling bag and put it down. + +"You understand," said the conductor, "that when a train is stalled +like this it is considered as if under way. So I have local police +power, and I haven't exceeded my rights in putting you under arrest." + +"I don't recall that I have questioned your right," Eaton answered +shortly. + +"I thought you might question it now. I'm going to search you. Are +you going to make trouble or needn't I send for help?" + +"I'll help you." Eaton took off his coat and vest and handed them +over. The conductor put them on a seat while he felt over his prisoner +for weapons or other concealed objects. Eaton handed him a +pocket-knife, and the key to his traveling-bag--he had no other +keys--from his trousers pockets. The conductor discovered nothing +else. He found a pencil--but no papers or memorandum book--a plain +gold watch, unengraved, and a bill-fold containing seven hundred +dollars in United States bank-notes in the vest. Connery wrote out a +receipt for the money and handed it to his prisoner. He returned the +other articles. In the coat, the conductor found a handkerchief and in +another pocket the torn scraps of the telegram delivered to Eaton in +his berth. + +"That's the one we had the fuss over in the dining car," Eaton +volunteered, as the conductor began fitting the scraps together. + +"You forgot to completely destroy it, eh?" + +"What was the use?" Eaton took up the other's point of view. "You had +a copy anyway." + +"You might have wanted to get rid of it since the discovery of the +murder." + +"Murder?" + +"I guess it's the same thing." The conductor dropped the scraps into +an envelope and put it in his pocket. He examined the coat for a +tailor's name. + +"That coat was copied by a Chinaman in Amoy from the coat I had before. +Before the new one was made, I took out the name of the other tailor so +it wouldn't be copied too," Eaton remarked in explanation of the lack +of any mark. Connery handed back the coat, went out and locked the +door behind him. + +Eaton opened his traveling bag and checked over the contents. He could +tell that everything in it had been again carefully examined, but +nothing more had been taken except the small Chinese-English +dictionary; that was now gone. There had been nothing in the bag to +betray any other identity than the one he had given. Eaton put the bag +away and went back to his seat by the window. + +The clear, bright day was drawing toward its dusk: there had been no +movement or attempt to move the train all day. About six o'clock, as +people began passing forward to the diner, Connery appeared again with +a waiter from the dining car bearing a tray with dinner. + +"This is 'on' the Department of Justice, Conductor?" Eaton tried to ask +lightly. + +"The check is a dollar twenty. If you want this, I'll charge it +against your money which I have." + +"Make it a dollar, forty-five then," Eaton directed. "Remember the +waiter." + +The black boy grinned and spread the table. + +"How is Mr.--" Eaton began. + +"Dorne?" Connery put in sharply. + +"Thanks," said Eaton. "I understand. How is he?" + +Connery did not answer, and with the waiter left him, locking him in +again. At ten, Connery came once more with the porter of the car, and +the conductor stood by silently while the porter made up the berth. +Eaton went to bed with the car absolutely still, with only the wall of +snow outside his window and no evidence of any one about but a subdued +step occasionally passing his door. Though he had had nothing to do +all the long, lonely hours of the evening but to think, Eaton lay awake +thinking. He understood definitely now that whatever action was to be +taken following his admission of his presence at Warden's, a charge of +murder or of assault to kill--dependent upon whether Santoine died or +seemed likely to recover--would be made against him at the first city +they reached after the train had started again. He would be turned +over to the police; inquiry would be made; then--he shrank from going +further with these thoughts. + +The night again was very cold; it was clear, with stars shining; toward +midnight wind came; but little snow drifted now, for the cold had +frozen a crust. In the morning, from somewhere over the snow-covered +country, a man and a boy appeared at the top of the shining bank beside +the train. They walked beside the sleepers to the dining car, where, +apparently, they disposed of whatever they had brought in the bags they +carried; they came back along the cars and then disappeared. + +As he watched them, Eaton felt the desperate impulse to escape through +the window and follow them; but he knew he surely would be seen; and +even if he could get away unobserved, he would freeze; his overcoat and +hat had been kept by Connery. The conductor came after a time and let +in the porter, who unmade the berth and carried away the linen; and +later, Connery came again with the waiter bringing breakfast. He had +brought a magazine, which he dropped upon the seat beside Eaton; and he +stood by until Eaton had breakfasted and the dishes were carried away. + +"Want to talk yet?" he asked. + +"No." + +"Is there anything else you want?" he asked. + +"I'd like to see Miss Santoine." + +Connery turned away. + +"You will tell Miss Santoine I have something I want to say to her?" +Eaton asked more definitely. + +Connery turned back. "If you've anything to say, tell it to me," he +bade curtly. + +"It will do no good to tell it to you. Will you tell her what I asked?" + +"No," said Connery. + +At noon, when they brought Eaton's luncheon, he repeated his request +and was again refused; but less than an hour afterward Connery came to +his door again, and behind Connery, Eaton saw Harriet Santoine and +Avery. + +Eaton jumped up, and as he saw the girl's pale face, the color left his +own. + +"Miss Santoine has asked to speak to you," Connery announced; and he +admitted Harriet Santoine and Avery, and himself remaining outside in +the aisle, closed the door upon them. + +"How is your father?" Eaton asked the girl. + +"He seems just the same; at least, I can't see any change, Mr. Eaton." +She said something in a low tone to Avery, who nodded; then she sat +down opposite Eaton, and Avery seated himself on the arm of the seat +beside her. + +"Can Dr. Sinclair see any difference?" Eaton asked. + +"Dr. Sinclair will not commit himself except to say that so far as he +can tell, the indications are favorable. He seems to think--" The +girl choked; but when she went on, her blue eyes were very bright and +her lips did not tremble. "Dr. Sinclair seems to think, Mr. Eaton, +that Father was found just in time, and that whatever chance he has for +recovery came from you. Mr. Avery and I had passed by the berth; other +people had gone by. Sometimes Father had insomnia and wouldn't get to +sleep till late in the morning; so I--and Mr. Avery too--would have +left him undisturbed until noon. Dr. Sinclair says that if he had been +left as long as that, he would have had no chance at all for life." + +"He has a chance, then, now?" + +"Yes; but we don't know how much. The change Dr. Sinclair is expecting +may be either for better or worse. I--I wanted you to know, Mr. Eaton, +that I recognize--that the chance Father may have came through you, and +that I am trying to think of you as the one who gave him the chance." + +The warm blood flooded Eaton's face, and he bowed his head. She, then, +was not wholly hostile to him; she had not been completely convinced by +Avery. + +"What was it you wanted to tell Miss Santoine?" Avery challenged. + +"What did Miss Santoine want to tell me?" + +"What she has just told you." + +Eaton thought for a moment. The realization that had come to him just +now that something had kept the girl from condemning him as Avery and +Connery had condemned him, and that somehow, for some reason, she must +have been fighting within herself to-day and last night against the +proof of his guilt, flushed him with gratitude and changed the attitude +he had thought it was going to be necessary for him to take in this +talk with her. As he looked up, her eyes met his; then she looked +quickly away. Avery moved impatiently and repeated his question: + +"What was it you wanted to say?" + +"Are they looking for any one, Miss Santoine--any one besides me in +connection with the attack upon your father?" + +She glanced at Avery and did not answer. Avery's eyes narrowed. "We +are quite satisfied with what we have been doing," he answered. + +"Then they are not looking, Miss Santoine!" + +Her lips pressed together, and again it was Avery who answered. "We +have not said so." + +"I must assume it, then," Eaton said to the girl without regarding +Avery. "I have been watching as well as I could since they shut me up +here, and I have listened, but I haven't found any evidence that +anything more is being done. So I'm obliged to assume that nothing is +being done. The few people who know about the attack on your father +are so convinced and satisfied that I am the one who did it that they +aren't looking any further. Among the people moving about on the +train, the--the man who made the attack is being allowed to move about; +he could even leave the train, if he could do so without being seen and +was willing to take his chance in the snow; and when the train goes on, +he certainly will leave it!" + +Harriet Santoine turned questioningly to Avery again. + +"I am not asking anything of you, you see," Eaton urged. "I'm not +asking you to let me go or to give me any--any increase of liberty +which might make it possible for me to escape. I--I'm only warning you +that Mr. Avery and the conductor are making a mistake; and you don't +have to have any faith in me or any belief that I'm telling the truth +when I say that I didn't do it! I'm only warning you, Miss Santoine, +that you mustn't let them stop looking! Why, if I had done it, I might +very likely have had an accomplice whom they are going to let escape. +It's only common sense, you see." + +"That is what you wanted to say?" Avery asked. + +"That is it," Eaton answered. + +"We can go, then, Harriet." + +But she made no move to go. Her eyes rested upon Eaton steadily; and +while he had been appealing to her, a flush had come to her cheeks and +faded away and come again and again with her impulses as he spoke. + +"If you didn't do it, why don't you help us?" she cried. + +"Help you?" + +"Yes: tell us who you are and what you are doing? Why did you take the +train because Father was on it, if you didn't mean any harm to him? +Why don't you tell us where you are going or where you have been or +what you have been doing? What did your appointment with Mr. Warden +mean? And why, after he was killed, did you disappear until you +followed Father on this train? Why can't you give the name of anybody +you know or tell us of any one who knows about you?" + +Eaton sank back against the seat away from her, and his eyes shifted to +Avery standing ready to go, and then fell. + +"I might ask you in return," Eaton said, "why you thought it worth +while, Miss Santoine, to ask so much about myself when you first met me +and before any of this had happened? You were not so much interested +then in me personally as that; and it was not because you could have +suspected I had been Mr. Warden's friend; for when the conductor +charged that, it was a complete surprise to you." + +"No; I did not suspect that." + +"Then why were you curious about me?" + +Before Avery could speak or even make a gesture, Harriet seemed to come +to a decision. "My Father asked me to," she said. + +"Your father? Asked you to do what?" + +"To find out about you." + +"Why?" + +As she hesitated, Avery put his hand upon her shoulder as though +warning her to be still; but she went on, after only an instant. + +"I promised Mr. Avery and the conductor," she said, "that if I saw you +I would listen to what you had to say but would not answer questions +without their consent; but I seem already to have broken that promise. +I have been wondering, since we have found out what we have about you, +whether Father could possibly have suspected that you were Mr. Warden's +friend; but I am quite sure that was not the original reason for his +inquiring about you. My Father thought he recognized your voice, Mr. +Eaton, when you were speaking to the conductor about your tickets. He +thought he ought to know who you were. He knew that some time and +somewhere he had been near you before, and had heard you speak; but he +could not tell where or when. And neither Mr. Avery nor I could tell +him who you were; so he asked us to find out. I do not know whether, +after we had described you to Father, he may have connected you with +Mr. Warden or not; but that could not have been in his mind at first." + +Eaton had paled; Avery had seemed about to interrupt her, but watching +Eaton, he suddenly had desisted. + +"You and Mr. Avery?" Eaton repeated. "He sent you to find out about +me?" + +"Sent me--in this case--more than Mr. Avery; because he thought it +would be easier for me to do it." Harriet had reddened under Eaton's +gaze. "You understand, Mr. Eaton, it was--was entirely impersonal with +me. My Father, being blind, is obliged to use the eyes of +others--mine, for one; he has trained me to see for him ever since we +used to take walks together when I was a little girl, and he has made +me learn to tell him what I see in detail, in the way that he would see +it himself; and for helping him to see other things on which I might be +unable to report so definitely and clearly, he has Mr. Avery. He calls +us his eyes, sometimes; and it was only--only because I had been +commissioned to find out about you that I was obliged to show so much +curiosity." + +"I understand," said Eaton quietly. "Your report to your father, I +suppose, convinced him that he had been mistaken in thinking he knew my +voice." + +"No--not that. He knew that he had heard it; for sounds have so much +meaning to him that he never neglects or forgets them, and he carries +in his mind the voices of hundreds of different people and almost never +makes a mistake among them. It did make him surer that you were not +any one with whose voice he ought to have been familiar, but only some +one whom he had heard say something--a few words or sentences, +maybe--under conditions which impressed your voice upon his mind. And +he told Mr. Avery so, and that has only made Mr. Avery and the +conductor more certain that you must be the--one. And since you will +not tell--" + +"To tell would only further confirm them--" + +"What do you mean?" + +"I mean they would be more certain it was I who--" Eaton, as he +blundered with the words and checked himself, looked up apprehensively +at Avery; but Avery, if he had thought that it was worth while to let +this conversation go on in the expectation that Eaton might let slip +something which could be used against himself, now had lost that +expectation. + +"Come, Harry," he said. + +Harriet arose, and Eaton got up as she did and stood as she went toward +the door. + +"You said Mr. Avery and the conductor believe--" he began impulsively, +in answer to the something within him which was urging him to know, to +make certain, how far Harriet Santoine believed him to have been +concerned in the attack upon her father. And suddenly he found that he +did not need to ask. He knew; and with this sudden realization he all +at once understood why she had not been convinced in spite of the +conviction of the others--why, as, flushing and paling, she had just +now talked with him, her manner had been a continual denial of the +suspicion against him. + +To Avery and to Connery the attack upon Santoine was made a vital and +important thing by the prominence of Santoine and their own +responsibility toward him, but after all there was nothing surprising +in there having been an attack. Even to Harriet Santoine it could not +be a matter of surprise; she knew--she must know--that the father whom +she loved and thought of as the best of men, could not have +accomplished all he had done without making enemies; but she could +conceive of an attack upon him being made only by some one roused to +insane and unreasoning hate against him or by some agent wicked and +vile enough to kill for profit. She could not conceive of its having +been done by a man whom, little as she had known him, she had liked, +with whom she had chatted and laughed upon terms of equality. The +accusation of the second telegram had overwhelmed her for a time, and +had driven her from the defense of him which she had made after he had +admitted his connection with Gabriel Warden; but now, Eaton felt, the +impulse in his favor had returned. She must have talked over with her +father many times the matter of the man whom Warden had determined to +befriend; and plainly she had become so satisfied that he deserved +consideration rather than suspicion that Connery's identification of +Eaton now was to his advantage. Harriet Santoine could not yet answer +the accusation of the second telegram against him, but--in reason or +out of reason--her feelings refused acceptance of it. + +It was her feelings that were controlling her now, as suddenly she +faced him, flushed and with eyes suffused, waiting for the end of the +sentence he could not finish. And as his gaze met hers, he realized +that life--the life that held Harriet Santoine, however indefinite the +interest might be that she had taken in him--was dearer to him than he +had thought. + +Avery had reached the door, holding it open for her to go out. +Suddenly Eaton tore the handle from Avery's grasp, slammed the door +shut upon him and braced his foot against it. He would be able to hold +it thus for several moments before they could force it open. + +"Miss Santoine," he pleaded, his voice hoarse with his emotion, "for +God's sake, make them think what they are doing before they make a +public accusation against me--before they charge me with this to others +not on this train! I can't answer what you asked; I can't tell you now +about myself; there is a reason--a fair and honest reason, and one +which means life or death to me. It will not be merely accusation they +make against me--it will be my sentence! I shall be sentenced before I +am tried--condemned without a chance to defend myself! That is the +reason I could not come forward after the murder of Mr. Warden. I +could not have helped him--or aided in the pursuit of his enemies--if I +had appeared; I merely would have been destroyed myself! The only +thing I could hope to accomplish has been in following my present +course--which, I swear to you, has had no connection with the attack +upon your father. What Mr. Avery and Connery are planning to do to me, +they cannot undo. They will merely complete the outrage and injustice +already done me,--of which Mr. Warden spoke to his wife,--and they will +not help your father. For God's sake, keep them from going further!" + +Her color deepened, and for an instant, he thought he saw full belief +in him growing in her eyes; but if she could not accept the charge +against him, neither could she consciously deny it, and the hands she +had been pressing together suddenly dropped. + +"I--I'm afraid nothing I could say would have much effect on them, +knowing as little about--about you as I do!" + +They dashed the door open then--silenced and overwhelmed him; and they +took her from the room and left him alone again. But there was +something left with him which they could not take away; for in the +moment he had stood alone with her and passionately pleading, something +had passed between them--he could give no name to it, but he knew that +Harriet Santoine never could think of him again without a stirring of +her pulses which drew her toward him. And through the rest of the +lonely day and through the sleepless night, he treasured this and +thought of it again and again. + +The following morning the relieving snowplows arrived from the east, +and Eaton felt it was the beginning of the end for him. He watched +from his window men struggling in the snow about the forward end of the +train; then the train moved forward past the shoveled and trampled snow +where rock and pieces of the snowplow were piled beside the +track--stopped, waited; finally it went on again and began to take up +its steady progress. + +The attack upon Santoine having taken place in Montana, Eaton thought +that he would be turned over to the police somewhere within that State, +and he expected it would be done at the first stop; but when the train +slowed at Simons, he saw the town was nothing more than a little hamlet +beside a side-track. They surely could not deliver him to the village +authorities here. The observation car and the Santoine car were +uncoupled here and the train made up again with the Santoine car as the +last car of the train and the observation car ahead of it. This, +evidently, was to stop the passing of passengers through the Santoine +car. Did it mean that the change in Santoine's condition which Dr. +Sinclair had been expecting had taken place and was for the worse? +Eaton would have liked to ask about this of Connery, whom he saw +standing outside his window and keeping watch upon him during the +switching of the cars; but he knew that the conductor would not answer +him. + +He rang, instead, for the porter and asked him for a railway folder, +and when this had been brought, he opened it to the map of the railroad +and checked off the names of the towns they would pass through. Nearly +all the names set in the bold-face letters which denoted the cities and +larger towns ahead of them were, he found, toward the eastern end of +the State; the nearest--and the one, therefore, at which he thought he +would be given up--was several hours away. At long intervals the train +passed villages all but buried in the snow; the inhabitants of these, +gathered at the stations, stared in on him as they looked in on any +other passenger; and at each of these stops Connery stood outside his +window guarding against possibility of his escape. Each time, too, +that the train slowed, the porter unlocked the door of the compartment, +opened it and stood waiting until the train had regained its speed; +plainly they were taking no chances of his dropping from the window. + +Early in the afternoon, as they approached the town whose name in +bold-face had made him sure that it was the one where he would be given +to the police, Eaton rang for the porter again. + +"Will you get me paper and an envelope?" he asked. + +The negro summoned the conductor. + +"You want to write?" Connery asked. + +"Yes." + +"You understand that anything you write must be given to me unsealed." + +"That's satisfactory to me. I don't believe that, even though it is +unsealed, you'll take it upon yourself to read it." + +The conductor looked puzzled, but sent the porter for some of the +stationery the railroad furnished for passengers. The negro brought +paper, and pen and ink, and set up the little table in front of Eaton; +and when they had left him and had locked the door, Eaton wrote: + + +Miss Santoine: + +The questions--all of them--that you and others have asked me you are +going to find answered very soon--within a very few hours, it may be, +certainly within a few days--though they are not going to be answered +by me. When they are answered, you are going to think me the most +despicable kind of man; you are not going to doubt, then,--for the +answers will not let you doubt,--that I was the one who hurt your +father. You, and every one else, are going to feel--not only because +of that, but because of what you will learn about me--that nothing that +may happen to me will be more than I justly deserve. + +I don't seem to care very much what people other than you may think; as +the time grows nearer, I feel that I care less and less about that; but +I do care very much--and more and more--that you are going to think of +me in this way. It is very hard for me to know that you are going to +regret that you ever let me talk with you in the friendly way you did, +or that you let me walk beside you on the station platform at Spokane, +and that you are going to shrink with horror when you recollect that +you let me touch you and put my hand upon your arm. I feel that you do +not yet believe that it was I who attacked your father; and I ask +you--even in face of the proof which you are so soon to receive--not to +believe it. I took this train-- + + +He stopped writing, recollecting that the letter was to be given to +Connery unsealed and that Connery might read it; he scratched out the +sentence he had begun; then he thought a moment and went on: + + +I ask you not to believe that. More than that, I ask you--when you +have learned who I am--still to believe in me. I don't ask you to +defend me against others; you could not do that, for you will see no +one who will not hate and despise me. But I beg of you, in all honesty +and faith, not to let yourself feel as they do toward me. I want you +to believe-- + + +He stopped again, but not because he felt that Harriet Santoine would +not believe what he was asking her to believe; instead, it was because +he knew she would. Mechanically he opened his traveling-bag and got +out a cigar, bit off the end and forgetting in his absorption to light +it, puffed and sucked at it. The future was sure ahead of him; he +foresaw it plainly, in detail even, for what was happening to him was +only the fulfillment of a threat which had been over him ever since he +landed at Seattle. He was going out of life--not only Harriet +Santoine's life, but all life, and the letter he was writing would make +Harriet Santoine believe his death to have been an act of injustice, of +cruelty. She could not help but feel that she herself had been in a +way instrumental in his death, since it was the accusation of violence +against her father which was going to show who he was and so condemn +him. Dared he, dying, leave a sting like that in the girl's life? + +He continued to puff at the unlighted cigar; then, mechanically, he +struck a match to light it. As the match flared up, he touched it to +the sheet on which he had been writing, held the paper until the +written part was all consumed, and dropped it on the floor of the car, +smiling down at it wryly and grimly. He would go out of Harriet +Santoine's life as he had come into it--no, not that, for he had come +into it as one who excited in her a rather pleasing doubt and +curiosity, but he would go out of it as a man whom she must hate and +condemn; to recall him would be only painful to her, so that she would +try to kill within her all memory of him. + +As he glanced to the window, he saw that they were passing through the +outskirts of some place larger than any they had stopped at before; and +realizing that this must be the place he had picked out on the map as +the one where they would give him to the police, he closed his +traveling bag and made ready to go with them. The train drew into the +station and stopped; the porter, as it slowed, had unlocked and opened +the door of his compartment, and he saw Connery outside upon the +platform; but this was no different from their procedure at every stop. +Several people got on the train here; others got off; so Connery, +obviously, was not preventing those who had been on the train when +Santoine was struck, from leaving it now. Eaton, as he saw Connery +make the signal for the train to go ahead, sank back suddenly, +conscious of the suspense he had been under. + +He got out the railroad folder and looked ahead to the next town where +he might be given up to the authorities; but when they rolled into this +in the late afternoon the proceedings were no different. Eaton could +not understand. He saw by studying the time-table that some time in +the night they would pass the Montana state line into North Dakota. +Didn't they intend to deliver him to the State authorities in Montana? + +When the waiter brought his supper, Connery came with him. + +"You wrote something to-day?" the conductor asked. + +"I destroyed it." + +Connery looked keenly around the compartment. "You brought me two +envelopes; there they are. You brought three sheets of paper; here are +two, and there's what's left of the other on the floor." + +Connery seemed satisfied. + +"Why haven't you jailed me?" Eaton asked. + +"We're waiting to see how things go with Mr. Santoine." + +"Has he been conscious?" + +Connery did not answer; and through the conductor's silence Eaton +sensed suddenly what the true condition of affairs must be. To give +him up to the police would make public the attack upon Santoine; and +until Santoine either died or recovered far enough to be consulted by +them, neither Avery nor Connery--nor Connery's superiors, +apparently--dared to take the responsibility of doing this. So Eaton +would be carried along to whatever point they might reach when Santoine +died or became fully conscious. Where would that be? Clear to Chicago? + +It made no material difference to him, Eaton realized, whether the +police took him in Montana or Chicago, since in either case recognition +of him would be certain in the end; but in Chicago this recognition +must be immediate, complete, and utterly convincing. + +The next day the weather had moderated, or--here in North Dakota--it +had been less severe; the snow was not deep except in the hollows, and +on the black, windswept farmlands sprouts of winter wheat were faintly +showing. The train was traveling steadily and faster than its regular +schedule; it evidently was running as a special, some other train +taking the ordinary traffic; it halted now only at the largest cities. +In the morning it crossed into Minnesota; and in the late afternoon, +slowing, it rolled into some large city which Eaton knew must be +Minneapolis or St. Paul. All day he had listened for sounds in the +Santoine car, but had heard nothing; the routine which had been +established to take care of him had gone on through the day, and he had +seen no one but Connery and the negro, and his questions to them had +been unanswered. + +The car here was uncoupled from the train and picked up by a switch +engine; as dusk fell, Eaton, peering out of his window, could see that +they had been left lying in the railroad yards; and about midnight, +awakening in his berth, he realized that the car was still motionless. +He could account for this stoppage in their progress only by some +change in the condition of Santoine. Was Santoine sinking, so that +they no longer dared to travel? Was he, perhaps--dead? + +No sounds came to him from the car to confirm Eaton in any conclusion; +there was nothing to be learned from any one outside the car. A +solitary man, burly and alert, paced quietly back and forth below +Eaton's window. He was a guard stationed to prevent any escape while +the car was motionless in the yard. + +Eaton lay for a long time, listening for other sounds and wondering +what was occurring--or had occurred--at the other end of his car. +Toward morning he fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +PUBLICITY NOT WANTED + +"Basil Santoine dying! Blind Millionaire lawyer taken ill on train!" + +The alarm of the cry came to answer Eaton's question early the next +morning. As he started up in his berth, he shook himself into +realization that the shouts were not merely part of an evil dream; some +one was repeating the cry outside the car window. He threw up the +curtain and saw a vagrant newsboy, evidently passing through the +railroad yards to sell to the trainmen. Eaton's guard outside his +window was not then in sight; so Eaton lifted his window from the +screen, removed that, and hailing the boy, put out his hand for a +paper. He took it before he recalled that he had not even a cent; but +he looked for his knife in his trousers pocket and tossed it out to the +boy with the inquiry: "How'll that do?" + +The boy gaped, picked it up, grinned and scampered off. Eaton spread +the news-sheet before him and swiftly scanned the lines for information +as to the fate of the man who, for four days, had been lying only forty +feet away from him at the other end of a Pullman car. + +The paper--a Minneapolis one--blared at him that Santoine's condition +was very low and becoming rapidly worse. But below, under a Montana +date-line, Eaton saw it proclaimed that the blind millionaire was +merely sick; there was no suggestion anywhere of an attack. The paper +stated only that Basil Santoine, returning from Seattle with his +daughter and his secretary, Donald Avery, had been taken seriously ill +upon a train which had been stalled for two days in the snow in +Montana. The passenger from whom the information had been gained had +heard that the malady was appendicitis, but he believed that was merely +given out to cover some complication which had required surgical +treatment on the train. He was definite as regarded the seriousness of +Mr. Santoine's illness and described the measures taken to insure his +quiet. The railroad officials refused, significantly, to make a +statement regarding Mr. Santoine's present condition. There was +complete absence of any suggestion of violence having been done; and +also, Eaton found, there was no word given out that he himself had been +found on the train. The column ended with the statement that Mr. +Santoine had passed through Minneapolis and gone on to Chicago under +care of Dr. Douglas Sinclair. + +Eaton stared at the newspaper without reading, after he saw that. He +thought first--or rather, he felt first--for himself. He had not +realized, until now that he was told that Harriet Santoine had +gone,--for if her father had gone on, of course she was with him,--the +extent to which he had felt her fairness, almost her friendship to him. +At least, he knew now that, since she had spoken to him after he was +first accused of the attack on her father, he had not felt entirely +deserted or friendless till now. And with this start of dread for +himself, came also feeling for her. Even if they had taken her father +from the other end of this car early in the night to remove him to +another special car for Chicago, she would be still watching beside him +on the train. Or was her watch beside the dying man over now? And +now, if her father were dead, how could Harriet Santoine feel toward +the one whom all others--if not she herself--accused of the murder of +her father? For evidently it was murder now, not just "an attack." + +But why, if Santoine had been taken away, or was dead or dying, had +they left Eaton all night in the car in the yards? Since Santoine was +dying, would there be any longer an object in concealing the fact that +he had been murdered? + +Eaton turned the page before him. A large print of a picture of +Harriet Santoine looked at him from the paper--her beautiful, deep eyes +gazing at him, as he often had surprised her, frankly interested, +thoughtful, yet also gay. The newspaper had made up its lack of more +definite and extended news by associating her picture with her father's +and printing also a photograph of Donald Avery--"closely associated +with Mr. Santoine in a confidential capacity and rumored to be engaged +to Miss Santoine." Under the blind man's picture was a biography of +the sort which newspaper offices hold ready, prepared for the passing +of the great. + +Eaton did not read that then. The mention in the paper of an +engagement between Avery and Harriet Santoine had only confirmed the +relation which Eaton had imagined between them. Avery, therefore, must +have gone on with her; and if she still watched beside her father, +Avery was with her; and if Basil Santoine was dead, his daughter was +turning to Avery for comfort. + +This feature somehow stirred Eaton so that he could not stay quiet; he +dressed and then paced back and forth the two or three steps his +compartment allowed him. He stopped now and then to listen; from +outside came the noises of the yard; but he made out no sound within +the car. If it had been occupied as on the days previous, he must have +heard some one coming to the washroom at his end. Was he alone in the +car now? or had the customary moving about taken place before he awoke? + +Eaton had seen no one but the newsboy when he looked out the window, +but he felt sure that, if he had been left alone in the car, he was +being watched so that he could not escape. + +His hand moved toward the bell, then checked itself. By calling any +one, he now must change his situation only for the worse; as long as +they were letting him stay there, so much the better. He realized that +it was long past the time when the porter usually came to make up his +berth and they brought him breakfast; the isolation of the car might +account for this delay, but it was more likely that he was to find +another reason. + +Finally, to free himself from his nervous listening for sounds which +never came, he picked up the paper again. A column told of Santoine's +youth, his blindness, his early struggle to make a place for himself +and his final triumph--position, wealth and power gained; Eaton, +reading of Harriet Santoine's father, followed these particulars with +interest; and further down the column his interest became even greater. +He read: + + +The news of Mr. Santoine's visit of a week on the Coast, if not known +already in great financial circles, is likely to prove interesting +there. Troubles between little people are tried in the courts; the +powerful settle their disagreements among themselves and without appeal +to the established tribunals in which their cases are settled without +the public knowing they have been tried at all. Basil Santoine, of +late years, has been known to the public as one of the greatest and +most influential of the advisers to the financial rulers of America; +but before the public knew him he was recognized by the financial +masters as one of the most able, clear-minded and impartial of the +adjudicators among them in their own disputes. For years he has been +the chief agent in keeping peace among some of the great conflicting +interests, and more than once he has advised the declaring of financial +war when war seemed to him the correct solution. Thus, five years ago, +when the violent death of Matthew Latron threatened to precipitate +trouble among Western capitalists, Santoine kept order in what might +very well have become financial chaos. If his recent visit to the +Pacific Coast was not purely for personal reasons but was also to +adjust antagonisms such as charged by Gabriel Warden before his death, +the loss of Santoine at this time may precipitate troubles which, +living, his advice and information might have been able to prevent. + + +Having read and reread this long paragraph, Eaton started to tear out +the picture of Harriet Santoine before throwing the paper away; then he +desisted and thrust the sheets out the window. As he sat thinking, +with lips tight closed, he heard for the first time that morning +footsteps at his end of the car. The door of his compartment was +unlocked and opened, and he saw Dr. Sinclair. + +"Mr. Santoine wants to speak to you," the surgeon announced quietly. + +This startling negation of all he imagined, unnerved Eaton. He started +up, then sank back for better composure. + +"Mr. Santoine is here, then?" + +"Here? Of course he's here." + +"And he's conscious?" + +"He has been conscious for the better part of two days. Didn't they +tell you?" Sinclair frowned. "I heard Miss Santoine send word to you +by the conductor soon after her father first came to himself." + +"You mean he will recover!" + +"He would recover from any injury which was not inevitably fatal. He +was in perfect physical condition, and I never have known a patient to +grasp so completely the needs of his own case and to help the surgeon +as much by his control of himself." + +Eaton looked toward the window, breathing hard. "I heard the +newsboys--" + +Sinclair shrugged. "The papers print what they can get and in the way +which seems most effective to them," was his only comment. + +Eaton pulled himself together. So Santoine was neither dead nor dying. +Therefore, at worst, the charge of murder would not be made; and at +best--what? He was soon to find out; the papers evidently were +entirely in error or falsely informed. Basil Santoine was still at the +other end of the car, and his daughter would be with him there. But as +Eaton followed Sinclair out of the compartment into the aisle, he +halted a moment--the look of the car was so entirely different from +what he had expected. A nurse in white uniform sat in one of the seats +toward the middle of the car, sewing; another nurse, likewise clothed +in white, had just come out from the drawing-room at the end of the +car; Avery and Sinclair apparently had been playing cribbage, for Avery +sat at a little table in the section which had been occupied by +Santoine, with the cards and cribbage board in front of him. The +surgeon led Eaton to the door of the drawing-room, showed him in and +left him. + +Harriet Santoine was sitting on the little lounge opposite the berth +where her father lay. She was watching the face of her father, and as +Eaton stood in the door, he saw her lean forward and gently touch her +father's hand; then she turned and saw Eaton. + +"Here is Mr. Eaton, Father," she said. + +"Sit down," Santoine directed. + +Harriet made room for Eaton upon the seat beside her; and Eaton, +sitting down, gazed across at the blind man in the berth. Santoine was +lying flat on his back, his bandaged head turned a little toward Eaton +and supported by pillows; he was not wearing his dark glasses, and his +eyes were open. Eyes of themselves are capable of no expression except +as they may be clear or bloodshot, or by the contraction or dilation of +the pupils, or as they shift or are fixed upon some object: their +"expression" is caused by movements of the lids and brows and other +parts of the face. Santoine's eyes had the motionlessness of the eyes +of those who have been long blind; seeing nothing, with pupils which +did not change in size, they had only the abstracted look which, with +men who see, accompanies deep thought. The blind man was very weak and +must stay quite still; and he recognized it; but he knew too that his +strength was more than equal to the task of recovery, and he showed +that he knew it. His mind and will were, obviously, at their full +activity, and he had fully his sense of hearing. + +This explained to Eaton the better color in his daughter's face; yet +she was still constrained and nervous; evidently she had not found her +ordeal over with the start of convalescence of her father. Her lips +trembled now as she turned to Eaton; but she did not speak directly to +him yet; it was Basil Santoine who suddenly inquired: + +"What is it they call you?" + +"My name is Philip D. Eaton." Eaton realized as soon as he had spoken +that both question and answer had been unnecessary, and Santoine had +asked only to hear Eaton's voice. + +The blind man was silent for a moment, as he seemed to consider the +voice and try again vainly to place it in his memories. Then he spoke +to his daughter. + +"Describe him, Harriet." + +Harriet paled and flushed. + +"About thirty," she said, "--under rather than over that. Six feet or +a little more in height. Slender, but muscular and athletic. Skin and +eyes clear and with a look of health. Complexion naturally rather +fair, but darkened by being outdoors a good deal. Hair dark brown, +straight and parted at the side. Smooth shaven. Eyes blue-gray, with +straight lashes. Eyebrows straight and dark. Forehead smooth, broad +and intelligent. Nose straight and neither short nor long; nostrils +delicate. Mouth straight, with lips neither thin nor full. Chin +neither square nor pointed, and without a cleft. Face and head, in +general, of oval Anglo-American type." + +"Go on," said Santoine. + +Harriet was breathing quickly. "Hands well shaped, strong but without +sign of manual labor; nails cared for but not polished. Gray business +suit, new, but not made by an American tailor and of a style several +years old. Soft-bosomed shirt of plain design with soft cuffs. +Medium-height turn-down white linen collar. Four-in-hand tie, tied by +himself. Black shoes. No jewelry except watch-chain." + +"In general?" Santoine suggested. + +"In general, apparently well-educated, well-bred, intelligent young +American. Expression frank. Manner self-controlled and reserved. +Seems sometimes younger than he must be, sometimes older. Something +has happened at some time which has had a great effect and can't be +forgotten." + +While she spoke, the blood, rising with her embarrassment, had dyed +Harriet's face; suddenly now she looked away from him and out the +window. + +Her feeling seemed to be perceived by Santoine. "Would you rather I +sent for Avery, daughter?" he asked. + +"No; no!" She turned again toward Eaton and met his look defiantly. + +Eaton merely waited. He was confident that much of this description of +himself had been given Santoine by his daughter before the attack had +been made on him and that she had told him also as fully as she could +the two conversations she had had with Eaton. He could not, somehow, +conceive it possible that Santoine needed to refresh his memory; the +description, therefore, must have been for purposes of comparison. +Santoine, in his blindness, no doubt found it necessary to get +descriptions of the same one thing from several people, in order that +he might check one description against another. He probably had +Harriet's and Avery's description of Eaton and now was getting +Harriet's again. + +"He would be called, I judge, a rather likable-looking man?" Santoine +said tentatively; his question plainly was only meant to lead up to +something else; Santoine had judged in that particular already. + +"I think he makes that impression." + +"Certainly he does not make the impression of being a man who could be +hired to commit a crime?" + +"Very far from it." + +"Or who would commit a crime for his own interest--material or +financial interest, I mean?" + +"No." + +"But he might be led into crime by some personal, deeper interest. He +has shown deep feeling, I believe--strong, personal feeling, Harriet?" + +"Yes." + +"Mr. Eaton,"--Santoine addressed him suddenly,--"I understand that you +have admitted that you were at the house of Gabriel Warden the evening +he was killed while in his car. Is that so?" + +"Yes," said Eaton. + +"You are the man, then, of whom Gabriel Warden spoke to his wife?" + +"I believe so." + +"You believe so?" + +"I mean," Eaton explained quietly, "that I came by appointment to call +on Mr. Warden that night. I believe that it must have been to me that +Mr. Warden referred in the conversation with his wife which has since +been quoted in the newspapers." + +"Because you were in such a situation that, if Mr. Warden defended you, +he would himself meet danger?" + +"I did not say that," Eaton denied guardedly. + +"What, then, was your position in regard to Mr. Warden?" + +Eaton remained silent. + +"You refuse to answer?" Santoine inquired. + +"I refuse." + +"In spite of the probability that Mr. Warden met his death because of +his intention to undertake something for you?" + +"I have not been able to fix that as a probability." + +The blind man stopped. Plainly he appreciated that, where Connery and +Avery had failed in their questionings, he was not likely to succeed +easily; and with his limited strength, he proceeded on a line likely to +meet less prepared resistance. + +"Mr. Eaton, have I ever injured you personally--I don't mean directly, +as man to man, for I should remember that; have I ever done anything +which indirectly has worked injury on you or your affairs?" + +"No," Eaton answered. + +"Who sent you aboard this train?" + +"Sent me? No one." + +"You took the train of your own will because I was taking it?" + +"I have not said I took it because you were taking it." + +"That seems to be proved. You can accept it from me; it has been +proved. Did you take the train in order to attack me?" + +"No." + +"To spy upon me?" + +"No." + +Santoine was silent for an instant. "What was it you took the train to +tell me?" + +"I? Nothing." + +Santoine moved his head upon the pillow. + +"Father!" his daughter warned. + +"Oh, I am careful, Harriet; Dr. Sinclair allows me to move a little.... +Mr. Eaton, in one of the three answers you have just given me, you are +not telling the truth. I defy you to find in human reasoning more than +four reasons why my presence could have made you take this train in the +manner and with the attending circumstances you did. You took it to +injure me, or to protect me from injury; to learn something from me, or +to inform me of something. I discard the second of these possibilities +because you asked for a berth in another car and for other reasons +which make it impossible. However, I will ask it of you. Did you take +the train to protect me from injury?" + +"No." + +"Which of your former answers do you wish to change, then?" + +"None." + +"You deny all four possibilities?" + +"Yes." + +"Then you are using denial only to hide the fact, whatever it may be; +and of the four possibilities I am obliged to select the first as the +most likely." + +"You mean that I attacked you?" + +"That is not what I said. I said you must have taken the train to +injure me, but that does not mean necessarily that it was to attack me +with your own hand. Any attack aimed against me would be likely to +have several agents. There would be somewhere, probably, a distant +brain that had planned it; there would be an intelligent brain near by +to oversee it; and there would be a strong hand to perform it. The +overseeing brain and the performing hand--or hands--might belong to one +person, or to two, or more. How many there were I cannot now +determine, since people were allowed to get off the train. The +conductor and Avery--" + +"Father!" + +"Yes, Harriet; but I expected better of Avery. Mr. Eaton, as you are +plainly withholding the truth as to your reason for taking this train, +and as I have suffered injury, I am obliged--from the limited +information I now have--to assume that you knew an attack was to be +made by some one, upon that train. In addition to the telegram, +addressed to you under your name of Eaton and informing of my presence +on the train, I have also been informed, of course, of the code message +received by you addressed to Hillward. You refused, I understand, to +favor Mr. Avery with an explanation of it; do you wish to give one now?" + +"No," said Eaton. + +"It has, of course, been deciphered," the blind man went on calmly. +"The fact that it was based upon your pocket English-Chinese dictionary +as a word-book was early suggested; the deciphering from that was +simply a trial of some score of ordinary enigma plans, until the +meaning appeared." + +Eaton made no comment. Santoine went on: + +"And that very interesting meaning presented another possible +explanation--not as to your taking the train, for as to that there can +be only the four I mentioned--but as to the attack itself, which would +exonerate you from participation in it. It is because of this that I +am treating you with the consideration I do. If that explanation were +correct, you would--" + +"What?" + +"You would have had nothing to do with the attack, and yet you would +know who made it." + +At this, Eaton stared at the blind man and wet his lips. + +"What do you mean?" he said. + +Santoine did not reply to the question. "What have you been doing +yesterday and to-day?" he asked. + +"Waiting," Eaton answered. + +"For what?" + +"For the railroad people to turn me over to the police." + +"So I understood. That is why I asked you. I don't believe in +cat-and-mouse methods, Mr. Eaton; so I am willing to tell you that +there is no likelihood of your being turned over to the police +immediately. I have taken this matter out of the hands of the railroad +people. We live in a complex world, Mr. Eaton, and I am in the most +complex current of it. I certainly shall not allow the publicity of a +police examination of you to publish the fact that I have been attacked +so soon after the successful attack upon Mr. Warden--and in a similar +manner--until I know more about both attacks and about you--why you +came to see Warden that night and how, after failing to see him alive, +you followed me, and whether that fact led to the attempt at my life." + +Eaton started to speak, and then stopped. + +"What were you going to say?" Santoine urged. + +"I will not say it," Eaton refused. + +"However, I think I understand your impulse. You were about to remind +me that there has been nothing to implicate you in any guilty +connection with the murder of Mr. Warden. I do not now charge that." + +He hesitated; then, suddenly lost in thought, as some new suggestion +seemed to come to him which he desired to explain alone, he motioned +with a hand in dismissal. "That is all." Then, almost immediately: +"No; wait! ... Harriet, has he made any sign while I have been +talking?" + +"Not much, if any," Harriet answered. "When you said he might not have +had anything to do with the attack upon you, but in that case he must +know who it was that struck you, he shut his eyes and wet his lips." + +"That is all, Mr. Eaton," Santoine repeated. + +Eaton started back to his compartment. As he turned, Harriet Santoine +looked up at him and their eyes met; and her look confirmed to him what +he had felt before--that her father, now taking control of the +investigation of the attack upon himself, was not continuing it with +prejudice or predisposed desire to damage Eaton, except as the evidence +accused him. And her manner now told, even more plainly than +Santoine's, that the blind man had viewed the evidence as far from +conclusive against Eaton; and as Harriet showed that she was glad of +that, Eaton realized how she must have taken his side against Avery in +reporting to her father. + +For Santoine must have depended entirely upon circumstances presented +to him by Avery and Connery and her; and Eaton was very certain that +Avery and Connery had accused him; so Harriet Santoine--it could only +be she--had opposed them in his defense. The warmth of his gratitude +to her for this suffused him as he bowed to her; she returned a frank, +friendly little nod which brought back to him their brief companionship +on the first day on the train. + +And as Eaton went back to his compartment through the open car, Dr. +Sinclair looked up at him, but Avery, studying his cribbage hand, +pretended not to notice he was passing. So Avery admitted too that +affairs were turning toward the better, just now at least, for Eaton. +When he was again in his compartment, no one came to lock him in. The +porter who brought his breakfast a few minutes later, apologized for +its lateness, saying it had had to be brought from a club car on the +next track, whither the others in the car, except Santoine, had gone. + +Eaton had barely finished with this tardy breakfast when a bumping +against the car told him that it was being coupled to a train. The new +train started, and now the track followed the Mississippi River. +Eaton, looking forward from his window as the train rounded curves, saw +that the Santoine car was now the last one of a train--presumably bound +from Minneapolis to Chicago. + +South they went, through Minnesota and Wisconsin, and the weather grew +warmer and the spring further advanced. The snow was quite cleared +from the ground, and the willows beside the ditches in the fields were +beginning to show green sprouts. At nine o'clock in the evening, some +minutes after crossing the state line into Illinois, the train stopped +at a station where the last car was cut off. + +A motor-ambulance and other limousine motor-cars were waiting in the +light from the station. Eaton, seated at the window, saw Santoine +carried out on a stretcher and put into the ambulance. Harriet +Santoine, after giving a direction to a man who apparently was a +chauffeur, got into the ambulance with her father. The surgeon and the +nurses rode with them. They drove off. Avery entered another +automobile, which swiftly disappeared. Conductor Connery came for the +last time to Eaton's door. + +"Miss Santoine says you're to go with the man she's left here for you. +Here's the things I took from you. The money's all there. Mr. +Santoine says you've been his guest on this car." + +Eaton received back his purse and bill-fold. He put them in his pocket +without examining their contents. The porter appeared with his +overcoat and hat. Eaton put them on and stepped out of the car. The +conductor escorted him to a limousine car. "This is the gentleman," +Connery said to the chauffeur to whom Harriet Santoine had spoken. The +man opened the door of the limousine; another man, whom Eaton had not +before seen, was seated in the car; Eaton stepped in. Connery extended +his hand--"Good-by, sir." + +"Good-by." + +The motor-car drove down a wide, winding road with tall, spreading +trees on both sides. Lights shone, at intervals, from windows of what +must be large and handsome homes. The man in the car with Eaton, whose +duty plainly was only that of a guard, did not speak to Eaton nor Eaton +to him. The motor passed other limousines occasionally; then, though +the road was still wide and smooth and still bounded by great trees, it +was lonelier; no houses appeared for half a mile; then lights glowed +directly ahead; the car ran under the porte-cochere of a great stone +country mansion; a servant sprang to the door of the limousine and +opened it; another man seized Eaton's hand-baggage from beside the +chauffeur. Eaton entered a large, beamed and paneled hallway with an +immense fireplace with logs burning in it; there was a wide stairway +which the servant, who had appointed himself Eaton's guide, ascended. +Eaton followed him and found another great hall upstairs. The servant +led him to one of the doors opening off this and into a large room, +fitted for a man's occupancy, with dark furniture, cases containing +books on hunting, sports and adventure, and smoking things; off this +was a dressing room with the bath next; beyond was a bedroom. + +"These are to be your rooms, sir," the servant said. A valet appeared +and unpacked Eaton's traveling bag. + +"Anything else, sir?" The man, who had finished unpacking his clothes +and laying them out, approached respectfully. "I've drawn your bath +tepid, sir; is that correct?" + +"Quite," Eaton said. "There's nothing else." + +"Very good. Good night, sir. If there's anything else, the second +button beside the bed will bring me, sir." + +When the man had withdrawn noiselessly and closed the door, Eaton stood +staring about the rooms dazedly; then he went over and tried the door. +It opened; it was not locked. He turned about and went into the +dressing room and began taking off his clothes; he stepped into the +bathroom and felt the tepid bath. In a moment he was in the bath; +fifteen minutes later he was in bed with the window open beside him, +letting in the crisp, cool breeze. But he had not the slightest idea +of sleep; he had undressed, bathed, and gone to bed to convince himself +that what he was doing was real, that he was not acting in a dream. + +He got up and went to the window and looked out, but the night was +cloudy and dark, and he could see nothing except some lighted windows. +As he watched, the light was switched out. Eaton went back to bed, but +amazement would not let him sleep. + +He was in Santoine's house; he knew it could be no other than +Santoine's house. It was to get into Santoine's house that he had come +from Asia; he had thought and planned and schemed all through the long +voyage on the steamer how it was to be done. He would have been +willing to cross the Continent on foot to accomplish it; no labor that +he could imagine would have seemed too great to him if this had been +its end; and here it had been done without effort on his part, +naturally, inevitably! Chance and circumstance had done it! And as he +realized this, his mind was full of what he had to do in Santoine's +house. For many days he had not thought about that; it had seemed +impossible that he could have any opportunity to act for himself. And +the return to his thoughts of possibility of carrying out his original +plan brought before him thoughts of his friends--those friends who, +through his exile, had been faithful to him but whose identity or +existence he had been obliged to deny, when questioned, to protect them +as well as himself. + +As he lay on his bed in the dark, he stared upward to the ceiling, wide +awake, thinking of those friends whose devotion to him might be +justified at last; and he went over again and tested and reviewed the +plan he had formed. But it never had presumed a position for him--even +if it was the position of a semi-prisoner--inside Santoine's house. +And he required more information of the structure of the house than he +as yet had, to correct his plan further. But he could not, without too +great risk of losing everything, discover more that night; he turned +over and set himself to go to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE ALLY IN THE HOUSE + +The first gray of dawn roused Eaton, and drawing on trousers and coat +over his pajamas, he seated himself by the open window to see the house +by daylight. The glow, growing in the east, showed him first that the +house stood on the shore of the lake; the light came to him across +water, and from the lake had come the crisp, fresh-smelling breeze that +had blown into his windows through the night. As it grew lighter, he +could see the house; it was an immense structure of smooth gray stone. +Eaton was in its central part, his windows looking to the south. To +the north of him was a wing he could not see--the wing which had +contained the porte-cochere under which the motor-car had stopped the +night before; and the upper part of this wing, he had been able to +tell, contained the servants' quarters. To the south, in front of him, +was another wing composed, apparently in part at least, of family +bedrooms. + +Between the house and the lake was a terrace, part flagged, part +gravel, part lawn not yet green but with green shoots showing among the +last year's grass. A stone parapet walled in this terrace along the +top of the bluff which pitched precipitously down to the lake fifty +feet below, and the narrow beach of sand and shingle. As Eaton +watched, one of the two nurses who had been on the train came to a +window of the farthest room on the second floor of the south wing and +stood looking out; that, then, must be Santoine's room; and Eaton drew +back from his window as he noted this. + +The sun had risen, and its beams, reflected up from the lake, danced on +his ceiling. Eaton, chilled by the sharp air off the water--and +knowing now the locality where he must be--pulled off his coat and +trousers and jumped back into bed. The motor driveway which stretches +north from Chicago far into Wisconsin leaves between it and the lake a +broad wooded strip for spacious grounds and dwellings; Santoine's house +was one of these. + +Eaton felt that its location was well suited for his plans; and he +realized, too, that circumstances had given him time for anything he +might wish to do; for the night's stop at Minneapolis and Santoine's +unexpected taking him into his own charge must have made Eaton's +disappearance complete; for the present he was lost to "them" who had +been "following" him, and to his friends alike. His task, then, was to +let his friends know where he was without letting "them" learn it; and +thinking of how this was to be done, he fell asleep again. + +At nine he awoke with a start; then, recollecting everything, he jumped +up and shut his windows. There was a respectful, apologetic knock at +the door; evidently a servant had been waiting in the hall for some +sound within the room. + +"May I come in, sir?" + +"Come in." + +The man who had attended him the evening before entered. + +"Your bath, sir; hot or cold in the morning, sir?" + +"Hot," Eaton answered. + +"Of course, sir; I'd forgotten you'd just come from the Orient, sir. +Do you wish anything first, sir?" + +"Anything?" + +"Anything to drink, sir." + +"Oh, no." + +The man again prepared the bath. When Eaton returned to his +dressing-room, he found the servant awaiting him with shaving mug, +razor and apron. The man shaved him and trimmed his hair. + +"I shall tell them to bring breakfast up, sir; or will you go down?" +the man asked then. + +Eaton considered. The manners of servants are modeled on the feelings +of their masters, and the man's deference told plainly that, although +Eaton might be a prisoner, he was not to be treated openly as such. + +"I think I can go down," Eaton replied, when the man had finished +dressing him. He found the hall and the rooms below bright and open +but unoccupied; a servant showed him to a blue Delft breakfast room to +the east, where a fire was burning in an old-fashioned Dutch fireplace. +A cloth was spread on the table, but no places were set; a number of +covered dishes, steaming above electric discs, were on the sideboard. +The servant in attendance there took covers off these dishes as Eaton +approached; he chose his breakfast and sat down, the man laying one +place for him. This manner of serving gave Eaton no hint as to how +many others were in the house or might be expected to breakfast. He +had half finished his bacon and greens before any one else appeared. + +This was a tall, carefully dressed man of more than fifty, with +handsome, well-bred features--plainly a man of position and wealth but +without experience in affairs, and without power. He was dark haired +and wore a mustache which, like his hair, was beginning to gray. As he +appeared in the hall without hat or overcoat, Eaton understood that he +lived in the house; he came directly into the breakfast room and +evidently had not breakfasted. He observed Eaton and gave him the +impersonal nod of a man meeting another whom he may have met but has +forgotten. + +"Good morning, Stiles," he greeted the servant. + +"Good morning, sir," the man returned. + +The newcomer sat down at the table opposite Eaton, and the servant, +without inquiring his tastes, brought pineapple, rolls and coffee. + +"I am Wallace Blatchford," the stranger volunteered as Eaton looked up. +He gave the name in a manner which seemed to assume that he now must be +recalled; Eaton therefore feigned recognition as he gave him his name +in return. + +"Basil Santoine is better this morning," Blatchford announced. + +"I understood he was very comfortable last evening," Eaton said. "I +have not seen either Miss Santoine or Mr. Avery this morning." + +"I saw Basil Santoine the last thing last night," the other boasted. +"He was very tired; but when he was home, of course he wished me to be +beside him for a time." + +"Of course," Eaton replied, as the other halted. There was a humility +in the boast of this man's friendship for Santoine which stirred +sympathy, almost pity. + +"I believe with the doctors that Basil Santoine is to be spared," the +tall man continued. "The nation is to be congratulated. He is +certainly one of the most useful men in America. The President--much +as he is to be admired for unusual qualities--cannot compare in +service. Suppose the President were assassinated; instantly the Vice +President would take his place; the visible government of the country +would go on; there would be no chaos, scarcely any confusion. But +suppose Basil Santoine had died--particularly at this juncture!" + +Eaton finished his breakfast but remained at the table while +Blatchford, who scarcely touched his food, continued to boast, in his +queer humility, of the blind man and of the blind man's friendship for +him. He checked himself only when Harriet Santoine appeared in the +doorway. He and Eaton at once were on their feet. + +"My dear! He wants to see me now?" the tall man almost pleaded. "He +wants me to be with him this morning?" + +"Of course, Cousin Wallace," the girl said gently, almost with +compassion. + +"You will excuse me then, sir," Blatchford said hastily to Eaton and +hurried off. The girl gazed after him, and when she turned the next +instant to Eaton her eyes were wet. + +"Good morning!" + +"Good morning, Miss Santoine. You are coming to breakfast?" + +"Oh, no; I've had my breakfast; I was going out to see that things +outside the house have been going on well since we have been away." + +"May I go with you while you do that?" Eaton tried to ask casually. +Important to him as was the plan of the house, it was scarcely less +essential for him to know the grounds. + +She hesitated. + +"I understand it's my duty at present to stay wherever I may be put; +but I'd hardly run away from you while inside your own grounds." + +This did not seem to be the question troubling her. "Very well," she +said at last. The renewed friendliness--or the reservation of judgment +of him--which she had let him see again after the interview with her +father in the car the morning before, was not absent; it seemed only +covered over with responsibilities which came upon her now that she was +at home. She was abstracted as they passed through the hall and a man +brought Eaton's overcoat and hat and a maid her coat. Harriet led the +way out to the terrace. The day was crisp, but the breeze had lost the +chill it had had earlier in the morning; the lake was free from ice; +only along the little projecting breakwaters which guarded the bluff +against the washing of the waves, some ice still clung, and this was +rapidly melting. A graveled path led them around the south end of the +house. + +"Your father is still better this morning?" Eaton asked. + +"What did you say?" she asked. + +He repeated his question. Was her constraint, he wondered, due to her +feeling, somehow, that for the first time in their short acquaintance +he was consciously "using" her, if only for the purpose of gaining an +immediate view of the grounds? He felt that; but he told himself he +was not doing the sort of thing he had refused to do when, on the +train, he had avoided her invitation to present him to her father. +Circumstances now were entirely different. And as he shook off the +reproach to himself, she also came from her abstraction. + +"Yes; Father's improving steadily and--Dr. Sinclair says--much more +rapidly than it would have been right to expect. Dr. Sinclair is going +to remain only to-day; then he is to turn Father over to the village +doctor, who is very good. We will keep the same nurses at present." + +"Mr. Blatchford told me that might be the arrangement." + +"Oh, you had some talk with Mr. Blatchford, then?" + +"We introduced ourselves." + +Harriet was silent for a moment, evidently expecting some comment from +him; when he offered none, she said, "Father would not like you to +accept the estimate of him which Mr. Blatchford must have given you." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Didn't Mr. Blatchford argue with you that Father must be the greatest +man living?" + +"He certainly expressed great admiration for your father," Eaton said. +"He is your cousin?" + +"I call him that; he's Father's cousin. They were very close friends +when they were boys, though Cousin Wallace is a few years older. They +entered preparatory school together and were together all through +college and ever since. I suppose Cousin Wallace told you that it was +he-- Those are the garages and stables over there to the north, Mr. +Eaton. This road leads to them. And over there are the toolhouses and +gardeners' quarters; you can only just see them through the trees." + +She had interrupted herself suddenly, as though she realized that his +attention had not been upon what she was saying but given to the plan +of the grounds. He recalled himself quickly. + +"Yes; what was it you were saying about Mr. Blatchford?" + +She glanced at him keenly, then colored and went on. "I was saying +that Father and he went through college together. They both were +looked upon as young men of very unusual promise--Mr. Blatchford +especially; I suppose because Father, being younger, had not shown so +plainly what he might become. Then Father was blinded--he was just +sixteen; and--and Cousin Wallace never fulfilled the promise he had +given." + +"I don't quite see the connection," Eaton offered. + +"Oh, I thought Cousin Wallace must have told you; he tells almost every +one as soon as he meets them. It was he who blinded Father. It was a +hunting accident, and Father was made totally blind. Father always +said it wasn't Cousin Wallace's fault; but Mr. Blatchford was almost +beside himself because he believed he had ruined Father's life. But +Father went on and did all that he has done, while it stopped poor +Cousin Wallace. It's queer how things work out! Cousin Wallace +thought it was Father's, but it was his own life that he destroyed. +He's happy only when Father wants him with him; and to himself--and to +most people--he's only the man that blinded Basil Santoine." + +"I think I shall understand him now," Eaton said quietly. + +"I like the way you said that.... Here, Mr. Eaton, is the best place +to see the grounds." + +Their path had topped a little rise; they stopped; and Eaton, as she +pointed out the different objects, watched carefully and printed the +particulars and the general arrangement of the surroundings on his +memory. + +As he looked about, he could see that further ahead the path they were +on paralleled a private drive which two hundred yards away entered what +must be the public pike; for he could see motor-cars passing along it. +He noted the direction of this and of the other paths, so that he could +follow them in the dark, if necessary. The grounds were broken by +ravines at right angles to the shore, which were crossed by little +bridges; other bridges carried the public pike across them, for he +could hear them rumble as the motor-cars crossed them; a man could +travel along the bottom of one of those ravines for quite a distance +without being seen. To north and south outside of the cared-for +grounds there were clumps of rank, wild-growing thicket. To the east, +the great house which the trees could not hide stood out against the +lake, and beyond and below it, was the beach; but a man could not +travel along the beach by daylight without being visible for miles from +the top of the bluff, and even at night, one traveling along the beach +would be easily intercepted. + +Could Harriet Santoine divine these thoughts in his mind? He turned to +her as he felt her watching him; but if she had been observing him as +he looked about, she was not regarding him now. He followed her +direction and saw at a little distance a powerful, strapping man, +half-concealed--though he did not seem to be hiding--behind some +bushes. The man might have passed for an undergardener; but he was not +working; and once before during their walk Eaton had seen another man, +powerfully built as this one, who had looked keenly at him and then +away quickly. Harriet flushed slightly as she saw that Eaton observed +the man; Eaton understood then that the man was a guard, one of +several, probably, who had been put about the house to keep watch of +him. + +Had Harriet Santoine understood his interest in the grounds as +preparatory to a plan to escape, and had she therefore taken him out to +show him the guards who would prevent him? He did not speak of the +men, and neither did she; with her, he went on, silently, to the +gardeners' cottages, where she gave directions concerning the spring +work being done on the grounds. Then they went back to the house, +exchanging--for the first time between them--ordinary inanities. + +She left him in the hall, saying she was going to visit her father; but +part way up the stairs, she paused. + +"You'll find books in the library of every conceivable sort, Mr. +Eaton," she called down to him. + +"Thank you," he answered; and he went into the library, but he did not +look for a book. Left alone, he stood listening. + +As her footsteps on the stairs died away, no other sound came to him. +The lower part of the house seemed deserted. He went out again into +the hall and looked about quickly and waited and listened; then he +stepped swiftly and silently to a closet where, earlier, he had noticed +a telephone. He shut himself in and took up the receiver of the +instrument. As he placed it to his ear, he heard the almost +imperceptible sound of another receiver on the line being lifted; then +the girl at the suburban central said, "Number, please." + +Eaton held the receiver to his ear without making reply. The other +person on the line--evidently it was an extension in the house--also +remained silent. The girl at central repeated the request; neither +Eaton nor the other person replied. Eaton hung up the receiver and +stepped from the closet. He encountered Donald Avery in the hall. + +"You have been telephoning?" Avery asked. + +"No." + +"Oh; you could not get your number?" + +"I did not ask for it." + +Eaton gazed coolly at Avery, knowing now that Avery had been at the +other telephone on the line or had had report from the person who had +been prepared to overhear. + +"So you have had yourself appointed my--warden?" + +Avery took a case from his pocket and lighted a cigar without offering +Eaton one. Eaton glanced past him; Harriet Santoine was descending the +stair. Avery turned and saw her, and again taking out his cigar-case, +now offered it to Eaton, who ignored it. + +"I found Father asleep," Harriet said to Eaton. + +"May I see you alone for a moment?" he asked. + +"Of course," she said; and as Avery made no motion, she turned toward +the door of the large room in the further end of the south wing. Eaton +started to follow. + +"Where are you taking him, Harriet?" Avery demanded of her sharply. + +She had seemed to Eaton to have been herself about to reconsider her +action; but Avery decided her. + +"In here," she replied; and proceeded to open the door which exposed +another door just within, which she opened and closed after she had +entered and Eaton had followed her in. Her manner was like that of +half an hour before, when she showed him the grounds beyond the house. +And Eaton, feeling his muscles tighten, strove to control himself and +examine the room with only casual curiosity. It would well excuse any +one's interest. + +It was very large, perhaps forty feet long and certainly thirty in +width. There was a huge stone fireplace on the west wall where the +wing connected with the main part of the house; and all about the other +wall, and particularly to the east, were high and wide windows; and +through those to the south, the sunlight now was flooding in. +Bookcases were built between the windows up to the ceiling, and +bookcases covered the west wall on both sides of the fireplace. And +every case was filled with books; upon a table at one side lay a pile +of volumes evidently recently received and awaiting reading and +classification. There was a great rack where periodicals of every +description--popular, financial, foreign and American--were kept; and +there were great presses preserving current newspapers. + +At the center of the room was a large table-desk with a chair and a +lounge beside it; there were two other lounges in the room, one at the +south in the sun and another at the end toward the lake. There were +two smaller table-desks on the north side of the room, subordinate to +the large desk. There were two "business phonograph" machines with +cabinets for records; there was a telephone on the large desk and +others on the two smaller tables. A safe, with a combination lock, was +built into a wall. The most extraordinary feature of the room was a +steep, winding staircase, in the corner beyond the fireplace, evidently +connecting with the room above. + +The room in which they were was so plainly Basil Santoine's work-room +that the girl did not comment upon that; but as Eaton glanced at the +stairs, she volunteered: + +"They go to Father's room; that has the same space above." + +"I see. This is a rather surprising room." + +"You mean the windows?" she asked. "That surprises most people--so +very much light. Father can't see even sunlight, but he says he feels +it. He likes light, anyway; and it is true that he can tell, without +his eyes, whether the day is bright or cloudy, and whether the light is +turned on at night. The rooms in this wing, too, are nearly +sound-proof. There is not much noise from outside here, of course, +except the waves; but there are noises from other parts of the house. +Noise does not irritate Father, but his hearing has become very acute +because of his blindness, and noises sometimes distract him when he is +working.... Now, what was it you wished to say to me, Mr. Eaton?" + +Eaton, with a start, recollected himself. His gaining a view of that +room was of so much more importance than what he had to say that, for a +moment, he had forgotten. Then: + +"I wanted to ask you exactly what my position here is to be." + +"Oh," she said. "I thought that was plain to you from what Father +said." + +"You mean that I am to be kept here?" + +"Yes." + +"Indefinitely?" + +"Until--as Father indicated to you on the train--he has satisfied +himself as to the source of the attack upon him." + +"I understand. In the meantime, I am not to be allowed to communicate +at all with any one outside?" + +"That might depend upon the circumstances." + +He gazed at the telephone instrument on the desk. "Miss Santoine, a +moment ago I tried to telephone, when I--" He described the incident +to her. The color on her cheeks heightened. "Some one was appointed +to listen on the wire?" he challenged. + +"Yes." She hesitated, and then she added, in the manner in which she +had directed him to the guard outside the house: "And besides, I +believe there are--or will be--the new phonographic devices on every +line, which record both sides of a conversation. Subject to that, you +may use the telephone." + +"Thank you," said Eaton grimly. "I suppose if I were to write a +letter, it would be taken from me and opened and read." + +She colored ruddier and made no comment. + +"And if I wished to go to the city, I would be prevented or followed?" + +"Prevented, for the present," she replied. + +"Thank you." + +"That is all?" + +The interview had become more difficult for her; he saw that she was +anxious to have it over. + +"Just one moment more, Miss Santoine. Suppose I resist this?" + +"Yes?" + +"Your father is having me held here in what I might describe as a free +sort of confinement, but still in confinement, without any legal charge +against me. Suppose I refuse to submit to that--suppose I demand right +to consult, to communicate with some one in order, let us say, to +defend myself against the charge of having attacked your father. What +then?" + +"I can only answer as before, Mr. Eaton." + +"That I will be prevented?" + +"For the present. I don't know all that Father has ordered done about +you; but he is awaiting the result of several investigations. The +telegrams you received doubtless are being traced to their sources; +other inquiries are being made. As you have only lately come back to +America, they may extend far and take some time." + +"Thank you," he acknowledged. He went to the door, opened it and went +out; he closed it after him and left her alone. + +Harriet stood an instant vacantly staring after him; then she went to +the door and fastened it with a catch. She came back to the great +table-desk--her blind father's desk--and seated herself in the great +chair, his chair, and buried her face in her hands. She had +seemed--and she knew that she had seemed--quite composed as she talked +to Eaton; now she was not composed. Her face was burning hot; her +hands, against her cheeks, were cold; tremors of feeling shook her as +she thought of the man who just had left her. Why, she asked herself, +was she not able to make herself treat this man in the way that her +mind told her she should have treated him? That he might be the one +who had dealt the blow intended to kill her father--her being could not +and would not accept that. Yet, the only reason she had to deny it, +was her feeling. + +That Eaton must have been involved in the attack or, at least, must +have known and now knew something about it which he was keeping from +them, seemed certain. Yet she did not, she could not, abominate and +hate this man. Instead, she found herself impelled, against all +natural reason, more and more to trust him. Moreover, was it fair to +her father for her to do this? + +Since childhood, since babyhood, even, no one had ever meant anything +to her in comparison with her father. Her mother had died when she was +young; she had never had, in her play as a child, the careless abandon +of other children, because in spite of play she had been thinking of +her father; the greatest joy of childhood she could remember was +walking hand in hand with her father and telling him the things she +saw; it had been their "game"; and as she grew older and it had ceased +to be merely a game--as she had grown more and more useful to the blind +man, and he had learned more fully to use and trust her--she had found +it only more interesting, a greater pleasure. She had never had any +other ambition--and she had no other now--except to serve her father; +her joy was to be his eyes; her triumph had been when she had found +that, though he searched the world and paid fortunes to find others to +"see" for him, no one could serve him as she could; she had never +thought of herself apart from him. + +Now her father had been attacked and injured--attacked foully, while he +slept; he had come close to death, had suffered; he was still +suffering. Certainly she ought to hate, at least be aloof from any +one, every one, against whom the faintest suspicion breathed of having +been concerned in that dastardly attack upon her father; and that she +found herself without aversion to Eaton, when he was with her, now +filled her with shame and remorse. + +She crouched lower against this desk which so represented her father in +his power; she felt tears of shame at herself hot on her cold hands. +Then she got up and recollected herself. Her father, when he would +awake, would wish to work; there were certain, important matters he +must decide at once. + +Harriet went to the end of the room and to the right of the entrance +door. She looked about, with a habit of caution, and then removed a +number of books from a shelf about shoulder high; she thus exposed a +panel at the back of the bookcase, which she slid back. Behind it +appeared the steel door of a combination wall-safe. She opened it and +took out two large, thick envelopes with tape about them, sealed and +addressed to Basil Santoine; but they were not stamped, for they had +not been through the mail; they had been delivered by a messenger. +Harriet reclosed the safe, concealed it and took the envelopes back to +her father's desk and opened them to examine their contents preparatory +to taking them to him. But even now her mind was not on her work; she +was thinking of Eaton, where he had gone and what he was doing and--was +he thinking of her? + +Eaton had left the room, thinking of her. The puzzle of his position +in relation to her, and hers to him, filled his mind too. That she had +been constrained by circumstances and the opinions of those around her +to assume a distrust of him which she did not truly feel, was plain to +him; but it was clear that, whatever she felt, she would obey her +father's directions in regard to him. And she had told that Basil +Santoine, if he was to hold his prisoner as almost a guest in his house +pending developments, was to keep that guest strictly from +communication with any one outside. Santoine, of course, was aware +from the telegram that others had been acting with Eaton; the incident +at the telephone had shown that Santoine had anticipated that Eaton's +first necessity would be to get in touch with his friends. And this, +now, indeed was a necessity. The gaining of Santoine's house, under +conditions which he would not have dared to dream of, would be +worthless now unless immediately--before Santoine could get any further +trace of him--he could get word to and receive word from his friends. + +He had stopped, after leaving Santoine's study, in the alcove of the +hall in front of the double doors which he had closed behind him; he +heard Harriet fasten the inner one. As he stood now, undecided where +to go, a young woman crossed the main part of the hall, coming +evidently from outside the house--she had on hat and jacket and was +gloved; she was approaching the doors of the room he just had left, and +so must pass him. He stared at sight of her and choked; then, he +controlled himself rigidly, waiting until she should see him. + +She halted suddenly as she saw him and grew very pale, and her gloved +hands went swiftly to her breast and pressed against it; she caught +herself together and looked swiftly and fearfully about her and out +into the hall. Seeing no one but himself, she came a step nearer, +"Hugh!" she breathed. Her surprise was plainly greater than his own +had been at sight of her; but she checked herself again quickly and +looked warningly back at the hall; then she fixed on him her blue +eyes--which were very like Eaton's, though she did not resemble him +closely in any other particular--as though waiting his instructions. + +He passed her and looked about the hall. There was no one in sight in +the hall or on the stairs or within the other rooms which opened into +the hall. The door Eaton had just come from stayed shut. He held his +breath while he listened; but there was no sound anywhere in the house +which told him they were likely to be seen; so he came back to the spot +where he had been standing. + +"Stay where you are, Edith," he whispered. "If we hear any one coming, +we are just passing each other in the hall." + +"I understand; of course, Hugh! But you--you're here! In his house!" + +"Even lower, Edith; remember I'm Eaton--Philip Eaton." + +"Of course; I know; and I'm Miss Davis here--Mildred Davis." + +"They let you come in and out like this--as you want, with no one +watching you?" + +"No, no; I do stenography for Mr. Avery sometimes, as I wrote you. +That is all. When he works here, I do his typing; and some even for +Mr. Santoine himself. But I am not confidential yet; they send for me +when they want me." + +"Then they sent for you to-day?" + +"No; but they have just got back, and I thought I would come to see if +anything was wanted. But never mind about me; you--how did you get +here? What are you doing here?" + +Eaton drew further back into the alcove as some one passed through the +hall above. The girl turned swiftly to the tall pier mirror near to +which she stood; she faced it, slowly drawing off her gloves, trembling +and not looking toward him. The foot-steps ceased overhead; Eaton, +assured no one was coming down the stairs, spoke swiftly to tell her as +much as he might in their moment. "He--Santoine--wasn't taken ill on +the train, Edith; he was attacked." + +"Attacked!" Her lips barely moved. + +"He was almost killed; but they concealed it, Edith--pretended he was +only ill. I was on the train--you know, of course; I got your +wire--and they suspected me of the attack." + +"You? But they didn't find out about you, Hugh?" + +"No; they are investigating. Santoine would not let them make anything +public. He brought me here while he is trying to find out about me. +So I'm here, Edith--here! Is it here too?" + +Again steps sounded in the hall above. The girl swiftly busied herself +with gloves and hat; Eaton stood stark in suspense. The servant +above--it was a servant they had heard before, he recognized +now--merely crossed from one room to another overhead. Now the girl's +lips moved again. + +"It?" She formed the question noiselessly. + +"The draft of the new agreement." + +"It either has been sent to him, or it will be sent to him very +soon--here." + +"Here in this house with me!" + +"Mr. Santoine has to be a party to it--he's to draft it, I think. +Anyway, he hasn't seen it yet--I know that. It is either here now, +Hugh, or it will be here before long." + +"You can't find out about that?" + +"Whether it is here, or when it will be? I think I can." + +"Where will it be when it is here?" + +"Where? Oh!" The girl's eyes went to the wall close to where Eaton +stood; she seemed to measure with them a definite distance from the +door and a point shoulder high, and to resist the impulse to come over +and put her hand upon the spot. As Eaton followed her look, he heard a +slight and muffled click as if from the study; but no sound could reach +them through the study doors and what he heard came from the wall +itself. + +"A safe?" he whispered. + +"Yes; Miss Santoine--she's in there, isn't she?--closed it just now. +There are two of them hidden behind the books one on each side of the +door." + +Eaton tapped gently on the wall; the wall was brick; the safe +undoubtedly was backed with steel. + +"The best way is from inside the room," he concluded. + +She nodded. "Yes. If you--" + +"Look out!" + +Some one now was coming downstairs. The girl had time only to whisper +swiftly, "If we don't get a chance to speak again, watch that vase." +She pointed to a bronze antique which stood on a table near them. +"When I'm sure the agreement is in the house, I'll drop a glove-button +in that--a black one, if I think it'll be in the safe on the right, +white on the left. Now go." + +Eaton moved quietly on and into the drawing-room. Avery's voice +immediately afterwards was heard; he was speaking to Miss Davis, whom +he had found in the hallway. Eaton was certain there was no suspicion +that he had talked with her there; indeed, Avery seemed to suppose that +Eaton was still in the study with Harriet Santoine. It was her lapse, +then, which had let him out and had given him that chance; but it was a +lapse, he discovered, which was not likely to favor him again. From +that time, while never held strictly in restraint, he found himself +always in the sight of some one. Blatchford, in default of any one +else, now appeared to assume the oversight of him as his duty. Eaton +lunched with Blatchford, dined with Blatchford and Avery--Blatchford's +presence as a buffer against Avery's studied offense to him alone +making the meal endurable. Eaton went to his room early, where at last +he was left alone. + +The day, beginning with his discovery of the fact that he was in +Santoine's house and continuing through the walk outside, which first +had shown him the lay of the grounds, and then the chance at the sight +of Santoine's study followed by the meeting just outside the study +door--all this had been more than satisfactory to him. He sat at his +window thinking it over. The weather had been clear and there was a +moon; as he watched the light upon the water and gazed now and again at +the south wing where Santoine had his study, suddenly several windows +on the first floor blazed out simultaneously; some one had entered +Santoine's work-room and turned on the light. Almost at once the light +went out; then, a minute or so later, the same windows glowed dully. +The lights in the room had been turned on again, but heavy, opaque +curtains had been drawn over the windows before the room was relighted. +These curtains were so close over the windows that, unless Eaton had +been attracted by the first flash of light, he scarcely would have +noticed that the lights were burning within the room. + +He had observed, during the day, that Avery or Harriet had been at work +in that room--one of them or both--almost all day; and besides the girl +he had met in the hall, there had been at least one other stenographer. +Must work in this house go on so continuously that it was necessary for +some one to work at night, even when Santoine lay ill and unable to +make other than the briefest and most important dispositions? And who +was working in that room now, Avery or Harriet? He let himself think, +idly, about the girl--how strange her life had been--that part of it at +least which was spent, as he had gathered most of her waking hours of +recent years had been spent, with her father. Strange, almost, as his +own life! And what a wonderful girl it had made of her--clever, sweet, +lovable, with more than a woman's ordinary capacity for devotion and +self-sacrifice. + +But, if she were the one working there, was she the sort of girl she +had seemed to be? If her service to her father was not only on his +personal side but if also she was intimate in his business affairs, +must she not therefore have shared the cruel code which had terrorized +Eaton for the last four years and kept him an exile in Asia and which, +at any hour yet, threatened to take his life? A grim set came to +Eaton's lips; his mind went again to his own affairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE MAN FROM THE TRAIN + +In the supposition that he was to have less liberty, Eaton proved +correct. Harriet Santoine, to whose impulses had been due his first +privileges, showed toward him a more constrained attitude the following +morning. She did not suggest hostility, as Avery constantly did; nor, +indeed, was there any evidence of retrogression in her attitude toward +him; she seemed merely to be maintaining the same position; and since +this seemed difficult if they were often together, she avoided him. +Eaton found his life in the house after that first day more strictly +ordered into a routine which he was obliged to keep. He understood +that Santoine, steadily improving but not yet able to leave his bed, +had taken up his work again, propped up by pillows; one of the nurses +had been dismissed; the other was only upon day duty. But Eaton did +not see Santoine at all; and though he learned that Miss Davis or +another stenographer, whose name was West, came daily to the house, he +never was in a position again to encounter any outsider either coming +or going. Besides the servants of the house, he met Blatchford, with +whom Eaton usually breakfasted; he also lunched with Blatchford, and +Harriet sometimes--sometimes with Avery; he dined with Blatchford and +Avery or with all three. + +At other times, except that he was confined to the house or to a small +space of the grounds about it and was kept under constant surveillance, +he was left largely to his own devices; and these at least sufficed to +let him examine morning and night, the vase in which he was to find the +signal that was to be left for him; these permitted examination of +window-locks in other rooms, if not in Santoine's study; these +permitted the examination of many other items also and let him follow +at least the outline of the method of Santoine's work. + +There was no longer room for Eaton to doubt that Harriet had the +confidence of her father to almost a complete extent. Now that +Santoine was ill, she worked with him daily for hours; and Eaton +learned that she did the same when he was well. But Avery worked with +the blind man too; he too was certainly in a confidential capacity. +Was it not probable then that Avery, and not Harriet, was entrusted +with the secrets of dangerous and ugly matters; or was it possible that +this girl, worshiping her father as she did, could know and be sure +that, because her father approved these matters, they were right? + +A hundred times a day, as Eaton saw or spoke with the girl or thought +of her presence near by, this obsessed him. A score of times during +their casual talk upon meeting at meals or elsewhere, he found himself +turned toward some question which would aid him in determining what +must be the fact; but each time he checked himself, until one +morning--it was the fifth after his arrival at Santoine's +house--Harriet was taking him for his walk in the garden before the +house. + +It was a bright, sunshiny morning and warm--a true spring day. As they +paced back and forth in the sunshine--she bare-haired and he holding +his cap in his hand--he looked back at the room in the wing where +Santoine still lay; then Eaton looked to the daughter, clear-eyed, +clear-skinned, smiling and joyous with the day. She had just told him, +at his inquiry, that her father was very much stronger that morning, +and her manner more than ever evidenced her pride in him. + +"I have been intending to ask you, Miss Santoine," Eaton said to her +suddenly then, "if your belief in the superiority of business over +war--as we were discussing it ten days ago---hasn't suffered a shock +since then?" + +"You mean because of--Father?" + +"Yes; you can hardly go back far enough in the history of war to find a +time when the soldier's creed was not against killing--or trying to +kill--a sleeping enemy." + +She looked at him quickly and keenly. "I can't think of Father as +being any one's enemy, though I know of course no man can do big things +without making some people hate him. Even if what he does is wholly +good, bad people hate him for it." She was silent for a few steps. "I +like your saying what you did, Mr. Eaton." + +"Why?" + +"It implies your own creed would be against such a thing. But aren't +we rather mixing things up? There is nothing to show yet that the +attack on Father sprang out of business relations; and even if it did, +it would have to be regarded as an--an atrocity outside the rules of +business, just as in war, atrocities occur which are outside the rules +of war. Wait! I know what you are going to say; you are going to say +the atrocities are a part of war even if they are outside its +recognized rules." + +"Yes; I was going to say that." + +"And that atrocities due to business are a part of business, even if +they are outside the rules." + +"Yes; as business is at present conducted." + +"But the rules are a part of the game, Mr. Eaton." + +"Do you belong among the apologists for war, Miss Santoine?" + +"I?" + +"Yes; what you say is exactly what the apologists for war say, isn't +it? They say that war, in spite of its open savagery and inevitable +atrocities, is not a different sort of combat from the combat between +men in time of peace. That is, the acts of war differ only in +appearance or in degree from the acts of peace. Is that what you +believe, Miss Santoine?" + +"That men in times of peace perform acts upon each other which differ +only in degree from the acts of war?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you believe that, Mr. Eaton?" + +He hesitated. "Do you want me to answer that question from my own +experience or from what I would like to believe life to be?" + +"From your own experience, of course." + +"Then I must answer that I believe the apologists to be right as to +that fact." + +He saw her clear eyes darken. "But you don't believe that argument +itself, do you, Mr. Eaton?" she appealed. "It is only the old, old +argument, 'Whatever is, is right.' You don't excuse those acts--those +atrocities in time of peace? Or was I mistaken in thinking such things +were against your creed? Life is part right, part wrong, isn't it?" + +"I am not in a good position to judge, I'm afraid; for what I have seen +of it has been all wrong--both business and life." + +He had tried to speak lightly; but a sudden bitterness, a sharp +hardness in his tone, seemed to assail her; it struck through her and +brought her shoulders together in a shudder; but, instead of alienating +her, she turned with a deeper impulse of feeling toward him. + +"You--you do not want to tell more--to tell how it has been wrong; you +don't want to tell that--" She hesitated, and then in an intimate way +which surprised and frightened him, she added, "to me?" + +After she had said it, she herself was surprised, and frightened; she +looked away from him with face flushed, and he did not dare answer, and +she did not speak again. + +They had come to the end of the gardens where he was accustomed to turn +and retrace his steps toward the house; but now she went on, and he +went on with her. They were upon the wide pike which ran northward +following, but back from, the shore of the lake. He saw that now, as a +motor passed them on the road, she recalled that she was taking him +past the previously appointed bounds; but in the intimacy of the +moment, she could not bring herself to speak of that. It was Eaton who +halted and asked, "Shall we go on?" + +"Wouldn't you like to?" + +They walked on slowly. "I wish you could tell me more about yourself, +Mr. Eaton." + +"I wish so too," he said. + +"Then why can you not?" She turned to him frankly; he gazed at her a +moment and then looked away and shook his head. How had she answered, +in what she already had said, the question which lay below what he had +asked her? In her defense of business, did she know all the cruelties +of business and defend the wrong she knew, together with the right, as +inevitable? Or did she not know all of what was known even under her +father's roof; and if she knew all, would she then loathe or defend it? +Another motor sped near, halted and then speeded on again; Eaton, +looking up, saw it was a runabout with Avery alone in it; evidently, +seeing them in the road, Avery had halted to protest, then thought +better of it and gone on. But other motors passed now with people who +spoke to Harriet and who stopped to inquire for her father and wish him +well. + +"Your father does not seem to be one of the great men without honor in +his own neighborhood," Eaton said to her after one of these had halted +and gone on. + +"Every one who knows Father likes and admires him!" she rejoiced. + +"I don't mean exactly that," Eaton went on. "They must trust him too, +in an extraordinary way. His associates must place most complete +confidence in him when they leave to him the adjustment of matters such +as I understand they do. There is no way, as I comprehend it, that any +of the powerful men who ask his advice could hold him accountable if he +were unfair to them; yet men of the most opposite types, the most +inimical and hostile, place their affairs in his hands. He tells them +what is just, and they abide by his decision." + +Harriet shook her head. "No; it isn't quite that," she said. + +"What, then?" + +"You are correct in saying that men of the most opposite sorts--and +most irreconcilable to each other--constantly place their fate in +Father's hand; and when he tells them what they must do, they abide by +his decision. But he doesn't decide for them what is just." + +"I don't understand." + +"Father cannot tell them which side is just because, if he did that, +they wouldn't consider his decision; and they wouldn't ask him to make +any more; he would lose all influence for better relations. So he +doesn't tell them what is just." + +"What does he tell them, then?" + +"He tells them what would be the outcome if they fought, who would win +and who would lose and by how much. And they believe him and abide by +his decision without fighting; for he knows; and they know that he +knows and is absolutely honest." + +Eaton was silent for a moment as they walked along. "How can he come +to his decision?" he asked at last. + +"How?" + +"I mean, much of the material presented to him must be documentary." + +"Much of it is." + +"You will pardon me," Eaton prefaced, "but of course I am immensely +interested. How are these written out for him--in Braille characters +or other letters for the blind?" + +"No; that would not be practicable for all documents, and so it is done +with none of them." + +"Then some one must read them to him." + +"Of course." + +Eaton started to speak--then refrained. + +"What were you going to say?" she questioned. + +"That the person--or persons--who reads the documents to him must +occupy an extremely delicate position." + +"He does. In fact, I think that position is Father's one nightmare." + +"Nightmare?" + +"The person he trusts must not only be absolutely discreet but +absolutely honest." + +"I should think so. If any one in that position wanted to use the +information brought to your father, he could make himself millions +overnight, undoubtedly, and ruin other men." + +"And kill Father too," the girl added quietly. "Yes," she said as +Eaton looked at her. "Father puts nothing above his trust. If that +trust were betrayed--whether or not Father were in any way to blame for +it--I think it would kill him." + +"So you are the one who is in that position." + +"Yes; that is, I have been." + +"You mean there is another now; that is, of course, Mr. Avery?" + +"Yes; here at this house Mr. Avery and I, and Mr. Avery at the office. +There are some others at the office whom Father trusts, but not +completely; and it is not necessary to trust them wholly, for all +Father's really important decisions are made at the house, and the most +important records are kept here. Before Mr. Avery came, I was the only +one who helped here at the house." + +"When was that?" + +"When Mr. Avery came? About five years ago. Father had an immense +amount of work at that time. Business conditions were very much +unsettled. There was trouble at that time between some of the big +Eastern and the big Western men, and at the same time the Government +was prosecuting the Trusts. Nobody knew what the outcome of it all +would be; many of the biggest men who consulted Father were like men +groping in the dark. I don't suppose you would remember the time by +what I say; but you would remember it, as nearly everybody else does by +this: it was the time of the murder of Mr. Latron." + +"Yes; I remember that," said Eaton; "and Mr. Avery came to you at that +time?" + +"Yes; just at that time I was thrown from my horse, and could not do as +much as I had been doing, so Mr. Avery was sent to Father." + +"Then Mr. Avery was reading to him at the time you speak of--the time +of the Latron murder?" + +"No; Mr. Avery came just afterward. I was reading to him at that time." + +"No one but you?" + +"No one. Before that he had had Mr. Blatchford read to him sometimes, +but--poor Cousin Wallace!--he made a terrible mistake in reading to +Father once. Father discovered it before it was too late; and he never +let Cousin Wallace know. He pretends to trust Cousin Wallace now with +reading some things; but he always has Mr. Avery or me go over them +with him afterward." + +"The papers must have been a good deal for a girl of eighteen." + +"At that time, you mean? They were; but Father dared trust no one +else." + +"Mr. Avery handles those matters now for your father?" + +"The continuation of what was going on then? Yes; he took them up at +the time I was hurt and so has kept on looking after them; for there +has been plenty for me to do without that; and those things have all +been more or less settled now. They have worked themselves out as +things do, though they seemed almost unsolvable at the time. One thing +that helped in their solution was that Father was able, that time, to +urge what was just, as well as what was advisable." + +"You mean that in the final settlement of them no one suffered?" + +"No one, I think--except, of course, poor Mr. Latron; and that was a +private matter not connected in any direct way with the questions at +issue. Why do you ask all this, Mr. Eaton?" + +"I was merely interested in you--in what your work has been with your +father, and what it is," he answered quietly. + +His step had slowed, and she, unconsciously, had delayed with him. Now +she realized that his manner toward her had changed from what it had +been a few minutes before; he had been strongly moved and drawn toward +her then, ready to confide in her; now he showed only his usual quiet +reserve--polite, casual, unreadable. She halted and faced him, +abruptly, chilled with disappointment. + +"Mr. Eaton," she demanded, "a few minutes ago you were going to tell me +something about yourself; you seemed almost ready to speak; now--" + +"Now I am not, you mean?" + +"Yes; what has changed you? Is it something I have said?" + +He seemed to reflect. "Are you sure that anything has changed me? I +think you were mistaken. You asked if I could not tell you more about +myself; I said I wished I could, and that perhaps I might. I meant +some time in the future; and I still hope I may--some time." + +His look and tone convinced her; for she could recall nothing he had +asked about herself or that she had replied to, which could have made +any change in him. She studied him an instant more, fighting her +disappointment and the feeling of having been rebuffed. + +They had been following the edge of the road, she along a path worn in +the turf, he on the edge of the road itself and nearer to the tracks of +the motors. As she faced him, she was slightly above him, her face +level with his. Suddenly she cried out and clutched at him. As they +had stopped, she had heard the sound of a motor approaching them +rapidly from behind. Except that this car seemed speeding faster than +the others, she had paid no attention and had not turned. +Instantaneously, as she had cried and pulled upon him, she had realized +that this car was not passing; it was directly behind and almost upon +him. She felt him spring to the side as quickly as he could; but her +cry and pull upon him were almost too late; as he leaped, the car +struck. The blow was glancing, not direct, and he was off his feet and +in motion when the wheel struck; but the car hurled him aside and +rolled him over and over. + +As she rushed to Eaton, the two men in the rear seat of the car turned +their heads and looked back. + +"Are you all right?" one called to Eaton; but without checking its +speed or swerving, the car dashed on and disappeared down the roadway. + +She bent over Eaton and took hold of him. He struggled to his feet +and, dazed, tottered so that she supported him. As she realized that +he was not greatly hurt, she stared with horror at the turn in the road +where the car had disappeared. + +"Why, he tried to run you down! He meant to! He tried to hurt you!" +she cried. + +"No," Eaton denied. "Oh, no; I don't think so." + +"But they went on without stopping; they didn't wait an instant. He +didn't care; he meant to do it!" + +"No!" Eaton unsteadily denied again. "It must have been--an accident. +He was--frightened when he saw what he had done." + +"It wasn't at all like an accident!" she persisted. "It couldn't have +been an accident there and coming up from behind the way he did! No; +he meant to do it! Did you see who was in the car--who was driving?" + +He turned to her quickly. "Who?" he demanded. + +"One of the people who was on the train! That man--the morning we--the +morning Father was hurt--do you remember, when you came into the dining +car for breakfast and the conductor wanted to seat you opposite a young +man who had just spilled coffee? You sat down at our table instead. +Don't you remember--a little man, nervous, but very strong; a man +almost like an ape?" + +He shuddered and then controlled himself. "Nothing!" he answered her +clasp of concern on his arm. "Quite steady again; thanks. Just dizzy; +I guess I was jarred more than I knew. Yes, I remember a fellow the +conductor tried to seat me opposite." + +"This was the same man!" + +Eaton shook his head. "That could hardly be; I think you must be +mistaken." + +"I am not mistaken; it was that man!" + +"Still, I think you must be," he again denied. + +She stared, studying him. "Perhaps I was," she agreed; but she knew +she had not been. "I am glad, whoever it was, he didn't injure you. +You are all right, aren't you?" + +"Quite," he assured. "Please don't trouble about it, Miss Santoine." + +He dusted himself off with her help and tried to limp as little as +possible; and when she insisted upon returning to the house, he made no +objection, but he refused to wait while she went back for a car to take +him. They walked back rather silently, she appreciating how +passionately she had expressed herself for him, and he quiet because of +this and other thoughts too. + +They found Donald Avery in front of the house looking for them as they +came up. Eaton succeeded in walking without limping; but he could not +conceal the marks on his clothes. + +"Harriet, I've just come from your father; he wants you to go to him at +once," Avery directed. "Good morning, Eaton. What's happened?" + +"Carelessness," Eaton deprecated. "Got rather in the way of a motor +and was knocked over for it." + +Harriet did not correct this to Avery. She went up to her father; she +was still trembling, still sick with horror at what she had seen--an +attempt to kill one walking at her side. She stopped outside her +father's door to compose herself; then she went in. + +The blind man was propped up on his bed with pillows into almost a +sitting position; the nurse was with him. + +"What did you want, Father?" Harriet asked. + +He had recognized her step and had been about to speak to her; but at +the sound of her voice he stopped the words on his lips and changed +them into a direction for the nurse to leave the room. + +He waited until the nurse had left and closed the door behind her. +Harriet saw that, in his familiarity with her tones and every +inflection of her voice, he had sensed already that something unusual +had occurred; she repeated, however, her question as to what he wanted. + +"That does not matter now, Harriet. Where have you been?" + +"I have been walking with Mr. Eaton." + +"What happened?" + +She hesitated. "Mr. Eaton was almost run down by a motor-car." + +"Ah! An accident?" + +She hesitated again. She had seen on her father's face the slight +heightening of his color which, with him, was the only outward sign +that marked some triumph of his own mind; his blind eyes, abstracted +and almost always motionless, never showed anything at all. + +"Mr. Eaton said it was an accident," she answered. + +"But you?" + +"It did not look to me like an accident, Father. It--it showed +intention." + +"You mean it was an attack?" + +"Yes; it was an attack. The man in the car meant to run Mr. Eaton +down; he meant to kill him or to hurt him terribly. Mr. Eaton wasn't +hurt. I called to him and pulled him--he jumped away in time." + +"To kill him, Harriet? How do you know?" + +She caught herself. "I--I don't know, Father. He certainly meant to +injure Mr. Eaton. When I said kill him, I was telling only what I +thought." + +"That is better. I think so too." + +"That he meant to kill Mr. Eaton?" + +"Yes." + +She watched her father's face; often when relating things to him, she +was aware from his expression that she was telling him only something +he already had figured out and expected or even knew; she felt that now. + +"Father, did you expect Mr. Eaton to be attacked?" + +"Expect? Not that exactly; it was possible; I suspected something like +this might occur." + +"And you did not warn him?" + +The blind man's hands sought each other on the coverlet and clasped +together. "It was not necessary to warn him, Harriet; Mr. Eaton +already knew. Who was in the car?" + +"Three men." + +"Had you seen any of them before?" + +"Yes, one--the man who drove." + +"Where?" + +"On the train." + +The color on Santoine's face grew brighter. "Did you know who he was?" + +"No, Father." + +"Describe him, dear," Santoine directed. + +He waited while she called together her recollections of the man. + +"I can't describe him very fully, Father," she said. "He was one of +the people who had berths in the forward sleeping-car. I can recall +seeing him only when I passed through the car--I recall him only twice +in that car and once in the diner." + +"That is interesting," said Santoine. + +"What, Father?" + +"That in five days upon the train you saw the man only three times." + +"You mean he must have kept out of sight as much as possible?" + +"Have you forgotten that I asked you to describe him, Harriet?" + +She checked herself. "Height about five feet, five," she said, +"broad-shouldered, very heavily set; I remember he impressed me as +being unusually muscular. His hair was black; I can't recall the color +of his eyes; his cheeks were blue with a heavy beard closely shaved. I +remember his face was prognathous, and his clothes were spotted with +dropped food. I--it seems hard for me to recall him, and I can't +describe him very well." + +"But you are sure it was the same man in the motor?" + +"Yes." + +"Did he seem a capable person?" + +"Exactly what do you mean?" + +"Would he be likely to execute a purpose well, Harriet--either a +purpose of his own, or one in which he had been instructed?" + +"He seemed an animal sort of person, small, strong, and not +particularly intelligent. It seems hard for me to remember more about +him than that." + +"That is interesting." + +"What?" + +"That it is hard for you to remember him very well." + +"Why, Father?" + +Her father did not answer. "The other men in the motor?" he asked. + +"I can't describe them. I--I was excited about Mr. Eaton." + +"The motor itself, Harriet?" + +"It was a black touring car." + +"Make and number?" + +"I don't know either of those. I don't remember that I saw a number; +it--it may have been taken off or covered up." + +"Thank you, dear." + +"You mean that is all, then?" + +"No; bring Eaton to me." + +"He has gone to his room to fix himself up." + +"I'll send for him, then." Santoine pressed one of the buttons beside +his bed to call a servant; but before the bell could be answered, +Harriet got up. + +"I'll go myself," she said. + +She went out into the hall and closed the door behind her; she waited +until she heard the approaching steps of the man summoned by Santoine's +bell; then, going to meet him, she sent him to call Eaton in his rooms, +and she still waited until the man came back and told her Eaton had +already left his rooms and gone downstairs. She dismissed the man and +went to the head of the stairs, but her steps slowed there and stopped. +She was strained and nervous; often in acting as her father's "eye" and +reporting to him what she saw, she felt that he found many +insignificant things in her reports which were hidden from herself; and +she never had had that feeling more strongly than just now as she was +telling him about the attack made on Eaton. So she knew that the blind +man's thought in regard to Eaton had taken some immense stride; but she +did not know what that stride had been, or what was coming now when her +father saw Eaton. + +She went on slowly down the stairs, and when halfway down, she saw +Eaton in the hall below her. He was standing beside the table which +held the bronze antique vase; he seemed to have taken something from +the vase and to be examining it. She halted again to watch him; then +she went on, and he turned at the sound of her footsteps. She could +see, as she approached him, what he had taken from the vase, but she +attached no importance to it; it was only a black button from a woman's +glove--one of her own, perhaps, which she had dropped without noticing. +He tossed it indifferently toward the open fireplace as he came toward +her. + +"Father wants to see you, Mr. Eaton," she said. + +He looked at her intently for an instant and seemed to detect some +strangeness in her manner and to draw himself together; then he +followed her up the stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IT GROWS PLAINER + +Basil Santoine's bedroom, like the study below it, was so nearly +sound-proof that anything going on in the room could not be heard in +the hall outside it, even close to the double doors. Eaton, as they +approached these doors, listened vainly, trying to determine whether +any one was in the room with Santoine; then he quickened his step to +bring him beside Harriet. + +"One moment, please, Miss Santoine," he urged. + +She stopped. "What is it you want?" + +"Your father has received some answer to the inquiries he has been +having made about me?" + +"I don't know, Mr. Eaton." + +"Is he alone?" + +"Yes." + +Eaton thought a minute. "That is all I wanted to know, then," he said. + +Harriet opened the outer door and knocked on the inner one. Eaton +heard Santoine's voice at once calling them to come in, and as Harriet +opened the second door, he followed her into the room. The blind man +turned his sightless eyes toward them, and, plainly +aware--somehow--that it was Eaton and Harriet who had come in, and that +no one else was with them, he motioned Harriet to close the door and +set a chair for Eaton beside the bed. Eaton, understanding this +gesture, took the chair from her and set it as Santoine's motion had +directed; then he waited for her to seat herself in one of the other +chairs. + +"Am I to remain, Father?" she asked. + +"Yes," Santoine commanded. + +Eaton waited while she went to a chair at the foot of the bed and +seated herself--her clasped hands resting on the footboard and her chin +upon her hands--in a position to watch both Eaton and her father while +they talked; then Eaton sat down. + +"Good morning, Eaton," the blind man greeted him. + +"Good morning, Mr. Santoine," Eaton answered; he understood by now that +Santoine never began a conversation until the one he was going to +address himself to had spoken, and that Santoine was able to tell, by +the sound of the voice, almost as much of what was going on in the mind +of one he talked with as a man with eyes is able to tell by studying +the face. He continued to wait quietly, therefore, glancing up once to +Harriet Santoine, whose eyes for an instant met his; then both regarded +again the face of the blind man on the bed. + +Santoine was lying quietly upon his back, his head raised on the +pillows, his arms above the bed-covers, his finger-tips touching with +the fingers spread. + +"You recall, of course, Eaton, our conversation on the train," Santoine +said evenly. + +"Yes." + +"And so you remember that I gave you at that time four possible +reasons--as the only possible ones--why you had taken the train I was +on. I said you must have taken it to attack me, or to protect me from +attack; to learn something from me, or to inform me of something; and I +eliminated as incompatible with the facts, the second of these--I said +you could not have taken it to protect me." + +"Yes." + +"Very well; the reason I have sent for you now is that, having +eliminated to-day still another of those possibilities,--leaving only +two,--I want to call your attention in a certain order to some of the +details of what happened on the train." + +"You say that to-day you have eliminated another of the possibilities?" +Eaton asked uneasily. + +"To-day, yes; of course. You had rather a close call this morning, did +you not?" + +"Rather, I was careless." + +"You were careless?" Santoine smiled derisively. "Perhaps you were--in +one sense. In another, however, you have been very careful, Eaton. +You have been careful to act as though the attempt to run you down +could not have been a deliberate attack; you were careful to call it an +accident; you were careful not to recognize any of the three men in the +motor." + +"I had no chance to recognize any of them, Mr. Santoine," Eaton replied +easily. "I did not see the car coming; I was thrown from my feet; when +I got up, it was too far away for me to recognize any one." + +"Perhaps so; but were you surprised when my daughter recognized one of +them as having been on the train with us?" + +Eaton hesitated, but answered almost immediately: + +"Your question doesn't exactly fit the case. I thought Miss Santoine +had made a mistake." + +"But you were not surprised; no. What would have been a surprise to +you, Eaton, would have been--if you had had a chance to observe the +men--to have found that none of them--none of them had been on the +train!" + +Eaton started and felt that he had colored. How much did Santoine +know? Had the blind man received, as Eaton feared, some answer to his +inquiries which had revealed, or nearly revealed, Eaton's identity? Or +was it merely that the attack made on Eaton that morning had given +Santoine new light on the events that had happened on the train and +particularly--Eaton guessed--on the cipher telegram which Santoine +claimed to have translated? Whatever the case might be, Eaton knew +that he must conceal from Harriet the effect the blind man's words +produced on him. Santoine, of course, could not see these effects; and +he had kept his daughter in the room to watch for just such things. +Eaton glanced at her; she was watching him and, quite evidently, had +seen his discomposure, but she made no comment. As he regained +possession of himself, her gaze went back intently to her father. +Eaton looked from her back to the blind man, and saw that Santoine was +waiting for him to speak. + +"You assume that, Mr. Santoine," he asserted, "because--" He checked +himself and altered his sentence. "Will you tell me why you assume +that?" + +"That that would have surprised you? Yes; that is what I called you in +here to tell you." + +As Santoine waited a moment before going on, Eaton watched him +anxiously. The blind man turned himself on his pillows so as to face +Eaton more directly; his sightless, motionless eyes told nothing of +what was going on in his mind. + +"Just ten days ago," Santoine said evenly and dispassionately, "I was +found unconscious in my berth--Section Three of the rearmost +sleeper--on the transcontinental train, which I had taken with my +daughter and Avery at Seattle. I had been attacked,--assailed during +my sleep some time in that first night that I spent on the train,--and +my condition was serious enough so that for three days afterward I was +not allowed to receive any of the particulars of what had happened to +me. When I did finally learn them, I naturally attempted to make +certain deductions as to who it was that had attempted to murder me, +and why; and ever since, I have continued to occupy myself with those +questions. I am going to tell you a few of my deductions. You need +not interrupt me unless you discover me to be in error, and then in +error only in fact or observation which, obviously, had to be reported +to me. If you fancy I am at fault in my conclusions, wait until you +discover your error." + +Santoine waited an instant; Eaton thought it was to allow him to speak +if he wanted to, but Eaton merely waited. + +"The first thing I learned," the blind man went on, "was the similarity +of the attack on me to the more successful attack on Warden, twelve +days previous, which had caused his death. The method of the two +attacks was the same; the conditions surrounding them were very +similar. Warden was attacked in his motor, in a public street; his +murderer took a desperate chance of being detected by the chauffeur or +by some one on the street, both when he made the attack and afterward +when he escaped unobserved, as it happened, from the automobile. The +attack upon me was made in the same way, perhaps even with the same +instrument; my assailant took equally desperate chances. The attack on +me was made on a public conveyance where the likelihood of the murderer +being seen was even greater, for the train was stopped, and under +conditions which made his escape almost impossible. The desperate +nature of the two attacks, and their almost identical method, made it +practically certain that they originated at the same source and were +carried out--probably--by the same hand and for the same purpose. + +"Mrs. Warden's statement to me of her interview with her husband a +half-hour before his murder, made it certain that the object of the +attack on him was to 'remove' him. It seemed almost inevitable, +therefore, that the attack on me must have been for the same purpose. +There have been a number of times in my life, Eaton, when I have known +that it would be to the advantage of some one if I were 'removed'; that +I do not know now any definite reason for such an act does not decrease +its probability; for I do not know why Warden was 'removed.' + +"I found that a young man--yourself--had acted so suspiciously both +before and after the attack on me that both Avery and the conductor in +charge of the train had become convinced that he was my assailant, and +had segregated him from the rest of the passengers. Not only this, +but--and this seemed quite conclusive to them--you admitted that you +were the one who had called upon Warden the evening of his murder. +Warden's statement to his wife that you were some one he was about to +befriend--which had been regarded as exculpating you from share in his +murder--ceased to be so conclusive now that you had been present at a +second precisely similar attack; and it certainly was no proof that you +had not attacked me. It seemed likely, too, that you were the only +person on the train aside from my daughter and Avery who knew who I +was; for I had had reason to believe from the time when I first heard +you speak when you boarded the train, that you were some one with whom +I had, previously, very briefly come in contact; and I had asked my +daughter to find out who you were, and she had tried to do so, but +without success." + +Eaton wet his lips. + +"Also," the blind man continued, "there was a telegram which definitely +showed that there was some connection, unknown to me, between you and +me, as well as a second--or rather a previous--suspicious telegram in +cipher, which we were able to translate." + +Eaton leaned forward, impelled to speak; but as Santoine clearly +detected this impulse and waited to hear what he was going to say, +Eaton reconsidered and kept silent. + +"You were going to say something about that telegram in cipher?" +Santoine asked. + +"No," Eaton denied. + +"I think you were; and I think that a few minutes ago when I said you +were not surprised by the attempt made to-day to run you down, you were +also going to speak of it; for that attempt makes clear the meaning of +the telegram. Its meaning was not clear to me before, you understand. +It said only that you were known and followed. It did not say why you +were followed. I could not be certain of that; there were several +possible reasons why you might be followed--even that the 'one' who +'was following' might be some one secretly interested in preventing you +from an attack on me. Now, however, I know that the reason you feared +the man who was following was because you expected him to attack you. +Knowing that, Eaton--knowing that, I want to call your attention to the +peculiarity of our mutual positions on the train. You had asked for +and were occupying Section Three in the third sleeper, in order--I +assume and, I believe, correctly--to avoid being put in the same car +with me. In the night, the second sleeper--the car next in front of +yours--was cut off from the train and left behind. That made me occupy +in relation to the forward part of the train exactly the same position +as you had occupied before the car ahead of you had been cut out. I +was in Section Three in the third sleeper from the front." + +Eaton stared at Santoine, fascinated; what had been only vague, half +felt, half formed with himself, was becoming definite, tangible, under +the blind man's reasoning. He was aware that Harriet Santoine was +looking alternately from him to her father, herself startled by the +revelation thus passionlessly recited. What her father was saying was +new to her; he had not taken his daughter into his confidence to this +extent. + +Eaton's hands closed instinctively, in his emotion. "What do you mean?" + +"You understand already," Santoine asserted. "The attack made on me +was meant for you. Some one stealing through the cars from the front +to the rear of the train and carrying in his mind the location Section +Three in the third car, struck through the curtains by mistake at me +instead of you. Who was that, Eaton?" + +Eaton sat unanswering, staring. + +"You did not realize before, that the man on the train meant to murder +you?" Santoine demanded. + +"No," said Eaton. + +"I see you understand it now; and that it was the same man--or some one +accompanying the man--who tried to run you down this morning. Who is +that man?" + +"I don't know," Eaton answered. + +"You mean you prefer to shield him?" + +"Shield him?" + +"That is what you are doing, is it not? For, even if you don't know +the man directly, you know in whose cause and under whose direction he +murdered Warden--and why and for whom he is attempting to murder you." + +Eaton remained silent. + +In his intensity, Santoine had lifted himself from his pillows. "Who +is that man?" he challenged. "And what is that connection between you +and me which, when the attack found and disabled me instead of you, +told him that--in spite of his mistake--his result had been +accomplished? told him that, if I was dying, a repetition of the attack +against you was unnecessary?" + +Eaton knew that he had grown very pale; Harriet must be aware of the +effect Santoine's words had on him, but he did not dare look at her now +to see how much she was comprehending. All his attention was needed to +defend himself against Santoine. + +"I don't understand." He fought to compose himself. + +"It is perfectly plain," Santoine said patiently. "It was believed at +first that I had been fatally hurt; it was even reported at one time--I +understand--that I was dead; only intimate friends have been informed +of my actual condition. Yesterday, for the first time, the newspapers +announced the certainty of my recovery; and to-day an attack is made on +you." + +"There has been no opportunity for an attack on me before, if this was +an attack. On the train I was locked up under charge of the conductor." + +"You have been off the train nearly a week." + +"But I have been kept here in your house." + +"You have been allowed to walk about the grounds." + +"But I've been watched all the time; no one could have attacked me +without being seen by your guards." + +"They did not hesitate to attack you in sight of my daughter." + +"But--" + +"You are merely challenging my deductions! Will you reply to my +questions?--tell me the connection between us?--who you are?" + +"No." + +"Come here!" + +"What?" said Eaton. + +"Come here--close to me, beside the bed." + +Eaton hesitated, and then obeyed. + +"Bend over!" + +Eaton stooped, and the blind man's hands seized him. Instantly Eaton +withdrew. + +"Wait!" Santoine warned. "If you do not stay, I shall call help." One +hand went to the bell beside his bed. + +Harriet had risen; she met Eaton's gaze warningly and nodded to him to +comply. He bent again over the bed. He felt the blind man's sensitive +fingers searching his features, his head, his throat. Eaton gazed at +Santoine's face while the fingers were examining him; he could see that +Santoine was merely finding confirmation of an impression already +gained from what had been told him about Eaton. Santoine showed +nothing more than this confirmation; certainly he did not recognize +Eaton. More than this, Eaton could not tell. + +"Now your hands," Santoine ordered. + +Eaton extended one hand and then the other; the blind man felt over +them from wrists to the tips of the fingers; then he let himself sink +back against the pillows, absorbed in thought. + +Eaton straightened and looked to Harriet where she was standing at the +foot of the bed; she, however, was intently watching her father and did +not look Eaton's way. + +"You may go," Santoine said at last. + +"Go?" Eaton asked. + +"You may leave the room. Blatchford will meet you downstairs." + +Santoine reached for the house telephone beside his bed--receiver and +transmitter on one light band--and gave directions to have Blatchford +await Eaton in the hall below. + +Eaton stood an instant longer, studying Santoine and trying fruitlessly +to make out what was passing in the blind man's mind. He was +distinctly frightened by the revelation he just had had of Santoine's +clear, implacable reasoning regarding him; for none of the blind man's +deductions about him had been wrong--all had been the exact, though +incomplete, truth. It was clear to him that Santoine was close--much +closer even than Santoine himself yet appreciated--to knowing Eaton's +identity; it was even probable that one single additional fact--the +discovery, for instance, that Miss Davis was the source of the second +telegram received by Eaton on the train--would reveal everything to +Santoine. And Eaton was not certain that Santoine, even without any +new information, would not reach the truth unaided at any moment. So +Eaton knew that he himself must act before this happened. But so long +as the safe in Santoine's study was kept locked or was left open only +while some one was in the room with it, he could not act until he had +received help from outside; and he had not yet received that help; he +could not hurry it or even tell how soon it was likely to come. He had +seen Miss Davis several times as she passed through the halls going or +coming for her work with Avery; but Blatchford had always been with +him, and he had been unable to speak with her or to receive any signal +from her. + +As his mind reviewed, almost instantaneously, these considerations, he +glanced again at Harriet; her eyes, this time, met his, but she looked +away immediately. He could not tell what effect Santoine's revelations +had had on her, except that she seemed to be in complete accord with +her father. As he went toward the door, she made no move to accompany +him. He went out without speaking and closed the inner and the outer +doors behind him; then he went down to Blatchford. + +For several minutes after Eaton had left the room, Santoine thought in +silence. Harriet stayed motionless, watching him; the extent to which +he had been shaken and disturbed by the series of events which had +started with Warden's murder, came home strongly to her now that she +saw him alone and now that his talk with Eaton had shown partly what +was passing in his mind. + +"Where are you, Harriet?" he asked at last. + +She knew it was not necessary to answer him, but merely to move so that +he could tell her position; she moved slightly, and his sightless eyes +shifted at once to where she stood. + +"How did he act?" Santoine asked. + +She reviewed swiftly the conversation, supplementing his blind +apperceptions of Eaton's manner with what she herself had seen. + +"What have been your impressions of Eaton's previous social condition, +Daughter?" he asked. + +She hesitated; she knew that her father would not permit the vague +generality that Eaton was "a gentleman." "Exactly what do you mean, +Father?" + +"I don't mean, certainly, to ask whether he knows which fork to use at +table or enough to keep his napkin on his knee; but you have talked +with him, been with him--both on the train and here: have you been able +to determine what sort of people he has been accustomed to mix with? +Have his friends been business men? Professional men? Society people?" + +The deep and unconcealed note of trouble in her father's voice startled +her, in her familiarity with every tone and every expression. She +answered his question: "I don't know, Father." + +"I want you to find out." + +"In what way?" + +"You must find a way. I shall tell Avery to help." He thought for +several moments, while she stood waiting. "We must have that motor and +the men in it traced, of course. Harriet, there are certain +matters--correspondence--which Avery has been looking after for me; do +you know what correspondence I mean?" + +"Yes, Father." + +"I would rather not have Avery bothered with it just now; I want him to +give his whole attention to this present inquiry. You yourself will +assume charge of the correspondence of which I speak, Daughter." + +"Yes, Father. Do you want anything else now?" + +"Not of you; send Avery to me." + +She moved toward the door which led to the circular stair. Her father, +she knew, seldom spoke all that was in his mind to any one, even +herself; she was accustomed, therefore, to looking for meanings +underneath the directions which he gave her, and his present +order--that she should take charge of a part of their work which +ordinarily had been looked after by Avery--startled and surprised her +by its implication that her father might not trust Avery fully. But +now, as she halted and looked back at him from the door and saw his +troubled face and his fingers nervously pressing together, she +recognized that it was not any definite distrust of Avery that had +moved him, but only his deeper trust in herself. Blind and obliged to +rely on others always in respect of sight, and now still more obliged +to rely upon them because he was confined helpless to his bed, Santoine +had felt ever since the attack on him some unknown menace over himself +and his affairs, some hidden agency threatening him and, through him, +the men who trusted him. So, with instinctive caution, she saw now, he +had been withdrawing more and more his reliance upon those less closely +bound to him--even Avery--and depending more and more on the one he +felt he could implicitly trust--herself. As realization of this came +to her, she was stirred deeply by the impulse to rush back to him and +throw herself down beside him and assure him of her love and fealty; +but seeing him again deep in thought, she controlled herself and went +out. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +DONALD AVERY IS MOODY + +Harriet went down the stair into the study; she passed through the +study into the main part of the house and found Donald and sent him to +her father; then she returned to the study. She closed and fastened +the doors, and after glancing about the room, she removed the books in +front of the wall-safe to the right of the door, slid back the movable +panel, opened the safe and took out a bundle of correspondence. She +closed safe and panel and put back the books; and carrying the +correspondence to her father's desk, she began to look over it. + +This correspondence--a considerable bundle of letters held together +with wire clips and the two envelopes bound with tape which she had put +into the safe the day before--made up the papers of which her father +had spoken to her. These letters represented the contentions of +willful, powerful and sometimes ruthless and violent men. Ruin of one +man by another--ruin financial, social or moral, or all three +together--was the intention of the principals concerned in this +correspondence; too often, she knew, one man or one group had carried +out a fierce intent upon another; and sometimes, she was aware, these +bitter feuds had carried certain of her father's clients further even +than personal or family ruin: fraud, violence and--twice now--even +murder were represented by this correspondence; for the papers relating +to the Warden and the Latron murders were here. There were in this +connection the documents concerning the Warden and the Latron +properties which her father had brought back with him from the Coast; +there were letters, now more than five years old, which concerned the +Government's promised prosecution of Latron; and, lastly, there were +the two envelopes which had just been sent to her father concerning the +present organization of the Latron properties. + +She glanced through these and the others with them. She had felt +always the horror of this violent and ruthless side of the men with +whom her father dealt; but now she knew that actual appreciation of the +crimes that passed as business had been far from her. And, strangely, +she now realized that it was not the attacks on Mr. Warden and her +father--overwhelming with horror as these had been--which were bringing +that appreciation home to her. It was her understanding now that the +attack was not meant for her father but for Eaton. + +For when she had believed that some one had meant to murder her father, +as Mr. Warden had been murdered, the deed had come within the class of +crimes comprehensible to her. She was accustomed to recognize that, at +certain times and under special circumstances, her father might be an +obstacle to some one who would become desperate enough to attack; but +she had supposed that, if such an attack were delivered, it must be +made by a man roused to hate his victim, and the deed would be +palliated, as far as such a crime could be, by an overwhelming impulse +of terror or antipathy at the moment of striking the blow. But she had +never contemplated a condition in which a man might murder--or attempt +to murder--without hate of his victim. Yet now her father had made it +clear that this was such a case. Some one on that train in +Montana--acting for himself or for another--had found this stranger, +Eaton, an obstacle in his way. And merely as removing an obstacle, +that man had tried to murder Eaton. And when, instead, he had injured +Basil Santoine, apparently fatally, he had been satisfied so that his +animus against Eaton had lapsed until the injured man began to recover; +and then, when Eaton was out on the open road beside her, that +pitiless, passionless enemy had tried again to kill. She had seen the +face of the man who drove the motor down upon Eaton, and it had been +only calm, determined, businesslike--though the business with which the +man had been engaged was murder. + +Though Harriet had never believed that Eaton had been concerned in the +attack upon her father, her denial of it had been checked and stilled +because he would not even defend himself. She had not known what to +think; she had seemed to herself to be waiting with her thoughts in +abeyance; until he should be cleared, she had tried not to let herself +think more about Eaton than was necessary. Now that her father himself +had cleared Eaton of that suspicion, her feelings had altered from mere +disbelief that he had injured her father to recollection that Mr. +Warden had spoken of him only as one who himself had been greatly +injured. Eaton was involved with her father in some way; she refused +to believe he was against her father, but clearly he was not with him. +How could he be involved, then, unless the injury he had suffered was +some such act of man against man as these letters and statements +represented? She looked carefully through all the contents of the +envelopes, but she could not find anything which helped her. + +She pushed the letters away, then, and sat thinking. Mr. Warden, who +appeared to have known more about Eaton than any one else, had taken +Eaton's side; it was because he had been going to help Eaton that Mr. +Warden had been killed. Would not her father be ready to help Eaton, +then, if he knew as much about him as Mr. Warden had known? But Mr. +Warden, apparently, had kept what he knew even from his own wife; and +Eaton was now keeping it from every one--her father included. She felt +that her father had understood and appreciated all this long before +herself--that it was the reason for his attitude toward Eaton on the +train and, in part, the cause of his considerate treatment of him all +through. She sensed for the first time how great her father's +perplexity must be; but she felt, too, how terrible the injustice must +have been that Eaton had suffered, since he himself did not dare to +tell it even to her father and since, to hide it, other men did not +stop short of double murder. + +So, instead of being estranged by Eaton's manner to her father, she +felt an impulse of feeling toward him flooding her, a feeling which she +tried to explain to herself as sympathy. But it was not just sympathy; +she would not say even to herself what it was. + +She got up suddenly and went to the door and looked into the hall; a +servant came to her. + +"Is Mr. Avery still with Mr. Santoine?" she asked. + +"No, Miss Santoine; he has gone out." + +"How long ago?" + +"About ten minutes." + +"Thank you." + +She went back, and bundling the correspondence together as it had been +before, she removed the books from a shelf to the left of the door, +slid back another panel and revealed the second wall-safe corresponding +to the one to the right of the door from which she had taken the +papers. The combination of this second safe was known only to her +father and herself. She put the envelopes into it, closed it, and +replaced the books. Then she went to her father's desk, took from a +drawer a long typewritten report of which he had asked her to prepare a +digest, and read it through; consciously concentrating, she began her +work. The servant came at one to tell her luncheon was served, +but--immersed now--she ordered her luncheon brought to the study. At +three she heard Avery's motor, and went to the study door and looked +out as he entered the hall. + +"What have you found out, Don?" she inquired. + +"Nothing yet, Harry." + +"You got no trace of them?" + +"No; too many motors pass on that road for the car to be recalled +particularly. I've started what inquiries are possible and arranged to +have the road watched in case they come back this way." + +He went past her and up to her father. She returned to the study and +put away her work; she called the stables on the house telephone and +ordered her saddle-horse; and going to her rooms and changing to her +riding-habit, she rode till five. Returning, she dressed for dinner, +and going down at seven, she found Eaton, Avery and Blatchford awaiting +her. + +The meal was served in the great Jacobean dining room, with walls +paneled to the high ceiling, logs blazing in the big stone fireplace. +As they seated themselves, she noted that Avery seemed moody and +uncommunicative; something, clearly, had irritated and disturbed him; +and as the meal progressed, he vented his irritation upon Eaton by +affronting him more openly by word and look than he had ever done +before in her presence. She was the more surprised at his doing this +now, because she knew that Donald must have received from her father +the same instructions as had been given herself to learn whatever was +possible of Eaton's former position in life. Eaton, with his customary +self-control, met Avery's offensiveness with an equability which almost +disarmed it. Instinctively she tried to help him in this. But now she +found that he met and put aside her assistance in the same way. + +The change in his attitude toward her which she had noted first during +their walk that morning had not diminished since his talk with her +father but, plainly, had increased. He was almost openly now including +her among those who opposed him. As that feeling which she called +sympathy had come to her when she realized that what he himself had +suffered must be the reason for his attitude toward her father, so now +it only came more strongly when she saw him take the same attitude +toward herself; and as she felt it, she found she was feeling more and +more away from Donald Avery. Donald's manner toward Eaton was forcing +her to invoice exactly the materials of her companionship with Donald. + +Before Eaton's entrance into her life she had supposed that some time, +as a matter of course, she was going to marry Donald. In spite of +this, she had never thought of herself as apart from her father; when +she thought of marrying, it had been always with the idea that her duty +to her husband must be secondary to that to her father; she knew now +that she had accepted Donald Avery not because he had become necessary +to her but because he had seemed essential to her father and her +marrying Donald would permit her life to go on much as it was. Till +recently, Avery's complaisance, his certainty that it must be only a +matter of time before he would win her, had been the most +definite--almost the only definable--fault she had found with her +father's confidential agent; now her sense of many other faults in him +only marked the distance she had drawn away from him. If Harriet +Santoine could define her own present estimate of Avery, it was that he +did not differ in any essential particular from those men whose +correspondence had so horrified her that afternoon. + +Donald had social position and a certain amount of wealth and power; +now suddenly she was feeling that he had nothing but those things, that +his own unconscious admission was that to be worth while he must have +them, that to retain and increase them was his only object in life. +She had the feeling that these were the only things he would fight for; +but that for these he would fight--fairly, perhaps, if he could--but, +if he must, unfairly, despicably. + +She had finished dinner, but she hesitated to rise and leave the men +alone; after-dinner cigars and the fiction of a masculine conversation +about the table were insisted on by Blatchford. As she delayed, +looking across the table at Eaton, his eyes met hers; reassured, she +rose at once; the three rose with her and stood while she went out. +She went upstairs and looked in upon her father; he wanted nothing, and +after a conversation with him as short as she could make it, she came +down again. No further disagreement between the two men, apparently, +had happened after she left the table. Avery now was not visible. +Eaton and Blatchford were in the music-room; as she went to them, she +saw that Eaton had some sheets of music in his hand. So now, with a +repugnance against her father's orders which she had never felt before, +she began to carry out the instructions her father had given her. + +"You play, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. + +"I'm afraid not," he smiled. + +"Really don't you?" + +"Only drum a little sometimes, Miss Santoine. Won't you play? Please +do." + +She saw that they were songs which he had been examining. "Oh, you +sing!" + +He could not effectively deny it. She sat down at her piano and ran +over the songs and selections from the new opera. He followed her with +the delight of a music-lover long away from an instrument. He sang +with her a couple of the songs; he had a good, unassuming tone. And as +she went through the music, she noticed that he was familiar with +almost everything she had liked which had been written or was current +up to five years before; all later music was strange to him. To this +extent he had been of her world, plainly, up to five years before; then +he had gone out of it. + +She realized this only as something which she was to report to her +father; yet she felt a keener, more personal interest in it than that. +Harriet Santoine knew enough of the world to know that few men break +completely all social connections without some link of either fact or +memory still holding them, and that this link most often is a woman. +So now, instinctively, she found, she was selecting among the music on +the racks arias of lost, disappointed or unhappy love. But she saw +that Eaton's interest in these songs appeared no different from his +interest in others; it was, so far as she could tell, for their music +he cared for them--not because they recalled to him any personal +recollection. So far as her music could assure her, then, there +was--and had been--no woman in Eaton's life whose memory made poignant +his break with his world. + +Presently she desisted and turned to other sorts of music. Toward ten +o'clock, after she had stopped playing, he excused himself and went to +his rooms. She sat for a time, idly talking with Blatchford; then, as +a servant passed through the hall and she mistook momentarily his +footsteps for those of Avery, she got up suddenly and went upstairs. +It was only after reaching her own rooms that she appreciated that the +meaning of this action was that she shrank from seeing Avery again that +night. But she had been in her rooms only a few minutes when her house +telephone buzzed, and answering it, she found that it was Donald +speaking to her. + +"Will you come down for a few minutes, please, Harry?" + +She withheld her answer momentarily. Before Eaton had come into her +life, Donald sometimes had called her like this,--especially on those +nights when he had worked late with her father,--and she had gone down +to visit with him for a few minutes as an ending for the day. She had +never allowed these meetings to pass beyond mere companionship; but +to-night she thought of that companionship without pleasure. + +"Please, Harry!" he repeated. + +Some strangeness in his tone perplexed her. + +"Where are you?" she asked. + +"In the study." + +She went down at once. As he came to the study door to meet her, she +saw that what had perplexed her in his tone was apparently only the +remnant of that irritation he had showed at dinner. He took her hand +and drew her into the study. The lights in the room turned full on and +the opaque curtains drawn closely over the windows told that he had +been working,--or that he wished to appear to have been working,--and +papers scattered on one of the desks, and the wall safe to the right of +the door standing open, confirmed this. But now he led her to the big +chair, and guided her as she seated herself; then he lounged on the +flat-topped desk in front of and close to her and bending over her. + +"You don't mind my calling you down, Harry; it is so long since we had +even a few minutes alone together," he pleaded. + +"What is it you want, Don?" she asked. + +"Only to see you, dea--Harry." He took her hand again; she resisted +and withdrew it. "I can't do any more work to-night, Harry. I find +the correspondence I expected to go over this evening isn't here; your +father has it, I suppose." + +"No; I have it, Don." + +"You?" + +"Yes; Father didn't want you bothered by that work just now. Didn't he +tell you?" + +"He told me that, of course, Harry, and that he had asked you to +relieve me as much as you could; he didn't say he had told you to take +charge of the papers. Did he do that?" + +"I thought that was implied. If you need them, I'll get them for you, +Don. Do you want them?" + +She got up and went toward the safe where she had put them; suddenly +she stopped. What it was that she had felt under his tone and manner, +she could not tell; it was probably only irritation at having important +work taken out of his hands. But whatever it was, he was not openly +expressing it--he was even being careful that it should not be +expressed. And now suddenly, as he followed and came close behind her +and her mind went swiftly to her father lying helpless upstairs, and +her father's trust in her, she halted. + +"We must ask Father first," she said. + +"Ask him!" he ejaculated. "Why?" + +She faced him uncertainly, not answering. + +"That's rather ridiculous, Harry, especially as it is too late to ask +him to-night." His voice was suddenly rough in his irritation. "I +have had charge of those very things for years; they concern the +matters in which your father particularly confides in me. It is +impossible that he meant you to take them out of my hands like this. +He must have meant only that you were to give me what help you could +with them!" + +She could not refute what he said; still, she hesitated. + +"When did you find out those matters weren't in your safe, Don?" she +asked. + +"Just now." + +"Didn't you find out this afternoon--before dinner?" + +"That's what I said--just now this afternoon, when I came back to the +house before dinner, as you say." Suddenly he seized both her hands, +drawing her to him and holding her in front of him. "Harry, don't you +see that you are putting me in a false position--wronging me? You are +acting as though you did not trust me!" + +She drew away her hands. "I do trust you, Don; at least I have no +reason to distrust you. I only say we must ask Father." + +"They're in your little safe?" + +She nodded. "Yes." + +"And you'll not give them to me?" + +"No." + +He stared angrily; then he shrugged and laughed and went back to his +desk and began gathering up his scattered papers. She stood +indecisively watching him. Suddenly he looked up, and she saw that he +had quite conquered his irritation, or at least had concealed it; his +concern now seemed to be only over his relations with herself. + +"We've not quarreled, Harry?" he asked. + +"Quarreled? Not at all, Don," she replied. + +She moved toward the door; he followed and let her out, and she went +back to her own rooms. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +SANTOINE'S "EYES" FAIL HIM + +Eaton, coming down rather late the next morning, found the breakfast +room empty. He chose his breakfast from the dishes on the sideboard, +and while the servant set them before him and waited on him, he +inquired after the members of the household. Miss Santoine, the +servant said, had breakfasted some time before and was now with her +father; Mr. Avery also had breakfasted; Mr. Blatchford was not yet +down. As Eaton lingered over his breakfast, Miss Davis passed through +the hall, accompanied by a maid. The maid admitted her into the study +and closed the door; afterward, the maid remained in the hall busy with +some morning duty, and her presence and that of the servant in the +breakfast room made it impossible for Eaton to attempt to go to the +study or to risk speaking to Miss Davis. A few minutes later, he heard +Harriet Santoine descending the stairs; rising, he went out into the +hall to meet her. + +"I don't ask you to commit yourself for longer than to-day, Miss +Santoine," he said, when they had exchanged greetings, "but--for +to-day--what are the limits of my leash?" + +"Mr. Avery is going to the country-club for lunch; I believe he intends +to ask you if you care to go with him." + +He started and looked at her in surprise. "That's rather longer +extension of the leash than I expected," he replied. + +He stood an instant thoughtful. Did the invitation imply merely that +he was to have greater freedom now? + +"Do you wish me to go?" he asked. + +Her glance wavered and did not meet his. "You may go if you please." + +"And if I do not?" + +"Mr. Blatchford will lunch with you here." + +"And you?" + +"Yes, I shall lunch here too, probably. This morning I am going to be +busy with Miss Davis on some work for my father; what I do depends on +how I get along with that." + +"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged. + +She turned away and went into the study, closing the door behind her. +Eaton, although he had finished his breakfast, went back into the +breakfast room. He did not know whether he would refuse or accept +Avery's invitation; suddenly he decided. After waiting for some five +minutes there over a second cup of coffee, he got up and crossed to the +study door and knocked. The door was opened by Miss Davis; looking +past her, he could see Harriet Santoine seated at one of the desks. + +"I beg pardon, Miss Santoine," he explained his interruption, "but you +did not tell me what time Mr. Avery is likely to want me to be ready to +go to the country club." + +"About half-past twelve, I think." + +"And what time shall we be coming back?" + +"Probably about five." + +He thanked her and withdrew. As Miss Davis stood holding open the +door, he had not looked to her, and he did not look back now as she +closed the door behind him; their eyes had not met; but he understood +that she had comprehended him fully. To-day he would be away from the +Santoine house, and away from the guards who watched him, for at least +four hours, under no closer espionage than that of Avery; this offered +opportunity--the first opportunity he had had--for communication +between him and his friends outside the house. + +He went to his room and made some slight changes in his dress; he came +down then to the library, found a book and settled himself to read. +Toward noon Avery looked in on him there and rather constrainedly +proffered his invitation; Eaton accepted, and after Avery had gone to +get ready, Eaton put away his book. Fifteen minutes later, hearing +Avery's motor purring outside, Eaton went into the hall; a servant +brought his coat and hat, and taking them, he went out to the motor. +Avery appeared a moment later, with Harriet Santoine. + +She stood looking after them as they spun down the curving drive and +onto the pike outside the grounds; then she went back to the study. +The digest Harriet had been working on that morning and the afternoon +before was finished; Miss Davis, she found, was typewriting its last +page. She dismissed Miss Davis for the day, and taking the typewritten +sheets and some other papers her father had asked to have read to him, +she went up to her father. + +Basil Santoine was alone and awake; he was lying motionless, with the +cord and electric button in his hand which served to start and stop the +phonograph, with its recording cylinder, beside his bed. His mind, +even in his present physical weakness, was always working, and he kept +this apparatus beside him to record his directions as they occurred to +him. As she entered the room, he pressed the button and started the +phonograph, speaking into it; then, as he recognized his daughter's +presence, the cylinder halted; he put down the cord and motioned her to +seat herself beside the bed. + +"What have you, Harriet?" he asked. + +She sat down and glancing through the papers in her hand, gave him the +subject of each; then at his direction she began to read them aloud. +She read slowly, careful not to demand straining of his attention; and +this slowness leaving her own mind free in part to follow other things, +her thoughts followed Eaton and Avery. As she finished the third page, +he interrupted her. + +"Where is it you want to go, Harriet?" + +"Go? Why, nowhere, Father!" + +"Has Avery taken Eaton to the country-club as I ordered?" + +"Yes." + +"I shall want you to go out there later in the afternoon; I would trust +your observation more than Avery's to determine whether Eaton has been +used to such surroundings. They are probably at luncheon now; will you +lunch with me here, dear?" + +"I'll be very glad to, Father." + +He reached for the house telephone and gave directions for the luncheon +in his room. + +"Go on until they bring it," he directed. + +She read another page, then broke off suddenly. + +"Has Donald asked you anything to-day, Father?" + +"In regard to what?" + +"I thought last night he seemed disturbed about my relieving him of +part of his work." + +"Disturbed? In what way?" + +She hesitated, unable to define even to herself the impression Avery's +manner had made on her. "I understood he was going to ask you to leave +it still in his hands." + +"He has not done so yet." + +"Then probably I was mistaken." + +She began to read again, and she continued now until the luncheon was +served. At meal-time Basil Santoine made it a rule never to discuss +topics relating to his occupation in working hours, and in his present +weakness, the rule was rigidly enforced; father and daughter talked of +gardening and the new developments in aviation. She read again for +half an hour after luncheon, finishing the pages she had brought. + +"Now you'd better go to the club," the blind man directed. + +She put the reports and letters away in the safe in the room below, and +going to her own apartments, she dressed carefully for the afternoon. +The day was a warm, sunny, early spring day, with the ground fairly +firm. She ordered her horse and trap, and leaving the groom, she drove +to the country-club beyond the rise of ground back from the lake. Her +pleasure in the drive and the day was diminished by her errand. It +made her grow uncomfortable and flush warmly as she recollected +that--if Eaton's secrecy regarding himself was accounted for by the +unknown injury he had suffered--she was the one sent to "spy" upon him. + +As she drove down the road, she passed the scene of the attempt by the +men in the motor to run Eaton down. The indefiniteness of her +knowledge by whom or why the attack had been made only made it seem +more terrible to her. Unquestionably, he was in constant danger of its +repetition, and especially when--as to-day--he was outside her father's +grounds. Instinctively she hurried her horse. The great white +club-house stood above the gentle slope of the valley to the west; +beyond it, the golf-course was spotted by a few figures of men and +girls out for early-season play. And further off and to one side of +the course, she saw mounted men scurrying up and down the polo field in +practice. A number of people were standing watching, and a few motors +and traps were halted beside the barriers. Harriet stopped at the +club-house only to make certain that Mr. Avery and his guest were not +there; then she drove on to the polo field. + +As she approached, she recognized Avery's lithe, alert figure on one of +the ponies; with a deft, quick stroke he cleared the ball from before +the feet of an opponent's pony, then he looked up and nodded to her. +Harriet drove up and stopped beside the barrier; people hailed her from +all sides, and for a moment the practice was stopped as the players +trotted over to speak to her. Then play began again, and she had +opportunity to look for Eaton. Her father, she knew, had instructed +Avery that Eaton was to be introduced as his guest; but Avery evidently +had either carried out these instructions in a purely mechanical manner +or had not wished Eaton to be with others unless he himself was by; for +Harriet discovered Eaton standing off by himself. She waited till he +looked toward her, then signaled him to come over. She got down, and +they stood together following the play. + +"You know polo?" she questioned him, as she saw the expression of +appreciation in his face as a player daringly "rode-off" an antagonist +and saved a "cross." She put the question without thought before she +recognized that she was obeying her father's instructions. + +"I understand the game somewhat," Eaton replied. + +"Have you ever played?" + +"It seems to deserve its reputation as the summit of sport," he replied. + +He answered so easily that she could not decide whether he was evading +or not; and somehow, just then, she found it impossible to put the +simple question direct again. + +"Good! Good, Don!" she cried enthusiastically and clapped her hands as +Avery suddenly raced before them, caught the ball with a swinging, +back-handed stroke and drove it directly toward his opponent's goal. +Instantly whirling his mount, Avery raced away after the ball, and with +another clean stroke scored a goal. Every one about cried out in +approbation. + +"He's very quick and clever, isn't he?" Harriet said to Eaton. + +Eaton nodded. "Yes; he's by all odds the most skillful man on the +field, I should say." + +The generosity of the praise impelled the girl, somehow, to qualify it. +"But only two others really have played much--that man and that." + +"Yes, I picked them as the experienced ones," Eaton said quietly. + +"The others--two of them, at least--are out for the first time, I +think." + +They watched the rapid course of the ball up and down the field, the +scurry and scamper of the ponies after it, then the clash of a melee +again. + +Two ponies went down, and their riders were flung. When they arose, +one of the least experienced boys limped apologetically from the field. +Avery rode to the barrier. + +"I say, any of you fellows, don't you want to try it? We're just +getting warmed up." + +Harriet glanced at the group Avery had addressed; she knew nearly all +of them--she knew too that none of them were likely to accept the +invitation, and that Avery must be as well aware of that as she was. +Avery, indeed, scarcely glanced at them, but looked over to Eaton and +gave the challenge direct. + +"Care to take a chance?" + +Harriet Santoine watched her companion; a sudden flush had come to his +face which vanished, as she turned, and left him almost pale; but his +eyes glowed. Avery's manner in challenging him, as though he must +refuse from fear of such a fall as he just had witnessed, was not +enough to explain Eaton's start. + +"How can I?" he returned. + +"If you want to play, you can," Avery dared him. "Furden"--that was +the boy who had just been hurt--"will lend you some things; his'll just +about fit you; and you can have his mounts." + +Harriet continued to watch Eaton; the challenge had been put so as to +give him no ground for refusal but timidity. + +"You don't care to?" Avery taunted him deftly. + +"Why don't you try it?" Harriet found herself saying to him. + +He hesitated. She realized it was not timidity he was feeling; it was +something deeper and stronger than that. It was fear; but so plainly +it was not fear of bodily hurt that she moved instinctively toward him +in sympathy. He looked swiftly at Avery, then at her, then away. He +seemed to fear alike accepting or refusing to play; suddenly he made +his decision. + +"I'll play." + +He started instantly away to the dressing-rooms; a few minutes later, +when he rode onto the field, Harriet was conscious that, in some way, +Eaton was playing a part as he listened to Avery's directions. Then +the ball was thrown in for a scrimmage, and she felt her pulses quicken +as Avery and Eaton raced side by side for the ball. Eaton might not +have played polo before, but he was at home on horseback; he beat Avery +to the ball but, clumsy with his mallet, he missed and overrode; Avery +stroked the ball smartly, and cleverly followed through. But the next +instant, as Eaton passed her, shifting his mallet in his hand, Harriet +watched him more wonderingly. + +"He could have hit that ball if he'd wanted to," she declared almost +audibly to herself; and the impression that Eaton was pretending to a +clumsiness which was not real grew on her. Donald Avery appointed +himself to oppose Eaton wherever possible, besting him in every contest +for the ball; but she saw that Donald now, though he took it upon +himself to show all the other players where they made their mistakes, +did not offer any more instruction to Eaton. One of the players drove +the ball close to the barrier directly before Harriet; Eaton and Avery +raced for it, neck by neck. As before, Eaton by better riding gained a +little; as they came up, she saw Donald's attention was not upon the +ball or the play; instead, he was watching Eaton closely. And she +realized suddenly that Donald had appreciated as fully as herself that +Eaton's clumsiness was a pretense. It was no longer merely polo the +two were playing; Donald, suspecting or perhaps even certain that Eaton +knew the game, was trying to make him show it, and Eaton was watchfully +avoiding this. Just in front of her, Donald, leaning forward, swept +the ball from in front of Eaton's pony's feet. + +For a few moments the play was all at the further edge of the field; +then once more the ball crossed with a long curving shot and came +hopping and rolling along the ground close to where she stood. Again +Donald and Eaton raced for it. + +"Stedman!" Avery called to a teammate to prepare to receive the ball +after he had struck it; and he lifted his mallet to drive the ball away +from in front of Eaton. But as Avery's club was coming down, Eaton, +like a flash and apparently without lifting his mallet at all, caught +the ball a sharp, smacking stroke. It leaped like a bullet, straight +and true, toward the goal, and before Avery could turn, Eaton was after +it and upon it, but he did not have to strike again; it bounded on and +on between the goal-posts, while together with the applause for the +stranger arose a laugh at the expense of Avery. But as Donald halted +before her, Harriet saw that he was not angry or discomfited, but was +smiling triumphantly to himself; and as she called in praise to Eaton +when he came close again, she discovered in him only dismay at what he +had done. + +The practice ended, and the players rode away. She waited in the +clubhouse till Avery and Eaton came up from the dressing-rooms. +Donald's triumphant satisfaction seemed to have increased; Eaton was +silent and preoccupied. Avery, hailed by a group of men, started away; +as he did so, he saluted Eaton almost derisively. Eaton's return of +the salute was openly hostile. She looked up at him keenly, trying +unavailingly to determine whether more had taken place between the two +men than she herself had witnessed. + +"You had played polo before--and played it well," she charged. "Why +did you want to pretend you hadn't?" + +He made no reply. As she began to talk of other things, she discovered +with surprise that his manner toward her had taken on even greater +formality and constraint than it had had since his talk with her father +the day before. + +The afternoon was not warm enough to sit outside; in the club-house +were gathered groups of men and girls who had come in from the +golf-course or from watching the polo practice. She found herself now +facing one of these groups composed of some of her own friends, who +were taking tea and wafers in the recess before some windows. They +motioned to her to join them, and she could not well refuse, especially +as this had been a part of her father's instructions. The men rose, as +she moved toward them, Eaton with her; she introduced Eaton; a chair +was pushed forward for her, and two of the girls made a place for Eaton +on the window-seat between them. + +As they seated themselves and were served, Eaton's participation in the +polo practice was the subject of conversation. She found, as she tried +to talk with her nearer neighbors, that she was listening instead to +this more general conversation which Eaton had joined. She saw that +these people had accepted him as one of their own sort to the point of +jesting with him about his "lucky" polo stroke for a beginner; his +manner toward them was very different from what it had been just now to +herself; he seemed at ease and unembarrassed with them. One or two of +the girls appeared to have been eager--even anxious--to meet him; and +she found herself oddly resenting the attitude of these girls. Her +feeling was indefinite, vague; it made her flush and grow uncomfortable +to recognize dimly that there was in it some sense of a proprietorship +of her own in him which took alarm at seeing other girls attracted by +him; but underneath it was her uneasiness at his new manner to herself, +which hurt because she could not explain it. As the party finished +their tea, she looked across to him. + +"Are you ready to go, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. + +"Whenever Mr. Avery is ready." + +"You needn't wait for him unless you wish; I'll drive you back," she +offered. + +"Of course I'd prefer that, Miss Santoine." + +They went out to her trap, leaving Donald to motor back alone. As soon +as she had driven out of the club grounds, she let the horse take its +own gait, and she turned and faced him. + +"Will you tell me," she demanded, "what I have done this afternoon to +make you class me among those who oppose you?" + +"What have you done? Nothing, Miss Santoine." + +"But you are classing me so now." + +"Oh, no," he denied so unconvincingly that she felt he was only putting +her off. + +Harriet Santoine knew that what had attracted her friends to Eaton was +their recognition of his likeness to themselves; but what had impressed +her in seeing him with them was his difference. Was it some memory of +his former life that seeing these people had recalled to him, which had +affected his manner toward her? + +Again she looked at him. + +"Were you sorry to leave the club?" she asked. + +"I was quite ready to leave," he answered inattentively. + +"It must have been pleasant to you, though, to--to be among the sort of +people again that you--you used to know. Miss Furden"--she mentioned +one of the girls who had seemed most interested in him, the sister of +the boy whose place he had taken in the polo practice--"is considered a +very attractive person, Mr. Eaton. I have heard it said that a +man--any man--not to be attracted by her must be forearmed against her +by thought--or memory of some other woman whom he holds dear." + +"She seemed very pleasant," he answered automatically. + +"Only pleasant? You were forearmed, then," she said. + +"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." + +The mechanicalness of his answer reassured her. "I mean, Mr. +Eaton,"--she forced her tone to be light,--"Miss Furden was not as +attractive to you as she might have been, because there has been some +other woman in your life--whose memory--or--or the expectation of +seeing whom again--protected you." + +"Has been? Oh, you mean before." + +"Yes; of course," she answered hastily. + +"No--none," he replied simply. "It's rather ungallant, Miss Santoine, +but I'm afraid I wasn't thinking much about Miss Furden." + +She felt that his denial was the truth, for his words confirmed the +impression she had had when singing with him the night before. She +drove on--or rather let the horse take them on--for a few moments +during which neither spoke. They had come about a bend in the road, +and the great house of her father loomed ahead. A motor whizzed past +them, coming from behind. It was only Avery's car on the way home; but +Harriet had jumped a little in memory of the day before, and her +companion's head had turned quickly toward the car. She looked up at +him swiftly; his lips were set and his eyes gazed steadily ahead after +Avery, and he drew a little away from her. A catch in her +breath--almost an audible gasp--surprised her, and she fought a warm +impulse which had all but placed her hand on his. + +"Will you tell me something, Miss Santoine?" he asked suddenly. + +"What?" + +"I suppose, when I was with Mr. Avery this afternoon, that if I had +attempted to escape, he and the chauffeur would have combined to detain +me. But on the way back here--did you assume that when you took me in +charge you had my parole not to try to depart?" + +"No," she said. "I don't believe Father depended entirely on that." + +"You mean that he has made arrangements so that if I--exceeded the +directions given me, I would be picked up?" + +"I don't know exactly what they are, but you may be sure that they are +made if they are necessary." + +"Thank you," Eaton acknowledged. + +She was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Do you mean that you have +been considering this afternoon the possibilities of escape?" + +"It would be only natural for me to do that, would it not?" he parried. + +"No." + +"Why not?" + +"I don't mean that you might not try to exceed the limits Father has +set for you; you might try that, and of course you would be prevented. +But you will not" (she hesitated, and when she went on she was quoting +her father) "--sacrifice your position here." + +"Why not?" + +"Because you tried to gain it--or--or if not exactly that, at least you +had some object in wanting to be near Father which you have not yet +gained." She hesitated once more, not looking at him. Her words were +unconvincing to herself; that morning, when her father had spoken them, +they had been quite convincing, but since this afternoon she was no +longer sure of their truth. What it was that had happened during the +afternoon she could not make out; instinctively, however, she felt that +it had so altered Eaton's relations with them that now he might attempt +to escape. + +They had reached the front of the house, and a groom sprang to take the +horse. She let Eaton help her down; as they entered the house, +Avery--who had reached the house only a few moments before them--was +still in the hall. And again she was startled in the meeting of the +two men by Avery's triumph and the swift flare of defiance on Eaton's +face. + +As she went up to her apartments, her maid met her at the door. + +"Mr. Santoine wishes you to dine with him, Miss Santoine," the maid +announced. + +"Very well," she answered. + +She changed from her afternoon dress slowly. As she did so, she +brought swiftly in review the events of the day. Chiefly it was to the +polo practice and to Eaton's dismay at his one remarkable stroke that +her mind went. Had Donald Avery seen something in that which was not +plain to herself? + +Harriet Santoine knew polo from watching many games, but she was aware +that--as with any one who knows a game merely as a spectator--she was +unacquainted with many of the finer points of play. Donald had played +almost since a boy, he was a good, steady, though not a brilliant +player. Had Donald recognized in Eaton something more than merely a +good player trying to pretend ignorance of the game? The thought +suddenly checked and startled her. For how many great polo players +were there in America? Were there a hundred? Fifty? Twenty-five? +She did not know; but she did know that there were so few of them that +their names and many of the particulars of their lives were known to +every follower of the sport. + +She halted suddenly in her dressing, perplexed and troubled. Her +father had sent Eaton to the country club with Avery; there Avery, +plainly, had forced Eaton into the polo game. By her father's +instructions? Clearly there seemed to have been purpose in what had +been done, and purpose which had not been confided to herself either by +her father or Avery. For how could they have suspected that Eaton +would betray himself in the game unless they had also suspected that he +had played polo before? To suspect that, they must at least have some +theory as to who Eaton was. But her father had no such theory; he had +been expending unavailingly, so far, every effort to ascertain Eaton's +connections. So her thoughts led her only into deeper and greater +perplexity, but with them came sudden--and unaccountable--resentment +against Avery. + +"Will you see what Mr. Avery is doing?" she said to the maid. + +The girl went out and returned in a few moments. "He is with Mr. +Santoine." + +"Thank you." + +At seven Harriet went in to dinner with her father. The blind man was +now alone; he had been awaiting her, and they were served at once. All +through the dinner she was nervous and moody; for she knew she was +going to do something she had never done before: she was going to +conceal something from her father. She told herself it was not really +concealment, for Donald must have already told him. It was no more, +then, than that she herself would not inform upon Eaton, but would +leave that to Avery. So she told of Eaton's reception at the country +club, and of his taking part in the polo practice and playing badly; +but of her own impression that Eaton knew the game and her present +conviction that Donald Avery had seen even more than that, she said +nothing. She watched her father's face, but she could see there no +consciousness that she was omitting anything in her account. + +An hour later, when after reading aloud to him for a time, he dismissed +her, she hesitated before going. + +"You've seen Donald?" she asked. + +"Yes." + +"What did he tell you?" + +"The same as you have told, though not quite so fully." + +She was outside the door and in the hall before realization came to her +that her father's reply could mean only that Donald, like herself, had +concealed his discovery of Eaton's ability to play polo. She turned +back suddenly to return to her father; then again she hesitated, +stopped with her hand upon the blind man's door by her recollection of +Donald's enmity to Eaton. Why Donald had not told, she could not +imagine; the only conclusion she could reach was that Donald's silence +in some way menaced Eaton; for--suddenly now--it came to her what this +must mean to Eaton. All that Eaton had been so careful to hide +regarding himself and his connections must be obtainable by Avery now. +Why Eaton had played at all; why he had been afraid to refuse the +invitation to play, she could not know; but sympathy and fear for him +swept over her, as she comprehended that it was to Avery the betrayal +had been made and that Avery, for some purpose of his own, was +withholding this betrayal to make use of it as he saw fit. + +She moved once more to return to her father; again she stopped; then, +swiftly, she turned and went downstairs. + +As she descended, she saw in the lower hall the stenographer, Miss +Davis, sitting waiting. There was no adequate reason for the girl's +being there at that hour; she had come--she said, as she rose to greet +Harriet--to learn whether she would be wanted the next day; she had +already seen Mr. Avery, and he would not want her. Harriet, telling +her she would not need her, offered to send a servant home with her, as +the roads were dark. Miss Davis refused this and went out at once. +Harriet, as the door was closed behind the girl, looked hurriedly about +for Avery. She did not find him, nor at first did she find Eaton +either. She discovered him presently in the music-room with +Blatchford. Blatchford at once excused himself, tired evidently of his +task of watching over Eaton. + +Harriet caught herself together and controlled herself to her usual +manner. + +"What shall it be this evening, Mr. Eaton?" she asked. "Music? +Billiards?" + +"Billiards, if you like," he responded. + +They went up to the billiard room, and for an hour played steadily; but +her mind was not upon the game--nor, she saw, was his. Several times +he looked at his watch; he seemed to her to be waiting. Finally, as +they ended a game, he put his cue back in the rack and faced her. + +"Miss Santoine," he said, "I want to ask a favor." + +"What is it?" + +"I want to go out--unaccompanied." + +"Why?" + +"I wish to speak to a friend who will be waiting for me." + +"How do you know?" + +"He got word to me at the country club to-day. Excuse me--I did not +mean to inform on Mr. Avery; he was really most vigilant. I believe he +only made one slip." + +"He was not the only one observing you." + +"I suppose not. In fact, I was certain of it. However, I received a +message which was undoubtedly authentic and had not been overseen." + +"But you were not able to make reply." + +"I was not able to receive all that was necessary." + +She considered for a moment. "What do you want me to do?" + +"Either because of my presence or because of what has happened--or +perhaps normally--you have at least four men about the grounds, two of +whom seem to be constantly on duty to observe any one who may approach." + +"Or try to leave." + +"Precisely." + +"There are more than two." + +"I was stating the minimum." + +"Well?" + +"I wish you to order them to let me pass and go to a place perhaps ten +minutes' walk from here. If you do so, I will return at the latest +within half an hour" (he glanced at his watch) "--to be definite, +before a quarter of eleven." + +"Why should I do this?" + +He came close to her and faced her. "What do you think of me now, Miss +Santoine?" + +"Why--" + +"You are quite certain now, are you not, that I had nothing to do with +the attack on your father--that is, in any other connection than that +the attack might be meant for me. I denied yesterday that the men in +the automobile meant to run me down; you did not accept that denial. I +may as well admit to you that I know perfectly well they meant to kill +me; the man on the train also meant to kill me. They are likely to try +again to kill me." + +"We recognize that too," she answered. "The men on watch about the +house are warned to protect you as well as watch you." + +"I appreciate that." + +"But are they all you have to fear, Mr. Eaton?" She was thinking of +Donald Avery. + +He seemed to recognize what was in her mind; his eyes, as he gazed +intently at her, clouded, then darkened still more with some succeeding +thought. "No, not all." + +"And it will aid you to--to protect yourself if you see your friend +to-night?" + +"Yes." + +"But why should not one of Father's men be with you?" + +"Unless I were alone, my friend would not appear." + +"I see." + +He moved away from her, then came back; the importance to him of what +he was asking was very plain to her--he was shaking nervously with it. +"Miss Santoine," he said intently, "you do not think badly of me now. +I do not have to doubt that; I can see it; you have wanted me to see +it. I ask you to trust me for a few minutes to-night. I cannot tell +you whom I wish to see or why, except that the man comes to do me a +service and to endanger no one--except those trying to injure me." + +She herself was trembling with her desire to help him, but recollection +of her father held her back; then swiftly there came to her the thought +of Gabriel Warden; because Warden had tried to help him--in some way +and for some reason which she did not know--Warden had been killed. +And feeling that in helping him there might be danger to herself, she +suddenly and eagerly welcomed that danger, and made her decision. +"You'll promise, Mr. Eaton, not to try to--leave?" + +"Yes." + +"Let us go out," she said. + +She led the way downstairs and, in the hall, picked up a cape; he threw +it over her shoulders and brought his overcoat and cap. But in his +absorption he forgot to put them on until, as they went out into the +garden together, she reminded him; then he put on the cap. The night +was clear and cool, and no one but themselves seemed to be about the +house. + +"Which way do you want to go?" she asked. + +He turned toward the forested acres of the grounds which ran down to a +ravine at the bottom of which a little stream trickled toward the lake. +As they approached the side of this ravine, a man appeared and +investigated them. He recognized the girl's figure and halted. + +"It's all right, Willis," she said quietly. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +They passed the man and went down the path into the ravine and up the +tiny valley. Eaton halted. + +"Your man's just above there?" he asked her. + +"Yes." + +"He'll stay there?" + +"Yes; or close by." + +"Then you don't mind waiting here a few moments for me?" + +"No," she said. "You will return here?" + +"Yes," he said; and with that permission, he left her. + +Both had spoken so that the man above could not have heard; and Harriet +now noticed that, as her companion hurried ahead, he went almost +noiselessly. As he disappeared, the impulse to call him back almost +controlled her; then she started to follow him; but she did not. She +stood still, shivering a little now in the cold; and as she listened, +she no longer heard his footsteps. What she had done was done; then +just as she was telling herself that it must be many moments before she +would know whether he was coming back, she heard him returning; at some +little distance, he spoke her name so as not to frighten her. She knew +at once it was he, but a change in the tone surprised her. She stepped +forward to meet him. + +"You found your friend?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he tell you?" Her hand caught his sleeve in an impulse of +concern, but she tried to make it seem as though she grasped him to +guide her through the trees of the ravine. "I mean what is wrong that +you did not expect?" + +She heard his breath come fast. + +"Nothing," he denied. + +"No; you must tell me!" Her hand was still on his arm. + +"I cannot." + +"Why can you not?" + +"Why?" + +"Can't you trust me?" + +"Trust you!" he cried. He turned to her and seized her hands. "You +ask me to--trust you!" + +"Yes; I've trusted you. Can't you believe as much in me?" + +"Believe in you, Miss Santoine!" He crushed her fingers in his grasp. +"Oh, my God, I wish I could!" + +"You wish you could?" she echoed. The tone of it struck her like a +blow, and she tore her hands away. "What do you mean by that?" + +He made no reply but stood staring at her through the dark. "We must +go back," he said queerly. "You're cold." + +She did not answer but started back up the path to the house. He +seemed to have caught himself together against some impulse that +stirred him strongly. "The man out there who saw us? He will report +to your father, Miss Santoine?" he asked unsteadily. + +"Reports for Father are first made to me." + +"I see." He did not ask her what she was going to do; if he was +assuming that her permission to exceed his set limits bound her not to +report to her father, she did not accept that assumption, though she +would not report to the blind man to-night, for she knew he must now be +asleep. But she felt that Eaton was no longer thinking of this. As +they entered the house and he helped her lay off her cape, he suddenly +faced her. + +"We are in a strange relation to each other, Miss Santoine--stranger +than you know," he said unevenly. + +She waited for him to go on. + +"We have talked sometimes of the likeness of the everyday life to war," +he continued. "In war men and women sometimes do or countenance things +they know to be evil because they believe that by means of them there +is accomplished some greater good; in peace, in life, men--and +women--sometimes do the same. When the time comes that you comprehend +what our actual relation is, I--I want you to know that I understand +that whatever you have done was done because you believed it might +bring about the greater good. I--I have seen in you--in your +father--only kindness, high honor, sympathy. If I did not know--" + +She started, gazing at him; what he said had absolutely no meaning for +her. "What is it that you know?" she demanded. + +He did not reply; his hand went out to hers, seized it, crushed it, and +he started away. As he went up the stair--still, in his absorption, +carrying cap and overcoat--she stood staring after him in perplexity. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE FIGHT IN THE STUDY + +Eaton dismissed the man who had been waiting in his rooms for him; he +locked the door and carefully drew down all the window-shades. Then he +put his overcoat, folded as he had been carrying it under his arm, on +the writing table in the center of the room, and from its folds and +pockets took a "breast-drill" such as iron workers use in drilling +steel, an automatic pistol with three clips of cartridges, an electric +flashlight and a little bottle of nitroglycerine. He loaded the pistol +and put it in his pocket; then he carefully inspected the other things. + +The room he was in, the largest of his suite, resembled Santoine's +study on the floor below in the arrangement of its windows, though it +was smaller than the study. The writing-desk in its center occupied +much the position of Santoine's large desk; he moved it slightly to +make the relative positions coincide. The couch against the end wall +represented the position of the study's double doors. Eaton switched +out the lights, and starting at the windows, he crossed the room in the +darkness, avoiding the desk, and stopping a few feet to the right of +the couch; here he flashed his light upon the wall at the height of the +little wall-safe to the right of the doors in the study below. A dozen +times he did this, passing from the windows to the position of the +wall-safe and only momentarily flashing his light. + +He assured himself thus of being able to pass in the dark from the +windows of Santoine's study to the wall-safe. As the study was larger +than this room, he computed that he must add two steps to what he took +here in each direction. He paid no attention to the position of the +safe to the left of the doors, for he had kept watch of the vase on the +table in the lower hall, and the only sign he had found there had told +him that what he wanted was in the safe to the right. + +He raised a shade and window, then, and sat in the dark. The night was +cloudy and very dark; and the lake was smooth with barely a ripple. +Near at hand a steamer passed, blazing with lights, and further out he +saw the mast-head light of some other steamer. The lake was still +ice-locked at its northern end, and so the farther of these steamers, +he knew, was bound to some southern Michigan port; the nearer was one +of the Chicago-Milwaukee boats. For some moments after it had passed, +the waves of its wake washed in and sounded on the shore at the foot of +the bluff. Next Eaton made out the hum of a motor-car approaching the +house. It was Avery, who evidently had been out and was now returning; +the chauffeur spoke the name in his reply to some question as the car +swung away to the garage. Eaton still sat in the dark. By degrees all +noises ceased in the house, even in the servants' quarters. Twice +Eaton leaned forward looking out of the window and found all quiet; but +both times he settled back in his chair and waited. + +The wash of waves, as from a passing boat, sounded again on the shore. +Eaton leaned nearer the window and stared out. There was no light in +sight showing any boat; but the waves on the shore were distinct; +indeed, they had been more distinct than those from the steamer. They +must have been made by a large vessel or from a small ship close in and +moving fast. The waves came in first on the north and swept south; +Eaton strained his eyes and now saw a vague blur off to the south and +within half a mile of shore--a boat without lights. If it had passed +at high speed, it had stopped now. He watched this for some time; but +he could make out no more, and soon he could not be sure even that the +blur was there. + +He gazed at the south wing of the house; it was absolutely dark and +quiet; the windows of the first floor were closed and the curtains +drawn; but to-night there was no light in the room. The windows of the +room on the second floor were open; Basil Santoine was undoubtedly +asleep. Eaton gazed again at the lower room. Then in the dark he +moved to the table where he had left his overcoat, and distributed in +his pockets and within his clothing the articles he had brought; and +now he felt again in the overcoat and brought out a short, strong bar +of steel curved and flattened at one end--a "jimmy" for forcing the +windows. + +Eaton slipped off his shoes and went to his room door; he opened the +door and found the hall dark and quiet. He stepped out, closing his +door carefully behind him, and with great caution he descended the +stairs. Below, all was quiet; the red embers and glowing charcoal of +wood fires which had blazed on the hearths gave the only light. Eaton +crept to the doors of the blind man's study and softly tried them. +They were, as he had expected, locked. He went to a window in the +drawing-room which was set in a recess and so placed that it was not +visible from other windows in the house. He opened this window and let +himself down upon the lawn. + +There he stood still for a moment, listening. There was no alarm of +any sort. He crept along beside the house till he came to the first +windows of the south wing. He tried these carefully and then went on. +He gained the south corner of the wing, unobserved or at least without +sign that he had been seen, and went on around it. + +He stopped at the first high French window on the south. It was partly +hidden from view from south and west by a column of the portico, and +was the one he had selected for his operations; as he tried to slip his +jimmy under the bottom of the sash, the window, to his amazement, +opened silently upon its hinges; it had not been locked. The heavy +curtains within hung just in front of him; he put out his hand and +parted them. Then he started back in astonishment and crouched close +to the ground; inside the room was a man moving about, flashing an +electric torch before him and then exploring an instant in darkness and +flashing his torch again. + +The unexpectedness of this sight took for an instant Eaton's breath and +power of moving; he had not been at all prepared for this; now he knew +suddenly that he ought to have been prepared for it. If the man within +the room was not the one who had attacked him with the motor, he was +closely allied with that man, and what he was after now was the same +thing Eaton was after. Eaton looked about behind him; no one +apparently had been left on watch outside. He drew his pistol, and +loosing the safety, he made it ready to fire; with his left hand, he +clung to the short, heavy jimmy. He stepped into the great room +through the curtains, taking care they did not jingle the rings from +which they hung; he carefully let the curtains fall together behind +him, and treading noiselessly in his stocking feet, he advanced upon +the man, moving forward in each period of darkness between the flashes +of the electric torch. + +The man, continuing to flash his light about, plainly had heard +nothing, and the curtains had prevented him from being warned by the +chill of the night air that the window was open; but now, at the +further side of the room, another electric torch flashed out. Another +man had been in the room; he neither alarmed nor was alarmed by the man +flashing the first light; each had known the other's presence before. +There were at least two men in the room, working together--or rather, +one was working, the other supervising; for Eaton heard now a steady, +almost inaudible grinding noise as the second man worked. Eaton halted +again and waited; if there were two, there might be others. + +The discovery of the second man had not made Eaton afraid; his pulses +were beating faster and hotter, and he felt the blood rushing to his +head and his hands growing cold with his excitement; but he was +conscious of no fear. He crouched and crept forward noiselessly again. +No other light appeared in the room, and there was no sound elsewhere +from the darkness; but the man who supervised had moved closer to the +other. The grinding noise had stopped; it was followed by a sharp +click; the men, side by side, were bending over something; and the +light of the man who had been working, for a fraction of a second shot +into the face of the other. It did not delay at all; it was a purely +accidental flash and could not have been said to show the features at +all--only a posture, an expression, a personality of a strong and cruel +man. He muttered some short, hoarse imprecation at the other; but +before Eaton heard the voice, he had stopped as if struck, and his +breath had gone from him. + +His instant's glimpse of that face astounded, stunned, stupefied him. +He could not have seen that man! The fact was impossible! He must +have been mad; his mind must have become unreliable to let him even +imagine it. Then came the sound of the voice--the voice of the man +whose face he had seen! It was he! And, in place of the paralysis of +the first instant, now a wild, savage throe of passion seized Eaton; +his pulses leaped so it seemed they must burst his veins, and he gulped +and choked. He had not filled in with insane fancy the features of the +man whom he had seen; the voice witnessed too that the man in the dark +by the wall was he whom Eaton--if he could have dreamed such a fact as +now had been disclosed--would have circled the world to catch and +destroy; yet now with the destruction of that man in his power--for he +had but to aim and empty his automatic pistol at five paces--such +destruction at this moment could not suffice; mere shooting that man +would be petty, ineffectual. Eaton's fingers tightened on the handle +of his pistol, but he held it now not as a weapon to fire but as a dull +weight with which to strike. The grip of his left hand clamped onto +the short steel bar, and with lips parted--breathing once, it seemed, +for each heartbeat and yet choking, suffocating--he leaped forward. + +At the same instant--so that he could not have been alarmed by Eaton's +leap--the man who had been working moved his torch, and the light fell +upon Eaton. + +"Look out!" the man cried in alarm to his companion; with the word the +light of the torch vanished. + +The man toward whom Eaton rushed did not have time to switch off his +light; he dropped it instead; and as Eaton sprang for him, he crouched. +Eaton, as he struck forward, found nothing; but below his knees, Eaton +felt a man's powerful arms tackling him; as he struggled to free +himself, a swift, savage lunge lifted him from his feet; he was thrown +and hurled backwards. + +Eaton ducked his head forward and struggled to turn, as he went down, +so that a shoulder and not his head or back would strike the floor +first. He succeeded in this, though in his effort he dropped the +jimmy. He clung with his right hand to the pistol, and as he struck +the floor, the pistol shot off; the flash of flame spurted toward the +ceiling. Instantly the grip below his knees was loosed; the man who +had tackled him and hurled him back had recoiled in the darkness. +Eaton got to his feet but crouched and crept about behind a table, +aiming his pistol over it in the direction in which he supposed the +other men must be. The sound of the shot had ceased to roar through +the room; the gases from the powder only made the air heavier. The +other two men in the room also waited, invisible and silent. The only +light, in the great curtained room, came from the single electric torch +lying on the floor. This lighted the legs of a chair, a corner of a +desk and a circle of books in the cases on the wall. As Eaton's eyes +became more accustomed to the darkness, he could see vague shapes of +furniture. If a man moved, he might be made out; but if he stayed +still, probably he would remain indistinguishable. + +The other men seemed also to have recognized this; no one moved in the +room, and there was complete silence. + +Eaton knelt on one knee behind his table; now he was wildly, exultantly +excited; his blood leaped hotly to his hand pointing his pistol; he +panted, almost audibly, for breath, but though his pulse throbbed +through his head too, his mind was clear and cool as he reckoned his +situation and his chances. He had crossed the Pacific, the Continent, +he had schemed and risked everything with the mere hope of getting into +this room to discover evidence with which to demand from the world +righting of the wrong which had driven him as a fugitive for five +years; and here he found the man who was the cause of it all, before +him in the same room a few paces away in the dark! + +For it was impossible that this was not that man; and Eaton knew now +that this was he who must have been behind and arranging and directing +the attacks upon him, Eaton had not only seen him and heard his voice, +but he had felt his grasp; that sudden, instinctive crouch before a +charge, and the savage lunge and tackle were the instant, natural acts +of an old linesman on a championship team in the game of football as it +was played twenty years before. That lift of the opponent off his feet +and the heavy lunge hurling him back to fall on his head was what one +man--in the rougher, more cruel days of the college game--had been +famous for. On the football field that throw sufficed to knock a +helmeted opponent unconscious; here it was meant, beyond doubt, to do +more. + +Upon so much, at least, Eaton's mind at once was clear; here was his +enemy whom he must destroy if he himself were not first destroyed. +Other thoughts, recasting of other relations altered or overturned in +their bearing by the discovery of this man here--everything else could +and must wait upon the mighty demand of that moment upon Eaton to +destroy this enemy now or be himself destroyed. + +Eaton shook in his passion; yet coolly he now realized that his left +shoulder, which had taken the shock of his fall, was numb. He shifted +his pistol to cover a vague form which had seemed to move; but, if it +had stirred, it was still again now. Eaton strained to listen. + +It seemed certain that the noise of the shot, if not the sound of the +struggle which preceded it, must have raised an alarm, though the room +was in a wing and shut off by double doors from the main part of the +house; it was possible that the noise had not gone far; but it must +have been heard in the room directly above and connected with the study +by a staircase at the head of which was a door. Basil Santoine, as +Eaton knew, slept above; a nurse must be waiting on duty somewhere +near. Eaton had seen the row of buttons which the blind man had within +arm's-length with which he must be able to summon every servant in the +house. So it could not last much longer now--this deadlock in the +dark--the two facing one, and none of them daring to move. And one of +the two, at least, seemed to have recognized that. + +Eaton had moved, warily and carefully, but he had moved; a revolver +flashed before him. Instantly and without consciousness that his +finger pulled the trigger, Eaton's pistol flashed back. In front of +him, the flame flashed again, and another spurt of fire spat at one +side. + +Eaton fired back at this--he was prostrate on the floor now, and +whether he had been hit or not he did not yet know, or whether the +blood flowing down his face was only from a splinter sprayed from the +table behind which he had hid. He fired again, holding his pistol far +out to one side to confuse the aim of the others; he thought that they +too were doing the same and allowed for it in his aim. He pulled his +trigger a ninth time--he had not counted his shots, but he knew he had +had seven cartridges in the magazine and one in the barrel--and the +pistol clicked without discharging. He rolled over further away from +the spot where he had last fired and pulled an extra clip of cartridges +from his pocket. + +The blood was flowing hot over his face. He made no effort to staunch +it or even to feel with his fingers to find exactly where or how badly +he had been hit. He jerked the empty cartridge clip from his pistol +butt and snapped in the other. He swept his sleeve over his face to +clear the blood from his brows and eyes and stared through the dark +with pistol at arm's-length loaded and ready. Blood spurted over his +face again; another sweep of his sleeve cleared it; and he moved his +pistol-point back and forth in the dark. The flash of the firing from +the other two revolvers had stopped; the roar of the shots had ceased +to deafen. Eaton had not counted the shots at him any better than he +had kept track of his own firing; but he knew now that the other two +must have emptied their magazines as well as he. It was possible, of +course, that he had killed one of them or wounded one mortally; but he +had no way to know that. He could hear the click as one of the men +snapped his revolver shut again after reloading; then another click +came. Both the others had reloaded. + +"All right?" the voice which Eaton knew questioned the other. + +"All right," came the reply. + +But, if they were all right, they made no offer to fire first again. +Nor yet did they dare to move. Eaton knew they lay on the floor like +himself. They lay with fingers on trigger, as he also lay, waiting +again for him to move so they could shoot at him. But surely now the +sound of the firing in that room must have reached the man in the room +above; surely he must be summoning his servants! + +Eaton listened; there was still no sound from the rest of the house. +But overhead now, he heard an almost imperceptible pattering--the sound +of a bare-footed man crossing the floor; and he knew that the blind man +in the bedroom above was getting up. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +UNDER COVER OF DARKNESS + +Basil Santoine was oversensitive to sound, as are most of the blind; in +the world of darkness in which he lived, sounds were by far the most +significant--and almost the only--means he had of telling what went on +around him; he passed his life in listening for or determining the +nature of sounds. So the struggle which ended in Eaton's crash to the +floor would have waked him without the pistol-shot immediately +following. That roused him wide-awake immediately and brought him +sitting up in bed, forgetful of his own condition. + +Santoine at once recognized the sound as a shot; but in the instant of +waking, he had not been able to place it more definitely than to know +that it was close. His hand went at once to the bellboard, and he rang +at the same time for the nurse outside his door and for the steward. +But for a few moments after that first shot, nothing followed; there +was silence. Santoine was not one of those who doubt their hearing; +that was the sense in which the circumstances of his life made him +implicitly trust; he had heard a shot near by; the fact that nothing +more followed did not make him doubt it; it made him think to explain +it. + +It was plain that no one else in the house had been stirred by it; for +his windows were open and other windows in bedrooms in the main part of +the house were open; no one had raised any cry of alarm. So the shot +was where he alone had heard it; that meant indoors, in the room below. + +Santoine pressed the bells quickly again and sat up straighter and more +strained; no one breaking into the house for plate or jewelry would +enter through that room; he would have to break through double doors to +reach any other part of the house; Santoine did not consider the +possibility of robbery of that sort long enough to have been said to +consider it at all; what he felt was that the threat which had been +hanging vaguely over himself ever since Warden's murder was being +fulfilled. But it was not Santoine himself that was being attacked; it +was something Santoine possessed. There was only one sort of valuable +article for which one might enter that room below. And those articles-- + +The blind man clenched his jaw and pressed the bells to call all the +men-servants in the house and Avery also. But still he got no response. + +A shot in the room below meant, of course, that in addition to the +intruder there must be a defender; the defender might have been the one +who fired or the one who was killed. For it seemed likely, in the +complete silence now, that whoever had fired had disposed of his +adversary and was undisturbed. At that moment the second shot--the +first fired at Eaton--rang out below; Eaton's return fire followed +nearly simultaneously, and then the shot of the third man. These +explosions and the next three the blind man in bed above was able to +distinguish; there were three men, at least, in the room below firing +at each other; then, as the automatic revolvers roared on, he no longer +could separate attack and reply; there might be three men, there might +be half a dozen; the fusillade of the automatics overlapped; it was +incessant. Then all at once the firing stopped; there was no sound or +movement of any sort; everything seemed absolutely still below. + +The blind man pressed and pressed the buttons on his bellboard. Any +further alarm, after the firing below, seemed superfluous. But his +wing of the house had been built for him proof against sound in the +main portion of the building; the house, therefore, was deadened to +noise within the wing. Santoine, accustomed to considering the manner +in which sounds came to himself, knew how these sounds would come to +others. Coming from the open windows of the wing and entering the open +windows of the other parts of the house, they would not appear to the +household to come from within the house at all; they would appear to +come from some part of the grounds or from the beach. + +Yet some one or more than one from his house must be below or have been +there. Santoine pressed all the bells again and then got up. He had +heard absolutely no sound outside, as must be made by any one escaping +from the room below; but the battle seemed over. One side must have +destroyed the other. From the character of the fighting, it was most +probable that some one had secretly entered the room--Santoine thought +of that one definitely now as the man he was entertaining as Eaton; a +servant, or some one else from the house, had surprised him in the room +and was shot; other servants, roused by the alarm, rushed in and were +shot. Santoine counted that, if his servants had survived, one of them +must be coming to tell him what had happened. But there was no noise +now nor any movement at all below. His side had been beaten, or both +sides had ceased to exist. Those alternatives alone occurred to the +blind man; the number of shots fired within the confines of the room +below precluded any other explanation. He did not imagine the fact +that the battle had been fought in the dark; himself perpetually in the +dark, he thought of others always in the light. + +The blind man stood barefooted on the floor, his hands clasping in one +of the bitterest moments of his rebellion against, and defiance of, his +helplessness of blindness. Below him--as he believed--his servants had +been sacrificing life for him; there in that room he held in trust that +which affected the security, the faith, the honor of others; his +guarding that trust involved his honor no less. And particularly, now, +he knew he was bound, at whatever cost, to act; for he did not doubt +now but that his half-prisoned guest, whom Santoine had not +sufficiently guarded, was at the bottom of the attack. The blind man +believed, therefore, that it was because of his own retention here of +Eaton that the attack had been made, his servants had been killed, the +private secrets of his associates were in danger. Santoine crossed to +the door of the hall and opened it and called. No one answered +immediately; he started to call again; then he checked himself and shut +the door, and opened that to the top of the stairs descending to his +study below. + +The smoke and fumes of the firing rushed into his face; it half choked +him; but it decided him. He was going to go down. Undoubtedly there +was danger below; but that was why he did not call again at the other +door for some one else to run a risk for him. Basil Santoine, always +held back and always watched and obliged to submit to guard even of +women in petty matters because of his blindness, held one thing dearer +far than life--and that thing was the trust which other men reposed in +him. Since it was that trust which was threatened, the impulse now, in +that danger, to act for himself and not be protected and pushed back by +any one who merely could see, controlled him. + +He put his hand on the rail and started to descend the stairs. He was +almost steady in step and he had firm grasp on the rail; he noticed +that now to wonder at it. When he had aroused at the sound of firing, +his blindness, as always when something was happening about him, was +obtruded upon him. He felt helpless because he was blind, not because +he had been injured. He had forgotten entirely that for almost two +weeks he had not stirred from bed; he had risen and stood and walked, +without staggering, to the door and to the top of the stairs before, +now, he remembered. So what he already had done showed him that he had +merely again to put his injury from his mind and he could go on. He +went down the stairs almost steadily. + +There was still no sound or any evidence of any one below. The gases +of the firing were clearing away; the blind man could feel the slight +breeze which came in through the windows of his bedroom and went with +him down the stairs; and now, as he reached the lower steps, there was +no other sound in the room but the tread of the blind man's bare feet +on the stairs. This sound was slight, but enough to attract attention +in the silence there. Santoine halted on the next to the last +step--the blind count stairs, and he had gone down twenty-one--and +realized fully his futility; but now he would not retreat or merely +call for help. + +"Who is here?" he asked distinctly. "Is any one here? Who is here?" + +No one answered. And now Santoine knew by the sense which let him feel +whether it was night or day, that the room was really dark--dark for +others as well as for himself; the lights were not burning. So an +exaltation, a sense of physical capability, came to Santoine; in the +dark he was as fit, as capable as any other man--not more capable, for, +though he was familiar with the room, the furniture had been moved in +the struggle; he had heard the overturning of the chairs. + +Santoine stepped down on the floor, and in his uncertainty as to the +position of the furniture, felt along the wall. There were bookcases +there, but he felt and passed along them swiftly, until he came to the +case which concealed the safe at the left side of the doors. The books +were gone from that case; his bare toes struck against them where they +had been thrown down on the floor. The blind man, his pulse beating +tumultuously, put his hand through the case and felt the panel behind. +That was slid back exposing the safe; and the door of the safe stood +open. Santoine's hands felt within the safe swiftly. The safe was +empty. + +He recoiled from it, choking back an ejaculation. The entry to this +room had been made for the purpose which he supposed; and the thieves +must have succeeded in their errand. The blind man, in his uselessness +for pursuit, could delay calling others to act for him no longer. He +started toward the bell, when some scrape on the floor--not of the sort +to be accounted for by an object moved by the wind--sounded behind him. +Santoine swung toward the sound and stood listening again; and then, +groping with his hands stretched out before him, he left the wall and +stepped toward the center of the room. He took two steps--three, +four--with no result; then his foot trod into some fluid, thick and +sticky and not cold. + +Santoine stooped and put a finger-tip into the fluid and brought it +near his nose. It was what he supposed it must be--blood. He raised +his foot and with his great toe traced the course of the blood; it led +to one side, and then the blind man's toe touched some hard, metal +object which was warm. He stooped and picked it up and felt over it +with his fingers. It was an electric torch with the light turned on. +Santoine stood holding it with the warm end--the lighted end--turned +away from him; he swiftly switched it off; what put Santoine at a +disadvantage with other men was light. But since there had been this +light, there might be others; there had been at least three men, +perhaps, therefore, three lights. Santoine's senses could not perceive +light so dim and soft; he stood trying fruitlessly to determine whether +there were other lights. + +He could hear now some one breathing--more than one person. From the +house, still shut off by its double, sound-proof doors, he could hear +nothing; but some one outside the house was hurrying up to the open +window at the south end of the room. + +That one came to, or just inside the window, parting the curtains. He +was breathing hard from exertion or from excitement. + +"Who is it?" Santoine challenged clearly. + +"Basil!" Blatchford's voice exclaimed his recognition in amazement. +"Basil; that is you! What are you doing down here?" Blatchford +started forward. + +"Wait!" Santoine ordered sharply. "Don't come any further; stand +there!" + +Blatchford protested but obeyed. "What is it? What are you doing down +here, Basil? What is the matter here? What has happened?" + +"What brought you here?" Santoine demanded instead of reply. "You were +running outside; why? What was out there? What did you see?" + +"See? I didn't see anything--except the window here open when I came +up. But I heard shots, Basil. I thought they were toward the road. I +went out there; but I found nothing. I was coming back when I saw the +window open. I'm sure I heard shots." + +"They were here," Santoine said. "But you can see; and you just heard +the shots. You didn't see anything!" the blind man accused. "You +didn't see any one going away from here!" + +"Basil, what has happened here?" + +Santoine felt again the stickiness at his feet. "Three or four persons +fought in this room, Wallace. Some--or one was hurt. There's blood on +the floor. There are two here I can hear breathing; I suppose they're +hurt. Probably the rest are gone. The room's all dark, isn't it? +That is you moving about now, Wallace?" + +"Yes." + +"What are you doing?" + +"Looking for the light." + +"Don't." + +"Why, Basil?" + +"Get help first. I think those who aren't hurt are gone. They must be +gone. But--get help first, Wallace." + +"And leave you here?" Blatchford rejoined. He had not halted again; +the blind man heard his cousin still moving along the wall. The +electric switch clicked, and Santoine knew that the room was flooded +with light. Santoine straightened, strained, turning his head a little +to better listen. With the flashing on of the light, he had heard the +sharp, involuntary start of Blatchford as he saw the room; and, besides +that, Santoine heard movement now elsewhere in the room. Then the +blind man heard his friend's cry. "Good God!" + +It was not, Santoine instantly sensed, from mere surprise or fright at +finding some intruder in the room; that must have been expected. This +was from something more astounding, from something incredible. + +"What is it?" Santoine cried. + +"Good God! Basil!" + +"Who is it, Wallace?" the blind man knew now that his friend's +incoherence came from recognition of some one, not alone from some +sight of horror. "Who is it, Wallace?" he repeated, curbing himself. + +"Basil! It is---it must be--I know him! It is--" + +A shot roared in front of Santoine. The blind man, starting back at +the shock of it, drew in the powder-gas with his breath; but the bullet +was not for him. Instead, he heard his friend scream and choke and +half call, half cough. + +"Wallace!" Santoine cried out; but his voice was lost in the roar of +another shot. This was not fired by the same one who had just fired; +at least, it was not from the same part of the room; and instantly, +from another side, a third shot came. Then, in the midst of rush and +confusion, another shot roared; the light was out again; then all was +gone; the noise was outside; the room was still except for a cough and +choke as Blatchford--somewhere on the floor in front of the blind +man--tried again to speak. + +Basil Santoine, groping with his hands, found him. The blind man knelt +and with his fingers went over his cousin's face; he found the wound on +the neck where Blatchford's life was running away. He was still +conscious. Santoine knew that he was trying his best to speak, to say +just one word--a name--to tell whom he had seen and who had shot him; +but he could not. + +Santoine put his hand over a hand of his cousin. "That's all right, +Wally; that's all right," he assured him. And now he knew that +Blatchford's consciousness was going forever. Santoine knew what must +be most on his friend's mind at that last moment as it had been most on +his mind during more than thirty years. "And about my blindness, +Wallace, that was the best thing that ever happened to me. I'd never +have done what I have if I hadn't been blind." + +Blatchford's fingers closed tightly on Santoine's; they did not relax +but now remained closed, though without strength. The blind man bowed +and then lifted his head. His friend was dead, and others were rushing +into the room--the butler, one of the chauffeurs, Avery, more +menservants; the light was on again, and amid the tumult and alarms of +the discoveries shown by the light, some rushed to the windows to the +south in pursuit of those who had escaped from the room. Avery and one +or two others rushed up to Santoine; now the blind man heard, above +their cries and alarms, the voice of his daughter. She was beside him, +where he knelt next the body of Blatchford, and she put back others who +crowded about. + +"Father! What has happened? Why are you here? Oh, Father, Cousin +Wallace!" + +"He is dead," Santoine said. "They shot him!" + +"Father; how was it? You--" + +"There are none of them in the room?" he asked her in reply. + +"None of them?" + +Her failure to understand answered him. If any of the men who fought +there had not got away, she would have understood. "They were not all +together," he said. "They were three, at least. One was not with the +others. They fired at each other, I believe, after one shot him." +Santoine's hand was still in Blatchford's. "I heard them below." He +told shortly how he had gone down, how Blatchford had entered and been +shot. + +The blind man, still kneeling, heard the ordering and organizing of +others for the pursuit; now women servants from the other part of the +house were taking charge of affairs in the room. He heard Avery +questioning them; none of the servants had had part in the fight in the +room; there had been no signal heard, Santoine was told, upon any of +the bells which he had tried to ring from his room. Eaton was the only +person from the house who was missing. Harriet had gone for a moment; +the blind man called her back and demanded that she stay beside him; he +had not yet moved from Blatchford's body. His daughter returned; her +hand on his shoulder was trembling and cold--he could feel it cold +through the linen of his pajama jacket. + +"Father, you must go back to bed!" she commanded uselessly. He would +not stir yet. A servant, at her call, brought a robe which she put +over him, and she drew slippers on his feet. + +"They came, at least some of them came,"--Santoine had risen, fighting +down his grief over his cousin's death; he stood holding the robe about +him--"for what was in your safe, Harriet." + +"I know; I saw it open." + +"What is gone?" Santoine demanded. + +He heard her picking up the contents of the safe from the floor and +carrying them to the table and examining them; he was conscious that, +having done this, she stood staring about the room as though to see +whether anything had escaped her search. + +"What is gone?" Santoine repeated. + +"Why--nearly all the formal papers seem to be gone; lists and +agreements relating to a dozen different things." + +"None of the correspondence?" + +"No; that all seems to be here." + +Santoine was breathing quickly; the trust for which he had been ready +to die--for which Blatchford had died--seemed safe; but recognition of +this only emphasized and deepened his perplexity as to what the meaning +had been of the struggle which an instant before had been going on +around him. + +"We don't know whether he got it, then, or not!" It was Avery's voice +which broke in upon him; Santoine merely listened. + +"He? Who?" He heard his daughter's challenge. + +"Why, Eaton. It is plain enough what happened here, isn't it?" Avery +answered. "He came here to this room for what he was after--for what +he has been after from the first--whatever that may have been! He came +prepared to force the safe and get it! But he was surprised--" + +"By whom?" the blind man asked. + +"By whomever it is that has been following him. I don't attempt to +explain who they were, Mr. Santoine; for I don't know. But--whoever +they were--in doing this, he laid himself open to attack by them. They +were watching--saw him enter here. They attacked him here. Wallace +switched on the light and recognized him; so he shot Wallace and ran +with whatever he could grab up of the contents of the safe, hoping that +by luck he'd get what he was after." + +"It isn't so--it isn't so!" Harriet denied. + +Her father checked her; he stood an instant thoughtful. "Who is +directing the pursuit, Donald?" he asked. + +Avery went out at once. The window to the south, which stood open, was +closed. The blind man turned to his daughter. + +"Now, Harriet," he commanded. He put a hand out and touched Harriet's +clothing; he found she had on a heavy robe. She understood that her +father would not move till she had seen the room for him. She gazed +about again, therefore, and told him what she saw. + +"There was some sort of a struggle near my safe," she said. +"Chairs--everything there is knocked about." + +"Yes." + +"There is also blood there--a big spot of it on the floor." + +"I found that," said Santoine. + +"There is blood behind the table near the middle of the room." + +"Ah! A man fired from near there, too!" + +"There are cartridges on the floor--" + +"Cartridges?" + +"Cartridge shells, I mean, empty, near both those spots of blood. +There are cartridge shells near the fireplace; but no blood there." + +"Yes; the bullets?" + +"There are marks everywhere--above the mantel, all about." + +"Yes." + +"There is a bar of iron with a bent end near the table--between it and +the window; there are two flashlights, both extinguished." + +"How was the safe opened?" + +"The combination has been cut completely away; there is an--an +instrument connected with the electric-light fixture which seems to +have done the cutting. There is a hand-drill, too--I think it is a +hand-drill. The inner door has been drilled through, and the catches +drawn back." + +"Who is this?" + +The valet, who had been sent to Eaton's room, had returned with his +report. "Mr. Eaton went from his room fully dressed, sir," he said to +Santoine, "except for his shoes. I found all his shoes in his room." + +During the report, the blind man felt his daughter's grasp on his arm +become tense and relax and tighten again. Then, as though she realized +she was adding to his comprehension of what she had already betrayed, +she suddenly took her hand from her father's arm. Santoine turned his +face toward his daughter. Another twinge racked the tumult of his +emotions. He groped and groped again, trying to catch his daughter's +hand; but she avoided him. She directed servants to lift Blatchford's +body and told them where to bear it. After that, Santoine resisted no +longer. He let the servants, at his daughter's direction, help him to +his room. His daughter went with him and saw that he was safe in bed; +she stood beside him while the nurse washed the blood-splotches from +his hands and feet. When the nurse had finished, he still felt his +daughter's presence; she drew nearer to him. + +"Father?" she questioned. + +"Yes." + +"You don't agree with Donald, do you?--that Mr. Eaton went to the study +to--to get something, and that whoever has been following him found him +there and--and interrupted him and he killed Cousin Wallace?" + +Santoine was silent an instant. "That seems the correct explanation, +Harriet," he evaded. "It does not fully explain; but it seems correct +as far as it goes. If Donald asks you what my opinion is, tell him it +is that." + +He felt his daughter shrink away from him. + +The blind man made no move to draw her back to him; he lay perfectly +still; his head rested flat upon the pillows; his hands were clasped +tightly together above the coverlet. He had accused himself, in the +room below, because, by the manner he had chosen to treat Eaton, he had +slain the man he loved best and had forced a friendship with Eaton on +his daughter which, he saw, had gone further than mere friendship; it +had gone, he knew now, even to the irretrievable between man and +woman--had brought her, that is, to the state where, no matter what +Eaton was or did, she must suffer with him! But Santoine was not +accusing himself now; he was feeling only the fulfillment of that +threat against those who had trusted him with their secrets, which he +had felt vaguely after the murder of Gabriel Warden and, more plainly +with the events of each succeeding day, ever since. For that threat, +just now, had culminated in his presence in purposeful, violent action; +but Santoine in his blindness had been unable--and was still +unable---to tell what that action meant. + +Of the three men who had fought in his presence in the room below--one +before the safe, one at the fireplace, one behind the table--which had +been Eaton? What had he been doing there? Who were the others? What +had any of them--or all of them--wanted? For Santoine, the answer to +these questions transcended now every personal interest. So, in his +uncertainty, Santoine had drawn into himself--withdrawn confidence in +his thoughts from all around, from Donald Avery, even from his +daughter--until the answer should be found. His blind eyes were turned +toward the ceiling, and his long, well-shaped fingers trembled with the +intensity of his thought. But he realized, even in his absorption, +that his daughter had drawn away from him. So, presently, he stirred. + +"Harriet," he said. + +It was the nurse who answered him. "Miss Santoine has gone downstairs. +What is it you want of her, Mr. Santoine?" + +The blind man hesitated, and checked the impulse he had had. +"Nothing," he replied. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +PURSUIT + +Harriet Santoine, still clad only in the heavy robe over her nightdress +and in slippers, went from her father's bedroom swiftly down into the +study again; what she was going to do there she did not definitely +know. She heard, as she descended the stairs, the steward in the hall +outside the study calling up the police stations of the neighboring +villages and giving news of what had happened and instructions to watch +the roads; but as she reached the foot of the stairs, a servant closed +the study doors. The great, curtained room in its terrifying disorder +was brightly lighted, empty, absolutely still. She had given +directions that, except for the removal of Blatchford's body, all must +be left as it was in the room till the arrival of the police. She +stood an instant with hands pressed against her breast, staring down at +the spots upon the floor. + +There were three of these spots now--one where Blatchford's body had +lain. They were soaking brownly into the rugs but standing still red +and thick upon the polished floor. Was one of them Eaton's? + +Something within her told her that it was, and the fierce desire to go +to him, to help him, was all she felt just now. It was Donald Avery's +and her father's accusation of Eaton that had made her feel like this. +She had been feeling, the moment before Donald had spoken, that Philip +Eaton had played upon her that evening in making her take him to his +confederate in the ravine in order to plan and consummate something +here. Above her grief and horror at the killing of her cousin and the +danger to her father, had risen the anguish of her guilt with Eaton, +the agony of her betrayal. But their accusation that Eaton had killed +Wallace Blatchford, seeing him, knowing him--in the light--had swept +all that away; all there was of her seemed to have risen in denial of +that. Before her eyes, half shut, she saw again the body of her cousin +Wallace lying in its blood on the floor, with her father kneeling +beside it, his blind eyes raised in helplessness to the light; but she +saw now another body too--Eaton's--not here---lying somewhere in the +bare, wind-swept woods, shot down by those pursuing him. + +She looked at the face of the clock and then down to the pendulum to +see whether it had stopped; but the pendulum was swinging. The hands +stood at half past one o'clock; now she recalled that, in her first +wild gaze about the room when she rushed in with the others, she had +seen the hands showing a minute or so short of twenty minutes past one. +Not quite a quarter of an hour had passed since the alarm! The pursuit +could not have moved far away. She reopened the window through which +the pursuers had passed and stepped out onto the dark lawn. She stood +drawing the robe about her against the chill night air, dazed, stunned. +The house behind her, the stables, the chauffeurs' quarters above the +garages, the gardeners' cottages, all blazed now with light, but she +saw no one about. The menservants--except the steward--had joined the +pursuit; she heard them to the south beating the naked woods and +shrubbery and calling to each other. A half mile down the beach she +heard shouts and a shot; she saw dimly through the night in that +direction a boat without lights moving swiftly out upon the lake. + +Her hands clenched and pressed against her breast; she stood straining +at the sounds of the man-hunt. It had turned west, it seemed; it was +coming back her way, but to the west of the house. She staggered a +little and could not stand; she stepped away from the house in the +direction of the pursuit; following the way it seemed to be going, she +crossed the lawn toward the garage. A light suddenly shone out there, +and she went on. + +The wide door at the car driveway was pushed open, and some one was +within working over a car. His back was toward her, and he was bent +over the engine, but, at the glance, she knew him and recoiled, +gasping. It was Eaton. He turned at the same instant and saw her. + +"Oh; it's you!" he cried to her. + +Her heart, which almost had ceased to beat, raced her pulses again. At +the sound she had made on the driveway, he had turned to her as a +hunted thing, cornered, desperate, certain that whoever came must be +against him. His cry to her had recognized her as the only one who +could come and not be against him; it had hailed her with relief as +bringing him help. He could not have cried out so at that instant at +sight of her if he had been guilty of what they had accused. Now she +saw too, as he faced her, blood flowing over his face; blood soaked a +shoulder of his coat, and his left arm dangling at his side; but now, +as he threw back his head and straightened in his relief at finding it +was she who had surprised him, she saw in him an exultation and +excitement she had never seen before--something which her presence +alone could not have caused. To-night, she sensed vaguely, something +had happened to him which had changed his attitude toward her and +everything else. + +"Yes; it's I!" she cried quickly and rushed to him. "It's I! It's I!" +wildly she reassured him. "You're hurt!" She touched his shoulder. +"You're hurt! I knew you were!" + +He pushed her back with his right hand and held her away from him. +"Did they hurt your father?" + +"Hurt Father? No." + +"But Mr. Blatchford--" + +"Dead," she answered dully. + +"They killed him, then!" + +"Yes; they--" She iterated. He was telling her +now--unnecessarily--that he had had nothing to do with it; it was the +others who had done that. + +He released her and wiped the blood from his eyes with the heel of his +hand. "The poor old man," he said, "--the poor old man!" + +She drew toward him in the realization that he could find sympathy for +others even in such a time as this. + +"Where's the key?" he demanded of her. He stared over her again but +without surprise even in his eyes, at her state; if she was there at +all at that time, that was the only way she could have come. + +"The key?" + +"The key for the battery and magneto--the key you start the car with." + +She ran to a shelf and brought it to him; he used it and pressed the +starting lever. The engine started and he sprang to the seat. His +left arm still hanging useless at his side; he tried to throw in the +gears with his right hand; but the mechanism of the car was strange to +him. She leaped up beside him. + +"Move over!" she commanded. "It's this way!" + +He slipped to the side and she took the driving seat, threw in the +gears expertly, and the car shot from the garage. She switched on the +electric headlights as they dashed down the driveway and threw a bright +white glare upon the roadway a hundred yards ahead to the gates. +Beyond the gates the public pike ran north and south. + +"Which way?" she demanded of him, slowing the car. + +"Stop!" he cried to her. "Stop and get out! You mustn't do this!" + +"You could not pass alone," she said. "Father's men would close the +gates upon you." + +"The men? There are no men there now--they went to the beach--before! +They must have heard something there! It was their being there that +turned him--the others back. They tried for the lake and were turned +back and got away in a machine; I followed--back up here!" + +Harriet Santoine glanced at the face of the man beside her. She could +see his features only vaguely; she could see no expression; only the +position of his head. But now she knew that she was not helping him to +run away; he was no longer hunted--at least he was not only hunted; he +was hunting others too. As the car rolled down upon the open gates and +she strained forward in the seat beside her, she knew that what he was +feeling was a wild eagerness in this pursuit. + +"Right or left--quick!" she demanded of him. "I'll take one or the +other." + +"Right," he shot out; but already, remembering the direction of the +pursuit, she had chosen the road to the right and raced on. He caught +the driving wheel with his good hand and tried to take it from her; she +resisted and warned him: + +"I'm going to drive this car; if you try to take it, it'll throw us +both into the ditch." + +"If we catch up with them, they'll shoot; give me the car," he begged. + +"We'll catch up with them first." + +"Then you'll do what I say?" + +"Yes," she made the bargain. + +"There are their tracks!" he pointed for her. + +The road was soft with the rains that precede spring, and she saw in +the bright flare of the headlights, where some heavy car, fast driven, +had gouged deep into the earth at the roadside; she noted the pattern +of the tires. + +"How do you know those are their tracks?" she asked him. + +"I told you, I followed them to where they got their machine." + +"Who are they?" + +"The men who shot Mr. Blatchford." + +"Who are they?" she put to him directly again. + +He waited, and she knew that he was not going to answer her directly. +She was running the car now at very high speed; the tiny electric light +above the speedometer showed they were running at forty-five miles an +hour and the strip was still turning to higher figures. + +Suddenly he caught her arm. The road had forked, and he pointed to the +left; she swung the car that way, again seeing as they made the turn, +the tire-tracks they were following. She was not able now to watch +these tracks; she could watch only the road and car; but she was aware +that the way they were following had led them into and out of private +grounds. Plainly the men they were following knew the neighborhood +well and had chosen this road in advance as avoiding the more public +roads which might be watched. She noted they were turning always to +the left; now she understood that they were making a great circle to +west and north and returning toward, but well west of, her father's +house; thus she knew that those they were following had made this +circuit to confuse pursuit and that their objective was the great city +to the south. + +They were racing now over a little used road which bisected a forested +section still held as acreage; old, rickety wooden bridges spanned the +ravines. One of these appeared in the radiance of the headlight a +hundred yards ahead; the next instant the car was dashing upon it. +Harriet could feel the shake and tremble of the loosely nailed boards +as the driving wheels struck; there was a crash as some strut, below, +gave way; the old bridge bent but recoiled; the car bounded across it, +the rear wheels skidding in the moist earth as they swung off the +boards. + +Harriet felt Eaton grab her arm. + +"You mustn't do that again!" + +"Why?" + +"You mustn't do that again!" he repeated the order; it was too obvious +to tell her it was not safe. + +She laughed. Less than five minutes before, as she stood outside the +room where her father's cousin had just been murdered, it had seemed +she could never laugh again. The car raced up a little hill and now +again was descending; the headlights showed another bridge over a +ravine. + +"Slow! Stop!" her companion commanded. + +She paid no attention and raced the car on; he put his hand on the +wheel and with his foot tried to push hers from the accelerator; but +she fought him; the car swayed and all but ran away as they approached +the bridge. "Give it to me!" she screamed to him and wrenched the car +about. It was upon the bridge and across it; as they skidded upon the +mud of the road again, they could hear the bridge cracking behind. + +"Harriet!" he pleaded with her. + +She steered the car on, recklessly, her heart thumping with more than +the thrill of the chase. "They're the men who tried to kill you, +aren't they?" she rejoined. The speed at which they were going did not +permit her to look about; she had to keep her eyes on the road at that +moment when she knew within herself and was telling the man beside her +that she from that moment must be at one with him. For already she had +said it; as she risked herself in the pursuit, she thought of the men +they were after not chiefly as those who had killed her cousin but as +those who had threatened Eaton. "What do I care what happens to me, if +we catch them?" she cried. + +"Harriet!" he repeated her name again. + +"Philip!" + +She felt him shrink and change as she called the name. It had been +clear to her, of course, that, since she had known him, the name he had +been using was not his own. Often she had wondered what his name was; +now she had to know. "What should I call you?" she demanded of him. + +"My name," he said, "is Hugh." + +"Hugh!" she called it. + +"Yes." + +"Hugh--" She waited for the rest; but he told no more. "Hugh!" she +whispered to herself again his name now. "Hugh!" + +Her eyes, which had watched the road for the guiding of the car, had +followed his gesture from time to time pointing out the tracks made by +the machine they were pursuing. These tracks still ran on ahead; as +she gazed down the road, a red glow beyond the bare trees was lighting +the sky. A glance at Hugh told that he also had seen it. + +"A fire?" she referred to him. + +"Looks like it." + +They said no more as they rushed on; but the red glow was spreading, +and yellow flames soon were in sight shooting higher and higher; these +were clouded off for an instant only to appear flaring higher again, +and the breeze brought the smell of seasoned wood burning. + +"It's right across the road!" Hugh announced as they neared it. + +"It's the bridge over the next ravine," Harriet said. Her foot already +was bearing upon the brake, and the power was shut off; the car coasted +on slowly. For both could see now that the wooden span was blazing +from end to end; it was old wood, swift to burn and going like tinder. +There was no possible chance for the car to cross it. The girl brought +the machine to a stop fifty feet from the edge of the ravine; the fire +was so hot that the gasoline tank would not be safe nearer. She gazed +down at the tire-marks on the road. + +"They crossed with their machine," she said to Hugh. + +"And fired the bridge behind. They must have poured gasoline over it +and lighted it at both ends." + +She sat with one hand still straining at the driving wheel, the other +playing with the gear lever. + +"There's no other way across that ravine, I suppose," Hugh questioned +her. + +"The other road's back more than a mile, and two miles about." She +threw in the reverse and started to turn. Hugh shook his head. +"That's no use." + +"No," she agreed, and stopped the car again. Hugh stepped down on the +ground. A man appeared on the other side of the ravine. He stood and +stared at the burning span and, seeing the machine on the other side, +he scrambled down the slope of the ravine. Eaton met him as he came up +to the road again. The man was one of the artisans--a carpenter or +jack-of-all-work--who had little cottages, with patches for garden, +through the undivided acreage beyond the big estates. He had hastily +and only partly dressed; he stared at Eaton's hurt with astonishment +which increased as he gazed at the girl in the driving seat of the car. +He did not recognize her except as one of the class to whom he owed +employment; he pulled off his cap and stared back to Eaton with wonder. + +"What's happened, sir? What's the matter?" + +Eaton did not answer, but Harriet now recognized the man. "Mr. +Blatchford was shot to-night at Father's house, Dibley," she said. + +"Miss Santoine!" Dibley cried. + +"We think the men went this way," she continued. + +"Did you see any one pass?" Eaton challenged the man. + +"In a motor, sir?" + +"Yes; down this road in a motor." + +"Yes, sir." + +"When?" + +"Just now, sir." + +"Just now?" + +"Not five minutes ago. Just before I saw the bridge on fire here." + +"How was that?" + +"I live there just beyond, near the road. I heard my pump going." + +"Your pump?" + +"Yes, sir. I've a pump in my front yard. There's no water piped +through here, sir." + +"Of course. Go on, Dibley." + +"I looked out and saw a machine stopped out in the road. One man was +pumping water into a bucket for another." + +"Then what did you do?" + +"Nothing, sir. I just watched them. Motor people often stop at my +pump for water." + +"I see. Go on." + +"That's all about them, sir. I thought nothing about it--they wouldn't +wake me to ask for water; they'd just take it. Then I saw the fire +over there--" + +"No; go back," Eaton interrupted. "First, how many men were there in +the car?" + +"How many? Three, sir." + +Eaton started. "Only three; you're sure?" + +"Yes, sir; I could see them plain. There was the two at the pump; one +more stayed in the car." + +Eaton seized the man in his intentness. "You're sure there weren't any +more, Dibley? Think; be sure! There weren't three more or even one +more person hidden in the tonneau of the car?" + +"The tonneau, sir?" + +"The back seats, I mean." + +"No, sir; I could see into the car. It was almost right below me, sir. +My house has a room above; that's where I was sleeping." + +"Then did you watch the men with the water?" + +"Watch them, sir?" + +"What they did with it; you're sure they didn't take it to the rear +seat to give it to some one there. You see, we think one of the men +was hurt," Eaton explained. + +"No, sir. I'd noticed if they did that." + +"Then did they put it into the radiator--here in front where motorists +use water?" + +Dibley stared. "No, sir; I didn't think of it then, but they didn't. +They didn't put it into the car. They took it in their bucket with +them. It was one of those folding buckets motor people have." + +Eaton gazed at the man. "Only three, you are sure!" he repeated. "And +none of them seemed to be hurt!" + +"No, sir." + +"Then they went off in the other direction from the bridge?" + +"Yes, sir. I didn't notice the bridge burning till after they went. +So I came down here." + +Eaton let the man go. Dibley looked again at the girl and moved away a +little. She turned to Eaton. + +"What does that mean?" she called to him. "How many should there have +been in the machine? What did they want with the water?" + +"Six!" Eaton told her. "There should have been six in the machine, and +one, at least, badly hurt!" + +Dibley stood dully apart, staring at one and then at the other and next +to the flaming bridge. He looked down the road. "There's another car +coming," he announced. "Two cars!" + +The double glare from the headlights of a motor shone through the +tree-trunks as the car topped and came swiftly down a rise three +quarters of a mile away and around the last turn back on the road; +another pair of blinding lights followed. There was no doubt that this +must be the pursuit from Santoine's house. Eaton stood beside Harriet, +who had stayed in the driving-seat of the car. + +"You know Dibley well, Harriet?" he asked. + +"He's worked on our place. He's dependable," she answered. + +Eaton put his hand over hers which still clung to the driving wheel. +"I'm going just beside the road here," he said to her, quietly. "I'm +armed, of course. If those are your people, you'd better go back with +them. I'm sure they are; but I'll wait and see." + +She caught at his hand. "No; no!" she cried. "You must get as far +away as you can before they come! I'm going back to meet and hold +them." She threw the car into the reverse, backed and turned it and +brought it again onto the road. He came beside her again, putting out +his hand; she seized it. Her hands for an instant clung to it, his to +hers. + +"You must go--quick!" she urged; "but how am I to know what becomes of +you--where you are? Shall I hear from you--shall I ever see you?" + +"No news will be good news," he said, "until--" + +"Until what?" + +"Until--" And again that unknown something which a thousand times--it +seemed to her--had checked his word and action toward her made him +pause; but nothing could completely bar them from one another now. +"Until they catch and destroy me, or--until I come to you as--as you +have never known me yet!" + +An instant more she clung to him. The double headlights flared into +sight again upon the road, much nearer now and coming fast. She +released him; he plunged into the bushes beside the road, and the damp, +bare twigs lashed against one another at his passage; then she shot her +car forward. But she had made only a few hundred yards when the first +of the two cars met her. It turned to its right to pass, she turned +the same way; the approaching car twisted to the left, she swung hers +to oppose it. The two cars did not strike; they stopped, radiator to +radiator, with rear wheels locked. The second car drew up behind the +first. The glare of her headlights showed her both were full of armed +men. Their headlights, revealing her to them, hushed suddenly their +angry ejaculations. She recognized Avery in the first car; he leaped +out and ran up to her. + +"Harriet! In God's name, what are you doing here?" + +She sat unmoved in her seat, gazing at him. Men leaping from the cars, +ran past her down the road toward the ravine and the burning bridge. +She longed to look once more in the direction in which Eaton had +disappeared, but she did not. Avery reached up and over the side of +the car and caught her arm, repeating his demand for an explanation. +She could see, turning in her seat, the men who had run past +surrounding Dibley on the road and questioning him. Avery, gaining no +satisfaction from her, let go her arm; his hand dropped to the back of +the seat and he drew it up quickly. + +"Harriet, there's blood here!" + +She did not reply. He stared at her and seemed to comprehend. + +He shouted to the men around Dibley and ran toward them. They called +in answer to his shout, and she could see Dibley pointing out to them +the way Eaton had gone. The men, scattering themselves at intervals +along the edge of the wood and, under Avery's direction, posting others +in each direction to watch the road, began to beat through the bushes +after Eaton. She sat watching; she put her cold hands to her face; +then, recalling how just now Eaton's hand had clung to hers, she +pressed them to her lips. Avery came running back to her. + +"You drove him out here, Harriet!" he charged. "Dibley says so." + +"Him? Who?" she asked coolly. + +"Eaton. Dibley did not know him, but describes him. It can have been +no one else. He was hurt!" The triumph in the ejaculation made her +recoil. "He was hurt and could not drive, and you drove him out"--his +tone changed suddenly--"like this!" + +For the first time since she had left the garage she was suddenly +conscious that she was in her night-dress with only a robe and +slippers. She drew the robe quickly about her, shrinking and staring +at him. In all the miles she had driven that night with Eaton at her +side, she never a moment had shrunk from her companion or thought how +she was dressed. It was not the exaltation and excitement of what she +was doing that had prevented her; it went deeper than that; it was the +attitude of her companion toward her. But Avery had thought of it, and +made her think of it, at once, even in the excitement under which he +was laboring. + +He left her again, running after the men into the woods. She sat in +the car, listening to the sounds of the hunt. She could see, back of +her, in the light of the burning bridge, one of the armed men standing +to watch the road; ahead of her, but almost indistinguishable in the +darkness, was another. The noise of the hunt had moved further into +the woods; she had no immediate fear that they would find Eaton; her +present anxiety was over his condition from his hurts and what might +happen if he encountered those he had been pursuing. In that +neighborhood, with its woods and bushes and ravines to furnish cover, +the darkness made discovery of him by Avery and his men impossible if +Eaton wished to hide himself. Avery appeared to have realized this; +for now the voices in the woods ceased and the men began to straggle +back toward the cars. A party was sent on foot across the ravine, +evidently to guard the road beyond. The rest began to clamber into the +cars. She backed her car away from the one in front of it and started +home. + +She had gone only a short distance when the cars again passed her, +traveling at high speed. She began then to pass individual men left by +those in the cars to watch the road. At the first large house she saw +one of the cars again, standing empty. She passed it without stopping. +A mile farther, a little group of men carrying guns stopped her, +recognized her and let her pass. They had been called out, they told +her, by Mr. Avery over the telephone to watch the roads for Eaton; they +had Eaton's description; members of the local police were to take +charge of them and direct them. She comprehended that Avery was +surrounding the vacant acreage where Eaton had taken refuge to be +certain that Eaton did not get away until daylight came and a search +for him was possible. + +Lights gleamed at her across the broad lawns of the houses near her +father's great house as she approached it; at the sound of her car, +people came to the windows and looked out. She understood that news of +the murder at Basil Santoine's had aroused the neighbors and brought +them from their beds. + +As she left her motor on the drive beside the house--for to-night no +one came from the garages to take it--the little clock upon its dash +marked half past two. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +WAITING + +Harriet went into the house and toward her own rooms; a maid met and +stopped her on the stairs. + +"Mr. Santoine sent word that he wishes to see you as soon as you came +in, Miss Santoine." + +Harriet went on toward her father's room, without stopping at her +own--wet with the drive through the damp night and shivering now with +its chill. Her father's voice answered her knock with a summons to +come in. As she obeyed, pushing the doors open, he dismissed the +nurse; the girl, passing Harriet as she went out, returned Harriet's +questioning look with a reassuring nod; Basil Santoine had endured the +shock and excitement of the night better than could have been expected; +he was quite himself. + +As Harriet went toward the bed, her father's blind eyes turned toward +her; he put out his hand and touched her, seeming startled to find her +still in the robe she had worn an hour before and to feel that the robe +was wet. + +"Where have you been, Daughter?" he asked. + +She hesitated, drawing the robe out of his hand. "I--I have been +driving Mr. Eaton in a motor," she said. + +"Helping him to escape?" A spasm crossed the blind man's face. + +"He said not; he--he was following the men who shot Cousin Wallace." + +The blind man lay for an instant still. "Tell me," he commanded +finally. + +She told him, beginning with her discovery of Eaton in the garage and +ending with his leaving her and with Donald Avery's finding her in the +motor; and now she held back one word only--his name which he had told +her, Hugh. Her father listened intently; when she had finished, he +made no move, no comment, no reproach. She had seated herself on the +chair beside his bed; she looked away, then back to him. + +"That is not all," she said; and she told him of her expedition with +Eaton to the ravine before the attack in the house. + +Again she waited. + +"You and Mr. Eaton appear to have become rather well acquainted, +Harriet," he said. "Has he told you nothing about himself which you +have not told me? You have seen nothing concerning him, which you have +not told?" + +Her mind went quickly back to the polo game; she felt a flush, which +his blind eyes could not see, dyeing her cheeks and forehead. + +"No," she answered. She was aware that he did not accept the denial, +that he knew she was concealing something. + +"Nothing?" he asked again. + +She put her hands to her face; then she drew them quickly away. +"Nothing," she said steadily. + +The blind man waited for a moment; he put out his hand and pressed the +bell which called the steward. Neither spoke until the steward had +come. + +"Fairley," Santoine said then, quietly, "Miss Santoine and I have just +agreed that for the present all reports regarding the pursuit of the +men who entered the study last night are to be made direct to me, not +through Miss Santoine or Mr. Avery." + +"Very well, sir." + +She still sat silent after the steward had gone; she thought for an +instant her father had forgotten her presence; then he moved slightly. + +"That is all, dear," he said quietly. + +She got up and left him, and went to her own rooms; she did not pretend +to herself that she could rest. She bathed and dressed and went +downstairs. The library had windows facing to the west; she went in +there and stood looking out. Somewhere to the west was Eaton, alone, +wounded; she knew she need not think of him yet as actively hunted, +only watched; with daylight the hunt would begin. Would he be able to +avoid the watchers and escape before the actual hunt for him began? + +She went out into the hall to the telephone. She could not get the use +of the 'phone at once; the steward was posted there; the calls upon the +'phone were continual--from neighbors who, awakened to learn the news +of Blatchford's death and the hunt for his murderer, called to offer +what help they could, and from the newspapers, which somehow had been +notified. The telephones in the bedrooms all were on this wire. There +was a private telephone in the library; somehow she could not bring +herself to enter that room, closed and to be left with everything in +its disorder until the arrival of the police. The only other telephone +was in her father's bedroom. + +She took advantage of a momentary interruption in the calls to call up +the local police station. Hearing her name, the man at the other end +became deferential at once; he told her what was being done, confirming +what she already knew; the roads were being watched and men had been +posted at all near-by railway stations and at the stopping points of +the interurban line to prevent Eaton from escaping that way. The man +spoke only of Eaton; he showed the conviction--gathered, she felt sure, +by telephone conversation with Donald Avery--that Eaton was the +murderer. + +"He ain't likely to get away, Miss Santoine," he assured her. "He's +got no shoes, I understand, and he has one or maybe two shots through +him." + +She shrunk back and nearly dropped the 'phone at the vision which his +words called up; yet there was nothing new to her in that vision--it +was continually before her eyes; it was the only thing of which she +could think. + +"You'll call me as soon as you know anything more," she requested; +"will you call me every hour?" + +She hung up, on receiving assurance of this. + +A servant brought a written paper. She took it before she recognized +that it was not for her but for the steward. It was a short statement +of the obvious physical circumstances of the murder, evidently dictated +by her father and intended for the newspapers. She gave it to Fairley, +who began reading it over the telephone to the newspapers. She +wandered again to the west windows. She was not consciously listening +to the telephone conversation in the hall; yet enough reached her to +make her know that reporters were rushing from the city by train and +automobile. The last city editions of the morning papers would have at +least the fact of the murder; there would be later extras; the +afternoon papers would have it all. There was a long list of relatives +and friends to whom it was due that telegraphic announcement of Wallace +Blatchford's death reach them before they read it as a sensation +publicly printed. Recollection of these people at least gave her +something to do. + +She went up to her own room, listed the names and prepared the +telegrams for them; she came down again and gave the telegrams to +Fairley to transmit by telephone. As she descended the stairs, the +great clock in the lower hall struck once; it was a quarter past three. + +There was a stir in these lower rooms now; the officers of the local +police had arrived. She went with them to the study, where they +assumed charge nervously and uncertainly. She could not bear to be in +that room; nevertheless she remained and answered their questions. She +took them to Eaton's rooms on the floor above, where they searched +through and took charge of all his things. She left them and came down +again and went out to the front of the house. + +The night was sharp with the chill preceding the day; it had cleared; +the stars were shining. As she stood looking to the west, the lights +of a motor turned into the grounds. She ran toward it, thinking it +must be bringing word of some sort; but the men who leaped from it were +strangers to her--they were the first of the reporters to arrive. They +tried to question her, but she ran from them into the house. She +watched from the windows and saw other reporters arriving. To Harriet +there seemed to be scores of them. Every morning paper in Chicago, +immediately upon receipt of the first flash, had sent at least three +men; every evening paper seemed to have aroused half its staff from +their beds and sent them racing to the blind millionaire's home on the +north shore. Even men from Milwaukee papers arrived at four o'clock. +Forbidden the house, they surrounded it and captured servants. They +took flashlights till, driven from the lawn, they went away--many of +them--to see and take part in the search through the woods for +Blatchford's murderer. The murder of Santoine's cousin--the man, +moreover, who had blinded Santoine--in the presence of the blind man +was enough of itself to furnish a newspaper sensation; but, following +so closely Santoine's visit to the Coast because of the murder of +Gabriel Warden, the newspaper men sensed instantly in it the +possibility of some greater sensation not yet bared. + +Harriet was again summoned. A man--a stranger--was awaiting her in the +hall; he was the precursor of those who would sit that day upon Wallace +Blatchford's death and try to determine, formally, whose was the hand +that had done it--the coroner's man. He too, she saw, was already +convinced what hand it had been--Eaton's. She took him to the study, +then to the room above where Wallace Blatchford lay dead. She stood by +while he made his brief, conventional examination. She looked down at +the dead man's face. Poor Cousin Wallace! he had destroyed his own +life long before, when he had destroyed her father's sight; from that +time on he had lived only to recompense her father for his blindness. +Cousin Wallace's life had been a pitiable, hopeless, loving +perpetuation of his penance; he had let himself hold nothing of his own +in life; he had died, as she knew he would have wished to die, giving +his life in service to his cousin; she was not unduly grieving over him. + +She answered the man's questions, calmly and collectedly; but her mind +was not upon what she was saying. Her mind was upon only one +thing--even of that she could not think connectedly. Some years ago, +something--she did not know what--had happened to Hugh; to-night, in +some strange way unknown to her, it had culminated in her father's +study. He had fought some one; he had rushed away to follow some one. +Whom? Had he heard that some one in the study and gone down? Had he +been fighting their battle--her father's and hers? She knew that was +not so. Hugh had been fully dressed. What did it mean that he had +said to her that these events would either destroy him or would send +him back to her as--as something different? Her thought supplied no +answer. + +But whatever he had done, whatever he might be, she knew his fate was +hers now; for she had given herself to him utterly. She had told that +to herself as she fled and pursued with him that night; she had told it +to him; she later had told it--though she had not meant to yet--to her +father. She could only pray now that out of the events of this night +might not come a grief to her too great for her to bear. + +She went to the rooms that had been Eaton's. The police, in stripping +them of his possessions, had overlooked his cap; she found the bit of +gray cloth and hugged it to her. She whispered his name to +herself--Hugh--that secret of his name which she had kept; she gloried +that she had that secret with him which she could keep from them all. +What wouldn't they give just to share that with her--his name, Hugh! + +She started suddenly, looking through the window. The east, above the +lake, was beginning to grow gray. The dawn was coming! It was +beginning to be day! + +She hurried to the other side of the house, looking toward the west. +How could she have left him, hurt and bleeding and alone in the night! +She could not have done that but that his asking her to go had told +that it was for his safety as well as hers; she could not help him any +more then; she would only have been in the way. But now-- She started +to rush out, but controlled herself; she had to stay in the house; that +was where the first word would come if they caught him; and then he +would need her, how much more! The reporters on the lawn below her, +seeing her at the window, called up to her to know further particulars +of what had happened and what the murder meant; she could see them +plainly in the increasing light. She could see the lawn and the road +before the house. + +Day had come. + +And with the coming of day, the uncertainty and disorder within and +about the house seemed to increase.... But in the south wing, with its +sound-proof doors and its windows closed against the noises from the +lawn, there was silence; and in this silence, an exact, compelling, +methodic machine was working; the mind of Basil Santoine was striving, +vainly as yet, but with growing chances of success, to fit together +into the order in which they belonged and make clear the events of the +night and all that had gone before--arranging, ordering, testing, +discarding, picking up again and reordering all that had happened since +that other murder, of Gabriel Warden. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +WHAT ONE CAN DO WITHOUT EYES + +The blind man, lying on his bed in that darkness in which he had lived +since his sixteenth year and which no daylight could lessen, felt the +light and knew that day had come; he stirred impatiently. The nurse, +the only other occupant of the room, moved expectantly; then she sank +back; Santoine had moved but had not roused from that absorption in +which he had been ever since returning to his bed. He had not slept. +The connections of the electric bells had been repaired,--the wires had +been found pulled from their batteries,--but Santoine had not moved a +hand to touch a button. He had disregarded the warning of the doctor +who had been summoned at once after the murder and had come to his room +again just before dawn to warn him that after his recklessness of the +night he must expect a reaction. He had given such injunctions in +regard to any new development that he was certain that, even if his +servants believed him asleep, they would report to him. But there had +been no report; and Santoine expected none immediately. He had not +lain awake awaiting anything; he felt that so much had happened, so +many facts were at his command, that somewhere among them must be the +key to what they meant. + +The blind man knew that his daughter was concealing something from him. +He could not tell what the importance of the thing she was concealing +might be; but he knew his daughter was enough like himself for it to be +useless for him to try to force from her something she did not mean to +tell. The new intimacy of the relation between his daughter and Eaton +was perfectly plain to Santoine; but it did not cause him to try to +explain anything in Eaton's favor; nor did it prejudice him against +him. He had appeared to accept Avery's theory of what had happened in +the study because by doing so he concealed what was going on in his own +mind; he actually accepted it only to the point of agreeing that Eaton +must have met in the study those enemies--or some one representing the +enemies--who had attacked him with the motor-car and had before +attempted to attack him on the train. + +Three men--at least three men--had fought in the study in Santoine's +presence. Eaton, it was certain, had been the only one from the house +present when the first shots were fired. Had Eaton been alone against +the other two? Had Eaton been with one of the other two against the +third? It appeared probable to Santoine that Eaton had been alone, or +had come alone, to the study and had met his enemies there. Had these +enemies surprised Eaton in the study or had he surprised them? +Santoine was inclined to believe that Eaton had surprised them. The +contents taken from the safe had certainly been carried away, and these +would have made rather a bulky bundle. Eaton could not have carried it +without Harriet knowing it. Santoine believed that, whatever knowledge +his daughter might be concealing from him, she would not have concealed +this. It was certain that some time had been necessary for opening the +safe, before those opening it suffered interruption. + +Santoine felt, therefore, that the probabilities were that Eaton's +enemies had opened the safe and had been surprised by Eaton. But if +they had opened the safe, they were not only Eaton's enemies; they were +also Santoine's; they were the men who threatened Santoine's trust. + +Those whom Eaton had fought in the room had had perfect opportunity for +killing Santoine, if they wished. He had stood first in the dark with +the electric torch in his hand; then he had been before them in the +light after Blatchford had entered. But Santoine felt certain no one +had made any attack upon him at any moment in the room; he had had no +feeling, at any instant, that any of the shots fired had been directed +at him. Blatchford, too, had been unattacked until he had made it +plain that he had recognized one of the intruders; then, before +Blatchford could call the name, he had been shot down. + +It was clear, then, that what had protected Santoine was his blindness; +he had no doubt that, if he had been able to see and recognize the men +in the room after the lights were turned on, he would have been shot +down also. But Santoine recognized that this did not fully account for +his immunity. Two weeks before, an attack which had been meant for +Eaton had struck down Santoine instead; and no further attempt against +Eaton had been made until it had become publicly known that Santoine +was not going to die. If Santoine's death would have served for +Eaton's death two weeks before, why was Santoine immune now? Did +possession of the contents of Santoine's safe accomplish the same thing +as Santoine's death? Or more than his death for these men? For what +men? + +It was not, Santoine was certain, Eaton's presence in the study which +had so astounded Blatchford; Wallace and Eaton had passed days +together, and Blatchford was accustomed to Eaton's presence in the +house. Some one whom Blatchford knew and whose name Santoine also +would know and whose presence in the room was so strange and +astonishing that Blatchford had tried to prepare Santoine for the +announcement, had been there. The man whose name was on Blatchford's +tongue, or the companion of that man, had shot Blatchford rather than +let Santoine hear the name. + +The blind man stirred upon his bed. + +"Do you want something, Mr. Santoine?" the nurse asked. The blind man +did not answer. He was beginning to find these events fit themselves +together; but they fitted imperfectly as yet. + +Santoine knew that he lacked the key. Many men could profit by +possessing the contents of Santoine's safe and might have shot +Blatchford rather than let Santoine know their presence there; it was +impossible for Santoine to tell which among these many the man who had +been in the study might be. Who Eaton's enemies were was equally +unknown to Santoine. But there could be but one man--or at most one +small group of men--who could be at the same time Eaton's enemy and +Santoine's. To have known who Eaton was would have pointed this man to +Santoine. + +The blind man lay upon his back, his open, sightless eyes unwinking in +the intensity of his thought. + +Gabriel Warden had had an appointment with a young man who had come +from Asia and who--Warden had told his wife--he had discovered lately +had been greatly wronged. Eaton, under Conductor Connery's +questioning, had admitted himself to be that young man; Santoine had +verified this and had learned that Eaton was, at least, the young man +who had gone to Warden's house that night. But Gabriel Warden had not +been allowed to help Eaton; so far from that, he had not even been +allowed to meet and talk with Eaton; he had been called out, plainly, +to prevent his meeting Eaton, and killed. + +Eaton disappeared and concealed himself at once after Warden's murder, +apparently fearing that he would also be attacked. But Eaton was not a +man whom this personal fear would have restrained from coming forward +later to tell why Warden had been killed. He had been urged to come +forward and promised that others would give him help in Warden's place; +still, he had concealed himself. This must mean that others than +Warden could not help Eaton; Eaton evidently did not know, or else +could not hope to prove, what Warden had discovered. + +Santoine held this thought in abeyance; he would see later how it +checked with the facts. + +Eaton had remained in Seattle--or near Seattle--eleven days; apparently +he had been able to conceal himself and to escape attack during that +time. He had been obliged, however, to reveal himself when he took the +train; and as soon as possible a desperate attempt had been made +against him, which, through mistake, had struck down Santoine instead +of Eaton. This attack had been made under circumstances which, if it +had been successful, would have made it improbable that Eaton's +murderer could escape. It had not been enough, then, to watch Eaton +and await opportunity to attack him; it had been necessary to attack +him at once, at any cost. + +The attack having reached Santoine instead of Eaton, the necessity for +immediate attack upon Eaton, apparently, had ceased to exist; those who +followed Eaton had thought it enough to watch him and wait for more +favorable opportunity. But as soon as it was publicly known that +Santoine had not been killed but was getting well, then Eaton had again +been openly and daringly attacked. The reason for the desperate +chances taken to attack Eaton, then, was that he was near Santoine. + +Santoine's hands clenched as he recognized this. Eaton had taken the +train at Seattle because Santoine was on it; he had done this at great +risk to himself. Santoine had told Eaton that there were but four +possible reasons why he could have taken the train in the manner he +did, and two of those reasons later had been eliminated. The two +possibilities which remained were that Eaton had taken the train to +inform Santoine of something or to learn something from him. But Eaton +had had ample opportunity since to inform Santoine of anything he +wished; and he had not only not informed him of anything, but had +refused consistently and determinedly to answer any of Santoine's +questions. It was to learn something from Santoine, then, that Eaton +had taken the train. + +The blind man turned upon his bed; he was finding that these events +fitted together perfectly. He felt certain now that Eaton had gone to +Gabriel Warden expecting to get from Warden some information that he +needed, and that to prevent Warden's giving him this, Warden had been +killed. Then Warden's death had caused Santoine to go to Seattle and +take charge of many of Warden's affairs; Eaton had thought that the +information which had been in Warden's possession might now be in +Santoine's; Eaton, therefore, had followed Santoine onto the train. + +Santoine had not had the information Eaton required, and he could not +even imagine yet what the nature of that information could be. This +was not because he was not familiar enough with Warden's affairs; it +was because he was too familiar with them. Warden had been concerned +in a hundred enterprises; Santoine had no way of telling which of this +hundred had concerned Eaton. He certainly could recall no case in +which a man of Eaton's age and class had been so terribly wronged that +double murder would have been resorted to for the concealment of the +facts. But he understood that, in his familiarity with Warden's +affairs, he had probably been in a position to get the information, if +he had known what specific matters it concerned. That, then, had been +the reason why his own death would have served for the time being in +place of Eaton's. + +Those who had followed Eaton had known that Santoine could get this +information; that accounted for all that had taken place on the train. +It accounted for the subsequent attack on Eaton when it became known +that Santoine was getting well. It accounted also--Santoine was +breathing quickly as he recognized this--for the invasion of his study +and the forcing of the safe last night. + +The inference was plain that something which would have given Santoine +the information Warden had had and which Eaton now required had been +brought into Santoine's house and put in Santoine's safe. It was to +get possession of this "something" before it had reached Santoine that +the safe had been forced. + +Santoine put out his hand and pressed a bell. A servant came to the +door. + +"Will you find Miss Santoine," the blind man directed, "and ask her to +come here?" + +The servant withdrew. + +Santoine waited. Presently the door again opened, and he heard his +daughter's step. + +"Have you listed what was taken from the safe, Harriet?" Santoine asked. + +"Not yet, Father." + +The blind man thought an instant. "Day before yesterday, when I asked +you to take charge for the present of the correspondence Avery has +looked after for me, what did you do?" + +"I put it in my own safe--the one that was broken into last night. But +none of it was taken; the bundles of letters were pulled out of the +safe, but they had not been opened or even disturbed." + +"I know. It was not that I meant." Santoine thought again. "Harriet, +something has been brought into the house--or the manner of keeping +something in the house had been changed--within a very few days--since +the time, I think, when the attempt to run Eaton down with the +motor-car was made. What was that 'something'?" + +His daughter reflected. "The draft of the new agreement about the +Latron properties and the lists of stockholders in the properties which +came through Mr. Warden's office," she replied. + +"Those were in the safe?" + +"Yes; you had not given me any instructions about them, so I had put +them in the other safe; but when I went to get the correspondence I saw +them there and put them with the correspondence in my own safe." + +Santoine lay still. + +"Who besides Donald knew that you did that, daughter?" he asked. + +"No one." + +"Thank you." + +Harriet recognized this as dismissal and went out. The blind man felt +the blood beating fiercely in his temples and at his finger-tips. It +amazed, astounded him to realize that Warden's murder and all that had +followed it had sprung from the Latron case. The coupling of Warden's +name with Latron's in the newspapers after Warden's death had seemed to +him only flagrant sensationalism. He himself had known--or had thought +he had known--more about the Latron case than almost any other man; he +had been a witness at the trial; he had seen--or had thought he had +seen--even-handed justice done there. Now, by Warden's evidence, but +more still by the manner of Warden's death, he was forced to believe +that there had been something unknown to him and terrible in what had +been done then. + +And as realization of this came to him, he recollected that he had been +vaguely conscious ever since Latron's murder of something strained, +something not wholly open, in his relations with those men whose +interests had been most closely allied with Latron's. It had been +nothing open, nothing palpable; it was only that he had felt at times +in them a knowledge of some general condition governing them which was +not wholly known to himself. As he pressed his hands upon his blind +eyes, trying to define this feeling to himself, his thought went +swiftly back to the events on the train and in the study. + +He had had investigated the accounts of themselves given by the +passengers to Conductor Connery; two of these accounts had proved to be +false. The man who under the name of Lawrence Hillward had claimed the +cipher telegram from Eaton had been one of these; it had proved +impossible to trace this man and it was now certain that Hillward was +not his real name; the other, Santoine had had no doubt, was the +heavy-set muscular man who had tried to run Eaton down with the motor. +These men, Santoine was sure, had been acting for some principal not +present. One or both of these men might have been in the study last +night; but the sight of neither of these could have so startled, so +astounded Blatchford. Whomever Blatchford had seen was some one well +known to him, whose presence had been so amazing that speech had failed +Blatchford for the moment and he had feared the effect of the +announcement on Santoine. This could have been only the principal +himself. + +Some circumstance which Santoine comprehended only imperfectly as yet +had forced this man to come out from behind his agents and to act even +at the risk of revealing himself. It was probably he who, finding +Blatchford's presence made revealment inevitable, had killed +Blatchford. But these circumstances gave Santoine no clew as to who +the man might be. The blind man tried vainly to guess. The rebellion +against his blindness, which had seized him the night before, again +stirred him. The man had been in the light just before his face; a +second of sight then and everything would have been clear; or another +word from Blatchford, and he would have known. But Santoine recalled +that if he had had that second of sight, and the other man had known +it, or if Blatchford had spoken that next word, Santoine too would +probably be dead. + +The only circumstance regarding the man of which Santoine now felt sure +was that he was one of the many concerned in the Latron case or with +the Latron properties. Had the blood in which Santoine had stepped +upon the study floor been his, or that of one of the others? + +"What time is it?" the blind man suddenly asked the nurse. + +"It is nearly noon, Mr. Santoine, and you have eaten nothing." + +The blind man did not answer. He recalled vaguely that, several hours +before, breakfast had been brought for him and that he had impatiently +waved it away. In his absorption he had felt no need then for food, +and he felt none now. + +"Will you leave me alone for a few moments?" he directed. + +He listened till he heard the door close behind the nurse; then he +seized the private 'phone beside his bed and called his broker. +Instinctively, in his uncertainty, Santoine had turned to that +barometer which reflects day by day, even from hour to hour, the most +obscure events and the most secret knowledge. + +"How is the market?" he inquired. + +There was something approaching to a panic on the stock-exchange, it +appeared. Some movement, arising from causes not yet clear, had +dropped the bottom out of a score of important stocks. The broker was +only able to relate that about an hour after the opening of the +exchange, selling had developed in certain issues and prices were going +down in complete lack of support. + +"How is Pacific Midlands?" Santoine asked. + +"It led the decline." + +Santoine felt the blood in his temples. "M. and N. Smelters?" he asked. + +"Down seven points." + +"S. F. and D.?" + +"Eight points off." + +Santoine's hand, holding the telephone, shook in its agitation; his +head was hot from the blood rushing through it, his body was chilled. +An idea so strange, so astounding, so incredible as it first had come +to him that his feelings refused it though his reason told him it was +the only possible condition which could account for all the facts, now +was being made all but certain. He named stock after stock; all were +down--seriously depressed or had been supported only by a desperate +effort of their chief holders. + +"A. L. & M. is down too," the broker volunteered. + +"That is only sympathetic," Santoine replied. + +He hung up. His hand, straining to control its agitation, reached for +the bell; he rang; a servant came. + +"Get me note-paper," Santoine commanded. + +The servant went out and returned with paper. The nurse had followed +him in; she turned the leaf of the bed-table for Santoine to write. +The blind man could write as well as any other by following the +position of the lines with the fingers of his left hand. He wrote a +short note swiftly now, folded, sealed and addressed it and handed it +to the servant. + +"Have that delivered by a messenger at once," he directed. "There will +be no written answer, I think; only something sent back--a photograph. +See that it is brought to me at once." + +He heard the servant's footsteps going rapidly away. He was shaking +with anger, horror, resentment; he was almost--not quite--sure now of +all that had taken place; of why Warden had been murdered, of what +vague shape had moved behind and guided all that had happened since. +He recalled Eaton's voice as he had heard it first on the train at +Seattle; and now he was almost sure--not quite--that he could place +that voice, that he knew where he had heard it before. + +He lay with clenched hands, shaking with rage; then by effort of his +will he put these thoughts away. The nurse reminded him again of his +need for food. + +"I want nothing now," he said. "Have it ready when I wake up. When +the doctor comes, tell him I am going to get up to-day and dress." + +He turned and stretched himself upon his bed; so, finally, he slept. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +THE MAN HUNT + +The rolling, ravine-gullied land where Harriet had left Eaton was +wooded thickly with oaks, maples and ash; the ground between these +trees was clear of undergrowth upon the higher parts of the land, but +its lower stretches and the ravines themselves were shrouded with +closely growing bushes rising higher than a man's waist, and, where +they grew rankest, higher than a man's head. In summer, when trees and +bushes were covered with leaves, this underbrush offered cover where a +man could conceal himself perfectly; now, in the early spring before +the trees had even budded, that man would be visible for some distance +by day and nearly as clearly visible by night if the headlights of the +motor-cars chanced to shine into the woods. + +Eaton, fully realizing this chance as he left Harriet, had plunged +through the bushes to conceal himself in the ravine. The glare from +the burning bridge lighted the ravine for only a little way; Eaton had +gained the bottom of the ravine beyond the point where this light would +have made him visible and had made the best speed he could along it +away from the lights and voices on the road. This speed was not very +great; his stockinged feet sank to their ankles in the soft mud of the +ravine; and when, realizing that he was leaving a trace easily followed +even by lantern-light, he clambered to the steep side and tried to +travel along its slope, he found his progress slower still. In the +darkness he crashed sometimes full against the tree-trunks; bushes +which he could not see seized and held him, ripping and tearing at his +clothes; invisible, fallen saplings tripped him, and he stepped into +unseen holes which threw him headlong, so that twice he rolled clear to +the bottom of the ravine with fierce, hot pains which nearly deprived +him of his senses shooting through his wounded shoulder. + +When he had made, as he thought, fully three quarters of a mile in this +way and must be, allowing for the winding of the ravine, at least half +a mile from his pursuers, he climbed to the brink of the bank and +looked back. He was not, as he had thought, half a mile from the road; +he was not a quarter of a mile; he could still see plainly the lights +of the three motor-cars upon the road and men moving in the flare of +these lights. He was certain that he had recognized the figure of +Avery among these men. Pursuit of him, however, appeared to have been +checked for the moment; he heard neither voices nor any movement in the +woods. Eaton, panting, threw himself down to recover breath and +strength to think. + +There was no question in Eaton's mind what his fate would be if he +surrendered to, or was captured by, his pursuers. What he had seen in +Santoine's study an hour before was so unbelievable, so completely +undemonstrable unless he himself could prove his story that he felt +that he would receive no credence. Blatchford, who had seen it in the +light in the study, was dead; Santoine, who would have seen it if he +had had eyes, was blind. Eaton, still almost stunned and yet wildly +excited by that sight, felt only, in the mad confusion of his senses, +the futility of telling what he had seen unless he were in a position +to prove it. Those opposed to him would put his statement aside with +the mere answer that he was lying; the most charitably inclined would +think only that what he had been through had driven him insane. + +Besides, Eaton was not at all sure that even if he had attempted to +tell what he had seen he would be allowed to tell it, or, if he +attempted to surrender to the men now pursuing him, he would be allowed +to surrender. Donald Avery was clearly in command of those men and was +directing the pursuit; in Avery, Eaton had recognized an instinctive +enemy from the first; and now, since the polo game, he sensed vaguely +in Avery something more than that. What Avery's exact position was in +regard to himself Eaton was not at all sure; but of Avery's active +hostility he had received full evidence; and he knew now--though how he +knew it was not plain even to himself--that Avery would not allow him +to surrender but that, if he tried to give himself up, the men under +Avery's orders would shoot him down. + +As Eaton watched, the motor, which from its position on the road he +knew must be Harriet's, backed out from the others and went away. The +other motors immediately afterward were turned and followed it. But +Eaton could see that they left behind them a man standing armed near to +the bridge, and that other men, also armed, passed through the light as +they scrambled across the ravine and gained the road on its opposite +side. The motors, too, stopped at intervals and then went on; he +understood that they were posting men to watch the road. He traced the +motor headlights a long way through the dark; one stopped, the other +went on. He remembered vaguely a house near the place where the car he +watched had stopped, and understanding that where there was a house +there was a telephone, he knew that the alarm must be given still more +widely now; men on all sides of him must be turning out to watch the +roads. He knew they did turn out like that when the occasion demanded. + +These waste places bordering upon the lake to north and south of +Chicago, and within easy car-ride of the great city, had been the scene +of many such man-hunts. Hobos, gypsies, broken men thrown off by the +seething city, wandered through them and camped there; startling crimes +took place sometimes in these tiny wildernesses; fugitives from the +city police took refuge there and were hunted down by the local police, +by armed details of the city police, by soldiers from Fort Sheridan. +These fugitives might much better have stayed in the concealment of the +human jungle of the city; these rolling, wooded, sandy vacant lands +which seemed to offer refuge, in reality betrayed only into certain +capture. The local police had learned the method of hunting, they had +learned to watch the roads and railways to prevent escape. + +Eaton understood, therefore, that his own possibility of escape was +very small, even if escape had been his only object; but Eaton's +problem was not one of escape--it was to find those he pursued and make +certain that they were captured at the same time he was; and, as he +crouched panting on the damp earth, he was thinking only of that. + +The man at the bridge--Dibley--had told enough to let Eaton know that +those whom Eaton pursued were no longer in the machine he had followed +with Harriet. As Eaton had rushed out of Santoine's study after the +two that he had fought there, he had seen that one of these men was +supporting and helping the other; he had gained on them because of +that. Then other men had appeared suddenly, to give their help, and he +had no longer been able to gain; but he had been close enough to see +that the one they dragged along and helped into the car was that enemy +whose presence in the study had so amazed him. Mad exultation had +seized Eaton to know that he had seriously wounded his adversary. He +knew now that the man could not have got out of the car by himself--he +was too badly wounded for that; he had been taken out of the car, and +the other men who were missing had him in charge. The three men who +had gone on in the machine had done so for their own escape, but with +the added object of misleading the pursuit; the water they had got at +Dibley's had been to wash the blood from the car. + +And now, as Eaton recalled and realized all this, he knew where the +others had left the machine. Vaguely, during the pursuit, he had +sensed that Harriet was swinging their motor-car in a great circle, +first to the north, then west, then to the south. Two or three miles +back upon the road, before they had made their turn to the south, Eaton +had lost for a few moments the track of the car they had been +following. He had picked it up again at once and before he could speak +of it to Harriet; but now he knew that at that point the car they were +following had left the road, turning off onto the turf at the side and +coming back onto the road a hundred yards beyond. + +This place must be nearly due north of him. The road where he had left +Harriet ran north and south; to go north he must parallel this road, +but it was dangerous to move too near to it because it was guarded. +The sky was covered with clouds hiding the stars; the night in the +woods was intensely black except where it was lighted by the fire at +the bridge. To the opposite side, a faint gray glow against the +clouds, which could not be the dawn but must be the reflection of the +electric lights along the public pike which followed the shore of the +lake, gave Eaton inspiration. If he kept this grayness of the clouds +always upon his right, he would be going north. + +The wound in Eaton's shoulder still welled blood each time he moved; he +tore strips from the front of his shirt, knotted them together and +bound his useless left arm tightly to his side. He felt in the +darkness to be sure that there was a fresh clip of cartridges in his +automatic pistol; then he started forward. + +For the first time now he comprehended the almost impossibility of +traveling in the woods on a dark night. To try to walk swiftly was to +be checked after only two or three steps by sharp collision with some +tree-trunk which he could not see before he felt it, or brought to a +full stop by clumps of tangled, thorny bushes which enmeshed him, or to +be tripped or thrown by some inequality of the ground. When he went +round any of these obstacles he lost his sense of direction and wasted +minutes before he could find again the dim light against the eastern +sky which gave him the compass-points. + +As he struggled forward, impatient at these delays, he came several +times upon narrow, unguarded roads and crossed them; at other times the +little wilderness which protected him changed suddenly to a well-kept +lawn where some great house with its garages and out-buildings loomed +ahead, and afraid to cross these open places, he was obliged to retrace +his steps and find a way round. The distance from the bridge to the +place where the three men he was following had got out of their motor, +he had thought to be about two miles; but when he had been traveling +more than an hour, he had not yet reached it. Then, suddenly he came +upon the road for which he was looking; somewhere to the east along it +was the place he sought. He crouched as near to the road as he dared +and where he could look up and down it. This being a main road, was +guarded. A motor-car with armed men in it passed him, and presently +repassed, evidently patroling the road; its lights showed him a man +with a gun standing at the first bend of the road to the east. Eaton +drew further back and moved parallel to the road but far enough away +from it to be hidden. A quarter of a mile further he found a second +man. The motor-car, evidently, was patroling only to this point; +another car was on duty beyond this. As Eaton halted, this second car +approached, and was halted, backed and turned. + +Its headlights, as it turned, swept through the woods and revealed +Eaton. The man standing in the road cried out the alarm and fired at +Eaton point blank; he fired a second and third time. Eaton fled madly +back into the shadow; as he did so, he heard the men crying to one +another and leaping from the car and following him. He found low +ground less thickly wooded, and plunged along it. It was not difficult +to avoid the men in the blackness of the woods; he made a wide circuit +and came back again to the road further on. He could still hear for a +time the sounds of the hunt on the turf. Apparently he had not yet +reached the right spot; he retreated to the woods, went further along +and came back to the road, lying flat upon his face again and waiting +till some other car in passing should give him light to see. + +Eaton, weak and dizzy from his wounds and confused by darkness and his +struggle through the woods, had no exact idea how long it had taken him +to get to this place; but he knew that it could have been hardly less +than two hours since he had left Harriet. The men he was following, +therefore, had that much start of him, and this made him wild with +impatience but did not discourage him. His own wounds, Eaton +understood, made his escape practically impossible, because any one who +saw him would at once challenge and detain him; and the other man was +still more seriously wounded. It was not his escape that Eaton feared; +it was concealment of him. The man had been taken from the car because +his condition was so serious that there was no hope of hiding it; Eaton +thought he must be dead. He expected to find the body concealed under +dead leaves, hurriedly hidden. + +The night had cleared a little; to the north, Eaton could see stars. +Suddenly the road and the leafless bushes at its sides flashed out in +the bright light of a motor-car passing. Eaton strained forward. He +had found the place; there was no doubt a car had turned off the road +some time before and stopped there. The passing of many cars had so +tracked the road that none of the men in the motors seemed to have +noticed anything of significance there; but Eaton saw plainly in the +soft ground at the edge of the woods the footmarks of two men walking +one behind the other. When the car had passed, he crept forward in the +dark and I fingered the distinct heel and toe marks in the soft soil. +For a little distance he could follow them by feeling; then as they led +him into the edge of the woods the ground grew harder and he could no +longer follow them in that way. + +It was plain to him what had occurred; two men had got out of the car +here and had lifted out and carried away a third. He knelt where he +could feel the last footsteps he could detect and looked around. The +gray of the electric lights to the east seemed growing, spreading; +against this lightness in the sky he could see plainly the branches of +the trees; he recognized then that the grayness was the coming of the +dawn. It would be only a few minutes before he could see plainly +enough to follow the tracks. He drew aside into the deeper cover of +some bushes to wait. + +The wound in his shoulder no longer bled, but the pain of it twinged +him through and through; his head throbbed with the hurt there; his +feet were raw and bleeding where sharp roots and branches had cut +through his socks and torn the flesh; his skin was hot and dry with +fever, and his head swam. He followed impatiently the slow whitening +of the east; as soon as he could make out the ground in front of him, +he crept forward again to the tracks. + +There was not yet light enough to see any distance, but Eaton, +accustomed to the darkness and bending close to the ground, could +discern the footmarks even on the harder soil. They led away from the +road into the woods. On the rotted leaves and twigs was a dark stain; +a few steps beyond there was another. The stains had sunk into the +damp ground but were plainer on the leaves; Eaton picking up a leaf and +fingering it, knew that they were blood. So the man was not dead when +he had been lifted from the car. But he had been hurt desperately, was +unable to help himself, was probably dying; if there had been any hope +for him, his companions would not be carrying him in this way away from +any chance of surgical attention. + +Eaton followed, as the tracks led through the woods. The men had gone +very slowly, carrying this heavy weight; they had been traveling, as he +himself had traveled, in the dark, afraid to show a light and avoiding +chance of being seen by any one on the roads. They had been as +uncertain of their road as he had been of his, but the general trend of +their travel was toward the east, and this evidently was the direction +in which they wished to go. They had stopped frequently to rest and +had laid their burden down. Then suddenly he came to a place where +plainly a longer halt had been made. + +The ground was trampled around this spot; when the tracks went on they +were changed in character. The two men were still carrying the +third--a heavy man whose weight strained them and made their feet sink +in deeply where the ground was soft. But now they were not careful how +they carried him, but went forward merely as though bearing a dead +weight. Now, too, no more stains appeared on the brown leaves where +they had passed; their burden no longer bled. Eaton, realizing what +this meant, felt neither exultation nor surprise. He had known that +the man they carried, though evidently alive when taken from the car, +was dying. But now he watched the tracks more closely even than +before, looking for them to show him where the men had got rid of their +burden. + +It had grown easier to follow the tracks with the increase of the +light, but the danger that he would be seen had also grown greater. He +was obliged to keep to the hollows; twice, when he ventured onto the +higher ground, he saw motor-cars passing at a distance, but near enough +so that those in them could have seen him if they had been looking his +way. Once he saw at the edge of the woods a little group of armed men. +His dizziness and weakness from the loss of blood was increasing; he +became confused at times and lost the tracks. He went forward slowly +then, examining each clump of bushes, each heap of dead leaves, to see +whether the men had hidden in them that of which he was in search; but +always when he found the tracks again their character showed him that +the men were still carrying their burden. The tracks seemed fresher +now; in spite of his weakness he was advancing much faster than the +others had been able to do in the darkness and heavily laden. As near +as he could tell, the men had passed just before dawn. Suddenly he +came upon the pike which ran parallel to the line of the lake, some +hundred yards back from the shore. + +He shrank back, throwing himself upon his face in the bushes; the men +evidently had crossed this pike. Full day had come, and as Eaton +peered out and up and down the road, he saw no one; this road appeared +unguarded. Eaton, assured no one was in sight, leaped up and crossed +the road. As he reached its further side, a boy carrying a fishpole +appeared suddenly from behind some bushes. He stared at Eaton; then, +terrified by Eaton's appearance, he dropped the fishpole and fled +screaming up the road. Eaton stared dazedly after him for a fraction +of an instant, then plunged into the cover. He found the tracks again, +and followed them dizzily. + +But the boy had given the alarm. Eaton heard the whirring of motors on +the road and men shouting to one another; then he heard them beating +through the bushes. The noise was at some distance; evidently the boy +in his fright and confusion had not directed the men to the exact spot +where Eaton had entered the woods or they in their excitement had +failed to understand him. But the sounds were drawing nearer. Eaton, +exhausted and dizzy, followed feverishly the footmarks on the ground. +It could not be far now--the men could not have carried their burden +much further than this. They must have hidden it somewhere near here. +He would find it near by--must find it before these others found him. +But now he could see men moving among the tree-trunks. He threw +himself down among some bushes, burrowing into the dead leaves. The +men passed him, one so close that Eaton could have thrown a twig and +hit him. Eaton could not understand why the man did not see him, but +he did not; the man stopped an instant studying the footmarks imprinted +in the earth; evidently they had no significance for him, for he went +on. + +When the searchers had passed out of sight, Eaton sprang up and +followed the tracks again. They were distinct here, plainly printed, +and he followed easily. He could hear men all about him, out of sight +but calling to one another in the woods. All at once he recoiled, +throwing himself down again upon the ground. The clump of bushes +hiding him ended abruptly only a few yards away; through their bare +twigs, but far below him, the sunlight twinkled, mockingly, at him from +the surface of water. It was the lake! + +Eaton crept forward to the edge of the steep bluff, following the +tracks. He peered over the edge. The tracks did not stop at the edge +of the bluff; they went on down it. The steep sandy precipice was +scarred where the men, still bearing their burden, had slipped and +scrambled down it. The marks crossed the shingle sixty feet below; +they were deeply printed in the wet sand down to the water's very edge. +There they stopped. + +Eaton had not expected this. He stared, worn out and with his senses +in confusion, and overcome by his physical weakness. The sunlit water +only seemed to mock and laugh at him--blue, rippling under the breeze +and bearing no trail. It was quite plain what had occurred; the wet +sand below was trampled by the feet of three or four men and cut by a +boat's bow. They had taken the body away with them in the boat. To +sink it somewhere weighted with heavy stones in the deep water? Or had +it been carried away on that small, swift vessel Eaton had seen from +Santoine's lawn? In either case, Eaton's search was hopeless now. + +But it could not be so; it must not be so! Eaton's eyes searched +feverishly the shore and the lake. But there was nothing in sight upon +either. He crept back from the edge of the bluff, hiding beside a +fallen log banked with dead leaves. What was it he had said to +Harriet? "I will come back to you--as you have never known me before!" +He rehearsed the words in mockery. How would he return to her now? As +he moved, a fierce, hot pain from the clotted wound in his shoulder +shot him through and through with agony and the silence and darkness of +unconsciousness overwhelmed him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +NOT EATON--OVERTON + +Santoine awoke at five o'clock. The messenger whom he had despatched a +few hours earlier had not yet returned. The blind man felt strong and +steady; he had food brought him; while he was eating it, his messenger +returned. Santoine saw the man alone and, when he had dismissed him, +he sent for his daughter. + +Harriet had waited helplessly at the house all day. All day the house +had been besieged. The newspaper men--or most of them--and the crowds +of the curious could be kept off; but others--neighbors, friends of her +father's or their wives or other members of their families--claimed +their prerogative of intrusion and question in time of trouble. Many +of those who thus gained admittance were unused to the flattery of +reporter's questions; and from their interviews, sensations continued +to grow. + +The stranger in Santoine's house--the man whom no one knew and who had +given his name as Philip Eaton--in all the reports was proclaimed the +murderer. The first reports in the papers had assailed him; the +stories of the afternoon papers became a public clamour for his quick +capture, trial and execution. The newspapers had sent the idle and the +sensation seekers, with the price of carfare to the country place, to +join the pack roaming the woods for Eaton. Harriet, standing at a +window, could see them beating through the trees beyond the house; and +as she watched them, wild, hot anger against them seized her. She +longed to rush out and strike them and shame them and drive them away. + +The village police station called her frequently on the telephone to +inform her of the progress of the hunt. Twice, they told her, Eaton +had been seen, but both times he had avoided capture; they made no +mention of his having been fired upon. Avery, in charge of the pursuit +in the field, was away all day; he came in only for a few moments at +lunch time and then Harriet avoided him. As the day progressed, the +pursuit had been systematized; the wooded spots which were the only +ones that Eaton could have reached unobserved from the places where he +had been seen, had been surrounded. They were being searched carefully +one by one. Through the afternoon, Harriet kept herself informed of +this search; there was no report that Eaton had been seen again, but +the places where he could be grew steadily fewer. + +The day had grown toward dusk, when a servant brought her word that her +father wished to see her. Harriet went up to him fearfully. The blind +man seemed calm and quiet; a thin, square packet lay on the bed beside +him; he held it out to her without speaking. + +She snatched it in dread; the shape of the packet and the manner in +which it was fastened told her it must be a photograph. "Open it," her +father directed. + +She snapped the string and tore off the paper. + +She stared at it, and her breath left her; she held it and stared and +stared, sobbing now as she breathed. The photograph was of Hugh, but +it showed him as she had never seen or known him; the even, direct +eyes, the good brow, the little lift of the head were his; he was +younger in the picture--she was seeing him when he was hardly more than +a boy. But it was a boy to whom something startling, amazing, horrible +had happened, numbing and dazing him so that he could only stare out +from the picture in frightened, helpless defiance. That oppression +which she had felt in him had just come upon him; he was not yet used +to bearing what had happened; it seemed incredible and unbearable to +him; she felt instinctively that he had been facing, when this picture +was taken, that injustice which had changed him into the +self-controlled, watchful man that she had known. + +So, as she contrasted this man with the boy that he had been, her love +and sympathy for him nearly overpowered her. She clutched the picture +to her, pressed it against her cheek; then suddenly conscious that her +emotion might be audible to her father, she quickly controlled herself. + +"What is it you want to know, Father?" she asked. + +"You have answered me already what I was going to ask, my dear," he +said to her quietly. + +"What, Father?" + +"That is the picture of Eaton?" + +"Yes." + +"I thought so." + +She tried to assure herself of the shade of the meaning in her father's +tone; but she could not. She understood that her recognition of the +picture had satisfied him in regard to something over which he had been +in doubt; but whether this was to work in favor of Hugh and +herself--she thought of herself now inseparably with Hugh--or whether +it threatened them, she could not tell. + +"Father, what does this mean?" she cried to him. + +"What, dear?" + +"Your having the picture. Where did you get it?" + +Her father made no reply; she repeated it till he granted, "I knew +where it might be. I sent for it." + +"But--but, Father--" It came to her now that her father must know who +Hugh was. "Who--" + +"I know who he is now," her father said calmly. "I will tell you when +I can." + +"When you can?" + +"Yes," he said. He was still an instant; she waited. "Where is +Avery?" he asked her, as though his mind had gone to another subject +instantly. + +"He has not been in, I believe, since noon." + +"He is overseeing the search for Eaton?" + +"Yes." + +"Send for him. Tell him I wish to see him here at the house; he is to +remain within the house until I have seen him." + +Something in her father's tone startled and perplexed her; she thought +of Donald now only as the most eager and most vindictive of Eaton's +pursuers. Was her father removing Donald from among those seeking +Eaton? Was he sending for him because what he had just learned was +something which would make more rigorous and desperate the search? The +blind man's look and manner told her nothing. + +"You mean Donald is to wait here until you send for him, Father?" + +"That is it." + +It was the blind man's tone of dismissal. He seemed to have forgotten +the picture; at least, as his daughter moved toward the door, he gave +no direction concerning it. She halted, looking back at him. She +would not carry the picture away, secretly, like this. She was not +ashamed of her love for Eaton; whatever might be said or thought of +him, she trusted him; she was proud of her love for him. + +"May I take the picture?" she asked steadily. + +"Do whatever you want with it," her father answered quietly. + +And so she took it with her. She found a servant of whom she inquired +for Avery; he had not returned so she sent for him. She went down to +the deserted library and waited there with the picture of Hugh in her +hand. The day had drawn to dusk. She could no longer see the picture +in the fading light; she could only recall it; and now, as she recalled +it, the picture itself---not her memory of her father's manner in +relation to it--gave her vague discomfort. She got up suddenly, +switched on the light and, holding the picture close to it, studied it. +What it was in the picture that gave her this strange uneasiness quite +separate and distinct from all that she had felt when she first looked +at it, she could not tell; but the more she studied it, the more +troubled and frightened she grew. + +The picture was a plain, unretouched print pasted upon common square +cardboard without photographer's emboss or signature; and printed with +the picture, were four plain, distinct numerals--8253. She did not +know what they meant or if they had any real significance, but somehow +now she was more afraid for Hugh than she had been. She trembled as +she held the picture again to her cheek and then to her lips. + +She turned; some one had come in from the hall; it was Donald. He was +in riding clothes and was disheveled and dusty from leading the men on +horseback through the woods. She saw at her first glance at him that +his search had not yet succeeded and she threw her head back in relief. +Donald seemed to have returned without meeting the servant sent for him +and, seeing the light, he had looked into the library idly; but when he +saw her, he approached her quickly. + +"What have you there?" he demanded of her. + +She flushed at the tone. "What right have you to ask?" Her instant +impulse had been to conceal the picture, but that would make it seem +she was ashamed of it; she held it so Donald could see it if he looked. +He did look and suddenly seized the picture from her. + +"Don!" she cried at him. + +He stared at the picture and then up at her. "Where did you get this, +Harriet?" + +"Don!" + +"Where did you get it?" he repeated. "Are you ashamed to say?" + +"Ashamed? Father gave it to me!" + +"Your father!" Avery started; but if anything had caused him +apprehension, it instantly disappeared. "Then didn't he tell you who +this man Eaton is?" + +His tone terrified her, made her confused; she snatched for the picture +but he held it from her. "Didn't he tell you what this picture is?" + +"What?" she repeated. + +"What did he say to you?" + +"He got the picture and had me see it; he asked me if it was--Mr. +Eaton. I told him yes." + +"And then didn't he tell you who Eaton was?" Avery iterated. + +"What do you mean, Don?" + +He put the picture down on the table beside him and, as she rushed for +it, he seized both her hands and held her before him. "Harry, dear!" +he said to her. "Harry, dear--" + +"Don't call me that! Don't speak to me that way!" + +"Why not?" + +"I don't want you to." + +"Why not?" + +She struggled to free herself from him. + +"I know, of course," he said. "It's because of him." He jerked his +head toward the picture on the table; the manner made her furious. + +"Let me go, Don!" + +"I'm sorry, dear." He drew her to him, held her only closer. + +"Don; Father wants to see you! He wanted to know when he came in; he +will let you know when you can go to him." + +"When did he tell you that?" + +"Just now." + +"When he gave you the picture?" + +"Yes." + +Avery had almost let her go; now he held her hard again. "Then he +wanted me to tell you about this Eaton." + +"Why should he have you tell me about--Mr. Eaton?" + +"You know!" he said to her. + +She shrank and turned her head away and shut her eyes not to see him. +And he was the man whom, until some strange moment a few days ago, she +had supposed she was some time to marry. Amazement burned through her +now at the thought; because this man had been well looking, fairly +interesting and amusing and got on well both with her father and +herself and because he cared for her, she had supposed she could marry +him. His assertion of his right to intimacy with her revolted her, and +his confidence that he had ability, by something he might reveal, to +take her from Eaton and bring her back within reach of himself. + +Or wasn't it merely that? She twisted in his arms until she could see +his face and stared at him. His look and manner were full of purpose; +he was using terms of endearment toward her more freely than he ever +had dared to use them before; and it was not because of love for her, +it was for some purpose or through some necessity of his own that he +was asserting himself like this. + +So she ceased to struggle against him, only drawing away from him as +far as she could and staring at him, prepared, before she asked her +question, to deny and reject his answer, no matter what it was. + +"What have you to say about him, Donald?" + +"Harry, you haven't come to really care for him; it was just madness, +dear, only a fancy, wasn't it?" + +"What have you to say about him?" + +"You must never think of him again, dear; you must forget him forever!" + +"Why?" + +"Harry--" + +"Donald, I am not a child. If you have something to say which you +consider hard for me to hear, tell it to me at once." + +"Very well. Perhaps that is best. Dear, either this man whom you have +known as Eaton will never be found or, if he is found, he cannot be let +to live. You understand?" + +"Why? For the shooting of Cousin Wallace? He never did that! I don't +believe that; I don't think Father believes that; you'll never make any +jury believe that. So if that's all you have to tell me, let me go!" + +She struggled again but Avery held her. "I was not talking about that; +that's not necessary--to bring that against him." + +"Necessary?" + +"No; nor is it necessary, if he is caught, even to bring him before a +jury. That's been done already, you see." + +"Done already?" + +Avery nodded again toward the photograph on the table. "Yes, Harry, +have you never seen a picture with the numbers printed in below like +that? Can't you guess yet where your father must have sent for that +picture? Don't you know what those numbers mean?" + +"What do they mean?" + +"They are the figures of his number in what is called 'The Rogue's +Gallery'; now have you heard of it?" + +"Go on." + +"And they mean he has committed a crime and been tried and convicted of +it; they mean in this case that he has committed a murder!" + +"A murder!" + +"For which he was convicted and sentenced." + +"Sentenced!" + +"Yes; and is alive now only because before the sentence could be +carried out, he escaped. That man, Philip Eaton, is Hugh--" + +"Hugh!" + +"Hugh Overton, Harry!" + +"Hugh Overton!" + +"Yes; I found it out to-day. The police have just learned it, too. I +was coming to tell your father. He's Hugh Overton, the murderer of +Matthew Latron!" + +Harriet fought herself free. Denial, revolt stormed in her. "It isn't +so!" she cried. "He is not that man! Hugh--his name is Hugh; but he +is not Hugh Overton. Mr. Warden said Hugh--this Hugh had been greatly +wronged--terribly wronged. Mr. Warden tried to help Hugh even at the +risk of his own life. He would not--nobody would have tried to help +Hugh Overton!" + +"Mr. Warden probably had been deceived." + +"No; no!" + +"Yes, Harry; for this man is certainly Hugh Overton." + +"It isn't so! I know it isn't so!" + +"You mean he told you he was--some one else, Harry?" + +"No; I mean--" She faced him defiantly. "Father let me keep the +photograph! I asked him, and he said, 'Do whatever you wish with it.' +He knew I meant to keep it! He knows who Hugh is, so he would not have +said that, if--if--" + +She heard a sound behind her and turned. Her father had come into the +room. And as she saw his manner and his face she knew that what Avery +had just told her was the truth. She shrank away from them. Her hands +went to her face and hid it. + +So this was that unknown thing which had stood between herself and +Hugh--that something which she had seen a hundred times check the +speech upon his lips and chill his manner toward her! Hadn't Hugh +himself told her--or almost told her it was something of that sort? He +had said to her on the train, when she urged him to defend himself +against the charge of having attacked her father, "If I told them who I +am, that would make them only more certain their charge is true; it +would condemn me without a hearing!" And his being Hugh Overton +explained everything. + +She knew now why it was that her father, on hearing Hugh's voice, had +become curious about him, had tried to place the voice in his +recollection--the voice of a prisoner on trial for his life, heard only +for an instant but fixed upon his mind by the circumstances attending +it, though those circumstances afterward had been forgotten. She knew +why she, when she had gazed at the picture a few minutes before, had +been disturbed and frightened at feeling it to be a kind of picture +unfamiliar to her and threatening her with something unknown and +terrible. She knew the reason now for a score of things Hugh had said +to her, for the way he had looked many times when she had spoken to +him. It explained all that! It seemed to her, in the moment, to +explain everything--except one thing. It did not explain Hugh himself; +the kind of man he was, the kind of man she knew him to be--the man she +loved--he could not be a murderer! + +Her hands dropped from her face; she threw her head back proudly and +triumphantly, as she faced now both Avery and her father. + +"He, the murderer of Mr. Latron!" she cried quietly. "It isn't so!" + +The blind man was very pale; he was fully dressed. A servant had +supported him and helped him down the stairs and still stood beside him +sustaining him. But the will which had conquered his disability of +blindness was holding him firmly now against the disability of his +hurts; he seemed composed and steady. She saw compassion for her in +his look; and compassion--under the present circumstances--terrified +her. Stronger, far more in control of him than his compassion for her, +she saw purpose. She recognized that her father had come to a decision +upon which he now was going to act; she knew that nothing she or any +one else could say would alter that decision and that he would employ +his every power in acting upon it. + +The blind man seemed to check himself an instant in the carrying out of +his purpose; he turned his sightless eyes toward her. There was +emotion in his look; but, except that this emotion was in part pity for +her, she could not tell exactly what his look expressed. + +"Will you wait for me outside, Harriet?" he said to her. "I shall not +be long." + +She hesitated; then she felt suddenly the futility of opposing him and +she passed him and went out into the hall. The servant followed her, +closing the door behind him. She stood just outside the door +listening. She heard her father--she could catch the tone; she could +not make out the words--asking a question; she heard the sound of +Avery's response. She started back nearer the door and put her hand on +it to open it; inside they were still talking. She caught Avery's tone +more clearly now, and it suddenly terrified her. She drew back from +the door and shrank away. There had been no opposition to Avery in her +father's tone; she was certain now that he was only discussing with +Avery what they were to do. + +She had waited nearly half an hour, but the library door had not been +opened again. The closeness of the hall seemed choking her; she went +to the front door and threw it open. The evening was clear and cool; +but it was not from the chill of the air that she shivered as she gazed +out at the woods through which she had driven with Hugh the night +before. There the hunt for him had been going on all day; there she +pictured him now, in darkness, in suffering, alone, hurt, hunted and +with all the world but her against him! + +She ran down the steps and stood on the lawn. The vague noises of the +house now no longer were audible. She stood in the silence of the +evening strained and fearfully listening. At first there seemed to be +no sound outdoors other than the gentle rush of the waves on the beach +at the foot of the bluff behind her; then, in the opposite direction, +she defined the undertone of some faraway confusion. Sometimes it +seemed to be shouting, next only a murmur of movement and noise. She +ran up the road a hundred yards in its direction and halted again. The +noise was nearer and clearer--a confusion of motor explosions and +voices; and now one sound clattered louder and louder and leaped nearer +rapidly and rose above the rest, the roar of a powerful motor car +racing with "cut-out" open. The rising racket of it terrified Harriet +with its recklessness and triumph. Yes; that was it; triumph! The +far-off tumult was the noise of shouts and cries of triumph; the racing +car, blaring its way through the night, was the bearer of news of +success of the search. + +Harriet went colder as she knew this; then she ran up the road to meet +the car coming. She saw the glare of its headlights through the trees +past a bend in the road; she ran on and the beams of the car's +headlight straightened and glared down the road directly upon her. The +car leaped at her; she ran on toward it, arms in the air. The clatter +of the car became deafening and the machine was nearly upon her when +the driver recognized that the girl in the road was heedless and might +throw herself before him unless he stopped. He brought his car up +short and skidding. "What is it?" he cried, as he muffled the engine. + +"What is it? What is it?" she cried in return. + +The man recognized her. "Miss Santoine!" + +"What is it?" + +"We've got him!" the man cried. "We've got him!" + +"Him?" + +"Him! Hugh Overton! Eaton, Miss Santoine. He's Hugh Overton; hadn't +you heard? And we've got him!" + +"Got him!" + +She seemed to the man not to understand; and he had not time to explain +further even to her. "Where is Mr. Avery?" he demanded. "I've got to +tell Mr. Avery." + +She made no response but threw herself in front of the car and clasped +a wheel as the man started to throw in his gear. He cried to her and +tried to get her off; but she was deaf to him. He looked in the +direction of the house, shut off his power and leaped down. He left +the machine and ran on the road toward the house. Harriet waited until +he was away, then she sprang to the seat; she started the car and +turned it back in the direction from which it had come. She speeded +and soon other headlights flared at hers--a number of them; four or +five cars, at least, were in file up the road and men were crowding and +horsemen were riding beside them. + +The captors of Hugh were approaching in triumphal procession. Harriet +felt the wild, savage impulse to hurl her racing car headlong and at +full speed among them. She rushed on so close that she saw she alarmed +them; they cried a warning; the horsemen and the men on foot jumped +from beside the road and the leading car swung to one side; but Harriet +caught her car on the brakes and swung it straight across the road and +stopped it; she closed the throttle and pulled the key from the +starting mechanism and flung it into the woods. So she sat in the car, +waiting for the captors of Hugh to come up. + +These appreciated the hostility of her action without yet recognizing +her. The motors stopped; the men on foot closed around. One of them +cried her name and men descended from the leading car. Harriet got +down from her machine and met them. The madness of the moments past +was gone; as the men addressed her with astonishment but with respect, +she gazed at them coolly. + +"Where is he?" she asked them. "Where is he?" + +They did not tell her; but reply was unnecessary. Others' eyes pointed +hers to Hugh. He was in the back seat of the second machine with two +men, one on each side of him. The lights from the car following and +the refractions from the other lights showed him to her. He was +sitting, or was being held, up straight; his arms were down at his +sides. She could not see whether they were tied or not. The light did +not shine so as to let her see his face clearly; but his bearing was +calm, he held his head up. She looked for his hurts; there seemed to +be bandages on his head but some one had given him a large cap which +was pulled down so as to conceal the bandages. Plainly there had been +no other capture; excitement was all centered upon him. Harriet heard +people telling her name to others; and the newspaper men, who seemed to +be all about, pushed back those who would interfere with her reaching +the second machine. + +She disregarded them and every one else but Hugh, who had seen her and +had kept his gaze steadily upon her as she approached. She stopped at +the side of the car where he was and she put her hand on the edge of +the tonneau. + +"You have been hurt again, Hugh?" she managed steadily. + +"Hurt? No," he said as constrainedly. "No." + +A blinding flare and an explosion startled her about. It was only a +flashlight fired by one of the newspaper photographers who had placed +his camera during the halt. Harriet opened the door to the tonneau. +Two men occupied the seats in the middle of the car; it was a large, +seven passenger machine. "I will take this seat, please," she said to +the man nearer. He got out and she sat down. Those who had been +trying to start the car which she had driven across the road, had given +up the task and were pushing it away to one side. Harriet sat down in +front of Eaton--it was still by that name she thought of him; her +feelings refused the other name, though she knew now it was his real +one. She understood now her impulse which had driven her to try to +block the road to her father's house if only for a moment; they were +taking him there to deliver him up to Avery--to her father--who were +consulting there over what his fate was to be. + +She put her hand on his; his fingers closed upon it, but after his +first response to her grasp he made no other; and now, as the lights +showed him to her more clearly, she was terrified to see how unable he +was to defend himself against anything that might be done to him. His +calmness was the calmness of exhaustion; his left arm was bound tightly +to his side; his eyes, dim and blank with pain and weariness, stared +only dully, dazedly at all around. + +The car started, and she sat silent, with her hand still upon his, as +they went on to her father's house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE FLAW IN THE LEFT EYE + +Santoine, after Harriet had left the library, stood waiting until he +heard the servant go out and close the door; he had instructed the man +and another with him to remain in the hall. The blind man felt no +physical weakness; he was wholly absorbed in the purpose for which he +had dressed and come downstairs; now, as he heard Avery start forward +to help him, he motioned him back. It was the rule in Santoine's house +that the furniture in the rooms he frequented should be kept always in +the same positions; the blind man could move about freely, therefore, +in these rooms. + +He walked slowly now to a large chair beside the table in the center of +the room and sat down, resting his arm on the table; when he felt the +familiar smoothness of the table under his finger-tips he knew he was +facing the part of the room where the sound he had just heard had told +him Avery must be. + +"When did you learn that Eaton was Hugh Overton, Avery?" he asked. + +"To-day." + +"How did you discover it?" + +He heard Avery, who had been standing, come forward and seat himself on +the arm of the chair across the table from him; the blind man turned to +face this place directly. + +"It was plain from the first there was something wrong with the man," +Avery replied; "but I had, of course, no way of placing him until he +gave himself away at polo the other day." + +"At polo? Then you knew about it the other day?" + +"Oh, no," Avery denied. "I saw that he was pretending not to know a +game which he did know; when he put over one particular stroke I was +sure he knew the game very well. The number of men in this country +who've played polo at all isn't very large and those who can play great +polo are very few. So I sent for the polo annuals for a few years +back; the ones I wanted came to the club to-day. His picture is in the +group of the Spring Meadows Club; he played 'back' for them five years +ago. His name was under the picture, of course." + +"You didn't tell me, however, that he could play polo when you first +found it out." + +"No; I wanted to be sure of him before I spoke; besides, Harriet had +seen it as well as I; I supposed she had told you." + +"I understand. I am glad to know how it was. One less certain of your +fidelity than I am might have put another construction on your silence; +one less certain, Avery, might have thought that, already knowing +Eaton's identity, you preferred instead of telling it to me to have me +discover it for myself and so, for that reason, you trapped him into a +polo game in Harriet's presence. I, myself, do not think that. The +other possibility which might occur to one not certain of your fidelity +we will not now discuss." + +For a moment Santoine paused; the man across from him did not speak, +but--Santoine's intuition told him--drew himself suddenly together +against some shock; the blind man felt that Avery was watching him now +with tense questioning. + +"Of course," said Santoine, "knowing who Eaton is, gives us no aid in +determining who the men were that fought with him in my study last +night?" + +"It gives none to me, Mr. Santoine," Avery said steadily. + +"It gives none to you," Santoine repeated; "and the very peculiar +behavior of the stock exchange to-day, I suppose that gives you no help +either. All day they have been going down, Avery--the securities, the +stocks and bonds of the properties still known as the Latron +properties; the very securities which five years ago stood staunch +against even the shock of the death of the man whose coarse but +powerful personality had built them up into the great properties they +are to-day--of Matthew Latron's death. To-day, without apparent +reason, they have been going down, and that gives you no help either, +Avery?" + +"I'm afraid I don't follow you, sir." + +"Yet you are a very clever man, Avery; there is no question about that. +Your friend and my friend who sent you to me five years ago was quite +correct in calling you clever; I have found you so; I have been willing +to pay you a good salary--a very good salary--because you are clever." + +"I'm glad if you have found my work satisfactory, Mr. Santoine." + +"I have even found it worth while at times to talk over with you +matters--problems--which were troubling me; to consult with you. Have +I not?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well; I am going to consult with you now. I have an infirmity, +as you know, Avery; I am blind. I have just found out that for several +years--for about five years, to be exact; that is, for about the same +length of time that you have been with me--my blindness has been used +by a certain group of men to make me the agent of a monstrous and +terrible injustice to an innocent man. Except for my blindness--except +for that, Avery, this injustice never could have been carried on. If +you find a certain amount of bitterness in my tone, it is due to that; +a man who has an infirmity, Avery, cannot well help being a little +sensitive in regard to it. You are willing I should consult with you +in regard to this?" + +"Of course I am at your service, Mr. Santoine." Avery's voice was +harsh and dry. + +The blind man was silent for an instant. He could feel the uneasiness +and anxiety of the man across from him mounting swiftly, and he gave it +every opportunity to increase. He had told Eaton once that he did not +use "cat and mouse" methods; he was using them now because that was the +only way his purpose could be achieved. + +"We must go back, then, Avery, to the quite serious emergency to which +I am indebted for your faithful service. It is fairly difficult now +for one contemplating the reverence and regard in which 'big' men are +held by the public in these days of business reconstruction to recall +the attitude of only a few years ago. However, it is certainly true +that five years ago the American people appeared perfectly convinced +that the only way to win true happiness and perpetuate prosperity was +to accuse, condemn and jail for life--if execution were not legal--the +heads of the important groups of industrial properties. Just at that +time, one of these men--one of the most efficient but also, perhaps, +the one personally most obnoxious or unpopular--committed one of his +gravest indiscretions. It concerned the private use of deposits in +national banks; it was a federal offense of the most patent and +provable kind. He was indicted. Considering the temper of any +possible jury at that time, there was absolutely no alternative but to +believe that the man under indictment must spend many succeeding years, +if not the rest of his life, in the Federal penitentiary at Atlanta or +Leavenworth. + +"Now, not only the man himself but his closest associates contemplated +this certainty with dismay. The man was in complete control of a group +of the most valuable and prosperous properties in America. Before his +gaining control, the properties had been almost ruined by differences +between the minor men who tried to run them; only the calling of +Matthew Latron into control saved those men from themselves; they +required him to govern them; his taking away would bring chaos and ruin +among them again. They knew that. There were a number of important +people, therefore, who held hope against hope that Latron would not be +confined in a prison cell. Just before he must go to trial, Latron +himself became convinced that he faced confinement for the rest of his +life; then fate effectively intervened to end all his troubles. His +body, charred and almost consumed by flames--but nevertheless the +identified body of Matthew Latron--was found in the smoking ruins of +his shooting lodge which burned to the ground two days before his +trial. I have stated correctly these particulars, have I not, Avery?" + +"Yes." Avery was no longer sitting on the arm of the chair; he had +slipped into the seat--he was hunched in the seat watching the blind +man with growing conviction and fear. + +"There were, of course," Santoine went on, "many of the violent and +passion-inflamed who carped at this timely intervention of fate and +criticised the accident which delivered Latron at this time. But these +were silenced when Latron's death was shown to have been, not accident, +but murder. A young man was shown to have followed Latron to the +shooting lodge; a witness appeared who had seen this young man shoot +Latron; a second witness had seen him set fire to the lodge. The young +man--Hugh Overton--was put on trial for his life. I, myself, as a +witness at the trial, supplied the motive for the crime; for, though I +had never met Overton, I knew that he had lost the whole of a large +fortune through investments recommended to him by Latron. Overton was +convicted, sentenced to death; he escaped before the sentence was +carried out--became a fugitive without a name, who if he ever +reappeared would be handed over for execution. For the evidence had +been perfect--complete; he had shot Latron purely for revenge, killed +him in the most despicable manner. For there was no doubt Latron was +dead, was there, Avery?" + +Santoine waited for reply. + +"What?" Avery said huskily. + +"I say there was no doubt Latron was dead?" + +"None." + +"That was the time you came into my employ, Avery, recommended to me by +one of the men who had been closest to Latron. I was not connected +with the Latron properties except as an adviser; but many papers +relating to them must go inevitably through my hands. I was rather on +the inside in all that concerned those properties. But I could not +myself see the papers; I was blind; therefore, I had to have others +serve as eyes for me. And from the first, Avery, you served as my eyes +in connection with all papers relating to the Latron properties. If +anything ever appeared in those papers which might have led me to +suspect that any injustice had been done in the punishment of Latron's +murderer, it could reach me only through you. Nothing of that sort +ever did reach me, Avery. You must have made quite a good thing out of +it." + +"What?" + +"I say, your position here must have been rather profitable to you, +Avery; I have not treated you badly myself, recognizing that you must +often be tempted by gaining information here from which you might make +money; and your other employers must have overbid me." + +"I don't understand; I beg your pardon, Mr. Santoine, but I do not +follow what you are talking about." + +"No? Then we must go a little further. This last year a minor +reorganization became necessary in some of the Latron properties. My +friend, Gabriel Warden--who was an honest man, Avery--had recently +greatly increased his interest in those properties; it was inevitable +the reorganization should be largely in his hands. I remember now +there was opposition to his share in it; the fact made no impression on +me at the time; opposition is common in all things. During his work +with the Latron properties, Warden--the honest man, Avery--discovered +the terrible injustice of which I speak. + +"I suspect there were discrepancies in the lists of stockholders, +showing a concealed ownership of considerable blocks of stock, which +first excited his suspicions. Whatever it may have been Warden +certainly investigated further; his investigation revealed to him the +full particulars of the injustice done to the nameless fugitive who had +been convicted as the murderer of Matthew Latron. Evidently this +helpless, hopeless man had been thought worth watching by some one, for +Warden's discoveries gave him also Overton's address. Warden risked +and lost his life trying to help Overton. + +"I do not need to draw your attention, Avery, to the very peculiar +condition which followed Warden's death. Warden had certainly had +communication with Overton of some sort; Overton's enemies, therefore, +were unable to rid themselves of him by delivering him up to the police +because they did not know how much Overton knew. When I found that +Warden had made me his executor and I went west and took charge of his +affairs, their difficulties were intensified, for they did not dare to +let suspicion of what had been done reach me. There was no course open +to them, therefore, but to remove Overton before my suspicions were +aroused, even if it could be done only at desperate risk to themselves. + +"What I am leading up to, Avery, is your own connection with these +events. You looked after your own interests rather carefully, I think, +up to a certain point. When--knowing who Eaton was--you got him into a +polo game, it was so that, if your interests were best served by +exposing him, you could do so without revealing the real source of your +knowledge of him. But an unforeseen event arose. The drafts and lists +relating to the reorganization of the Latron properties--containing the +very facts, no doubt, which first had aroused Warden's suspicions--were +sent me through Warden's office. At first there was nothing +threatening to you in this, because their contents could reach me only +through you. But in the uncertainty I felt, I had my daughter take +these matters out of your hands; you did not dare then even to ask me +to give them back, for fear that would draw my attention to them and to +you. + +"That night, Avery, you sent an unsigned telegram from the office in +the village; almost within twenty-four hours my study was entered, the +safe inaccessible to you was broken open, the contents were carried +away. The study window had not been forced; it had been left open from +within. Do you suppose I do not know that one of the two men in the +study last night was the principal whose agents had failed in two +attempts to get rid of Overton for him, whose other agent--yourself, +Avery--had failed to intercept the evidence which would have revealed +the truth to me, so that, no longer trusting to agents, he himself had +come in desperation to prevent my learning the facts? I realize fully, +Avery, that by means of you my blindness and my reputation have been +used for five years to conceal from the public the fact that Matthew +Latron had not been murdered, but was still alive!" + +The blind man halted; he had not gone through this long conversation, +with all the strain that it entailed upon himself, without a definite +object; and now, as he listened to Avery's quick breathing and the +nervous tapping of his fingers against the arm of his chair, he +realized that this object was accomplished. Avery not only realized +that the end of deception and concealment had come; he recognized +thoroughly that Santoine would not have spoken until he had certain +proof to back his words. Avery might believe that, as yet, the blind +man had not all the proof in his possession; but Avery knew--as he was +aware that Santoine also knew--that exposure threatened so many men +that some one of them now was certain to come forward to save himself +at the expense of the others. And Avery knew that only one--and the +first one so to come forward--could be saved. + +So Santoine heard Avery now get up; he stood an instant and tried to +speak, but his breath caught nervously; he made another effort. + +"I don't think you have much against me, Mr. Santoine," he managed; it +was--as the blind man had expected--only of himself that Avery was +thinking. + +"No?" Santoine asked quietly. + +"I didn't have anything to do with convicting Overton, or know anything +about it until that part was all over; I never saw him till I saw him +on the train. I didn't know Warden was going to be killed." + +"But you were accessory to the robbery of my house last night and, +therefore, accessory to the murder of Wallace Blatchford. Last night, +too, knowing Overton was innocent of everything charged against him, +you gave orders to fire upon him at sight and he was fired upon. And +what were you telling Harriet when I came in? You have told the police +that Overton is the murderer of Latron. Isn't that so the police will +refuse to believe anything he may say and return him to the death cell +for the sentence to be executed upon him? The law will call these +things attempted murder, Avery." + +The blind man heard Avery pacing the floor, and then heard him stop in +front of him. + +"What is it you want of me, Mr. Santoine?" + +"The little information I still require." + +"You mean you want me to sell the crowd out?" + +"Not that; because I offer you nothing. A number of men are going to +the gallows or the penitentiary for this, Avery, and you--I +suspect--among them; though I also suspect--from what I have learned +about your character in the last few days--that you'll take any means +open to you to avoid sharing their fate." + +"I suppose you mean by that that I'll turn State's evidence if I get a +chance, and that I might as well begin now." + +"That, I should say, is entirely up to you. The charge of what I +know--with the simultaneous arrest of a certain number of men in +different places whom I know must be implicated--will be made +to-morrow. You, perhaps, are a better judge than I of the cohesion of +your group in the contingencies which it will face to-morrow morning. +I offer you nothing now, Avery--no recommendation of clemency--nothing. +If you prefer to have me learn the full facts from the first of another +who breaks, very well." + +Santoine waited. He heard Avery take a few more steps up and down; +then he halted; now he walked again; they were uneven steps as Santoine +heard them; then Avery stopped once more. + +"What is it you want to know, sir?" + +"Who killed Warden?" + +"John Yarrow is his name; he was a sort of hanger-on of Latron's. I +don't know where Latron picked him up." + +"Was it he who also made the attack on the train?" + +"Yes." + +"Who was the other man on the train--the one that claimed the telegram +addressed to Lawrence Hillward?" + +"His name's Hollock. He's the titular owner of the place on the +Michigan shore where Latron has been living. The telegram I sent night +before last was addressed to his place, you know. He's been a sort of +go-between for Latron and the men--those who knew--who were managing +the properties. I'd never met him, though, Mr. Santoine, and I didn't +know either him or Hollock on the train. As I said, I wasn't in the +know about killing Warden." + +"When did you learn who Eaton was, Avery?" + +"The day after we got back here from the West I got word from Latron; +they didn't tell me till they needed to use me." Avery hesitated; then +he went on--he was eager now to tell all he knew in his belief that by +doing so he was helping his own case. "You understand, sir, about +Latron's pretended death--a guide at the shooting lodge had been killed +by a chance shot in the woods; purely accidental; some one of the party +had fired at a deer, missed, and never knew he'd killed a man with the +waste shot. When the guide didn't come back to camp, they looked for +him and found his body. He was a man who never would be missed or +inquired for and was very nearly Latron's size; and that gave Latron +the idea. + +"At first there was no idea of pretending he had been murdered; it was +the coroner who first suggested that. Things looked ugly for a while, +under the circumstances, as they were made public. Either the scheme +might come out or some one else be charged as the murderer. That put +it up to Overton. He'd actually been up there to see Latron and had +had a scene with him which had been witnessed. That part--all but the +evidence which showed that he shot Latron afterwards--was perfectly +true. He thought that Latron, as he was about to go to trial, might be +willing to give him information which would let him save something from +the fortune he'd lost through Latron's manipulations. The +circumstances, motive, everything was ready to convict Overton; it +needed very little more to complete the case against him." + +"So it was completed." + +"But after Overton was convicted, he was not allowed to be punished, +sir." + +Santoine's lips straightened in contempt. "He was not allowed to be +punished?" + +"Overton didn't actually escape, you know, Mr. Santoine--that is, he +couldn't have escaped without help; Latron was thoroughly frightened +and he wanted it carried through and Overton executed; but some of the +others rebelled against this and saw that Overton got away; but he +never knew he'd been helped. I understand it was evidence of Latron's +insistence on the sentence being carried out that Warden found, after +his first suspicions had been aroused, and that put Warden in a +position to have Latron tried for his life, and made it necessary to +kill Warden." + +"Latron is dead, of course, Avery, or fatally wounded?" + +"He's dead. Over--Eaton, that is, sir--hit him last night with three +shots." + +"As a housebreaker engaged in rifling my safe, Avery." + +"Yes, sir. Latron was dying when they took him out of the car last +night. They got him away, though; put him on the boat he'd come on. I +saw them in the woods last night. They'll not destroy the body or make +away with it, sir, at present." + +"In other words, you instructed them not to do so until you had found +out whether Overton could be handed over for execution and the facts +regarding Latron kept secret, or whether some other course was +necessary." + +The blind man did not wait for any answer to this; he straightened +suddenly, gripping the arms of his chair, and got up. There was more +he wished to ask; in the bitterness he felt at his blindness having +been used to make him an unconscious agent in these things of which +Avery spoke so calmly, he was resolved that no one who had shared +knowingly in them should go unpunished. But now he heard the noise +made by approach of Eaton's captors. He had noted it a minute or more +earlier; he was sure now that it was definitely nearing the house. He +crossed to the window, opened it and stood there listening; the people +outside were coming up the driveway. Santoine went into the hall. + +"Where is Miss Santoine?" he inquired. + +The servant who waited in the hall told him she had gone out. As +Santoine stood listening, the sounds without became coherent to him. + +"They have taken Overton, Avery," he commented. "Of course they have +taken no one else. I shall tell those in charge of him that he is not +the one they are to hold prisoner but that I have another for them +here." + +The blind man heard no answer from Avery. Those having Overton in +charge seemed to be coming into the house; the door opened and there +were confused sounds. Santoine stood separating the voices. + +"What is it?" he asked the servant. + +"Mr. Eaton--Mr. Overton, sir--fainted as they were taking him out of +the motor-car, sir. He seems much done up, sir." + +Santoine recognized that four or five men, holding or carrying their +prisoner between them, had come in and halted in surprise at sight of +him. + +"We have him!" he heard one of them cry importantly to him. "We have +him, sir! and he's Hugh Overton, who killed Latron!" + +Then Santoine heard his daughter's voice in a half cry, half sob of +hopeless appeal to him; Harriet ran to him; he felt her cold, trembling +fingers clasping him and beseeching him. "Father! Father! They +say--they say--they will--" + +He put his hands over hers, clasping hers and patting it, "My dear," he +said, "I thought you would wait for me; I told you to wait." + +He heard others coming into the house now; and he held his daughter +beside him as he faced them. + +"Who is in charge here?" he demanded. + +The voice of one of those who had just come in answered him. "I, +sir--I am the chief of police." + +"I wish to speak to you; I will not keep you long. May I ask you to +have your prisoner taken to the room he occupied here in my house and +given attention by a doctor? You can have my word that it is not +necessary to guard him. Wait! Wait!" he directed, as he heard +exclamations and ejaculations to correct him. "I do not mean that you +have mistaken who he is. He is Hugh Overton, I know; it is because he +is Hugh Overton that I say what I do." + +Santoine abandoned effort to separate and comprehend or to try to +answer the confusion of charge and questioning around him. He +concerned himself, at the moment, only with his daughter; he drew her +to him, held her and said gently, "There, dear; there! Everything is +right. I have not been able to explain to you, and I cannot take time +now; but you, at least, will take my word that you have nothing to fear +for him--nothing!" + +He heard her gasp with incredulity and surprise; then, as she drew back +from him, staring at him, she breathed deep with relief and clasped +him, sobbing. He still held her, as the hall was cleared and the +footsteps of those carrying Overton went up the stairs; then, knowing +that she wished to follow them, he released her. She drew away, then +clasped his hand and kissed it; as she did so, she suddenly stiffened +and her hand tightened on his spasmodically. + +Some one else had come into the hall and he heard another voice--a +woman's, which he recognized as that of the stenographer, Miss Davis. + +"Where is he? Hugh! Hugh! What have you done to him? Mr. Santoine! +Mr. Santoine! where is he?" + +The blind man straightened, holding his daughter to him; there was +anxiety, horror, love in the voice he heard; Harriet's perplexity was +great as his own. "Is that you, Miss Davis?" he inquired. + +"Yes; yes," the girl repeated. "Where is--Hugh, Mr. Santoine?" + +"You do not understand," the voice of a young man--anxious and strained +now, but of pleasing timbre--broke in on them. + +"I'm afraid I don't," Santoine said quietly. + +"She is Hugh's sister, Mr. Santoine--she is Edith Overton." + +"Edith Overton? And who are you?" + +"You do not know me. My name is Lawrence Hillward." + +Santoine asked nothing more for the moment. His daughter had left his +side. He stood an instant listening to the confusion of question and +answer in the hall; then he opened the door into the library and held +it for the police chief to enter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +"IT'S ALL RIGHT, HUGH"--AT LAST + +Eaton--he still, with the habit of five years of concealment, even +thought of himself by that name--awoke to full consciousness at eight +o'clock the next morning. He was in the room he had occupied before in +Santoine's house; the sunlight, reflected from the lake, was playing on +the ceiling. His wounds had been dressed; his body was comfortable and +without fever. He had indistinct memories of being carried, of people +bending over him, of being cared for; but of all else that had happened +since his capture he knew nothing. + +He saw and recognized, against the lighted square of the window, a man +standing looking out at the lake. + +"Lawrence," he said. + +The man turned and came toward the bed. "Yes, Hugh." + +Eaton raised himself excitedly upon his pillows. "Lawrence, that was +he--last night--in the study. It was Latron! I saw him! You'll +believe me, Lawrence--you at least will. They got away on a boat--they +must be followed--" With the first return of consciousness he had +taken up again that battle against circumstances which had been his +only thought for five years. + +But now, suddenly he was aware that his sister was also in the room, +sitting upon the opposite side of the bed. Her hand came forward and +clasped his; she bent over him, holding him and fondling him. + +"It is all right, Hugh," she whispered--"Oh, Hugh! it is all right now." + +"All right?" he questioned dazedly. + +"Yes; Mr. Santoine knows; he--he was not what we thought him. He +believed all the while that you were justly sentenced. Now he knows +otherwise--" + +"He--Santoine--believed that?" Eaton asked incredulously. + +"Yes; he says his blindness was used by them to make him think so. So +now he is very angry; he says no one who had anything to do with it +shall escape. He figured it all out--most wonderfully--that it must +have been Latron in the study. He has been working all night--they +have already made several arrests and every port on the lake is being +watched for the boat they got away on." + +"Is that true, Edith? Lawrence, is it true?" + +"Yes; quite true, Hugh!" Hillward choked and turned away. + +Eaton sank back against his pillows; his eyes--dry, bright and filled +still with questioning for a time, as, he tried to appreciate what he +just had heard and all that it meant to him--dampened suddenly as he +realized that it was over now, that long struggle to clear his name +from the charge of murder--the fight which had seemed so hopeless. He +could not realize it to the full as yet; concealment, fear, the sense +of monstrous injustice done him had marked so deeply all his thoughts +and feelings that he could not sense the fact that they were gone for +good. So what came to him most strongly now was only realization that +he had been set right with Santoine--Santoine, whom he himself had +misjudged and mistrusted. And Harriet? He had not needed to be set +right with her; she had believed and trusted him from the first, in +spite of all that had seemed against him. Gratitude warmed him as he +thought of her--and that other feeling, deeper, stronger far than +gratitude, or than anything else he ever had felt toward any one but +her, surged up in him and set his pulses wildly beating, as his thought +strained toward the future. + +"Where is--Miss Santoine?" he asked. + +His sister answered. "She has been helping her father. They left word +they were to be sent for as soon as you woke up, and I've just sent for +them." + +Eaton lay silent till he heard them coming. The blind man was +unfamiliar with this room; his daughter led him in. Her eyes were very +bright, her cheeks which had been pale flushed as she met Eaton's look, +but she did not look away. He kept his gaze upon her. + +Santoine, under her guidance, took the chair Hillward set beside the +bed for him. The blind man was very quiet; he felt for and found +Eaton's hand and pressed it. Eaton choked, as he returned the +pressure. Then Santoine released him. + +"Who else is here?" the blind man asked his daughter. + +"Miss Overton and Mr. Hillward," she answered. + +Santoine found with his blind eyes their positions in the room and +acknowledged their presence; afterward he turned back to Eaton. + +"I understand, I think, everything now, except some few particulars +regarding yourself," he said. "Will you tell me those?" + +"You mean---" Eaton spoke to Santoine, but he looked at Harriet. "Oh, +I understand, I think. When I--escaped, Mr. Santoine of course, my +picture had appeared in all the newspapers and I was not safe from +recognition anywhere in this country. I got into Canada and, from +Vancouver, went to China. We I had very little money left, Mr. +Santoine; what had not been--lost through Latron had been spent in my +defense. I got a position in a mercantile house over there. It was a +good country for me; people over there don't ask questions for fear +some one will ask questions about them. We had no near relatives for +Edith to go to and she had to take up stenography to support herself +and--and change her name, Mr. Santoine, because of me." + +Eaton's hand went out and clasped his sister's. + +"Oh, Hugh; it didn't matter--about me, I mean!" she whispered. + +"Hillward met her and asked her to marry him and she--wouldn't consent +without telling him who she was. He--Lawrence--believed her when she +said I hadn't killed Latron; and he suggested that she come out here +and try to get employed by you. We didn't suspect, of course, that +Latron was still alive. We thought he had been killed by some of his +own crowd--in some quarrel or because his trial was likely to involve +some one else so seriously that they killed him to prevent it; and that +it was put upon me to--to protect that person and that you--" + +Eaton hesitated. + +"Go on," said Santoine. "You thought I knew who Latron's murderer was +and morally, though not technically, perjured myself at your trial to +convict you in his place. What next?" + +"That was it," Eaton assented. "We thought you knew that and that some +of those around you who served as your eyes must know it, too." + +Harriet gasped. Eaton looking at her, knew that she understood now +what had come between them when she had told him that she herself had +served as her father's eyes all through the Latron trial. He felt +himself flushing as he looked at her; he could not understand now how +he could have believed that she had aided in concealing an injustice +against him, no matter what influence had been exerted upon her. She +was all good; all true! + +"At first," Eaton went on, "Edith did not find out anything. Then, +this year, she learned that there was to be a reorganization of some of +the Latron properties. We hoped that, during that, something would +come out which might help us. I had been away almost five years; my +face was forgotten, and we thought I could take the chance of coming +back to be near at hand so I could act if anything did come out. +Lawrence met me at Vancouver. We were about to start East when I +received a message from Mr. Warden. I did not know Warden and I don't +know now how he knew who I was or where he could reach me. His message +merely said he knew I needed help and he was prepared to give it and +made an appointment for me to see him at his house. He was one of the +Latron crowd but, I found out, one of those least likely to have had a +hand in my conviction. I thought possibly Warden was going to tell me +the name of Latron's murderer and I decided to take the risk of seeing +him. You know what happened when I tried to keep the appointment. + +"Then you came to Seattle and took charge of Warden's affairs. I felt +certain that if there was any evidence among Warden's effects as to who +had killed Latron, you would take it back with you with the other +matters relating to the Latron reorganization. You could not recognize +me from your having been at my trial because you were blind; I decided +to take the train with you and try to get possession of the draft of +the reorganization agreement and the other documents with it which +Warden had been working on. I had suspected that I was being watched +by agents of the men protecting Latron's murderer while I was in +Seattle. I had changed my lodgings there because of that, but Lawrence +had remained at the old lodgings to find out for me. He found there +was a man following me who disappeared after I had taken the train, and +Lawrence, after questioning the gateman at Seattle decided the man had +taken the same train I did. He wired me in the cipher we had sometimes +used in communicating with each other, but not knowing what name I was +using on the train he addressed it to himself, confident that if a +telegram reached the train addressed to 'Lawrence Hillward' I would +understand and claim it. + +"Of course, I could not follow his instructions and leave the train; we +were snowed in. Besides, I could not imagine how anybody could have +followed me onto the train, as I had taken pains to prevent that very +thing by being the last passenger to get aboard it." + +"The man whom the gateman saw did not follow you; he merely watched you +get on the train and notified two others, who took the train at +Spokane. They had planned to get rid of you after you left Seattle so +as to run less risk of your death being connected with that of Warden. +It was my presence which made it necessary for them to make the +desperate attempt to kill you on the train." + +"Then I understand. The other telegram was sent me, of course, by +Edith from Chicago, when she learned here that you were using the name +of Dorne on your way home. I learned from her when I got here that the +documents relating to the Latron properties, which I had decided you +did not have with you, were being sent you through Warden's office. +Through Edith I learned that they had reached you and had been put in +the safe. I managed to communicate with Hillward at the country club, +and that night he brought me the means of forcing the safe." + +Eaton felt himself flushing again, as he looked at Harriet. Did she +resent his having used her in that way? He saw only sympathy in her +face. + +"My daughter told me that she helped you to that extent," Santoine +offered, "and I understood later what must have been your reason for +asking her to take you out that night." + +"When I reached the study," Eaton continued, "I found others already +there. The light of an electric torch flashed on the face of one of +them and I recognized the man as Latron--the man for whose murder I had +been convicted and sentenced! Edith tells me that you know the rest." + +There was silence in the room for several minutes. Santoine again felt +for Eaton's hand and pressed it. "We've tired you out," he said. "You +must rest." + +"You must sleep, Hugh, if you can," Edith urged. + +Eaton obediently closed his eyes, but opened them at once to look for +Harriet. She had moved out of his line of vision. + +Santoine rose; he stood an instant waiting for his daughter, then +suddenly he comprehended that she was no longer in the room. "Mr. +Hillward, I must ask your help," he said, and he went out with Hillward +guiding him. + +Eaton, turning anxiously on his pillow and looking about the room, saw +no one but his sister. He had known when Harriet moved away from +beside the bed; but he had not suspected that she was leaving the room. +Now suddenly a great fear filled him. + +"Why did Miss Santoine go away? Why did she go, Edith?" he questioned. + +"You must sleep, Hugh," his sister answered only. + +Harriet, when she slipped out of the room, had gone downstairs. She +could not have forced herself to leave before she had heard Hugh's +story, and she could not define definitely even to herself what the +feeling had been that had made her leave as soon as he had finished; +but she sensed the reason vaguely. Hugh had told her two days before, +"I will come back to you as you have never known me yet"--and it had +proved true. She had known him as a man in fear, constrained, +carefully guarding himself against others and against betrayal by +himself; a man to whom all the world seemed opposed; so that her +sympathy--and afterward something more than her sympathy--had gone out +to him. To that repressed and threatened man, she had told all she +felt toward him, revealing her feelings with a frankness that would +have been impossible except that she wanted him to know that she was +ready to stand against the world with him. + +Now the world was no longer against him; he had friends, a place in +life was ready to receive him; he would be sought after, and his name +would be among those of the people of her own sort. She had no shame +that she had let him--and others--know all that she felt toward him; +she gloried still in it; only now--now, if he wished her, he must make +that plain; she could not, of herself, return to him. + +So unrest possessed her and the suspense of something hoped for but +unfulfilled. She went from room to room, trying to absorb herself on +her daily duties; but the house--her father's house--spoke to her now +only of Hugh and she could think of nothing but him. Was he awake? +Was he sleeping? Was he thinking of her? Or, now that the danger was +over through which she had served him, were his thoughts of some one +else? + +Her heart halted at each recurrence of that thought; and again and +again she repeated his words to her at parting from her the night +before. "I will come back to you as you have never known me yet!" To +her he would come back, he said; to her, not to any one else. But his +danger was not over then; in his great extremity and in his need of +her, he might have felt what he did not feel now. If he wanted her, +why did he not send for her? + +She stood trembling as she saw Edith Overton in the hall. + +"Hugh has been asking for you continually, Miss Santoine. If you can +find time, please go in and see him." + +Harriet did not know what answer she made. She went upstairs: she ran, +as soon as she was out of sight of Hugh's sister; then, at Hugh's door, +she had to halt to catch her breath and compose herself before she +opened the door and looked in upon him. He was alone and seemed +asleep; at least his eyes were closed. Harriet stood an instant gazing +at him. + +His face was peaceful now but worn and his paleness was more evident +than when he had been talking to her father. As she stood watching +him, she felt her blood coursing through her as never before and +warming her face and her fingertips; and fear--fear of him or of +herself, fear of anything at all in the world--fled from her; and +love--love which she knew that she need no longer try to +deny--possessed her. + +"Harriet!" She heard her name from his lips and she saw, as he opened +his eyes and turned to her, there was no surprise in his look; if he +had been sleeping, he had been dreaming she was there; if awake, he had +been thinking of her. + +"What is it, Hugh?" She was beside him and he was looking up into her +eyes. + +"You meant it, then?" + +"Meant it, Hugh?" + +"All you said and--and all you did when we--you and I--were alone +against them all! It's so, Harriet! You meant it!" + +"And you did too! Dear, it was only to me that you could come +back--only to me?" + +"Only to you!" He closed his eyes in his exaltation. "Oh, my dear, I +never dreamed--Harriet in all the days and nights I've had to plan and +wonder what might be for me if everything could come all right, I've +never dreamed I could win a reward like this." + +"Like this?" + +He opened his eyes again and drew her down toward him. "Like you!" + +She bent until her cheek touched his and his arms were about her. He +felt her tears upon his face. + +"Not that; not that--you mustn't cry, dear," he begged. "Oh, Harriet, +aren't you happy now?" + +"That's why. Happy! I didn't know before there could be anything like +this." + +"Nor I.... So it's all right, Harriet; everything is all right now?" + +"All right? Oh, it's all right now, if I can make it so for you," she +answered. + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +Popular Copyright Novels + +_AT MODERATE PRICES_ + +Ask Your Dealer for a Complete List of + +A. L. Burt Company's Popular Copyright Fiction + + + Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard. + Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. + After House, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. + Ailsa Paige. By Robert W. Chambers. + Alton of Somasco. By Harold Bindloss. + Amateur Gentleman, The. By Jeffery Farnol. + Anna, the Adventuress. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Anne's House of Dreams. By L. M. Montgomery. + Around Old Chester. By Margaret Deland. + Athalie. By Robert W. Chambers. + At the Mercy of Tiberius. By Augusta Evans Wilson. + Auction Block, The. By Rex Beach. + Aunt Jane of Kentucky. By Eliza C. Hall. + Awakening of Helena Richie. By Margaret Deland. + + Bab: a Sub-Deb. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. + Barrier, The. By Rex Beach. + Barbarians. By Robert W. Chambers. + Bargain True, The. By Nalbro Bartley. + Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford. + Bar 20 Days. By Clarence E. Mulford. + Bars of Iron, The. By Ethel M. Dell. + Beasts of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. + Beloved Traitor, The. By Frank L. Packard. + Beltane the Smith. By Jeffery Farnol. + Betrayal, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Beyond the Frontier. By Randall Parrish. + Big Timber. By Bertrand W. Sinclair. + Black Is White. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Blind Man's Eyes, The. By Wm. MacHarg and Edwin Balmer. + Bob, Son of Battle. By Alfred Ollivant. + Boston Blackie. By Jack Boyle. + Boy with Wings, The. By Berta Ruck. + Brandon of the Engineers. By Harold Bindloss. + Broad Highway, The. By Jeffery Farnol. + Brown Study, The. By Grace S. Richmond. + Bruce of the Circle A. By Harold Titus. + Buck Peters, Ranchman. By Clarence E. Mulford. + Business of Life, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + + Cabbages and Kings. By O. Henry. + Cabin Fever. By B. M. Bower. + Calling of Dan Matthews, The. By Harold Bell Wright. + Cape Cod Stories. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper. By James A. Cooper. + Cap'n Dan's Daughter. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Cap'n Eri. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Cap'n Jonah's Fortune. By James A. Cooper. + Cap'n Warren's Wards. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Chain of Evidence, A. By Carolyn Wells. + Chief Legatee, The. By Anna Katharine Green. + Cinderella Jane. By Marjorie B. Cooke. + Cinema Murder, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + City of Masks, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Cleek of Scotland Yard. By T. W. Hanshew. + Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces. By Thomas W. Hanshew. + Cleek's Government Cases. By Thomas W. Hanshew. + Clipped Wings. By Rupert Hughes. + Clue, The. By Carolyn Wells. + Clutch of Circumstance, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke. + Coast of Adventure, The. By Harold Bindloss. + Coming of Cassidy, The. By Clarence E. Mulford. + Coming of the Law, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer. + Conquest of Canaan, The. By Booth Tarkington. + Conspirators, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Court of Inquiry, A. By Grace S. Richmond. + Cow Puncher, The. By Robert J. C. Stead. + Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure. By Rex Beach. + Cross Currents. By Author of "Pollyanna." + Cry in the Wilderness, A. By Mary E. Waller. + + Danger, And Other Stories. By A. Conan Doyle. + Dark Hollow, The. By Anna Katharine Green. + Dark Star, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Daughter Pays, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. + Day of Days, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. + Depot Master, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Desired Woman, The. By Will N. Harben. + Destroying Angel, The. By Louis Jos. Vance. + Devil's Own, The. By Randall Parrish. + Double Traitor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Empty Pockets. By Rupert Hughes. + + Eyes of the Blind, The. By Arthur Somers Roche. + Eye of Dread, The. By Payne Erskine. + Eyes of the World, The. By Harold Bell Wright. + Extricating Obadiah. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + + Felix O'Day. By F. Hopkinson Smith. + 54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough. + Fighting Chance, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Fighting Shepherdess, The. By Caroline Lockhart. + Financier, The. By Theodore Dreiser. + Flame, The. By Olive Wadsley. + Flamsted Quarries. By Mary E. Wallar. + Forfeit, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Four Million, The. By O. Henry. + Fruitful Vine, The. By Robert Hichens. + Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. By Frank L. Packard. + + Girl of the Blue Ridge, A. By Payne Erskine. + Girl from Keller's, The. By Harold Bindloss. + Girl Philippa, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Girls at His Billet, The. By Berta Ruck. + God's Country and the Woman. By James Oliver Curwood. + Going Some. By Rex Beach. + Golden Slipper, The. By Anna Katharine Green. + Golden Woman, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Greater Love Hath No Man. By Frank L. Packard. + Greyfriars Bobby. By Eleanor Atkinson. + Gun Brand, The. By James B. Hendryx. + + Halcyone. By Elinor Glyn. + Hand of Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer. + Havoc. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Heart of the Desert, The. By Honore Willsie. + Heart of the Hills, The. By John Fox, Jr. + Heart of the Sunset. By Rex Beach. + Heart of Thunder Mountain, The. By Edfrid A. Bingham. + Her Weight in Gold. By Geo. B. McCutcheon. + Hidden Children, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Hidden Spring, The. By Clarence B. Kelland. + Hillman, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Hills of Refuge, The. By Will N. Harben. + His Official Fiancee. By Berta Ruck. + Honor of the Big Snows. By James Oliver Curwood. + Hopalong Cassidy. By Clarence E. Mulford. + Hound from the North, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + House of the Whispering Pines, The. By Anna Katharine Green. + Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker. By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D. + + I Conquered. By Harold Titus. + Illustrious Prince, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + In Another Girl's Shoes. By Berta Ruck. + Indifference of Juliet, The. By Grace S. Richmond. + Infelice. By Augusta Evans Wilson. + Initials Only. By Anna Katharine Green. + Inner Law, The. By Will N. Harben. + Innocent. By Marie Corelli. + Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer. + In the Brooding Wild. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Intriguers, The. By Harold Bindloss. + Iron Trail, The. By Rex Beach. + Iron Woman, The. By Margaret Deland. + I Spy. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. + + Japonette. By Robert W. Chambers. + Jean of the Lazy A. By B. M. Bower. + Jeanne of the Marshes. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Jennie Gerhardt. By Theodore Dreiser. + Judgment House, The. By Gilbert Parker. + + Keeper of the Door, The. By Ethel M. Dell. + Keith of the Border. By Randall Parrish. + Kent Knowles: Quahaug. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Kingdom of the Blind, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + King Spruce. By Holman Day. + King's Widow, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. + Knave of Diamonds, The. By Ethel M. Dell. + + Ladder of Swords. By Gilbert Parker. + Lady Betty Across the Water. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. + Land-Girl's Love Story, A. By Berta Ruck. + Landloper, The. By Holman Day. + Land of Long Ago, The. By Eliza Calvert Hall. + Land of Strong Men, The. By A. M. Chisholm. + Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey. + Laugh and Live. By Douglas Fairbanks. + Laughing Bill Hyde. By Rex Beach. + Laughing Girl, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Law Breakers, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Lifted Veil, The. By Basil King. + Lighted Way, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Lin McLean. By Owen Wister. + Lonesome Land. By B. M. Bower. + Lone Wolf, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. + Long Ever Ago. By Rupert Hughes. + Lonely Stronghold, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. + Long Live the King. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. + Long Roll, The. By Mary Johnston. + Lord Tony's Wife. By Baroness Orczy. + Lost Ambassador. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Lost Prince, The. By Frances Hodgson Burnett + Lydia of the Pines. By Honore Willsie. + + Maid of the Forest, The. By Randall Parrish. + Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. By Vingie E. Roe. + Maids of Paradise, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Major, The. By Ralph Connor. + Maker of History, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Malefactor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Man from Bar 20, The. By Clarence E. Mulford. + Man in Grey, The. By Baroness Orczy. + Man Trail, The. By Henry Oyen. + Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The. By Arthur Stringer. + Man with the Club Foot, The. By Valentine Williams. + Mary-'Gusta. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Mary Moreland. By Marie Van Vorst. + Mary Regan. By Leroy Scott. + Master Mummer, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. + Men Who Wrought, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Mischief Maker, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Missioner, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Miss Million's Maid. By Berta Ruck. + Molly McDonald. By Randall Parrish. + Money Master, The. By Gilbert Parker. + Money Moon, The. By Jeffery Farnol. + Mountain Girl, The. By Payne Erskine. + Moving Finger, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. + Mr. Bingle. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Mr. Pratt's Patients. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Mrs. Belfame. By Gertrude Atherton. + Mrs. Red Pepper. By Grace S. Richmond. + My Lady Caprice. By Jeffrey Farnol. + My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish. + My Lady of the South. By Randall Parrish. + Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The. By Anna K. Green. + + Nameless Man, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln. + Ne'er-Do-Weil, The. By Rex Beach. + Nest Builders, The. By Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale. + Net, The. By Rex Beach. + New Clarion. By Will N. Harben. + Night Operator, The. By Frank L. Packard. + Night Riders, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Nobody. By Louis Joseph Vance. + + Okewood of the Secret Service. By the Author of "The Man + with the Club Foot.' + One Way Trail, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Open, Sesame. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds. + Otherwise Phyllis. By Meredith Nicholson. + Outlaw, The. By Jackson Gregory. + Paradise Auction. By Nalbro Bartley. + Pardners. By Rex Beach. + Parrot & Co. By Harold MacGrath. + Partners of the Night. By Leroy Scott. + Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Passionate Friends, The. By H. G. Wells. + Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The. By Ralph Connor. + Paul Anthony, Christian. By Hiram W. Hays. + Pawns Count, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + People's Man, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Perch of the Devil. By Gertrude Atherton. + Peter Ruff and the Double Four. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Pidgin Island. By Harold MacGrath. + Place of Honeymoon, The. By Harold MacGrath. + Pool of Flame, The. By Louis Joseph Vance. + Postmaster, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Prairie Wife, The. By Arthur Stringer. + Price of the Prairie, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter. + Prince of Sinners, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim. + Promise, The. By J. B. Hendryx. + Proof of the Pudding, The. By Meredith Nicholson. + + Rainbow's End, The. By Rex Beach. + Ranch at the Wolverine, The. By B. M. Bower. + Ranching for Sylvia. By Harold Bindloss. + Ransom. By Arthur Somers Roche. + Reason Why, The. By Elinor Glyn. + Reclaimers, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter. + Red Mist, The. By Randall Parrish. + Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond. + Red Pepper's Patients. By Grace S. Richmond. + Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner. + Restless Sex, The. By Robert W. Chambers. + Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer. + Return of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. + Riddle of Night, The. By Thomas W. Hanshew. + Rim of the Desert, The. By Ada Woodruff Anderson. + Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. By J. C. Lincoln. + Rising Tide, The. By Margaret Deland. + Rocks of Valpre, The. By Ethel M. Dell. + Rogue by Compulsion, A. By Victor Bridges. + Room Number 3. By Anna Katharine Green. + Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess. + Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond. + + Second Choice. By Will N. Harben. + Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond. + Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. + Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss. + Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris. + Shavings. By Joseph C. Lincoln. + Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright. + Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Sherry. By George Barr McCutcheon. + Side of the Angels, The. By Basil King. + Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach. + Sin That Was His, The. By Frank L. Packard. + Sixty-first Second, The. By Owen Johnson. + Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson. + Son of His Father, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Son of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. + Source, The. By Clarence Buddington Kelland. + Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson. + Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens. + Spirit of the Border, The. (New Edition.) By Zane Grey. + Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach. + Steele of the Royal Mounted. By James Oliver Curwood. + Still Jim. By Honore Willsie. + Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum. + Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter. + Strange Case of Cavendish, The. By Randall Parrish. + Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond. + Sudden Jim. By Clarence B. Kelland. + + Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle. + Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs. + Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. By Edgar Rice Burroughs. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Blind Man's Eyes, by +William MacHarg and Edwin Balmer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLIND MAN'S EYES *** + +***** This file should be named 33064.txt or 33064.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/0/6/33064/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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