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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c664624 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67411 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67411) diff --git a/old/67411-0.txt b/old/67411-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index da92217..0000000 --- a/old/67411-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4935 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Blotted Out, by Elisabeth Sanxay Holding - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Blotted Out - -Author: Elisabeth Sanxay Holding - -Release Date: February 15, 2022 [eBook #67411] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLOTTED OUT *** - - - - - - Blotted Out - - By Elisabeth Sanxay Holding - - IN THIS STORY A TIGRESS MASQUERADES AS A BEAUTIFUL - WOMAN—IN OTHER WORDS, AMY ROSS WAS - PREDATORY AND CRUEL - -James Ross was well content, that morning. He stood on the deck, one -elbow on the rail, enjoying the wind and the cold rain that blew in -his face, enjoying still more his feeling of complete isolation and -freedom. - -None of the other passengers shared his liking for this bleak November -weather, and he had the windward side of the deck to himself. He was -alone there; he was alone in the world—and he meant to remain alone. - -Through the window of the saloon he could, if he liked, see the -severe, eagle-nosed profile of Mrs. Barron, who was sitting in there, -more majestic than ever in her shore-going outfit. She was a -formidable lady, stern, resolute, and experienced; she had marked him -down as soon as he had come on board at San Juan. - -Yet he had escaped from her; he had got the better of her, and so -skillfully that even to this moment she was not sure whether he had -deliberately avoided her, or whether it was chance. Yes, even now, if -the weather had permitted, she would have come out after him with her -card. - -But, if the weather had permitted that, Ross would not have been where -he was. The day before, she had captured him for an instant in the -dining saloon, and she had said that before they landed she would give -him her card. - -He had thanked her very civilly, but he had made up his mind that she -should do nothing of the sort. Because, if she did, she would expect a -card from him in return; she would want to know where he was going, -and he meant that she should never know, and never be able to find -him. Even she was not likely to go so far as to rush across the -rain-swept deck with that card of hers. - -He could also see, if he liked, the little blond head of Phyllis -Barron, who was sitting beside her mother, her hat in her lap. He knew -very well that Phyllis had taken no part at all in pursuing him, yet, -in a way, she was far more dangerous than Mrs. Barron. - -Before he had realized the danger, he had spent a good deal of time -with Phyllis—too much time. It was only a five days’ run up from Porto -Rico; he had never seen her before he came on board, and he intended -never to see her again; yet he felt that it might take him -considerably more than five days to forget her. - -This made him uncomfortable. Every glimpse of that quiet, thoughtful -little face, so very pretty, so touching in its brave young dignity -and candor, gave him a sort of qualm, as if she had spoken a friendly -word to him, and he had not answered. Indeed, so much did the sight of -Phyllis Barron disquiet him that he turned away altogether. - -And now, through the downpour, he saw the regal form of the Statue of -Liberty. It pleased him, and somehow consoled him for those qualms. It -was a symbol of what his life was going to be, a life of completest -liberty. He had left nobody behind him, there was nobody waiting for -him anywhere in the world; he cared for nobody—no, not he; and nobody -cared for him. That was just what he liked. - -He was young, he was in vigorous health, he had sufficient money, and -no one on earth had any sort of claim upon him. He could go where he -pleased, and do what he pleased. He was free. And here he was, coming -back to what was, after all, his native city, and not one soul there -knew his face. - -He smiled to himself at the thought, his dour, tight-lipped smile. -Coming home, eh? And nobody to greet him but the Statue of Liberty. He -was glad it was so. He didn’t want to be greeted; he wanted to be let -alone. And, in that case, he had better go now, before they came -alongside the pier, and Mrs. Barron appeared. - -He went below to his cabin, intending to stop there until all other -passengers had disembarked. The steward had taken up his bags, and the -little room had a forlorn and untidy look; not an agreeable place in -which to sit. But it was safe. - -Ross hung up his wet overcoat and cap, and sat down with a magazine, -to read. But he could not read a word. The engines had stopped; they -had arrived; he was in New York. In New York. Try as he would to -stifle his emotions, a great impatience and restlessness filled him. - -There were, in this city, thousands of men to whom Manila and Mayaguez -would seem names of almost incredible romance; men to whom New York -meant little but an apartment, the subway, the office, and the anxious -and monotonous routine of earning a living. But to Ross, New York had -all the allurement of the exotic, and those other ports had meant only -exile and discontent. He thought uncharitable thoughts about Mrs. -Barron, because she kept him imprisoned here when he so longed to set -foot on shore. - -There was a knock at the door. - -“Well?” Ross demanded. - -“Note for you, sir,” answered the steward. - -Ross grinned to himself at what he considered a new instance of Mrs. -Barron’s enterprise. For a moment he thought he would refuse to take -the note, so that he might truthfully say he had never got it; then he -reflected that Mrs. Barron was never going to have a chance to -question him about it, and he unlocked the door. - -“We’ve docked, sir,” the steward said. - -“I know it,” Ross agreed briefly. - -He took the note, tipped the steward, and locked the door after him. -Extraordinary, the way this lady had pursued him, all the way across! -He was not handsome, not entertaining, not even very amiable; she knew -nothing about him. - -Indeed, as far as her knowledge went, he might be any sort of -dangerous and undesirable character. Yet she had persistently—and -obviously—done her best to capture him for her daughter. - -He glanced at himself in the mirror. A lean and hardy young man, very -dark, with the features characteristic of his family, a thin, keen -nose, rather long upper lip, a saturnine and faintly mocking -expression. They were a disagreeable family, bitterly obstinate, -ambitious, energetic, and grimly unsociable. - -And he was like that, too; like his father and his grandfather and his -uncles. Without being in the least humble, he still could not -understand what Mrs. Barron had seen in him to make her consider him a -suitable son-in-law. - -With Phyllis Barron it was different. He had sometimes imagined that -her innocent and candid eyes had discerned in him qualities he had -long ago tried to destroy. It was possible that she had found him a -little likable. - -But _she_ wouldn’t pursue him. He was certain that she had not written -this note, or wanted her mother to write it. When he had realized his -danger, and had begun to spend his time talking to the doctor, instead -of sitting beside her on deck, she had never tried to recall him. -Whenever he did come, she always had that serious, friendly little -smile for him; but she had tried to make it very plain that, where she -was concerned, he was quite free to come or to go, to remember or to -forget. - -Well, he meant to forget. His life was just beginning, and he did not -intend to entangle himself in any way. He sighed, not knowing that he -did so, and then, out of sheer idle curiosity, just to see how Mrs. -Barron worked, he opened the note. - -“Dear Cousin James—” it began. - -But, as far as he knew, he hadn’t a cousin in the world. With a -puzzled frown, he picked up the envelope; it was plainly addressed, in -a clear, small hand, to “Mr. James Ross. On board the S. S. Farragut.” - -“Must be a mistake, though,” he muttered. “I’ll just see.” And he went -on reading: - - You have never seen me, and I know you have heard all - sorts of cruel and false things about me. But I beg you to - forget all that now. I am in such terrible trouble, and I - don’t know where to turn. I beg you to come here as soon - as you get this. Ask for Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper. Say - you have come from Cren’s Agency, about the job as - chauffeur. She will tell you everything. You can’t refuse - just to come and let me tell you about this terrible - thing. - - Your desperately unhappy cousin, - Amy Ross Solway. - - “Day’s End,” Wygatt Road, near Stamford. - -He sat, staring in amazement at this letter. - -“It’s a mistake!” he said, aloud. - -But, all the same, it filled him with a curious uneasiness. Of course, -it was meant for some one else—and he wanted that other fellow to get -it at once; he wanted to be rid of it in a hurry. - -He had nothing to do with any one’s Cousin Amy and her “terrible -trouble.” He rang the bell for the steward, waited, rang again, more -vigorously, again waited, but no one came. - -Then, putting the note back in its envelope, he flung open the door -and strode out into the passage, shouting “Steward!” in a pretty -forcible voice. No one answered him. He went down the corridor, turned -a corner, and almost ran into Mrs. Barron. - -“Mr. Ross!” said she, in a tone of stern triumph. “So here you are! -Phyllis, dear, give Mr. Ross one of our cards—with the address.” - -Then he caught sight of Phyllis, standing behind her mother. In her -little close fitting hat, her coat with a fur collar, she looked -taller, older, graver, quite different from that bright-haired, -slender little thing in a deck chair. And, somehow, she was so dear to -him, so lovely, so gentle, so utterly trustworthy. - -“I’ll never forget her!” he thought, in despair. - -Then she spoke, in a tone he had not heard before. - -“I’m sorry,” she said. “I haven’t any cards with me.” - -“Phyllis!” cried her mother. “I particularly asked you—” - -“I’m sorry,” Phyllis declared again. “We’ll really have to hurry, -mother. Good-by, Mr. Ross!” - -Her steady blue eyes met his for an instant, but, for all the regret -and pain he felt, his stubborn spirit refused to show one trace. -Evidently she knew he had tried to run away, and she didn’t want to -see him again. Very well! - -“Good-by, Miss Barron!” he said. - -She turned away, and he, too, would have walked off, but the dauntless -Mrs. Barron was not to be thwarted. - -“Then I’ll tell you the address!” said she. “Hotel Benderly—West -Seventy-Seventh Street. Don’t forget!” - -“I shan’t,” Ross replied. “Thank you! Good-by!” - -He went back along the corridor, forgetting all about the note, even -forgetting where he was going, until the sight of a white jacket in -the distance recalled him. - -“Steward!” he shouted. - -The man came toward him, anxious and very hurried. - -“Look here!” said Ross. “This note—it’s not meant for me.” - -“Beg your pardon, sir, but a boy brought it aboard and told me to give -it to you.” - -“I tell you it’s not meant for me!” said Ross. “Take it back!” - -“But it’s addressed to you, sir. Mr. James Ross. There’s no other Mr. -Ross on board. The boy said it was urgent.” - -“Take it back!” Ross repeated. - -“I shouldn’t like to do that, sir,” said the steward, firmly. “I said -I’d deliver it to Mr. Ross. If you’re not—satisfied, sir, the purser -might—” - -“Oh, all right!” Ross interrupted, with a frown. “I haven’t time to -bother now. I’ll keep it. But it’s a mistake. And somebody is going to -regret it.” - - - II - -A casual acquaintance in San Juan had recommended the Hotel Miston to -Ross. “Nice, quiet little place,” he had said; “and you can get a -really good cup of coffee there.” - -So, when the United States customs officers had done with Ross, he -secured a taxi, and told the chauffeur to drive him to this Hotel -Miston. Not that he was in the least anxious for quiet, or had any -desire for a cup of coffee; simply, he was in a hurry to get -somewhere, anywhere, so that he could begin to live. - -In spite of the rain, he lowered the window of the cab, and sat -looking out at the astounding speed and vigor of the life about him. -This was what he had longed for, this was what he had wanted; for -years and years he had said to himself that when he was free, he would -come here and make a fortune. - -Well, he was free, and he was in New York, and he had already the -foundation of a nice little fortune. For eight years he had worked in -the office of a commission agent in Manila, and every day of those -eight years he had told himself that he wouldn’t stand it any longer. -But he had stood it. - -His grandfather had been a cynical old tyrant; he had thwarted the boy -in every ambition that he had. When James said he wanted to be a civil -engineer, as his father had been, old Ross told him he hadn’t brains -enough for that. James had not agreed with him, but as he had no money -to send himself home to college, he had been obliged to put up with -what old Ross called “a sound practical education.” - -At eighteen his education was declared finished, and he went to work. -He hated his work, he hated everything about his life, and from his -meager salary he had saved every cent he could, so that he would get -away. - -Long ago he had saved enough to pay his passage to New York—but he had -not gone. His grandfather was old and ill, and, because of his bitter -tongue, quite without friends; he certainly gave no sign that he -enjoyed his grandson’s company, and James showed no affection for him; -their domestic life was anything but agreeable. - -Sick at heart, James saw his youth slipping by, wasted, his abilities -all unused; he told himself that he had done his duty, and more than -his duty to his grandfather. Yet he could not leave him. - -Then, six months ago, the old man had died, leaving everything he had -to “my grandson, James Ross, in appreciation of his loyalty,” the only -sign of appreciation he had ever made. It was a surprisingly large -estate; there was some property in Porto Rico, where James had spent -his childhood with his parents, but the greater part consisted of very -sound bonds and mortgages in the hands of a New York lawyer, Mr. -Teagle. - -Mr. Teagle had written to James, and James had written to Mr. Teagle -several times in the last few months, but James had not told him when -he expected to arrive in New York. He had gone to Porto Rico in a -little cargo steamer, by the way of Panama; he had wound up his -business there, and now he wanted to walk in on Mr. Teagle in the most -casual fashion. He hated any sort of fuss; he didn’t want to be met at -the steamer, he didn’t want to be advised and assisted. He wanted to -be let alone. - -The taxi stopped before the Hotel Miston, a dingy little place not far -from Washington Square. Ross got out, paid the driver, and followed -the porter into the lobby. He engaged a room and bath, and turned -toward the elevator. - -“Will you register, sir?” asked the clerk. - -Ross hesitated for a moment; then he wrote “J. Ross, New York.” After -all, this was his home; he had been born here, and he intended to live -here. - -He went upstairs to his room, and, locking the door, sat down near the -window. The floor still seemed to heave under his feet, like the deck -of a ship. He visualized the deck of the Farragut, and Phyllis in a -deck chair, looking at him with her dear, friendly little smile. - -He frowned at the unwelcome thought. That was finished; that belonged -in the past. There was a new life before him, and the sooner he began -it, the better. - -He reached in his pocket for Mr. Teagle’s last letter—and brought out -that note to “Cousin James.” At the sight of it, he frowned more -heavily; he tossed it across the room in the direction of the desk, -but it fluttered down to the floor. Let it lie there. He found Mr. -Teagle’s letter, and took up the telephone receiver. Presently: - -“Mr. Teagle’s office!” came a brisk feminine voice. - -“I’d like to see Mr. Teagle this morning, if possible.” - -“Sorry, but Mr. Teagle won’t be in today. Will you leave a message?” - -“No,” said Ross. “No, thanks.” And hung up the receiver. - -He sat for a time looking out of the window at the street, far below -him. The rain fell steadily; it was a dismal day. He could not begin -his new life today, after all. Very well; what should he do, then? -Anything he wanted, of course. Nobody could have been freer. - -He lit a cigarette, and leaned back in the chair. Freedom—that was -what he had wanted, and that was what he had got. And yet— - -He turned his head, to look for an ash tray, and his glance fell upon -that confounded note on the floor. In the back of his mind he had -known, all the time, that he would have to do something about it. - -He disliked it, and disapproved of it; a silly, hysterical sort of -note, he thought, but, nevertheless, it was an appeal for help, and it -was from a woman. Somebody ought to answer it. - -He began idly to speculate about the “terribly unhappy” Amy Ross -Solway. Perhaps she was young—not much more than a girl—like Phyllis. - -“Not much!” he said to himself. “_She_ wouldn’t write a note like -that. She’s not that sort. No matter what sort of trouble menaced—” - -It occurred to him that if Phyllis Barron were in any sort of trouble, -she would never turn to James Ross for help. He had shown her too -plainly that he was not disposed to trouble himself about other people -and their affairs. - -His family never did. They minded their own business, they let other -people alone, and other people soon learned to let them alone. Very -satisfactory! Lucky for this Amy Ross Solway that she didn’t know what -sort of fellow had got that note of hers. - -Still, something had to be done about it. At first he thought he would -mail it back to her, with a note of his own, explaining that he was -not her Cousin James, but another James Ross, who had got it by -mistake. But, no; that plan meant too much delay, when she was no -doubt waiting impatiently for a gallant cousin. - -Then he thought he would try to get her on the telephone, but that -idea did not suit him, either. It was always awkward, trying to -explain anything on the telephone—and, besides, she seemed anxious for -secrecy. He might explain to the wrong person, and do a great deal of -harm. - -He began to think very seriously about that note now. And, for some -unaccountable reason, his thoughts of the unknown woman were confused -with thoughts of Phyllis Barron. It seemed to him that if Phyllis -could know how much attention he was giving to this problem which was -not his business, she would realize that he was not entirely callous. -If she thought he was, she misjudged him. - -Perhaps he was not what you might call impulsively sympathetic, but he -was not lacking in all decent feeling. He was not going to ignore this -appeal. - -“I’ll go out there!” he decided. “I’ll see this Amy Ross Solway, and -explain. And, if her trouble’s anything real, I’ll—” He hesitated. -“Well, I’ll give her the best advice I can,” he thought. - -No, James Ross was not what you might call impulsively sympathetic. -But, considering how vehemently he hated to be mixed up in other -people’s affairs, it was creditable of him even to think of giving -advice, creditable of him to go at all. - -He arose, put on his overcoat, caught up his hat, and went downstairs. -Nobody took any notice of him. He walked out of the Hotel Miston—and -he never came back. - - - III - -It did not please the young man to ask questions in this, his native -city. He had spent time enough in studying a map of New York, and he -knew his way about pretty well. But there were, naturally, things he -did not know; for instance, he went to the Pennsylvania Station, and -learned that his train for Stamford left from the Grand Central. - -It was after one o’clock, then, so he went into a restaurant and had -lunch before going farther—his first meal in the United States. He had -never enjoyed anything more. To walk through these streets, among the -hurrying and indifferent crowds, to be one of them, to feel himself at -home here, filled him with something like elation. It was _his_ city. - -A little after three, he boarded the train. And, in spite of his -caution and his native reticence, he would, at that moment, have -relished a talk with one of his fellow countrymen in the smoking car. -He was not disposed to start a conversation without encouragement, -though, and nobody took any notice of him; nobody had, since his -landing. A clever criminal, escaping from justice, could not have been -much more successful in leaving no traces. - -When he got out at Stamford, the rain had ceased, but the sky was -menacing and overcast. He stood for a moment on the platform, again -reluctant to ask questions, but there was no help for it this time. - -He stopped a grocer’s boy, and asked him where Wygatt Road was. The -boy told him. “But it’s a long way,” he added. - -Ross didn’t care how long it was. This was the first suburban town he -had seen, and it charmed him. Such a prosperous, orderly, lively town! -He thought that he might like to live here. - -Dusk was closing in early this dismal day; it was almost dark before -he reached the hill he had to climb. The street lights came on, and -through the windows of houses he could see shaded lamps and the -shadows of people, comfortable rooms, bright little glimpses of -domestic life. Past him, along the road, went an endless stream of -motor cars, with a rush and a glare of light; he scarcely realized -that he was in the country until he came to the top of the hill, and -saw before him a signpost marked “Wygatt Road.” - -He turned down here, and was at once in another world. It was dark, -and very, very quiet; no motors passed him, no lights shone out; he -walked on, quite alone, under tall old trees, to which clung a few -leaves, trembling in every gust of wind. Overhead, ragged black clouds -flew across the darkening sky; the night was coming fast. - -And now he began to think about his extraordinary errand, now he began -to think that he had been a fool to come. But it did not occur to him -to turn back. He never did that. He was sorry he had begun a foolish -thing, but, now that he had begun, he would carry on. If it took him -all night, if it took him a week, he would find “Day’s End,” and do -what he had set out to do. - -There was no one to ask questions of here; no human being, no house in -sight. - -On one side of him was a belt of woodland, on the other an iron fence -which appeared to run on interminably. Well, he also would go on -interminably, and if “Day’s End” was on Wygatt Road, he would -certainly come to it in the course of time. - -He did. There was a break in the fence at last, made by a gateway -between stone pillars, and here he saw, by the light of a match, -“Day’s End,” in gilt letters. He opened the gate and went in; a long -driveway stretched before him, tree lined; he went up it briskly. - -He saw nothing, and heard nothing, but he had a vague impression that -the grounds through which he passed were somber and forbidding, and he -expected to see a house in keeping with this notion, an old, sinister -house, suitable for people in “terrible trouble.” - -It was not like that, though. A turn in the driveway brought him in -sight of a long façade of lighted windows, and a large, substantial, -matter-of-fact house—which made him feel more of a fool than ever. -Yet, still he went on, mounted the steps of a brick terrace, and rang -the doorbell. - -The door was opened promptly by a pale and disagreeable young -housemaid. - -“I want to see Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper,” said Ross. - -“You ought to go to the back door!” she remarked sharply. “You ought -to know that much!” - -Ross did not like this, but it was not his habit to let his temper -override discretion. - -“All right!” he said, and was turning away, ready to go to the back -door, ready to go anywhere, so that he accomplished his mission, when -the housemaid relented. - -“As long as you’re here, you can come in,” she said. “This way!” - -He followed her across a wide hall, with a polished floor and a fine -old stairway rising from it, to a door at the farther end. - -“It’s the room right in front of you when you get to the top,” she -explained. - -She opened the door; he went in, she closed the door behind him, and -he found himself in what seemed a pitch-black cupboard. But, as he -moved forward, his foot struck against a step, and he began cautiously -to mount a narrow, boxed-in staircase, until his outstretched hand -touched a door. - -He pushed it open, and found himself in a well lighted corridor, and, -facing him, a white painted door. And behind that door he heard some -one sobbing, in a low, wailing voice. - -He stopped, rather at a loss. Then, because he would not go back, he -went forward, and knocked. - -“Who is it?” cried a voice. - -“I came to see Mrs. Jones,” Ross replied casually. - -There was a moments silence; then the door was opened by the loveliest -creature he had ever seen in his life. He had only a glimpse of her, -of an exquisite face, very white, with dark and delicate brows and -great black eyes, a face childlike in its soft, pure contours, but -terribly unchildlike in its expression of terror and despair. - -“Wait!” she said. “Go in and wait!” - -She brushed past him, with a flutter of her filmy gray dress and a -breath of some faint fragrance, and vanished down the back stairs. - -Ross went in as he was instructed, and stood facing the door, waiting -with a certain uneasiness for some one to come. But nobody did come, -and at last he turned and looked about him. - -It was a cozy room, with a cheerful red carpet on the floor, and -plenty of solid, old-fashioned walnut furniture about; it was well -warmed by a steam radiator, and well lighted by an alabaster -electrolier in the ceiling; a clock ticked smartly on the mantelpiece, -and on the sofa lay a big yellow cat, pretending to be asleep, with -one gleaming eye half open. - -It was such a thoroughly commonplace and comfortable room that the -young man felt reassured. He decided to ignore the wailing voice he -had heard, and the pallid, lovely creature who had opened the door. -For all he knew, such things might be quite usual in this household, -and, anyhow, it was none of his business. He had come to see Mrs. -Jones, and to explain an error. - -He watched the smart little clock for five minutes, and then began to -grow restless. He had walked a good deal this day; he was tired; his -shoes were wet; he wanted to be done with this business and to get -away. Another five minutes— - -It seemed to him that this was the quietest room he had ever known. -Even the tick of the clock was muffled, like a tiny pulse. It was -altogether too quiet. He didn’t like it at all. - -He frowned uneasily, and turned toward the only other living thing -there, the cat. He laid his hand on its head, and in a sort of drowsy -ecstasy the cat stretched out to a surprising length, opening and -curling up its paws. Its claws caught in the linen cover and pulled it -up a little, and Ross saw something under the sofa. - -He doubted the very evidence of his senses. He could not believe that -he saw a hand stretched out on the red carpet. He stared and stared at -it, incredulous. - -Then he stooped and lifted up the cover and looked under the sofa. -There lay a man, face downward. - -He was very still. It seemed to Ross that it was this man’s stillness -which he had felt in the room; it was the quiet of death. - - - IV - -Ross stood looking down at the very quiet figure in a sort of daze. He -did not find this horrible, or shocking; it was simply impossible. -Here, in this tranquil, cozy room—No, it was impossible! - -Going down on one knee, he reached out and touched the nape of the -man’s neck. But he did it mechanically; he had known, from the first -glance, that the man was dead. No living thing could lie so still. -Quite cold— - -The sound of a slow footstep in the corridor startled him. He sprang -to his feet, pulled down the linen cover, and was standing idly in the -center of the room when a woman entered, a stout, elderly woman with -calm brown eyes behind spectacles. - -“Well?” said she. - -“I came to see Mrs. Jones,” said Ross. “I had a note—” - -He spoke in a tone as matter-of-fact as her own, for to save his life -he could think of no rational manner in which to tell her what he had -seen. Such a preposterous thing to tell a sensible, elderly woman! The -very thought of it dismayed him. Of all things in the world, he hated -the theatrical. He could not be, and he would not be, dramatic. He -wished to be casual. - -But, in this case, it would not be easy. The thing he had found was, -in its very nature, dramatic, and was even now defying him to be -casual and sensible. He would have to tell her, point-blank, and she -probably would shriek or faint, or both. - -“Yes,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Jones. A note?” - -Her voice trailed away, and she stood regarding him in thoughtful -silence. Ross was quite willing to be silent a little longer, while he -tried to find a reassuring form for his statement; he looked back at -her, his lean face quite impassive, his mind working furiously. - -“Yes?” said Mrs. Jones. “Miss Solway did think, for a time, that she -might need some one to—advise her. But everything’s quite all right -now.” She paused a moment. “She’ll be sorry to hear you’ve made the -journey for nothing. She’ll appreciate your kindness, I’m sure. But -everything’s quite all right now.” - -“Oh, is it?” murmured Ross. - -He found difficulty in suppressing a grim smile. Everything was all -right now, was it, and he could run away home? He did not agree with -Mrs. Jones. - -“Yes,” she replied. “It was very kind of you to come, but—” - -“Wait!” cried Ross, for she had turned away toward the sofa. - -Without so much as turning her head, she went on a few steps, took the -knitted scarf from her shoulders, and threw it over the end of the -sofa. And he saw then that just the tip of the man’s fingers had been -visible, and that the trailing end of the scarf covered them now. She -_knew_! - -“Well?” she asked, looking inquiringly at him through her spectacles. -No; it was impossible; the whole thing was utterly impossible! - -This sedate, respectable, gray-haired woman, this housekeeper who -looked as if she would not overlook the smallest trace of dust in a -corner, certainly, surely would not leave a dead man under her sofa. - -She was stroking the cat, and the animal had assumed an expression of -idiotic delight, pink tongue protruding a little, eyes half open. -Would even a cat be so monstrously indifferent if—if what he thought -he had seen under the sofa were really there? - -“Would you like me to telephone for a taxi to take you to the -station?” asked Mrs. Jones, very civilly. - -“Ha!” thought Ross. “You want to get rid of me, don’t you?” - -And that aroused all his stiff-necked obstinacy. He would _not_ go -away now, after all his trouble, without any sort of explanation of -the situation. - -“There’s a good train—” Mrs. Jones began, with calm persistence, but -Ross interrupted. - -“No, thanks,” he said. “I’d like to see Miss Solway first.” - -His own words surprised him a little. After all, why on earth should -he want to see this Miss Solway? A few hours ago he had been greatly -annoyed at the thought of having to do so; he would have been only too -glad never to see or to hear of her again. - -“It’s because I don’t like being made such a fool of,” he thought. - -For the first time since she had entered the room, Mrs. Jones’s calm -was disturbed. She came nearer to him, and looked into his face with -obvious anxiety, speaking very low, and far more respectfully. - -“It would be much better not to!” she said. “Much better, sir, if -you’ll just go away—” - -“I want to see Miss Solway,” Ross repeated. “There’s been a mistake, -and I want to explain.” - -“I know that, sir!” she whispered. “Of course, as soon as I saw you, I -knew you weren’t Mr. Ross. But—” - -“Look here!” said Ross, bluntly. “What’s it all about, anyhow?” - -“There was a little difficulty, sir,” said Mrs. Jones, still in a -whisper. “But it’s all over now.” - -All over now? A new thought came to Ross. Had the man under the sofa -been Miss Solway’s “terrible trouble,” and had Cousin James been sent -for to help—in doing what had already been done? - -He had, at this moment, a most clear and definite warning from his -brain. “_Clear out!_” it said. “_Get out of this, now. Don’t wait; -don’t ask questions; just go!_” All through his body this warning -signal ran, making his scalp prickle and his heart beat fast. “_It is -bad for you here. Go! Now!_” - -And his stubborn and indomitable spirit answered: “_I won’t!_” - -“I want to see Miss Solway,” he said, aloud. - -Mrs. Jones looked at him for a moment, and apparently the expression -on his face filled her with despair. - -“Oh, dear!” she said, with a tremulous sigh. “I knew; I told her it -was a mistake to send. Oh, dear!” - -Ross stood there and waited. - -“If you’ll go away,” she said, “Miss Solway will write to you.” - -Ross still stood there and waited. - -“Very well, sir!” she said, with another sigh. “If you must, you must. -This way, please!” - -He followed her out of the room, and he noticed that she did not even -glance back. She couldn’t know. It was impossible that any one who was -aware of what lay under the sofa could simply walk out of the room -like that, closing the door upon it. - -They went down the corridor, which was evidently a wing of the house, -and turned the corner into a wider hall. Mrs. Jones knocked upon a -door. - -“Miss Amy, my pet!” she called, softly. - -The door opened a little. - -“The gentleman,” said Mrs. Jones. “He _will_ see you!” - -“All right!” answered a voice he recognized; the door opened wider, -and there was the girl he had seen before. Her body, in that soft gray -dress, seemed almost incredibly fragile; her face, colorless, framed -in misty black hair, with great, restless black eyes and delicate -little features, was strange and lovely as a dream. - -Too strange, thought Ross. For the first time he realized the -significance of her presence in the housekeeper’s room. He remembered -the wailing voice, her air of haste and terror as she had brushed past -him. She had been in there, alone. What did she know? What had she -seen? - -“I had a note from you—” he began. - -“Hush!” said Mrs. Jones. “If you please, sir! It’s a mistake, Miss -Amy, my pet. This isn’t Mr. Ross. It’s quite a stranger.” - -Obviously she was warning her pet to be careful what she said, and -Ross decided that he, too, would be careful. He would have his own -little mystery. - -“Quite a stranger!” he repeated. - -“But—how did you get my note?” asked the girl. - -“It was given to me,” he answered. - -He saw Mrs. Jones and the girl exchange a glance. - -“If I hold my tongue and wait,” he thought, “they’ll surely have to -tell me something.” - -“But I don’t—” the girl began, when, to Ross’s amazement, Mrs. Jones -gave him a vigorous push forward. - -“You’re the new chauffeur!” she whispered, fiercely. - -Then he heard footsteps in the hall. He stood well inside the room, -now; a large room, furnished with quiet elegance. It was what people -called a boudoir, he thought, as his quick eye took in the details; a -dressing table with rose shaded electric lights and gleaming silver -and glass; a little desk with rose and ivory fittings; a silver vase -of white chrysanthemums on the table. - -“I’m afraid we can’t take you,” said Mrs. Jones, in an altogether new -sort of voice, brisk, and a little loud. “I’m sorry.” - -Ross was very well aware that some one else had come to the door and -was standing behind him. He was also aware of a sort of triumph in -Mrs. Jones’s manner. She thought she was going to get rid of him. But -she wasn’t. - -“If it’s a question of wages,” he said, “I’ll take a little less.” - -He saw how greatly this disconcerted her. - -“No,” she said. “No, I’m afraid not.” - -“What’s the matter? What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” demanded an -impatient voice behind him. He turned, and saw a stout, middle-aged -man of domineering aspect standing there and frowning heavily. - -“The young man’s come to apply for the chauffeur’s position, sir,” -Mrs. Jones explained. “But I’m afraid—” - -“Well, what’s the matter with him?” cried the domineering man. “Can he -drive a car? Has he got references, eh?” - -“Yes, sir,” Ross replied. - -“Let’s see your references!” - -“I left them at the agency,” said Ross, as if inspired. - -“Agency sent you, eh? Well, they know their business, don’t they? Can -you take a car to pieces and put it together again? Have you brains -enough to keep your gasoline tank filled, and to remember that when -you’re going round a corner some other fellow may be doing the same -thing?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Ross. - -The domineering man stared hard, and Ross met his regard steadily. - -“He’ll do,” said the man. “I like him. Looks you straight in the face. -Level headed. Well set up. Good nerves. Doesn’t drink. We’ll give him -a chance. Eddy!” - -He went out into the hall. - -“Eddy!” he shouted. “I want Eddy!” - -Mrs. Jones came close to Ross. - -“Go away!” she whispered. “You _must_ go away!” - -The domineering man had come back into the room. - -“Now, then, what’s your name?” he demanded brusquely. - -“Moss,” said Ross. - -“Moss, eh? Very well! Ah, here’s Eddy! Eddy, take this young man over -to the garage. See that he’s properly looked after. He’s our new -chauffeur.” - - - V - -The door closed behind them, and Ross round himself in the hall, alone -with this Eddy. They stared at each other for a moment; then, in spite -of himself, a grudging smile dawned upon Ross’s lean and dour face. -Eddy grinned from ear to ear. - -“Come on, shover!” he said. “I’ll show you your stall!” - -A sheik, Eddy was; very slender, with black hair well oiled and combed -back from his brow, and wearing clothes of the latest and jauntiest -mode. But he lacked the lilylike languor of the true sheik; his rather -handsome face was alert and cheerful; and although he moved with the -somewhat supercilious grace of one who had been frequently called a -just wonderful dancer, there was a certain wiry vigor about him. - -Ross followed him down the hall and around the corner, into the -corridor where Mrs. Jones’s room was. Ross saw that the door was a -little ajar, and he dropped behind, because he wanted to look into -that room, but Eddy, in passing, pulled it shut. - -Did he know, too? Certainly he did not look like the sort of youth who -went about closing doors unbidden, simply from a sense of order and -decorum. And that grin—did it signify a shrewd understanding of a -discreditable situation? - -It was at this instant that Ross began to realize what he had done. -Only dimly, though; for he thought that in a few moments he would be -gone, and the whole affair finished, as far as he was concerned. He -felt only a vague disquiet, and a great impatience to get away. He -went after Eddy down the back stairs and through a dark passage on the -floor below, at the end of which he saw a brightly lit kitchen where a -stout cook bent over the stove, and that same disagreeable housemaid -was mixing something in a bowl at the table. - -Then Eddy opened a door, and a wild gust of wind and rain sprang at -them. - -“Step right along, shover!” said Eddy. “Here! This way!” And he took -Ross by the arm. - -It was black as the pit out there; the wind came whistling through the -pines, driving before it great sheets of rain that was half sleet. It -was a world of black, bitter cold and confusion, and Ross thought of -nothing at all except getting under shelter again. - -It was only a few yards; then Eddy stopped, let go of Ross’s arm, and -slid back a door. This door opened upon blackness, too, but Ross was -glad enough to get inside. Eddy closed the door, turned on a switch, -and he saw that they were in a garage. - -It was a very ordinary garage, neat and bare, with a cement floor, and -two cars standing, side by side; yet, to Ross it had a sinister -aspect. He was very weary, wet and chilled to the bone, and this place -looked to him like a prison, a stone dungeon. Storm or no storm, he -wanted to get out, away from this place and these people. - -“Look here—” he began, but Eddy’s cheerful voice called out: “This -way!” and he saw him standing at the foot of a narrow staircase in one -corner. - -The one thing which made Ross go up those stairs was his violent -distaste for the dramatic. He felt that it would be absurd to dash out -into the rain. Instinct warned him, but once again he defied that -warning, and up he went. - -He was surprised and pleased by what he found up there: the jolliest, -coziest little room, green rug on the floor, big armchairs of -imitation red leather, reading lamp. It was not a room of much -aesthetic charm, perhaps, but comfortable, cheerful and homelike, and -warm. - -The rain was drumming loud on the roof and dashing against the -windows, and Ross sighed as he looked at the big chairs. But he was -beginning to think now. - -“Take off your coat and make yourself at home,” said Eddy. - -“No,” Ross objected. “I can’t stay tonight. Didn’t bring my things -along.” - -“Oh, didn’t you?” said Eddy. “Why not?” - -“Because I didn’t come prepared to stay.” - -“What _did_ you come for?” asked Eddy. - -Now, this might be mere idle curiosity, and Ross decided to accept it -as that. - -“No,” he said, slowly. “I’ll go back to the city and get my things.” - -“It’s raining too hard,” Eddy declared. “It wouldn’t be healthy for -you to go out just now, shover.” - -This was a little too much for Ross to ignore. - -“Just the same,” he insisted, “I’m going now.” - -“Nope!” said Eddy. - -Ross moved forward, and Eddy moved, too, so that he blocked the -doorway. He was grinning, but there was an odd light in his eyes. - -“Now, lookit here!” he said. “You just make yourself comfortable for -the night, see?” - -Ross looked at him thoughtfully. He believed that it would not be -difficult to throw this slender youth down the stairs, and to walk out -of the garage, but he disliked the idea. - -“I don’t want to make any trouble, Eddy,” he explained, almost mildly. -“But I’m going.” - -“Nope!” said Eddy. - -Ross took a step forward. Eddy reached in his hip pocket and pulled -out a revolver. - -“Nope!” he said again. - -“What!” cried Ross, astounded. “Do you mean—” - -“Tell you what I mean,” said Eddy. “I mean to say that I know who you -are, and what you come for, and you’re going to sit pretty till -tomorrow morning. That’s what I mean.” - -He spoke quite without malice; indeed, his tone was good-humored. But -he was in earnest, he and his gun; there was no doubt about it. - -It was not Ross’s disposition to enter into futile arguments. He took -off his overcoat, sat down, calmly took out a cigarette and lit it. - -“I see!” he remarked. “But I’d like to know who I am, and what I came -for. I’d like to hear your point of view.” - -“Maybe you wouldn’t,” said Eddy. “Anyway, that can wait. Got to see -about feeding you now.” - -He locked the door behind him and dropped the key into his pocket. -Then he opened another door leading out of the sitting room, -disclosing a small kitchen. - -“Last shover we had, he was a married man,” he explained. “Him and his -wife fixed the place up like it is. I been living here myself, lately. -Let’s see—I got pork and beans, cawfee, cake—good cake—cook over at -the house made it. How does that strike you?” - -“Good enough!” answered Ross, a little absently. - -Eddy was moving about in the kitchen, whistling between his teeth; -from time to time he addressed a cheerful remark to his captive, but -got no answer. Presently he brought in a meal, of a sort, and set it -out on a table. - -“Here you are!” he announced. - -Ross drew up his chair, and fell to, with a pretty sharp appetite. - -“Look here!” he said, abruptly. “Who was that man—the one who—hired -me?” - -“Him? The Prince of Wales!” Eddy replied. “Thought you’d recognized -him.” - -This was Ross’s last attempt at questioning. Indeed, he was quite -willing to be silent now, for his deplorably postponed thinking was -now well under way. His brain was busy with the events of this -day—this immeasurably long day. Was it only this morning that he had -got the note? Only this morning that he had said good-by to Phyllis -Barron? - -“She’d be a bit surprised if she knew where I’d gone!” he thought. - -And then, with a sort of shock, it occurred to him that -nobody—absolutely nobody on earth knew where he had gone, or cared. -These people here did not know even his name. He had come here, had -walked into this situation, and if he never came out again, who would -be troubled? - -Mr. Teagle had not expected him at any definite time, and would wait -for weeks and weeks before feeling the least anxiety about his unknown -client. The people at the Hotel Miston would scarcely notice for some -time the absence of Mr. Ross of New York, especially as his luggage -remained there to compensate them for any loss. Nobody would be -injured, or unhappy, or one jot the worse, if he never saw daylight -again. - -This was one aspect of a completely free life which he had not -considered. He was of no interest or importance to any one. He began -to consider it now. - -Eddy had cleared away their meal, and had been turning over the pages -of a magazine. Now he began to yawn, and presently, getting up, opened -another door, to display a tidy little bedroom. - -“Whenever you’re ready to go by-by, shover,” he suggested. - -“Thanks, I’m all right where I am,” Ross asserted. - -“Suit yourself,” said Eddy. - -He set a chair against the locked door, pulled up another chair to put -his feet on, and made himself as comfortable as he could. But Ross -made no such effort. His family had never cared about being -comfortable. No; there he sat, too intent upon his thoughts to sleep. - -The realization of his own utter loneliness in this world had set him -to thinking about the man under the sofa. There might be some one -waiting, in tears, in terrible anxiety for that man. Probably there -was. There were very, very few human beings who had nobody to care. - -He had made up his mind to go to the police with his story the next -morning. And he saw very clearly the disagreeable position into which -his perverse obstinacy had brought him. He had discovered a man who -was certainly dead, and possibly murdered, and he had said not a word -about it to any one. - -He had refused to go away when he had a chance, and now, here he was, -held prisoner while, if there had been foul play, the persons -responsible would have ample time to make what arrangements they -pleased. He could very well imagine how his tale would sound to the -police. - -“Good Lord!” he said to himself. “What a fool I’ve been!” - - - VI - -It seemed to Ross that the great noise of the wind outside was mingled -now with the throb of engines and the rushing of water. He thought he -felt the lift and roll of the ship beneath him; he thought he was -lying in his berth again, on his way across the dark waste of waters, -toward New York. He wondered what New York would be like. - -Phyllis Barron was knocking at his door, telling him to hurry, hurry -and come on deck. This did not surprise him; he was only immensely -relieved and glad. - -“I knew you’d come!” he wanted to say, but he could not speak. He -tried to get up and dress and go out to her, but he could not move. He -made a desperate struggle to call to her. - -“Wait! Wait!” he tried to say. “I’m asleep. But I’ll wake in a minute. -Please don’t go away!” - -Then, with a supreme effort, he did wake. He opened his eyes. There -was Eddy, stretched out on his two chairs, sound asleep. And there was -a muffled knocking at the door, and a little wailing voice: - -“Eddy! Eddy! Oh, _can’t_ you hear me? Eddy!” - -For a moment Ross thought it was an echo from his dream, but, as the -drowsiness cleared from his head, he knew it was real. He got up and -touched the sleeping youth on the shoulder. - -“There’s some one calling you!” he said. Eddy opened his eyes with an -alert expression and glared at Ross. - -“What?” he demanded, sternly. “No monkey tricks, now!” - -As a matter-of-fact, he was still more than half asleep, and Ross had -to repeat his statement twice before it was understood. Then he sprang -up, pushed aside the chairs, and unlocked the door. - -It was Miss Solway. She came in, like a wraith; she was wrapped in a -fur coat, but she looked cold, pale, affrighted; her black eyes wide, -her misty dark hair in disorder; a fit figure for a dream. - -“Eddy!” she said. “Go away!” - -“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy protested, anxiously. “Wait till -morning.” - -“But it _is_ morning!” she cried. “Go away, Eddy! Quick! I want to -speak to— Go away, do! I only have a minute to spare.” - -“Morning!” thought Ross. He looked at his watch, which showed a few -minutes past six; then at the window. It was as black as ever outside. - -“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy began again. “If I was you, I’d—” - -“Get out, fool!” she cried. “Idiot! This instant!” - -Her fierce and sudden anger astounded Ross. Her eyes had narrowed, her -nostrils dilated, her short upper lip was drawn up in a sort of snarl. -Yet this rage was in no way repellent; it was like the fury of some -beautiful little animal. He could perfectly understand Eddy’s -answering in a tone of resigned indulgence. - -“All right, Miss Amy. Have it your own way.” - -It seemed to Ross that that was the only possible way for any man to -regard this preposterous and lovely creature, not critically, but -simply with indulgence. - -Taking up his cap and overcoat, Eddy departed, whistling as he went -down the stairs. Miss Solway waited, scowling, until he had gone; then -she turned to Ross. - -“_Who are you?”_ she demanded. - -He was greatly taken aback. He had not yet had time to collect his -thoughts; nothing much remained in his mind except the decision of the -night before that this morning he was going to the police with an -account of what he had seen. And, stronger and clearer than anything -else, was his desire and resolve to get away from here. - -“Oh, tell me!” she entreated. - -Ross reflected well before answering. Eddy suspected him of -something—Heaven knew what. Perhaps this girl did, too. He imagined -that they were both a little afraid of him. And, if he held his -tongue, and didn’t let them know how casual and unpremeditated all his -actions had been, he might keep them in wholesome doubt about him, and -so get away. - -“My name’s Moss,” he replied, as if surprised. “I came to get a job.” - -“No!” she said. “You got my note. But how could you? Who _can_ you be? -Nanna said—but I don’t believe it! I knew—as soon as I saw you—I felt -sure you’d come to help me. Oh, tell me! My cousin James sent you, -didn’t he?” - -“James Ross?” asked Ross, slowly. - -“Yes!” she answered, eagerly. “My cousin James. He did! I know it! -Mother always told me to go to him if I needed help. Of course, I know -he must be old now. I was afraid—so terribly afraid that he’d left the -ship, or that I’d forgotten the name of it. But I was right, after -all. I thought mother had said he was purser on the Farragut.” - -“What!” cried Ross. - -He began to understand now. Years and years ago—the dimmest memory—he -had had a cousin James who was purser on one of the Porto Rico boats. -He could vaguely remember his coming to their house in Mayaguez; a -gloomy man with a black beard; son of his father’s elder brother -William. It must have been on the old Farragut, scrapped nearly twenty -years ago. - -And that cousin James had vanished, too, long ago. William Ross had -had three children, and outlived them all. Ross could remember his -grandfather telling him that. - -“All gone,” the old man had said; “both my sons and their sons. No -doubt the Almighty has some reason for sparing _you_; but it’s beyond -me.” - -“_Your_ Cousin James?” said Ross, staring at her—because that had been -_his_ Cousin James. - -“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she answered, impatiently. “I told you. Now tell me -how—” - -But Ross wanted to understand. - -“What was your father’s name?” he demanded. - -“Luis Delmano,” she replied. “But what does that matter? I only have a -minute—” - -“Then why do you call yourself Solway if your name is—” - -“Oh!” she cried. “Now I see! You didn’t know the name of my mother’s -second husband! Nobody had told you that! Of course! I should have -thought of that. Mother told me how horrible her brothers were. When -she married daddy, they were so furious. They said they’d never see -her or speak to her or mention her name again—and I suppose they -didn’t. Nasty, heartless beasts! Their only sister!” - -Although Ross had never before heard of any sister of his father’s, -the story seemed to him probable. His grandfather, his father, and his -uncle were so exactly the sort of people to possess a sister whose -name was never mentioned; grim, savage, old-fashioned, excommunicating -sort of people. Yes; it was probable; but it was startling. Because, -if this girl’s mother had been his father’s sister, then he was her -Cousin James, after all. - -He did not want to be. His dark face grew a little pale, and he turned -away, looking down at the floor, considering this new and unwelcome -idea. - -“Now you understand!” she said. “And you did come to help me, didn’t -you?” - -This time his silence was deliberate, and not due to any confusion in -his thoughts. The blood in his veins spoke clearly to him. What those -other Rosses had condemned, he, too, condemned. He was like them. This -girl was altogether strange, exotic, and dangerous, and he wanted to -get away from her. - -It was his gift, however, to show no sign of whatever he might be -thinking; his face was expressionless, and she read what she chose -there. She came nearer to him, and laid her hand on his arm. - -“You will help me?” she said, softly. - -He looked down at her gravely. He knew that she was willfully -attempting to charm him—and how he did scorn anything of that sort! -And yet— He looked at her as some long forgotten Ross of Salem might -have looked at a bonny young witch. The creature was dangerous, and -yet— Bonny she was, and a young man is a young man. - -“I don’t see,” he began, doubtfully, when suddenly she cried: “Look!” -and pointed to the window. He turned, startled, but he saw nothing -there. - -“It’s getting light!” she cried. - -That was true enough. The sky was not black now, but all gray, pallid, -swept clean of clouds. The rain had ceased, but the mighty wind still -blew, and the tops of the trees bowed and bent before it, like inky -marionettes before a pale curtain. There was no sign yet of the sun, -but you could feel that the dawn was coming. - -“What of it?” asked Ross, briefly. - -“It’s the last day!” she answered. - -What a thing to say! The last day. It filled him with a vague sense of -dread, and it made him angry. - -“That’s not—” he began, but she did not heed him. - -“Listen!” she said. “You must help me! I don’t know what to do. -I’m—I’m desperate! I’ve—” She stopped, looking up into his wooden -face; then, seizing him by the shoulder, she tried to shake him. - -“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, look at me like a human being!” she cried. - -He stared at her, dumfounded. - -“Stop it!” she commanded. “You’ve got to listen to me!” - -He had never in his life been so amazed. She had flown at him, and -shaken him! It was unbelievable. It was pathetic. She was such a -little thing; so fierce, and so helpless. - -“All right!” he said, mildly. “I’m listening. What’s it all about?” - -His tone, his faint smile, did not please her. - -“Oh, you think it’s nothing!” she said. “You think I’m just a silly -girl, making an awful fuss about some childish trouble. _Don’t_ you? -Well, you’re wrong. Listen to me!” - -She stopped, and drew back a little, looking him straight in the face -with those strange black eyes of hers. - -“I’ve done a terrible thing,” she said, in a low, steady voice. “A -wicked, terrible thing. If I get what I deserve, I’m ruined and lost.” - -She turned away from him, and walked over to the window. Ross turned, -too, and followed her. She was gazing before her at the gray sky; the -curve of her cheek, her half parted lips, her wide brow, were -altogether innocent and lovely, but the look on her pale face was not -so. It was somber, bitter, and tragic. - -“The sun is coming up,” she said, almost inaudibly. “_Will_ you help -me?” - -“Yes,” Ross answered. - - - VII - -Ross stood by the window, watching the sun come up—the first sunrise -he had witnessed in his native land. From the east the light welled up -and spread, slow and inexorable, across the sky, like the Master’s -glance traveling over the chill world; and in his soul Ross dreaded -that light. It would mean discovery. That very quiet figure in the -housekeeper’s room would have his revenge. - -“I’m in it now,” Ross muttered. “Up to the neck.” - -And why? Was it pity for that girl? Was it a stirring of sentiment -because she was his kinswoman, his cousin? He did not think so. He -might have pitied her, and still gone away. He might have recognized -their kinship simply by keeping silent about what he had seen. No; it -was something more than that; something he could not quite understand. - -It was the claim of life upon a strong spirit. You are hardy and -valiant, life said; your shoulders are fitted to bear burdens, and -bear them you shall. Here before you is a cruel burden, and you cannot -turn aside. All the strong ones shall be chosen to suffer for the -weak. You are chosen, and you shall suffer. - -Well, he did. - -“I’ve done a wicked, terrible thing. If I get what I deserve, I’m -ruined and lost.” - -That was what she had said to him, and he interpreted it readily -enough. It was hideous to think of, but not difficult to believe. She -was, he thought, capable of any imaginable thing, good or evil. She -would not weigh, or calculate, or even understand; she would only -_want._ She would want to possess something, or she would want to -destroy something which irked her. - -“And after all,” he thought, “it’s not a hard thing to do. Even a -little, weak thing like her can—” - -His mind balked at the fatal word, but, with a frown, he deliberately -uttered it to himself. - -“Can kill,” he said. “I’ve got to face this squarely. Other women have -done things like that. A few drops of something in a glass, perhaps.” - -An uncontrollable shudder ran through him. - -“No!” he thought. “I needn’t think—that. I’ll wait till she’s told me. -The whole thing may be—some accident—something else.” - -But he remembered that she had been there alone in the housekeeper’s -room, and that he had heard her crying in there. He remembered her -words—“a wicked, terrible thing.” And he remembered, above everything -else, her face, with that look upon it. - -“Damn it!” he cried. “I won’t think at all—until I know something -definite. I’ll just carry on.” - -He could, and did, refuse to think of his immediate problem, but his -mind would not remain idle. It presented him with a very vivid picture -of Phyllis Barron. And now, for the first time, he welcomed that -gentle image. She was so immeasurably remote now, so far away, in an -entirely different world; a friendly, honest world, where she was -living her daily life, while he stood here, watching the sun rise upon -a dreaded and unpredictable day. - -“Well, shover!” said Eddy’s cheerful voice behind him. “The big boss -’ll want the car for the eight forty.” - -“All right!” Ross agreed, promptly. “I want a bath and a shave first. -And maybe you’ll lend me a collar and a pair of socks.” - -“I’ll do that for you!” said Eddy. “And say! You could try Wheeler’s -uniform that he left behind. He was the shover before you. He left in -a hurry. Got kicked out. Most of our shovers do.” - -“Why?” - -“Well, I’ll tell you,” Eddy explained, sitting down on the edge of the -bed, and watching Ross shave with cold water, a very dull razor, and -the minute fragment of a shaving stick. “Most of our shovers get -tempted and fall—hard. Miss Amy ’ll ask ’em to take her some place -where the boss don’t want her to go, and not to mention it at home. -And they do. And then, the next time she gets mad at the boss, she -tells him the whole tale, just to worry him. And the shover goes. -See?” - -“I see!” said Ross. - -“She was talking to me just now,” Eddy went on. “I guess I was -mistaken about you. She says you’re going to stay. Well!” He grinned. -“I wish you luck!” - -“Thanks!” said Ross. - -He understood that Eddy was warning him against the devices of Miss -Amy, but it was a little too late. - -He took a bath in water colder than any he had yet encountered; then -he tried on the uniform left behind by the unfortunate Wheeler. It was -a bit tight across the shoulders, and the style was by no means in -accordance with his austere taste, but he could wear it. - -“And I shan’t keep up this silly farce much longer,” he thought. - -“We might as well go over to the house for breakfast,” said Eddy. -“Ready?” - -Ross did not relish the glimpse he had of his reflection in the -mirror. That snug-fitting jacket with a belt in the back, those -breeches, those puttees—he did not like them. Worst of all, Eddy’s -collar would not meet round his neck, and he had fastened it with a -safety pin. As he took up the peaked cap and followed the cheerful -youth, he felt, not like an accomplice in a tragedy, but like a very -complete fool—and that did not please him. - -They crossed the lawn to the house, went in at the back door, and -entered the kitchen. There he sat down to breakfast with the cook, the -housemaid, the laundress, and Eddy. The kitchen was warm and clean, -and neat as a new pin; very agreeable in the morning sunshine. The -breakfast was good, and he was very hungry, and ate with a healthy -appetite. But, except for a civil good morning, he did not say one -word. - -For he was listening. He was waiting, in an unpleasant state of -tension, for something which would shatter this comfortable serenity. -It must come. It was not possible that the figure under the sofa -should remain undiscovered, that life should progress as if nothing at -all had happened. Amy had said this was the “last day.” - -Nothing interrupted the breakfast, though; and, when he had finished, -he went back to the garage, to look over the sedan he was to drive. It -was a good car, and in perfect condition; nothing for him to do there. -He lit a cigarette, and stood talking to Eddy for a time. - -Eddy’s theme was Mr. Solway, Miss Amy’s long-suffering stepfather. - -“He’s the best man Gawd ever made,” said Eddy, seriously. “My father -was coachman to him for eighteen years, and when he passed out, Mr. -Solway, he kept me here. He seen that I got a good education and all. -I wanted this here shover’s job, but he said nothing doing. He said -I’d ought to get a job with a future. I’m down in the telephone -comp’ny now—repair man. He lets me live here for nothing—just for -doing a few odd jobs. He’s a prince!” He stamped out his cigarette -with his heel. “And he has a hell of a life!” he added. - -“How?” asked Ross, thirsting for any sort of information about this -household. - -“Her,” said Eddy. “Remember, I’m not saying nothing against Miss Amy. -I’ve known her all my life. But, I’ve done things for that girl I -wouldn’t have done for my own mother.” He paused. “I done things for -her I wish to Gawd I hadn’t done,” he said, and fell silent. - -Ross was silent, too. He remembered how Eddy had closed the door of -the housekeeper’s room. He remembered how very anxious Eddy had been -to keep him shut up in the garage all night. And he remembered that -Eddy carried a revolver. - -Why should he imagine that Amy Solway would do for herself any -unpleasing task, when apparently she found it so easy to make others -do things for her? This boy admitted he had done things for her which -he wished “to Gawd” he hadn’t. - -“You better start,” said Eddy, and Ross got into the sedan and drove -up to the house. He was undeniably nervous. He expected to see—he -didn’t know what; a pale face looking at him from one of the windows, -a handkerchief waved to him, a note slipped into his hand, some -signal. But there was nothing. - -Mr. Solway came bursting out of the front door, ran down the steps, -said “Good morning! Good morning!” to his new chauffeur, popped into -the sedan, and immediately began to read the newspaper. At the station -he bounced out, said “Four fifty,” and walked off. - -Ross stopped in the town and bought himself some collars. Even this -delay worried him; he might be badly needed at the house. But, in -spite of his haste to get back, he was mighty careful in his driving, -because he had no sort of license. He returned to the garage and put -up the car—and waited. - -Four hours did he wait. Eddy was nowhere about; no doubt he was -repairing telephones. Nobody came near the garage. Ross sketchily -overhauled both cars, swept out the place, and waited, not patiently, -either. - -He had agreed to help that girl, and he was prepared to do so, but he -was not going to be a chauffeur much longer. It was, he thought, a -singularly dull life. What is more, he had his own affairs to look -after; he wanted to get back to New York, and to see Mr. Teagle. - -At one o’clock the telephone in the garage rang, and the disagreeable -housemaid informed him that lunch was ready. Very well, he was ready -for lunch; he went over to the house and again sat down in the -kitchen, and ate again in silence. He had nothing to say, and the -three women said nothing to him. - -He was not a talkative young man; he and his grandfather had often -passed entire days with scarcely a word between them, and he took this -silence as a matter of course, quite innocent of the fact that it was -hostile. The new chauffeur was not liked in the kitchen. - -Then he went back to the garage, and waited, and waited, and waited, -with grim resentment. A little after four o’clock he was preparing to -take the sedan out again, when Amy appeared in the doorway, in her fur -coat and a little scarlet hat. - -“Oh, good!” she cried. “You’re all ready! I want you to take me—” - -“No!” said Ross. “Mr. Solway said four fifty, and I’m going to meet -his train.” - -“But he meant the four fifty from New York!” said she. “You’ll have -plenty of time.” She came nearer to him. “Please, please be quick!” -she said. “It’s my last chance!” - - - VIII - -“To the left, and straight ahead!” said Amy, as they drove out of the -gates. - -So, to the left he turned, and drove straight ahead. And he looked -straight ahead, too, although he knew very well that she was looking -at him. This girl took entirely too much for granted. It was one thing -to help her, but to obey her orders blindly was quite another, and it -did not suit him. Here he was, dressed up in a chauffeur’s uniform -somewhat too small for him, and behaving, no doubt, as those other -chauffeurs had behaved—like a fool. - -He heard her stir restlessly, with little flutterings and jinglings of -her silly feminine finery. She sighed deeply. - -“I don’t believe you’ve told me your right name,” she said, -plaintively. - -“James Ross,” he announced. - -“James Ross!” she cried. “Oh, but you said—But he’s _old_!” - -“Another James Ross,” he remarked, coldly but in his heart he was -rather pleased with the sensation his words caused. - -“Another one? Then—are you my cousin? Are you?” - -“I believe so,” Ross replied. - -She was silent for a moment; then she observed, thoughtfully: - -“I guess I’ll call you Jimmy.” - -“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Ross. “I don’t like it.” - -“I do!” said she. “I think Jimmy’s a darling name.” Suddenly she flung -one arm about his neck. “And I think _you’re_ a darling!” she added, -with a sob. - -“Look out!” Ross cried, sharply. “You mustn’t do that when I’m -driving.” He cast a glance along the straight, empty road, and then -turned to her. Her dark eyes were soft and shining with tears, but she -was trying to smile. - -“Oh, Jimmy!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’ve come!” - -“All right!” said the Spartan young man. “Then suppose you tell me -what’s wrong?” - -“I can’t, Jimmy,” she answered. Her hand rested on his shoulder, but -her head was turned away. “I can’t—just now. Only, oh, Jimmy! -Sometimes I wish I were dead! Dead and buried with my darling mother—” - -He could think of nothing adequate to say to that, and, once more -giving a careful glance at the road, he patted her hand. - -“I’m sorry,” he declared gravely. - -“I know it’s not fair—not to tell you,” she said. “But—can’t you just -help me, Jimmy, and—and not care?” - -A curious emotion filled him; a great compassion and a great dread. - -“Why not?” he thought. “I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to know. -Better let well enough alone.” - -But he knew it was not better, and not possible. Not all the pity in -the world should make him a blind and ignorant tool. He was in honor -bound to ask his question. - -“Just this,” he said. “That man—in the housekeeper’s room?” - -“Why, what man?” she asked. “I don’t know what you mean.” - -His heart sank. Disappointment, and a sort of disgust for this -childish lie filled him; he did not want to look at her again. He -drove on, down a road which seemed to him endless, like a road in a -dream. - -The sun was going down quietly, without pomp and glory, only slipping -out of sight and drawing with it all the light and color in the world. -They passed houses, they passed other cars, and it seemed to him that -he and this girl passed through the everyday life about them like -ghosts, set apart from their fellows, under a chill shadow. - -“Jimmy!” she said, abruptly. “How can you be so horrid! Why don’t you -_talk_? Why can’t you be like—like a real cousin?” - -“Perhaps I haven’t had enough practice,” Ross replied. - -She did not like this. - -“All right, then! _Don’t_ help me! Just go away and leave me to suffer -all alone!” she cried. “You’re a heartless—beast! Go away!” - -“Just as you please,” said Ross. “Can you drive the car?” - -She began to cry, but he paid no attention to this. - -“Jimmy,” she resumed, at last, “my Gayle’s coming tonight.” - -“Your Gayle?” he repeated “What’s that?” - -“He’s the man I love,” she said, simply. And she was honest now, -wholly in earnest; the childish artfulness had gone, and she spoke -quietly. - -“He’s coming tonight,” she went on. “And if anything—goes wrong, he’ll -go away, and never come back. And something’s very likely to go wrong, -Jimmy.” - -“You’ll have to remember that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” -said Ross. - -She did not resent his blunt manner now. - -“In the house where we’re going,” she explained, “there’s some one -Gayle must not see—no matter what happens. I’ll talk to—this person -first; I’ll try to persuade him. But if I can’t—That’s what I want you -to do for me. I want you to be sure to see that—this person doesn’t -leave that house tonight.” - -“And how am I to do that?” - -She was silent for a moment. - -“I don’t care,” she said then. “It doesn’t matter how it’s done.” - -“It does matter—to me.” - -“Listen to me!” she said, with a sort of sternness. “This man—in the -cottage—he’s blackmailing me. Because of something I did—something I’m -sorry for—terribly, terribly sorry—” - -“What will he take to keep quiet?” - -“Nothing. All he wants is to hurt and ruin me.” - -“That’s not blackmail,” said Ross. “If he can’t be bribed—” - -“Oh, what does it matter what you call it? He’s coming tonight, to -tell—this thing—and Gayle will go away!” - -“Look here!” said Ross. “Let him tell. If this Gayle of yours cares -for you, he’ll stand by you. If he doesn’t, you’re well rid of him. -No; just wait a minute! Don’t you see? You can’t lie to a man -you’re—fond of. You—” - -“I’m not going to lie. I’ll just say nothing. The thing is over, -Jimmy; over and done with. Mustn’t I even have a chance? Jimmy, I’m -young! I’m sorry—God knows I’m sorry for what I did—but it’s done. -Nothing can undo it. Won’t you—_won’t_ you let me have just a chance?” - -“But look here! Even if the man didn’t come tonight, he’d come some -other time. You don’t expect me to—” - -He stopped short, appalled by the words he had not spoken. He looked -at her, and in the gathering dusk he saw upon her white face that -terrible, still look again. - -“No!” he cried. - -“Jimmy!” she said. “Just keep him from coming tonight. Then tomorrow -I’ll tell you the whole thing. And perhaps you’ll think of something -to do. But—just tonight—keep him from coming!” - -Ross made no answer. - -“Down here, Jimmy—to the left,” she said, presently, and he turned the -car down a solitary lane, narrow, scored with ruts of half frozen mud. -It had grown so dark now that he turned on the headlights. - -“There!” she said. “That’s the house. Let me out!” - -He stopped the car. - -“Look here!” he began, but she had sprung out, and was hurrying across -a field of stubble. He could not let her go alone. He followed her, -sick at heart, filled again with that sense of utter solitude, of -being cut off from all his fellows, in a desolate and unreal world. -His soul revolted against this monstrous adventure, and yet he could -not abandon her. - -She went before him, light, surprisingly sure-footed upon those high -heels of hers. For some reason of her own, she had chosen to approach -the house from the side, instead of following the curve of the lane. -She came to a fence, and climbed it like a cat, and Ross climbed after -her. - -They were in a forlorn garden, where the withered grass stood high, -and before them was the sorriest little cottage, battered and -discolored by wind and rain, all the shutters closed, not a light, not -a curtain, not a sign of life about it. - -“Look here!” Ross began again. “I’ve got to know—” - -She ran up the steps to the porch, where a broken rocking-chair began -to rock as she brushed it in passing. She opened the door and entered; -it was dark in there, but she ran up the stairs as if she knew them -well; before he was halfway up, he heard her hurrying footsteps on the -floor above, heard doors open and shut. - -Then a light sprang out in the upper hall, and she stood there, -looking down at him. By the unshaded gas jet he could see her face -clearly, and it shocked him; such anguish there, such terror. - -“Gone!” she gasped. “_Gone!_” - - - IX - -To Ross, with his rigid self-control, it seemed impossible that a -human creature could safely endure such violent emotion as hers. She -was so fragile; she looked ill, horribly ill, ghastly; he thought she -would faint, would fall senseless at his feet. He sprang up the stairs -to be with her. - -“Amy!” he cried. - -Her dark brows met in a somber frown; she shook her head, waving her -forefinger in front of her face; an odd, foreign little gesture. - -“No!” she said. “Keep quiet! Don’t speak to me. Let me think.” - -“Think!” said Ross to himself. “I don’t believe you’re capable of it, -my girl. But certainly you’re even less capable of listening to any -one. Very well; go ahead with your thinking, then; and I’ll wait for -the next development.” - -He lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall, smoking, not sorry -for an interval of peace. - -“Look at the time!” Amy commanded sharply “You’ll be late getting to -the station, unless you hurry. Why didn’t you remind me?” - -“Inexcusable of me,” said Ross. “I hope I shan’t lose my job.” - -She apparently did not choose to notice this flippancy. - -“Come!” she ordered, and went past him, down the stairs, and out of -that sorry little cottage. She ran all the way to the car, and two or -three times she said “Hurry!” to Ross, who kept easily at her side -with his usual stride. - -“Now!” she said. “Drive as fast as you possibly can!” - -“Sorry,” said Ross, “but my only license is one I had in Manila—and -even that’s expired. I can’t afford to take chances.” - -She shrugged her shoulders, with an unpleasant little laugh. She was -in a very evil temper; the light was on inside of the car, and now and -then he glanced at her, saw her sitting there, her black eyes staring -straight before her, her mouth set in a mutinous and scornful line. - -She was in torment; he felt sure of that, but he felt equally sure -that she would not hesitate to inflict torment upon others. She was -cruel, reckless, blind, and deaf in her folly. He wondered why it was -that he pitied her so. - -Then he, too, shrugged his shoulders; mentally, that is, for he was -incapable of so theatric a gesture in the flesh. He himself was in an -odd humor, a sort of resigned indifference. He had, for the moment, -lost interest in the whole affair. It was too fantastic, too -confusing; he didn’t care very much what happened, just now. - -“Let me out here!” she said. “There’s not time for you to take me up -to the house. I’ll walk. Now hurry!” - -He stopped the car at the corner of Wygatt Road; she got out, and he -went on, alone. And he was surprised by the difference which her going -made. It was as if a monstrous oppression were lifted from his spirit, -and he could once more draw a free breath, and once more see the open -sky. One clear star was out. No; it was not a mad world; there was -awful and majestic order in the universe, inexorable law. - -And she was truly pitiable, hurrying home beneath that one star; a -poor, helpless futile young thing, defying the whole world for her own -desire. She wanted him to help her! He would not help her in her -desperate folly, but he would not leave her now. Not now. - -These admirable ideas were entirely put out of his head by a new -dilemma. He arrived at the station; he heard the train coming in, and -he could find no advantageous place for his car. All the good places -were taken. He had to stop where he was certain Mr. Solway would never -find him, until, as the train came in, a taxi was seized by an alert -woman, and Ross got his car into that vacant place. - -Mr. Solway was not in the vanguard of the commuters; he came leisurely -and with dignity, talking with another man. Ross stood beside the open -door of the car; with a nod Mr. Solway got in, and the other man, too. -They paid no attention whatever to Ross; they settled themselves, and -went on talking, as if he were a ghost. - -“They closed at five and an eighth,” said the other man. “I can’t help -thinking that—” - -“Now, see here!” Mr. Solway interrupted. “You hold on to them, my boy. -I told you it was a good thing.” - -“It would be,” said the other. “A very good thing, sir, if I could -unload at five and an eighth—or even a bit less—when I bought at three -and three-fourths.” - -“Now, see here!” said Mr. Solway. “I’ll tell you something—which you -needn’t mention anywhere. I’m _buying_ at five and an eighth—up to six -and a half. Buying, mind you, my boy!” - -This was almost more than Ross could bear. This was just the sort of -talk he had thirsted for; this was what he had come to New York for; -to buy stocks at three and three-fourths and sell at six and one-half, -or more. There he sat, with his peaked cap pulled down over his lean, -impassive face, listening with a sort of rage. If he could only ask -Mr. Solway questions, only tell him that he had a few thousands of his -own all ready and waiting for a little venture like this. - -“And you’ll need all you can get, my boy,” Mr. Solway went on, “if -you’re going to marry Amy.” - -Then this was Gayle? Ross turned his head for one hasty glance—and -then, encountering the astonished frown of Mr. Solway, realized what -an improper thing he had done. Chauffeurs must not look. - -He had had this look, though, and had gained a pretty accurate -impression of the stranger. A tall young fellow, fair haired and gray -eyed; he was stalwart and broad shouldered, and altogether manly, but -there was in his face something singularly gentle and engaging. - -“And that’s the fellow!” thought Ross. “That’s the fellow who’s going -to be fooled and lied to.” - -He liked him. And he liked the vigorous and blustering Mr. Solway, and -he liked this rational, masculine conversation. It reassured him. He -reflected that, after all, he was not alone in this miserable affair, -not hopelessly cornered with the preposterous girl. No; Solway was her -stepfather, and the other man was her “Gayle.” They were in it, too. -They were his natural allies. - -“She’s got to tell them, that’s all,” he said to himself. “They’ll -both stand by her. I’ll make her tell them. I can’t handle this -infernal mystery alone. I’m too much in the dark.” - -He drove in at the gates, up the driveway, and stopped the car before -the house with a smartness that pleased him. Mr. Solway bounced out. - -“Here, now!” he said. “You—Moss—Moss, that’s it. Moss, just lend a -hand with this bag. That’s right; up the stairs—first door on the -left. That’s it! That’s it! There you are, Gayle, my boy!” - -He turned to Ross. - -“Moss,” he said. “Everything going along all right? That’s it! That’s -it! You let me know if there’s anything wrong.” - -Ross was hard put to it to suppress a smile. He imagined how it would -be if he should say: - -“Well, sir, there _was_ one little thing—a dead man under the -housekeeper’s sofa. But, perhaps I shouldn’t mention it.” - -He looked for a moment into the bluff, scowling, kindly face of the -man Eddy had called “a prince.” - -“Thank you, sir,” he said, and turned away, down the hall toward the -back stairs. And, as he came round the corner into the corridor, where -the housekeeper’s room was, his quick ear caught some words of such -remarkable personal interest to him that he stood still. - -“Another James Ross!” Mrs. Jones was saying. “That’s a likely story, I -must say! Amy, that man’s a fraud and a spy!” - -“No, Nanna darling, he’s not!” answered Amy, with sweet obstinacy. - -“I tell you he is, child. He’s got to go.” - -“No, dear,” said Amy. “He’s going to help me.” - -“Amy!” cried Mrs. Jones. “Can’t you trust me? I tell you it’s all -right. He won’t come tonight. I promise you he won’t!” - -“Oh, you mean well!” Amy remarked. “But you’ve made plenty of mistakes -before this.” - -“Amy, I promise you—” - -“No,” said Amy. “You told me before that I needn’t worry, that you’d -‘settled everything.’ And what happened? No; I’m afraid you’re getting -old, Nanna—old and stupid. I’m going to manage for myself now. And -Jimmy’s going to help me.” - -“Child!” Mrs. Jones protested. “That man will ferret out—” - -“I don’t care if he does,” said Amy. “He won’t tell, anyhow. Now don’t -bother me any more, Nanna. I’ve simply got to go.” - -Ross stepped quickly backward along the hall for a few yards; then he -went forward again, with a somewhat heavier tread. And just round the -corner of the corridor, he came face to face with Amy. - -Her beauty almost took his breath away. She wore a dress of white and -silver, and round her slender throat a short string of pearls. And -against all this gleaming white the pallor of her skin was rich and -warm, with a tint almost golden; and her misty hair was like a cloud -about her face, and her black eyes so soft, so limpid. - -“Jimmy!” she whispered. “Do I look nice?” - -“Er—yes; very nice,” Ross answered stiffly. - -She came close to him, put her hand on his shoulder. - -“Please, Jimmy!” she said, earnestly. “I do so awfully want to be -happy—just for a little while!” - -Ross had a moment of weakness. She was so young, so lovely; it seemed -important, even necessary, that she should be happy. But he valiantly -resisted the spell. - -“Who doesn’t?” he inquired. - -“Jimmy, dear!” she said. “I’m coming to the garage after dinner—to ask -you something—to beg you to do something. Will you do it, my _dear_ -little Jimmy?” - -“I’ll have to hear what it is first,” said Ross. - -But she seemed satisfied. - - - X - -Ross went up to the room over the garage, and sat down there. He was -hungry and tired, and in no pleasant humor. - -“It’s entirely too damned much!” he said to himself. -“I’m—comparatively speaking—a rich man. There’s money waiting for me. -There’s a nice, comfortable room in a hotel waiting for me; and decent -clothes. I could have gone to a play tonight. There was one I wanted -to see. And here I am—in a garage—dressed up like a monkey. No, it’s -too much! I’m going back to the city tomorrow. I’m going to see -Teagle, and settle my affairs. If Amy wants me to help her, I suppose -I shall. But I won’t stay here, and I won’t be a chauffeur.” - -The more he thought of all this, the more exasperated he became. And -it was nearly nine o’clock before he was summoned to dinner, which did -not tend to placate him. In spite of his hunger, he took his time in -going over to the house. He had no objection to being late, and he -would have no objection to hearing some one complain about it. Indeed, -he wished that some one would complain. Just one word. - -Looking for trouble, Ross was, when he entered the house. He pushed -open the swing door of the kitchen. - -What marvelous aromas were there! What a festive air! That grave -woman, the cook, was wreathed in smiles, for had she not this night -accomplished a dinner which even Mrs. Jones had praised? - -And the disagreeable housemaid was in softened mood, too, for she had -waited upon romance. She had already described, more than once, the -splendor of Miss Amy’s costume, and the way “him and her” had looked -at each other. - -The laundress was elated, because she was fond of romance, and still -more because she was a greedy young creature, and scented an -especially good dinner. And they all welcomed Ross with cordiality. - -“It’s too bad you had to be waiting the long time it was!” said the -cook. “You’ve a right to be famished entirely, Mr. Moss!” - -Much mollified, the young man admitted that he _was_ hungry. - -“You’d oughter of come over for a cuper tea this afternoon,” said the -housemaid. “And a piecer cake.” - -“You’d oughter of tole him, Gracie,” the laundress added. “Poor -feller! He don’t know the ways here, yet!” - -“Sit down, the lot of ye!” said the cook. - -They did, and that unparalleled dinner began. It must be borne in mind -that Ross was wholly unaccustomed to this sort of thing, to home -cooking at its best, to the maternal kindness of women toward a hungry -man. He liked it. - -He was in no hurry to go back to the solitude of the garage, and his -own thoughts. Being invited to smoke, he lit a cigarette and made -himself very comfortable, while the cook washed the dishes, and Gracie -and the laundress dried them. He was still taciturn, because he -couldn’t be anything else; but he answered questions. - -He admitted that he had traveled a bit, and when the laundress, who -was disposed to be arch, asked to be told about them queer places, he -gave a few facts about the exports and imports of Manila. Anyhow, they -all listened to him, and said, “Didjer ever!” and it was altogether -the pleasantest hour he had yet spent in his native land. - -And then—the swing door banged open, and there stood Amy, with a fur -coat over her shimmering dress, and an ominous look in her black eyes. - -“Moss!” she said. “What are you doing here? Get up and come with me at -once! I want to speak to you!” - -Without a word, he arose and followed her into the passage. - -“I told you I was coming to the garage!” she pointed out, in a low, -furious voice. “Why didn’t you wait there?” - -“Look here!” said Ross. “I don’t like this sort of thing.” - -Before his tone her wrath vanished at once. - -“I’m sorry, Jimmy!” she said. “I didn’t mean to be horrid. Only, it -was so hard for me to slip away—and I went all the way out to the -garage in the cold and the dark, and you weren’t there—and I’m so -terribly worried. Oh, you will hurry, won’t you?” - -“Hurry? Well, what do you want me to do?” - -“It may be too late, even now. Any instant he may come. He’ll ring the -bell, and Gracie will open the door. I _can’t_ tell her not to. He’ll -come in. Oh, Jimmy, you won’t let that happen, will you? Oh, do, do -please hurry!” - -“But just what—” - -“Go out and hide some place where you can watch the front door. And if -you see him coming—stop him! A thin, dark man, with a mustache. Oh, -hurry, Jimmy! All evening long I’ve been waiting and waiting—in -torment—for the sound of the bell. Go, Jimmy dear!” - -“How long do you expect me to wait for him?” - -“Oh, not so awfully long, dear. Just—” She paused. “Just till Eddy -comes home. I’m sure he won’t be late. Now hurry!” - -“I don’t want to do this,” said Ross. “I can’t stop—” - -“Oh, shut up!” she cried; and then tried to atone by patting his -cheek. “Jimmy, I’m desperate! Just help me this once! Tomorrow I’ll -explain it all, and you’ll see. Only go now!” - -“I’ll have to get my overcoat from the garage,” he explained. - -“All right, dear!” she said, gently, and turned away. And as he went -toward the back door, he heard her sob. - -All the way to the garage that sob echoed in his ears. Her tears had -not affected him; they were too facile, too convenient. But that half -stifled sob in the dark—He went quickly, taking the key from his -pocket as he went; he, too, was in a hurry, now, to spare her this -thing she dreaded. - -He unlocked the door, turned on the switch, ran up the stairs, through -the sitting room, and into the bedroom, where his coat hung. - -He stopped short in the doorway. For, sitting on the bed was a tiny -girl, seriously engaged in tying a ribbon about the waist of a white -flannel rabbit. She looked up at the young man, but apparently was not -interested, and went on with her job. - -“Who are _you_?” demanded Ross. - -“Lil-lee,” said she. - -“Yes, but I mean—how did you get here?” - -“I comed in a balloon,” she assured him. - -Ross was completely ignorant about young children, but he realized -that they were not to be held strictly accountable for their -statements. And this child was such a very small one; such a funny -little doll. She had a great mane of fair hair hanging about her -shoulders, and, on one temple, a wilted bit of pink ribbon; she had -serene blue eyes, a plump and serious face, by no means clean. - -She wore a white dress, still less clean, a coral necklace, white—or -grayish white—socks all down about her ankles, and the most dreadful -little white shoes. He observed all this, because it was his way to -observe, and because he was so amazed that he could do nothing but -stare at her. - -“But who brought you?” he asked. - -“Minoo,” she replied. - -“Who’s Minoo?” - -The child held up the rabbit. - -“Oh, Lord!” cried Ross. “Won’t you please try to be—sensible? I don’t -know— Are you all alone here?” - -“I fink I are.” - -“The door was locked,” he said, aloud. “I can’t see— But what shall I -do with you?” - -“Gimme my dindin,” said she. - -Ross wished to treat so small and manifestly incompetent a creature -with all possible courtesy, but he was handicapped by his -inexperience. - -“Look here, Lily!” he said, earnestly. “I’m in the deuce of a hurry -just now. If you’ll wait here, I’ll come back as soon as I can.” - -“I will be a good baby!” said she. “But I want my dindin!” - -He could have torn his hair. He could not fail Amy now. And he could -not leave a good baby alone and hungry, for he did not know how long. - -“Shall I take it to the house?” he thought. “The cook would feed it. -But—perhaps it’s another of these damned mysteries. I haven’t time to -think it out now. I’d better keep it here until I’ve thought a bit. -See here, Lily, what do you eat?” - -“Dindin,” Lily answered. - -“Yes, I know. But—I’ve got bread. Will that do?” - -“I _like_ bread and thugar!” she agreed. - -He hurried into the kitchen, cut four good, sturdy slices of bread, -covered them well with butter and sugar, and brought them back on a -plate. Then, with a vague memory of a puppy he had once had, he -thought of water, and brought a glassful. - -“Now I’ve got to go, Lily,” he explained. “But I’ll come back as soon -as I can. You just wait, see?” - -“I will!” she said, pleasantly, and held out her arms. - -He hesitated for a moment, half frightened; then he caught up the -funny little doll and kissed its cheek. - -It was not a doll. It was warm and alive, and solider than it looked. -It clung to him, and kissed him back again. - - - XI - -“You won’t feel the cold the first winter in the States.” - -That was what people in Manila and Porto Rico had told Ross. He -thought of those people now. You didn’t feel it, did you? Yes, you -did! - -He had found “some place where he could hide and watch the front -door”; a plantation of firs halfway between the house and the gates. -He had been there more than an hour, prowling up and down behind the -screen of branches; he had at first tried to smoke, but darkness and -cold annihilated any sort of zest in the tobacco. He had attempted the -army setting-up exercises, considerably hampered by his overcoat; but -nothing produced in him either bodily warmth or a patient serenity of -mind. - -He was worried about that child. Not once did he say to himself that -it was none of his business; he admitted willingly that a creature of -that size had a claim upon all full-grown persons; he admitted that, -whoever it was, and wherever it came from, it was entitled to his -protection. - -“She’s too little to be left there alone,” he thought. “Much too -little. They always have nurses—or some one. She might fall down the -stairs—or turn on the gas stove. I’ve been gone more than an hour. -Good Lord! This is too much! What the devil’s the matter with that -fellow, anyhow?” - -He was disgusted with this thin dark man with a mustache, who was so -outrageously late in coming. Very likely the funny little doll was -sitting up there, crying. The raw cold pierced to the marrow of his -bones. - -And this, he reflected, was his second night in his native land. The -first had been spent imprisoned in the garage, at the point of a -revolver, but it had been a thousand times better than this. He had -been warm and comfortable—and he had been innocent, a victim. Now he -was taking an active part in a thoroughly discreditable affair. - -He was committed to wait for a thin dark man with a mustache, and to -prevent his entering the house. And how was he to do this? Walk up to -him and begin to expostulate? Try to bribe him? - -The thought of bribery aroused in the young man an anger which almost -made him warm. No Ross would ever pay blackmail. Indeed, no Ross of -his branch was fond of parting with money for any purpose at all. They -were very prompt in paying their just bills and debts, but they took -care that these should be moderate. - -“No!” thought Ross. “If I was fool enough to give this fellow money, -he’d only come back for more, later on. I’m not going to start that. -No! But how am I going to stop him? Knock him out? That’s all very -well, but suppose he knocked me out? Or he may carry a gun. Of course, -I suppose I could come up behind him and crack him over the head with -a rock. That’s what my Cousin Amy would appreciate. But somehow it -doesn’t appeal to me. After all, what have I got against this fellow? -What do I know about him? Only what she’s told me. And she’s not what -you’d call overparticular with her words.” - -His thoughts were off, then, upon the track of that problem which -obsessed him. What had happened to the man under the sofa? He couldn’t -still be there. But who had taken him away, and where was he now? He -looked toward the house, so solid and dignified, with its façade of -lighted windows. He remembered his cozy dinner in the kitchen; he -thought of the orderly life going on there. - -It was impossible! Yet it was true. He had seen that dead man with his -own eyes. He had touched him. - -Who else knew? Surely Amy; but it was obvious that she had some one to -help her in all emergencies. Mrs. Jones? Ross believed that Mrs. Jones -had been well aware of the man’s presence in her room. Eddy? Eddy’s -behavior had been highly suspicious. - -He refused to go on with this profitless and exasperating train of -thought. He was sick of the whole thing. Amy had said that she would -“explain everything” to him the next day. Not for a moment did he -believe that she would do anything of the sort, but he did hope that -at least she would tell him a little. And, anyhow, whatever she told -him, whatever happened or did not happen, he was going away—back to -normal, honest, decent life. - -“I said I’d help her, and, by Heaven, I am!” he thought. “After -tonight we’re quits. I’ll hold my tongue about all this; but—I’m -going!” - -He whacked his stiff arms across his chest. - -“Hotel Benderly, West Seventy-Seventh Street,” he said to himself. -“I’m going there tomorrow.” - -For he no longer saw Phyllis Barron as a danger. He was considerably -less infatuated with liberty after these two days. It occurred to him, -now, that to be entirely free meant to be entirely alone, and that to -be without a friend was not good. - -He wanted some one to trust, and he trusted Phyllis. No matter that he -had known her only five days; he had seen that she was honest; that -she was steadfast, and, loveliest virtue of all, she was -self-controlled. He knew that from her one need never dread tears, -fury, despairs, selfishness and cajoleries. - -Out there, in the cold and dark of his unhappy vigil, he thought of -Phyllis, and longed for her smile. - -“She’d never in her life get a fellow into a mess like this!” he -thought. “But Amy—” - -His distrust for his Cousin Amy was without limits. There was nothing, -he thought, that she might not do. She was perfectly capable of -forgetting all about him, and then, in the morning, if he were found -frozen to death at his post, she would pretend to wonder what on earth -the new chauffeur had been doing out there. - -“After eleven,” he thought. “And Eddy hasn’t come yet. Very likely she -knew he wouldn’t come. Perhaps he’s never coming back. All right! I’ll -wait till twelve, and then I’m going to take a look at that little -kid. I’ve got to. It’s too little.” - -So he walked up and down, up and down, over the rough, frozen patch of -ground behind the fir trees; his coat collar turned up, his soft hat -pulled low over his eyes, his face grim and dour; a sinister figure he -would have been to meet on a lonely road. - -Up and down—and then something happened. At first he could not grasp -what it was, only that in some way his world had changed. He stopped -short, every nerve alert. Then he realized that it was a sudden -increase in the darkness, and, turning toward the house, he saw the -lights there going out, one by one. - -“By George!” he thought. “They’re all going to bed! And I suppose I -can stay here all night, eh? While they’re warm and snug, the faithful -Cousin James will be on guard. All right! I said I’d do it. But I’m -going to get a glass of milk for that baby.” - -He set off as fast as his numb feet and stiff legs would carry him, -toward the back door. He would tell the cook that he was hungry, and -she would give him what he wanted. A kind, sensible woman, that cook. - -He pushed open the back door and went in; it was dark in the passage, -but warm, and the entrancing perfumes of the great dinner still -lingered there. He went on, toward the kitchen, but before he got -there, the swing door opened, and Mrs. Jones appeared. She stopped, -and he thought that she whispered: “It’s I!” - -He was a little disconcerted, because he knew that Mrs. Jones was not -fond of him, and he was extremely suspicious of her. But she looked so -sedate, almost venerable, standing there in the lighted doorway, in -her best black dress, with her gray hair, her spectacles. He took off -his hat, and spoke to her civilly. - -“I came to ask for a glass of milk,” he said. - -Then she repeated what she had said before, and it was not “It’s I,” -but the word “Spy!” uttered with a suppressed scorn that startled him. - -“Spy!” she said. “I know you!” - -He looked at her in stern amazement. - -“Leave this house!” she said. “You can deceive a poor innocent young -girl, but you can’t deceive me. You and your glass of milk! I know -you! And I tell you straight to your face that you’re not coming one -step farther. I’m going to stay here all night, and I’m going to see -to it that neither you nor anybody else comes to worry and torment -that poor girl. Go!” - -“All right!” said Ross, briefly, and, turning on his heel, went out of -the house. - -“If she’s going to take over the job of watchdog, she’s welcome to -it,” he thought. “I guess she’d be pretty good at that sort of thing. -But—spy!” - -His face grew hot. - -“I don’t feel inclined to swallow that,” he said to himself, -deliberately. “Some day we’ll have a reckoning, Mrs. Jones!” - - - XII - -The funny little doll lay asleep, very neat and straight, just in the -center of the bed, the covers drawn up like a shawl, one cheek pressed -against the pillow, its fair mane streaming out behind, as if it were -advancing doggedly against a high wind. There was no creature in the -world more helpless, yet it was not alert, not timid, as defenseless -little animals are; it slept in utter confidence and security. - -And that confidence seemed to Ross almost terrible. The tiny creature, -breathing so tranquilly, took for granted all possible kindness and -protection from him. It had asked him for food; it had offered a kiss. - -He stood looking down at it with considerable anxiety, yet with the -hint of a smile on his lips. - -“Made yourself at home, didn’t you?” he thought. - -As he looked, the child gave an impatient flounce, and threw one arm -over her head. Ross drew nearer, frowning a little; bent over to -examine that arm, that ruffled sleeve. - -“I don’t believe—” he muttered, and very carefully pulled out the -covers from the foot of the bed. His suspicions were confirmed; she -was fully dressed, even to her shoes. - -“Must be darned uncomfortable!” he thought. He hesitated a moment, -half afraid to touch her; but at last he cautiously unbuttoned one -slipper. She did not stir. He drew off the slipper, then the other -one; then the socks, and tucked in the covers again. - -“Poor little devil!” he said to himself. “Poor little devil! I -wonder—” - -A great yawn interrupted him. - -“I’ll think about this in the morning,” he thought; “but I’m going to -get some sleep now—before anything else happens.” - -For, coming from the cold of his vigil into this warmth was making him -intolerably drowsy. He took off his collar and sat down to remove -those objectionable puttees. - -As this unprincipled intruder had so coolly taken possession of the -bed, he would have to sleep on the couch in the sitting room, but that -didn’t trouble him. He felt that he could sleep anywhere, and that -nothing—absolutely nothing—could keep him awake ten minutes longer. - -A sound from below startled him. Some one was unlocking the door. - -In his blind fatigue, he was ready to ignore even that. He didn’t -_care_ who came; he wanted to go to sleep. - -But he remembered the tiny creature in the bed, the creature who -expected his protection, and that roused him. Closing the bedroom -door, he went to the head of the stairs, and, in a voice husky with -sleep, but distinctly threatening, called out: - -“Who’s that?” - -“Me,” answered Eddy’s voice. - -Even before he saw the boy, Ross was aware that there was something -amiss with Eddy tonight. His voice was different; he climbed the -stairs so slowly. He came into the sitting room, and flung down the -bag he was carrying. - -“I’m all in!” he said. - -He looked it. His face was haggard and white; his glossy hair was no -longer combed back, but flopped untidily over his forehead. There was -nothing jaunty about Eddy now. He was weary, grimy, and dispirited. - -“Been doing overtime,” he explained. “Lot of wires down in that storm -last night.” - -“Look here!” said Ross. “There’s a child here—a baby. I don’t know -whose it is, or how it got here. But it’s asleep in there. Better not -disturb it.” - -“Wha-at!” cried Eddy. He looked amazed, he spoke in a tone of -amazement, but there was something— - -“By Heaven!” thought Ross. “You’ve got the other key to the garage, my -lad! And the child didn’t come through a locked door.” - -“A kid!” Eddy repeated. - -“Queer, isn’t it?” Ross inquired, sarcastically. “If not peculiar!” - -Eddy glanced at him, and then sat down and lit a cigarette. - -“I’ll say it’s queer!” he observed. - -“Especially as I’d left the door locked when I went out.” - -Again Eddy glanced at him. - -“Did you—what did they say—over at the house?” he asked. - -“Oh, nothing much!” - -He observed, with satisfaction, that this answer alarmed Eddy. - -“Well, lissen here,” he said. “Who did you tell? Old Jones?” - -“I don’t remember,” Ross declared. - -“But—” Eddy began, and stopped. - -“I’m going to turn in now,” said Ross. “Afraid you’ll have to put up -with the chair again tonight.” - -He crossed the room to the couch and lay down there. He was only -partly undressed, and he put his shoes beside him, and his overcoat -across his feet, because, in this nightmare existence, he had to be -prepared for every impossible emergency. - -“But I’ll get some sleep anyhow!” he thought, defiantly. - -He stretched out, with a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes, when an -almost inaudible sound, like the faintest echo of his own sigh, made -him glance up again. He saw that Eddy had buried his face in his -hands, and sat there, his slight shoulders hunched, his young head -bent, in an attitude of misery and dejection. - -And Ross was sorry for him. All through his confused and heavy dreams -that night ran a little thread of pity, of regret and pain, which he -could not understand. Only, he felt that in this adventure there was -more than the tragedy of death. - -When he opened his eyes again, the room was filled with a strange, -pale light, unfamiliar to him. Dawn? It was more like twilight. He -raised himself on one elbow and looked out of the window, and, for the -first time in his life, he saw the snow. - -Thick and fast the flakes went spinning by, tapping lightly against -the glass, and, out beyond, he saw that all the world was white. White -and unimaginably still. He had seen plenty of pictures of snow-covered -landscapes, but he had never known the _feel_ of a snowstorm, the odd -tingle in the air, the sense of hushed expectancy. - -He was amazed and delighted with it. Old and forgotten fancies of his -childhood stirred in him now; queer little memories of glittering -Christmas cards, of fairy tales. He remembered a story his mother had -read to him, so very long ago, about a Snow Queen. - -And it was good for him to remember these things, after so many -ungracious years, just as it was good to see the snow, after so long a -time of tropic sun and rain. He knew that it was good, and for a -little time he was content, watching the snow fall. - -But his destiny was not inclined to allow him many peaceful moments -just then. Before he had even begun to think of his complicated -anxieties, a sound from the next room brought the whole burden upon -him like an avalanche. It was the child’s voice. - -He jumped up from the couch, and then he noticed that Eddy had gone. -He frowned, not knowing whether this was a disaster or a thing of no -importance, and, without stopping to put on his shoes, went across to -the bedroom door and turned the knob. He had come so quietly that no -one had heard him, and he was able to observe a curious scene. - -Eddy was on his knees, his head bowed before the little girl, who sat -on the bed, lifting strands of his glossy hair and pulling them out to -their fullest extent, with a grave and thoughtful air. - -“Lookit here!” whispered Eddy. “I wish you’d quit that, baby!” - -“You dot funny, flippety-floppety hair,” said she. - -“Well, anyway, hold your foot still, won’t you?” he entreated. - -Ross saw, then, that Eddy was trying to put the child’s socks on, and -getting no intelligent coöperation from her. - -“What are you doing that for?” he asked. - -Eddy sprang to his feet like a cat. He looked at Ross, and Ross looked -at him, and the little girl lay back on the bed and began jouncing up -and down. - -“Well,” Eddy replied, slowly, “if you really want to know, it was me -brought her here, and now I’m goin’ to take her away again; that’s -all.” - -Once more Ross was conscious of a disarming pity for the boy. He -thought he had never seen a human creature who looked so unhappy. - -“Look here, Eddy!” he remarked. “Who is she, anyhow?” - -“Her?” said Eddy. “Why, what does it matter?” - -Ross was silent for a moment. - -“I—I’m interested in the little girl,” he said, half ashamed of this -weakness. “I’d like to know where she’s going.” - -“Gawd knows,” said Eddy, briefly. - -“What do you mean?” - -“She can’t stay here,” said Eddy. “That’s one sure thing.” - -Again he looked at Ross, with a strange intensity, as if he were -trying desperately to read that quite unreadable face. - -“If you’re really interested in the kid—” he began. - -“I am,” said Ross. - -Eddy sat down on the bed. - -“I don’t believe you told them, over at the house,” he continued. -“’Cause, if they knew, they’d of—” - -“No, I didn’t,” said Ross. - -“Then nobody knows she’s here—but me and you?” - -“That’s all.” - -“Well,” said Eddy. - -Again Ross had a distinct warning of danger, and again he defied it, -standing there stubbornly resistant to all the ill winds that might -blow. - -“This kid,” Eddy pointed out—“she hasn’t got anybody in the world.” - -As if by common consent, they both turned to look at the child. She -was holding the rabbit aloft, and trying to touch it with one little -bare foot; she was quite happy; with superb unconcern she left her -fate in the hands of these two young men. - -“I’d explain it to you, if I could,” Eddy went on; “but I can’t, just -now. Later on, maybe. Only, she can’t stay here. I got to take her -away before anybody sees her.” He paused. “I know somewheres I could -leave her today, and bring her back here tonight, all right, only -after that—” - -A dim and monstrous suspicion stirred in Ross, but he would not -examine it. He did not want to understand. - -“After that,” he said, “I’ll look after her.” - - - XIII - -They had breakfast together, Ross and Eddy and the child. And the -rabbit was there, too, propped up against the coffeepot; he was fed -with spoonfuls of water, and he got pretty wet in the process. - -It was an amazing meal. It seemed to Ross sometimes that he was still -asleep, and this a dream—the little kitchen filled with that strange, -pale light, the snow falling steadily outside, and the child beside -him. - -“Why did I say I’d look after her?” he thought, with a sort of wonder. -“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?” - -He didn’t know, and could not understand. He was hopelessly involved, -now, in this sorry muddle, and he saw, very clearly, that every step -had been taken deliberately, of his own free will. He could have got -out, long ago, but—here he was. And he was committed now to an -undertaking almost too fantastic, too preposterous to contemplate. - -Yet he did not regret it. Just as, in a shipwreck, he would have given -his life for a tiny creature like this, so was he obliged now to offer -it his protection. Eddy said she had nobody in the world. Very well, -then; he had to stop, to turn aside from his own affairs, and lend a -hand to this forlorn little fellow traveler. He had to do it. - -“More!” said the child, briskly. - -“More what?” asked Ross. - -“More—evvysing!” she cried, bouncing up and down perilously upon the -telephone directories he had piled on her chair. “More evvysing!” - -“Give her some cawfee,” suggested Eddy. - -“No,” said Ross. “Too young. They only have milk—things like that.” - -And, with these words, the fantasy became real. He had actually -assumed the responsibility, now. He was taking care of the child. He -looked down at her, frowning a little, and she looked up into his face -with cheerful expectancy. She knew very well! He was the one appointed -to serve her, and she knew it. He was to supply her with “more -evvysing.” - -“Look here, Eddy!” he said. “There must be some one who’ll turn up -later to—to take care of the child. There’s bound to be _some one_” - -Eddy glanced up as if he were about to speak, but his face grew -scarlet, and he turned away. - -“Well,” he said, after a time, “I dunno. It’s kind of hard to say. -Only, I thought you—I thought you’d be a good one to—take her.” - -Ross was surprised and curiously touched by this, and somewhat -embarrassed. A good one, was he, for this charge? He looked at the -child again. - -“Her face is dirty,” he observed, sternly. “She ought to be washed. -Any warm water in that kettle, Eddy?” - -“Yep. But I got to hurry, before the rest of ’em get up. Go on and -eat, kid!” He turned to Ross. “Tell you what I thought. I know a place -where I can take her and keep her till you come and get her after -dark. It’s a cottage where there’s nobody living just now. You go up -the Post Road about eight miles, till you come to a church that’s -being built on the left side of the road. Then you turn—” - -“Yes,” said Ross. “I—” He stopped, and Eddy sat staring blankly at -him. - -“What?” he cried. “D’you know?” - -“Go on!” said Ross. “Go on! Tell me how to get there.” - -“What made you say ‘yes,’ like that?” - -“I meant I was listening to you. Go on, man!” And because of his -distaste for this lie, Ross spoke with a brusque impatience which -impressed Eddy. - -“All right!” he said. “But lissen here! I—well—you’re a funny sort of -guy. I never seen any one so close-mouthed in my life. I can’t make -out yet who you are, or what you come here for. But—” He sighed, and -stroked his glossy hair. “I got to trust you, that’s all. Last night I -thought I’d go crazy, trying to think what I could do about the kid. I -couldn’t—I’ll tell you where this place is, and I hope to Gawd you’ll -keep still about it. ’Cause, if we get any one else monkeying around -there—well—there’ll be trouble, that’s all. Big trouble.” - -“Go on!” said Ross. - -So Eddy did go on, giving him careful directions for reaching the -cottage Ross had visited the day before with Amy. - -“And for Pete’s sake, come as early as you can,” he ended. “Come -before it gets dark, will you? I—” He arose. “Come on, baby!” - -She jumped down from her chair, with a piece of bread and butter in -one hand, and the rabbit in the other; she was quite ready to go -anywhere, with any one. Ross washed her sticky hands and tried to wash -her face, but this annoyed her so much that he was not successful. -Eddy brought out her coat and bonnet from a cupboard; put on his own -very modish overcoat, and a cap, picked up the child, and off they -went. - -From an upper window, Ross watched them go across the great white -waste that was so strange and yet somehow so familiar to him. Eddy -stumbled now and then, over some hidden unevenness in the ground, but -the child in his arms sat up straight and triumphant, her head, in the -knitted hood, turning briskly from side to side. Then they were lost -to sight in the falling snow and the gray morning light, and Ross -turned back to the empty rooms. - -It was only half past seven; he had nearly an hour before Mr. Solway -expected him, and he thought he would use that time for investigating -the engine of the limousine. Both cars were in deplorably good -condition; there was little he could justifiably do to them, and he -was, moreover, a mechanic of more enterprise than experience. But he -was devoted to engines, and pretty well up in the theory of the -internal combustion type. - -He put on a suit of overalls he found in the garage; he started the -engine and opened the hood; he was so pleased with that fine roar, -that powerful vibration which was like the beat of a great, faithful -heart, that he began to whistle. A superb motor; he would enjoy -driving that car. - -“She’s a beauty, all right!” said a voice, so very close to his ear -that he jumped. - -Standing at his elbow was a burly fellow of thirty-five or so, with a -bulldog jaw; his voice and his smile were friendly, but his blue eyes, -Ross thought, were not. - -“Yes, sir!” he went on. “You’ve got a mighty fine car there.” - -Ross said nothing. He did not care to continue his amateur -explorations under those cold blue eyes. He shut off the engine, -closed the hood, and turned toward the stranger with a challenging -glance. - -But the stranger was not at all abashed. - -“Have a smoke,” he asked, proffering a packet of cigarettes. - -“No, thanks!” said Ross, and stood there, facing the other, and -obviously waiting for an explanation. - -“Dirty weather!” said the stranger. - -“All right!” said Ross sullenly. “What about it?” - -His tone was very nearly savage, for, to tell the truth, his position -was having a bad effect upon his temper. Having so much to conceal, so -many unwelcome secrets intrusted to him, he had begun to suspect every -one. He didn’t like this fellow. - -“Well, I’ll tell you,” said the stranger, in an easy and confidential -manner. “I came up this way, looking for a man. And I thought I’d drop -in here and see if you could give me any information.” He stopped to -light a cigarette, and his blue eyes were fixed upon Ross. “Fellow by -the name of Ives,” he said. “Ever hear of him, eh?” - -“No!” said Ross. - -“Ives,” said the other, slowly. “Martin Ives. Fellow about your age. -About your build. Dark complexioned—like you.” - -“D’you think I’m your Martin Ives?” demanded Ross, angrily. - -“I wish you were,” said the stranger, and his tone was so grave that -Ross had a sudden feeling of profound uneasiness. - -“Well, I’m not,” he said, “and I never heard of him. I’m new here—just -came two days ago.” - -“Two days, eh?” said the stranger. “That was Wednesday, eh?” - -“I shouldn’t have told him that,” thought Ross, dismayed. “But, good -Lord, I can’t remember to lie all the time! And, anyhow, what -difference can it make—when I came here?” - -But he could see, from the stranger’s face, that it had made a -difference. - -“You came here on Wednesday,” he continued. “I wonder, now, did you -happen to see any one—” - -“No!” shouted Ross. “I didn’t see any one. I didn’t see anything. I -never heard of your Ives. Go and ask some one else. I’m busy!” - -“I don’t want to bother you,” said the stranger, grown very mild. “I -can see you’re busy. But it’s a pretty serious thing. You see, Ives -came to Stamford on Tuesday. I’ve traced him that far. And after -that—he’s disappeared.” - -“Well, do you think I’ve got him hidden here?” - -“My name’s Donnelly,” the stranger went on. “And I’ve come out here to -find Ives.” - -“All right! I wish you luck!” - -“I don’t know,” said Donnelly, thoughtfully. “Maybe it won’t be so -lucky—for some people.” - -He was not looking at Ross now; his cold blue eyes were staring -straight before him. - -“But I think I’ll find him, all the same,” he declared, gently. - -“Ives was the man under the sofa,” thought Ross. - - - XIV - -Ross could not understand why that notion came as a shock to him. -Naturally, the man under the sofa had a name; every one had. Yet, -directly he thought of that figure as “Martin Ives,” instead of “the -man,” the whole affair grew ten times more tragic and horrible—and ten -times more dangerous. - -“A man” might disappear, but not Martin Ives. Martin Ives was real, he -had friends; he must have lived somewhere. He would be sought for—and -found. - -“This Donnelly—” thought Ross. “He’s got this far already. And he’ll -keep on.” - -In his mind he envisaged the inexorable progress of the search. Step -by step, hour by hour. If this man went away, another would come. The -awful march of retribution had begun. Nothing could stop it. - -“Murder will out.” - -His anger, his impatience, had quite vanished now. He could not resent -Donnelly’s presence, because he was inevitable. He seemed to Ross the -very personification of destiny, not to be eluded, not to be -mollified. He looked at him and, as he had expected, found the cold -blue eyes regarding him. - -“Do you think you can help me?” asked Donnelly. - -“I don’t see how,” said Ross. “I don’t know the fellow you’re looking -for. I’ll have to get along, now. Got to drive down to the station.” - -“Well,” said Donnelly, blandly, “I can wait.” - -“Not here!” said Ross, with energy. “They wouldn’t like—” - -“Oh, no, not here!” said the other. “See you later. So long!” And off -he went. - -Ross watched his burly figure tramping along the driveway until he was -out of sight; then he made haste to get himself ready, took out the -car, locked the garage, and drove up to the house. - -It was much too early. There he sat, shut up in the snug little sedan, -with the snow falling outside, as if he were some unfortunate victim -of an enchantment, shut up in a glass cage. And he began to think, -now, of what lay immediately before him. - -“I’ll have to make some sort of excuse to Mr. Solway for going away,” -he thought. “A lie, of course. I wish to Heaven I didn’t have to lie -to _him_. Then I’ll get the child, and clear out. I’ll find some sort -of home for her. Phyllis Barron will help me.” - -The idea dazzled him, the magnificent simplicity of it, the -unspeakable relief of just picking up the child and walking off. No -explanations, no more lies. He contemplated it in detail. How he would -walk into the Hotel Miston, into his comfortable room, and unpack his -bags. How he would take the child to Phyllis Barron, and tell her that -here was a poor little kid who had nobody in the world. She would know -what to do; she would help him; the nightmare would end. - -As for Amy— - -“I’ll have it out with her today!” he thought. “I’m not called upon to -give up my entire life for that girl. I’ve done enough, and more than -enough.” - -The door opened, and out came Mr. Solway. Ross jumped out and opened -the door of the car. - -“Ha!” said Mr. Solway. “Very sensible—very sensible! You came early, -so that you’d have time to drive carefully. Very important—weather -like this. Very sensible! But wait a bit! Mr. Dexter’s coming along.” -Standing out in the snow, he shouted: “Gayle! Come, now! Come!” to the -unresponsive house; then, he got into the car. - -“I’d like to speak to you for a minute, sir,” said Ross. - -Mr. Solway observed how white and strained the young man’s face was, -and he spoke to him very kindly. - -“Well?” he said. “What is it, Moss?” - -“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave tomorrow, sir.” - -“Leave, eh?” - -“Yes, sir. I—it’s—family troubles, sir.” - -“Married man?” asked Mr. Solway, in a low voice. - -“No, sir,” said Ross. The honest sympathy in the other man’s tone made -him sick with shame. “It’s a—a younger sister of mine.” - -“Well, my boy,” said Mr. Solway, “I’m sorry, very sorry. You’re the -sort of young fellow I like. Family troubles— Too bad! I’m sorry. Come -back here any time you like.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said Ross. - -“Nonsense! Nonsense! You’re the type of young— Ha, Gayle! Step in! -Step in. Start her up, Moss!” - -Ross did so. He had never been more unhappy in his life than he was -now, with his lie successfully accomplished. - -“This finishes it!” he thought, as he drove back from the station. -“I’m going to see Amy, and have it out with her. I’ll tell her about -this Donnelly. I’ll warn her—” - -And then go off and leave her to face the consequences alone? - -“But, hang it all, she’s not alone!” he cried to himself. “She’s got -Solway, and she’s got her Gayle. Why doesn’t she go to him? He’s the -natural one to share her troubles.” - -Unfortunately, however, he could not help understanding a little why -Amy did not want to tell Gayle. He had had another good look at Gayle -when he got out of the car at the station, and he was obliged to admit -that there was something very uncompromising in that handsome face. -Nobody, he thought, would want to tell Gayle Dexter a guilty secret. - -“I suppose she doesn’t particularly mind my knowing anything,” he -reflected, “because, as far as she’s concerned, I don’t count.” - -This idea pleased him as much as it would please any other young -fellow of twenty-six. And, combined with his many anxieties, and his -hatred and impatience toward his present position, it produced in him -a very unchivalrous mood. He brought the car into the garage, and sat -down on its step, with his watch in his hand. He gave Amy thirty -minutes in which to send him a message. - -Of course she didn’t send any. Then he went to the telephone which -connected with the house. Gracie’s voice answered him. - -“I want to speak to Miss Solway!” he said. - -“I’ll see,” said Gracie. - -He waited and waited, feeling pretty sure that Amy would not come; -that she would, indeed, never speak to him or think of him unless she -wanted him to do something for her. But presently, to his surprise, he -heard her voice, so very gentle and sweet that he could scarcely -recognize it. - -“Moss?” she said, as if in wonder. - -“Yes,” he said. “Look here! I’d like to—” - -“I don’t think I’ll want the car all day,” said she. “Not in this -weather.” - -“Look here!” he began, again. “I want to speak to you. Now.” - -“I shan’t need you at all today, Moss,” said she, graciously, and he -heard the receiver go up on the hook. - -He stood for a moment, looking at the telephone. His dark face had -grown quite pale, and there was upon it a peculiar and unpleasant -smile. - -But he was, in his way, a just man, and not disposed to let his temper -master him. He looked at the telephone, and he thought his thoughts -for a few moments; then he resolutely put this exasperation out of his -mind, and proceeded with his business. - -He decided to go and get the child without any further delay. There -was no reason for delay, and, to tell the truth, he was vaguely uneasy -with her away. He could easily keep her hidden in the garage until the -morning, and then get away early. And he wanted her here. - -He took off the hated uniform, dressed himself in his customary neat -and sober fashion, put his papers and what money he had into his -pockets, and set off toward the station, where he knew he could get a -taxi. - -The beauty which had so enchanted him early in the morning was -perishing fast, now. The fields still showed an unbroken expanse of -white, but the trees were bare again. The flakes melted as they fell; -the roads were a morass of slush, and all the tingle had gone out of -the air. It was a desolate, depressing day, now, with a leaden sky. -The slush came over the tops of his shoes, his hat brim dripped, his -spirits sank, in this melancholy world. - -But at least he was alone, and able to go his own way, in his own good -time, and that was a relief. He stopped in the town, and bought -himself a pipe and a tin of tobacco. He stopped whenever he felt like -it, to look at things; and, passing a fruit stand, went in and bought -two apples for the little girl. - -“Good for children,” he thought, with curious satisfaction. - -He reached the station, and saw three or four vacant taxis standing -there; he selected one and went up to it, and was just about to give -his directions when a hand fell on his shoulder. - -“Well!” said a voice—the most unwelcome one he could have heard. - -It was Donnelly, grinning broadly. - -“Well!” said Ross, in a noncommittal tone. - -His brain was working fast. He couldn’t go to the cottage now. He must -somehow get rid of this fellow, and he must invent a plausible reason -for being here. - -“I walked down to get a few things,” he said, “but I guess I won’t try -walking back. The roads are too bad.” - -“You’re right!” said Donnelly, heartily. - -“Wygatt Road!” Ross told the taxi driver, and got into the cab. - -“Hold on a minute!” said Donnelly. “I’m going that way, too. I’ll -share the cab with you.” - -“Look here!” cried Ross. - -“Well?” said Donnelly. “I’m looking.” - -The unhappy young man did not know what to say. He felt that it would -be extremely imprudent to antagonize the man. - -“All right,” he said, at last, and Donnelly got in beside him. - -The cab set off, splashing through the melted snow—going back again to -that infernal garage. Suppose Donnelly hung about all day? - -“Where do you want to get out?” he demanded. - -“To tell you the truth,” said Donnelly, “I was waiting for you.” - -“Waiting! But—” - -“I sort of thought you might be coming to the station some time -today,” said the other, tranquilly, “and I waited. Wanted a little -talk with you.” - -“What about?” - -“Well, it’s this. I told you I was looking for a man called Ives.” - -“And I told you I didn’t—” - -“Now, hold on a minute! You told me you’d never heard of him. All -right. Now, I told you I knew Ives came out to Stamford on Tuesday. -That was about all I did know—this morning. But I’ve found out a -little more since then.” - -“What’s that got to do with me?” asked Ross, with a surly air and a -sinking heart. - -“That’s just what I don’t know. On Wednesday you came to Mr. Solway’s -house. You didn’t bring anything with you, and you haven’t sent for -any bag or trunk, or anything like that. Now, hold on! Just wait a -minute! You said you’d come from Cren’s Agency, I’m told. But Cren’s -Agency told me on the telephone that— Now, hold on! Don’t lose your -temper! You can clear this up easy enough. Just show me your license. -Haven’t got it with you, I suppose?” - -“No!” said Ross. - -“_All_ right. You’ve left it in the garage. Very well. That’s where -you’re going now, isn’t it? Unless—” He paused. “Unless you’d like to -come along with me.” - -“Come—where?” asked Ross. - -“Why, there’s a little cottage off the Post Road,” said Donnelly. “I’d -like to pay a little visit there this morning, and it came into my -head that maybe you’d like to come along with me, eh?” - - - XV - -Ross was, by nature, incapable of despair; but he felt something akin -to it now. He was so hopelessly in the dark; he did not know what to -guard against, what was most dangerous. He remembered Eddy’s warning, -not to let any one come “monkeying around” that cottage; but he did -not know the reason for that warning. Nor could he think of any way to -prevent Donnelly’s going there. - -Should he lock the fellow up in the garage until he had warned Eddy? -No; that was a plan lacking in subtlety. Certainly it would confirm -whatever suspicions Donnelly might have; it might do a great deal more -harm than good. - -Should he tell Amy, on the chance that she might suggest something? -No. The chance of her suggesting anything helpful was very small, and -the chance that she would do something reckless and disastrous very -great. Better keep Amy out of it. - -Then what could he do? The idea came into his head that he might keep -Donnelly quiet for a time by boldly asserting that he himself was -Ives. But perhaps Donnelly knew that he wasn’t. - -“By Heaven, why shouldn’t I tell him the truth?” he thought, in a sort -of rage. “Why not tell him I’m James Ross? There’s nothing against me. -I’ve done nothing criminal. I don’t even know what’s happened here. -I’ll just tell him.” - -And then Donnelly would ask him why he had come, and why he was here -masquerading as a chauffeur. How could he explain? For it never -occurred to him as a possibility that he could ignore Donnelly’s -questions. - -There was an air of unmistakable authority about the man. Ross had not -asked him who he was, and he had no wish in the world to find out, -either; simply, he knew that Donnelly was justified in his very -inconvenient curiosity, that he had a right to know, and that he -probably would know, before long. - -“Perhaps I can manage to get away from him,” thought Ross. - -That was the thing! Somehow he must sidetrack Donnelly; get him off -upon a false scent, while he himself hastened to Eddy. Such a simple -and easy thing to do, wasn’t it? - -“Well!” said Donnelly. “Do we go back, and have a look at that license -of yours—or do we go and pay a little visit to that cottage, eh?” - -“I’m going back,” said Ross, curtly. - -“Of course,” Donnelly went on, in a mild and reasonable tone, “_I_ -know, and _you_ know, that you’re not going to show me any license. -What you want is a little time to make up your mind. You’re saying to -yourself: ‘I don’t know this fellow. I don’t know what he’s up to. I -don’t see any reason why I should trust him with any of my private -affairs.’ You’re right. Why should you? You’ve talked to certain other -people, and you’ve heard good reasons why you ought to keep -quiet—about one or two little things. That’s sensible enough. Why, -naturally,” he went on, growing almost indignant in defense of Ross, -“naturally an intelligent young man like you isn’t going to tell all -he knows to a stranger. Why should you?” - -Ross found it difficult to reply to this. - -“No,” said Donnelly. “Naturally not. What you say to me is: ‘Put your -cards on the table, Donnelly. Let’s hear who you are, and what you -know, and what you’re after. Then we can talk.’ That’s what you say. -All right. Now, I’ll tell you. I’ll be frank. I’ll admit that when I -saw you this morning, I thought you were Ives. You see, I’m frank—not -pretending to know it all. I made a mistake. You’re not Ives.” - -“Thanks!” said Ross. - -“When Ives came out here on Tuesday,” Donnelly proceeded, “he took a -taxi. I’ll tell you frankly that I just found that out this morning by -a lucky fluke. No credit to me. He went out to this cottage, and there -he met somebody.” - -“Oh, _that_ was me, I suppose” said Ross. - -“No,” said Donnelly. “It was a woman.” - -“Oh, Lord!” thought Ross. “This is—I can’t stand much more of this.” - -“Now, I’m not going to pretend I know who that woman was,” Donnelly -went on. “I don’t. I haven’t found that out—yet. Not yet.” - -“But you will,” thought Ross. - -He felt sure of that. He believed that there was no hope now for the -guilty ones, and he felt that he was one of the guilty ones. He did -not know what had happened at “Day’s End,” but the burden of that -guilt lay upon his heart. This man was the agent of destiny, -inexorable, in no way to be eluded. He had come to find out, and find -out he surely would. - -Ross was a young man of remarkable hardihood, though; no one had ever -yet been able to bully him, or to intimidate or fluster him. He had -precious little hope of success, but he meant to do what he could. If -he could only gain a little time, perhaps he might think of a plan, -and, in the meanwhile, he would say nothing and admit nothing. - -“Now, before we talk,” said Donnelly, “you want to know who I am, and -how I came to be mixed up in this business. As soon as you saw me, you -said to yourself: ‘Police!’” - -Ross winced at the word. - -“That was natural. But you made a mistake. I’ll tell you frankly that -I was a police detective once, but I’ve left the force. I’m a private -citizen, now, same as you are. Got a little business of my own—what -you might call a private investigator. Collecting information—jobs -like that. Nothing to do with criminal cases.” - -He was silent for a moment. - -“Nothing to do with criminal cases,” he repeated. “I don’t like ’em. -Now, this—” - -Again he fell silent. - -“We’ll hope this isn’t one,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it. My -sister, she’s a widow, and she keeps a rooming house, down on West -Twelfth Street. Well, yesterday she came to me with a story that sort -of interested me. She told me that about a month ago a young fellow -took a room in her house. Quiet young fellow, didn’t give any trouble, -but she’d taken a good deal of notice of him, in what you might call a -sort of motherly way.” - -“Yes, I know,” Ross nodded. - -“A good-looking young fellow, very polite and nice in his ways—and she -thought from the start that he was pretty badly worried about -something. She’d hear him walking up and down at night—and she said -there was a look on his face—You know how women are.” - -“Yes,” Ross agreed. - -“So, when he didn’t show up for a couple of nights, she came to me. I -told her to go to the police, but she had some sort of notion that he -wouldn’t like that—and I dare say she didn’t like it herself. Bad for -business—a thing like that in the newspapers, you know. So, just to -please her, I got his door unlocked, and had a look at his room.” - -“You found—” - -“Well, the first thing I saw there was a pile of money on the -table—about seventy-five dollars in bills, under a paper weight, and a -half finished letter. No name—just began right off—‘I won’t wait any -longer.’ But here’s the letter. You can see for yourself.” - -Unbuttoning his overcoat, he took a folded piece of paper from his -breast pocket and handed it to Ross. It read: - - I won’t wait any longer. I am coming out to Stamford - tomorrow, and if you refuse to see me this time, it will - be the end. You’ve been putting me off with one lie after - the other for all this time, and now it’s finished. I - don’t know how you _can_ be so damned cruel. Don’t you - even want to see your own child? As for your husband—I - have no more illusions about that. You’re sick of me. All - you want is to get rid of me, and you don’t care how, - either. Well, _I_ don’t care. I’d be better off with a - bullet through the head. It’s only the baby— - -Here there were several words scratched out, and it began again: - - Darling, my own girl, perhaps I’m wrong. I hope to God I - am. Perhaps you are really doing your best, and thinking - of what’s best for the child. Only, it’s been so long. I - want you back so. I’ve got a little money saved. I can - keep you both. I can work. I can make you happy, even if - we are a bit poor. Darling, just let me see you and— - -That was the end. Ross touched his tongue to his dry lips, and folded -up the letter again. He dared not look at Donnelly, but he knew -Donnelly was looking at him. - -“Ives wrote that letter,” said Donnelly. “The way I figure it out is -this. He began to write, and then he decided that, instead of sending -a letter, he’d go. He must have been in a pretty bad state to leave -all that money behind. But, of course, he meant to come back. Well, he -didn’t. Aha! Here we are!” - -The taxi stopped before the gates of “Day’s End,” and Donnelly, -getting out, told the driver to wait for him. Then he set off with -Ross, not along the drive, but across the lawn, behind the fir trees. - -“I won’t bother you by telling you how I know he came to Stamford on -Tuesday,” he proceeded. “It’s my business to find out things like -that. He came, and he took a taxi out to this cottage I’ve mentioned, -and a woman met him there. He sent the taxi away—and that’s the last -I’ve heard of him.” - -The snow was wholly turned to rain, now; it blew against Ross’s face, -cold and bitter; the trees stood dripping and shivering under the gray -sky. He was wet, chilled to the bone, filled with a terrible -foreboding. - -“That cottage belongs to an old lady in the neighborhood,” said -Donnelly. “But she doesn’t know anything about this. She said the -place had been vacant two years, and she didn’t expect to rent it till -she’d made some repairs. She said anybody could get into it easily -enough if they should want to. Well!” - -They stood before the garage, now, and Ross took the key from his -pocket. - -“So you see,” said Donnelly, “that’s how it is. We’ve traced him that -far. I know that there’s some woman in Stamford who has a good reason -for wanting to get rid of him. And now—” He looked steadily at Ross. -“And now I’ve about finished.” - -“Finished?” said Ross. “You—you mean—” - -But Donnelly did not answer. - - - XVI - -Ross went upstairs to the sitting room over the garage. It did not -occur to him to extend an invitation to his companion; he knew well -enough that he would hear those deliberate footsteps mounting after -him; he knew that Donnelly would follow. - -He took off his hat and overcoat and flung himself into a chair, and -Donnelly did the same, in a more leisurely fashion. Certainly he was -not a very troublesome shadow; he did not speak or disturb Ross in any -way. He just waited. - -And Ross sat there, his legs stretched out before him, hands in his -pockets, his head sunk, lost in a reverie of wonder, pity, and great -dread. - -“Her child?” he thought. “Amy’s child? Ives was her husband, and that -baby is her child?” - -He recalled with singular vividness the phrases of that pitiful, -unreasonable letter. “Just let me see you.” “It’s been so long!” -“You’re sick of me. All you want is to get rid of me.” He could -imagine Ives, that fellow who was about his age, about his build—alone -in his furnished room, writing that letter. “How _can_ you be so -damned cruel?” And “darling.” - -“In a pretty bad state,” Donnelly had said. And he had come, with all -his hope and his fear and his pain, to “Day’s End,” and— - -“But if—if that was Ives I saw in Mrs. Jones’s room,” thought Ross, -“then who was it Amy wanted me to watch for last night?” - -This idea gave him immeasurable relief. That man had not been Ives. -Ives hadn’t come yet. The whole tragedy was an invention of his own. - -“No reason to take it for granted that that letter was meant for Amy,” -he thought. “Plenty of other women in Stamford. No; I’ve simply been -making a fool of myself, imagining.” - -But there was one thing he had not imagined. There was, among all -these doubts and surmises, one immutable fact, the man under the sofa. -He could, if he pleased, explain away everything else, but not that. - -It seemed to him incredible that he had, in the beginning, accepted -that fact so coolly. He had thought it was “none of his business.” And -now it was the chief business of his life. It was as if that silent -figure had cried out to him for justice; as if he had come here only -in order to see that man, and to avenge him. - -“No!” he protested, in his soul. “I’ve got nothing to do with justice -and—vengeance. The thing’s done. It can never be undone. I don’t want -to see—any one punished for it. That’s not my business. I’m nobody’s -judge, thank God!” - -“Well?” said Donnelly, gently. - -Ross looked up, met his glance squarely. - -“I can’t help you,” he said. - -Donnelly arose. - -“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “Mighty sorry. I’ve been very frank -with you. Showed you the letter—laid my cards on the table. Because I -had a notion that you’d heard one side of the case, and that if you -heard the other you might change your mind. You might think that Ives -hadn’t had a fair deal.” - -“I can’t help that,” muttered Ross. - -“No,” said Donnelly, “of course you can’t. And I can’t help it now, -either.” He sighed. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be off now. Good-by!” - -“What are you going to do?” asked Ross, sitting up straight. - -“Why, I’m going to that cottage I mentioned,” said Donnelly. “And if I -don’t find Ives there, or something that’ll help me to find him—then -I’ll have to turn the case over to the police.” - -Ross got up and began to put on his damp overcoat. - -“I’ll go with you,” he said. - -Whether this was the best thing for him to do, he could not tell. But -he could see no way of preventing Donnelly from going, and he would -not let him go alone. He meant to be there, with Eddy and the little -girl. - -Donnelly had already gone to the head of the stairs, and Ross followed -him, impatient to be gone. But the other’s burly form blocked the way. -He was listening. Some one was opening the door of the garage. - -Ross made an attempt to get by, but Donnelly laid a hand on his arm. - -“Wait!” he whispered. - -Light, quick footsteps sounded on the cement floor below, and then a -voice, so clear, so sweet: - -“Jim-my!” - -“Miss Solway!” he cried. “Jimmy’s not here. Only me—Moss—and a friend -of mine!” - -This was his warning to her, and he hoped with all his heart that she -would understand, and would go. Donnelly had begun to descend the -stairs. If she would only go, before that man saw her! - -But she had not gone. When he reached the foot of the stairs, and -looked over Donnelly’s shoulder, he saw her there. She was wearing her -fur coat, with the collar turned up, and a black velvet tam; the cold -air had brought a beautiful color into her cheeks; her hair was -clinging in little damp curls to her forehead; he had never seen her -so lovely, so radiant. And for all that he knew against her, and all -that he suspected, he saw in her now a pitiful and terrible innocence. - -“She doesn’t know!” he thought. “She doesn’t realize—she _can’t_ -realize—ever—what she’s done. She doesn’t even know when she hurts any -one.” - -And there was Donnelly, standing before her, hat in hand, his eyes -modestly downcast; a most inoffensive figure. She was not interested -in him; she thought he didn’t matter; she was looking past him at -Ross, with that cajoling, childish smile of hers. - -“Oh, Moss!” she said. “Will you bring the sedan round to the house? -Please? I want to go out.” - -“I’m sorry, Miss Solway,” he said, and it seemed to him that any one -could hear the significance in his voice. “Mr. Solway told me not to -take you out—in this weather.” - -“Oh!” she said, and sighed. “All right,” with gentle resignation; -“I’ll just have to wait, then.” - -“I’m sorry, Miss Solway,” said Ross again. - -Didn’t she see how that fellow was watching her? It was torment to -Ross. There was not a shadow on her bright face; she stood there, gay, -careless, perfectly indifferent to the silent Donnelly. - -“All right!” she said, and turned away, then, to open the door. But it -was heavy for her small fingers, and Donnelly hastened forward. - -“Excuse me, miss!” he said, and pushed back the door for her. - -“Oh, thanks!” she said, smiling into his face, and off she went, -running through the rain across the sodden lawn. Ross looked after -her; so little, so young. - -“And that’s Miss Solway!” said Donnelly, speculatively. - -Ross glanced at him, and his heart gave a great leap. For, on the -other’s face, was an unmistakable look of perplexity. - -“Yes,” he said, “that’s Miss Solway.” - -“She’s pretty young, isn’t she?” Donnelly pursued, still following -with his eyes the hurrying little figure. - -“I suppose so,” said Ross, casually. It was difficult for him to -conceal his delight. Donnelly was evidently at a loss; he couldn’t -believe ill of that girl with her careless smile. He thought she was -too young, too light-hearted. The very fact of her ignoring Ross’s -warning had done this for her. If she had understood, if across her -smiling face had come that look Ross had seen, that look of terror and -dismay, Donnelly would not have thought her too young. - -“He’s not sure now!” thought Ross. “He’s not sure. She has a chance -now. If I can only think of something.” - -He could not think of anything useful now, but he felt sure that he -would, later on. There was a chance now. Donnelly was only human; he, -like other men, could be deluded. - -They left the garage and walked back to the waiting taxi. - -“What about a little lunch first?” suggested Donnelly. - -“All right!” said Ross. - -So they stopped at a restaurant in the town, and sent away the cab. -They sat down facing each other across a small table. Ross was hungry, -and Donnelly, too, ate with hearty appetite, but he did not talk. He -was thoughtful, and, Ross believed, somewhat downcast. - -“Getting up a new theory,” said the young man to himself. “Perhaps I -can help him.” - -The vague outline of a plan was assembling in his mind, but he could -not quite discern it yet. It seemed to him plain that Donnelly had -nothing but suspicions; that he had no definite facts as to any -connection between Ives and Amy Solway. He had thought she was the -woman to whom that letter was addressed; but since he had seen her, he -doubted. Very well; he must be kept in doubt. - -When they had finished lunch, they went round the corner to a garage, -and took another taxi. Ross settled himself back comfortably, and -filled and lighted his new pipe; a good time to break it in, he -thought. Donnelly brought out a big cigar, which he kept in the corner -of his mouth while he talked a little upon the subject of tobacco. The -cab grew thick with smoke, and Ross opened the window beside him. The -rain blew in, but he did not mind that. - -They came to the cottage along the lane which took them directly to -its front gate. There it stood, forlorn and shabby, the shutters -closed, the neglected garden a dripping tangle. They went up the -steps; Donnelly knocked, but there was no answer. He pushed open the -door, and they went in. He called out: “Is there anybody here?” - -But Ross knew then that the house was empty. The very air proclaimed -it. - -“My luck’s in!” he thought, elated. - - - XVII - -“Nice, cheerful little place!” observed Donnelly, looking about him. - -Ross said nothing. He had not even dared hope for such a stroke of -luck as that Eddy and the little girl should be gone, yet the silence -in this dim, damp, little house troubled him. Where and why had they -gone? - -“We’ll just take a look around,” said Donnelly. - -He opened a door beside him, revealing a dark and empty room. He -flashed an electric torch across it; nothing there but the bare floor -and the four walls. He closed the door and went along the passage, and -opened the door of the next room. The shutter was broken here, and one -of the window panes, and the rain was blowing in, making a pool on the -floor that gleamed darkly when the flash light touched it. - -That door, too, he closed, with a sort of polite caution, as if he -didn’t want to disturb any one. Then he looked into the room at the -end of the passage. This was evidently the kitchen, for there was a -sink there, and a built-in dresser. He turned on the taps; no water. - -“Now we’ll just take a look upstairs,” he said, in a subdued tone. - -He mounted the stairs with remarkable lightness for so heavy a man; -but Ross took no such precaution. Indeed, he wanted to make a noise. -He did not like the silence in this house. - -Donnelly opened the door facing the stairs. One shutter had been -thrown back, and the room was filled with the gray light of the rainy -afternoon. And, lying on the floor, Ross saw a white flannel rabbit. - -It lay there, quite alone, its one pink glass eye staring up at the -ceiling, and round its middle was a bedraggled bit of blue ribbon -which Ross remembered very well. - -“Now, what’s this?” said Donnelly. - -He picked up the rabbit, frowning a little; he turned it this way and -that, he fingered its sash. And, to Ross, there was something -grotesque and almost horrible in the sight of the burly fellow with a -cigar in one corner of his mouth, and an intent frown on his red face, -holding that rabbit. - -“It’s a clew, isn’t it?” he inquired, with mock respect. - -Donnelly glanced at him quickly. Then he put the rabbit into the -pocket of his overcoat, from which its long ears protruded -ludicrously. - -“Come on!” he said. - -The next door was locked, and here Donnelly displayed his professional -talents. Before Ross could quite see what he was at, he had taken -something from his pocket; he bent forward, and almost at once the -lock clicked, and he opened the door. - -It seemed to Ross that nothing could have been more eloquent of crime, -of shameful secrecy and misery, than that room. There was a wretched -little makeshift bed against one wall, made up of burlap bags and a -ragged portiére; there was a box on which stood a lantern, an empty -corned beef tin, and a crushed and sodden packet of cigarettes. There -was nothing else. - -With a leaden heart, he looked at Donnelly, and saw him very grave. - -“Come on!” he said, again. - -And they went on, into every corner of that house that was so empty -and yet so filled with questions. They found nothing more. Some one -had been here, and some one had gone; that was all. - -Donnelly led the way back to the room where that some one had been. - -“Now we’ll see if we can find some more clews here,” he said. “Like -the fellows in the story books.” - -He took up the packet of cigarettes and went over to the window with -it. But, instead of examining the object in his hand, his glance was -arrested by something outside, and he stood staring straight before -him so long that Ross came up beside him, to see for himself. - -From this upper window there was an unexpectedly wide vista of empty -fields, still white with snow, and houses tiny in the distance, and a -belt of woodland, dark against the gray sky; all deserted and desolate -in the steady fall of sleet. What else? - -Directly before the house was the road, where the taxi waited, the -driver inside. Across the road the land ran downhill in a steep slope, -washed bare of any trace of snow, and at its foot was a pond, a somber -little sheet of water, shivering under the downpour. But there was -nobody in sight, nothing stirred. What else? What was Donnelly looking -at? - -“I think—” said Donnelly. “I guess I’ll just go out and mooch around a -little before it gets dark. Just to get the lay of the land. _You_ -don’t want to come—in this weather. You just wait here. I won’t keep -you long.” - -Ross did want to go with him, everywhere, and to see everything that -he saw, but he judged it unwise to say so. He stood where he was, -listening to the other’s footsteps quietly descending; he heard the -front door close softly, and a moment later he saw Donnelly come out -into the road and cross it, with a wave of his hand toward the taxi -driver, and begin to descend the steep slope toward the pond. - -“What’s he going there for?” thought Ross. “What does he think—” - -Before he had finished the question, the answer sprang up in his mind. -Donnelly had not found Ives in the cottage, so he was going to look -for him down there. Suppose he found him? - -“No!” thought Ross. “It’s—impossible. I—I’m losing my nerve.” - -To tell the truth, he was badly shaken. He was ready to credit -Donnelly with superhuman powers, to believe that he could see things -invisible to other persons, that he could, simply by looking out of -the window, trace the whole course of a crime. - -“I’ve got to do something,” he thought. “Now is my chance. I can give -him the slip now.” - -But he was a good seven or eight miles from “Day’s End.” Well, why -couldn’t he hurry down, jump into the taxi, and order the driver to -set off at once? Long before Donnelly could find any way of escape -from this desolate region, he could get back to the house and warn -Amy. And, in doing so, he would certainly antagonize Donnelly, and -confirm any suspicions he might already have. - -“No,” he thought. “He’s not sure about Amy now. And I don’t believe -he’s got anything against me. I can’t afford to run away. He hasn’t -found anything yet that definitely connects Amy with the—the case.” - -But when he did? - -Donnelly had reached the bottom of the slope now, and was sauntering -along the edge of the pond, hands in his pockets. He had in nowise the -air of a sleuth hot upon a scent, but to Ross his leisurely progress -suggested an alarming confidence. He knew—what didn’t he know? And -Ross, the guilty one, knew nothing at all. In angry desperation, he -turned away from the window. - -“All right!” he said, aloud. “I’ll have a look for clews myself!” - -And, without the slightest difficulty, he found all the clews he -wanted. - -The makeshift bed was the only place in the room where anything could -be hidden; he lifted up the portiére that lay over the bags, and there -he found a shabby pocketbook in which were the papers of the missing -Martin Ives. - -Everything was there—everything one could want. There was a savings -bank book, there were two or three letters, and there was a little -snapshot of Amy, on the back of which was written: “To Marty—so that -he won’t forget.” - -Ross looked at that photograph for a long time. He was not expert -enough to recognize that the costume was somewhat outmoded, but he did -know that this picture had been taken some time ago, because Amy was -so different. It showed her standing on a beach, with the wind blowing -her hair and her skirts, her head a little thrown back, and on her -face the jolliest smile—a regular schoolgirl grin. - -It hurt him, the sight of that laughing, dimpled, little ghost from -the past. He remembered her as he had seen her today, still smiling, -still lovely, but so changed. She was reckless now, haunted now, even -in her most careless moments. - -He opened the top letter; it bore the date of last Monday, but no -address. It read: - - Dear Mr. Ives: - - Amy has asked me to reply to your letter of a month ago. I - scarcely need to tell you how greatly it distressed her. - If you should come to the house publicly now, everything - she has tried to do would be ruined. She had hoped that - you would wait patiently, but as you refuse to do so, she - has consented to see you. - - She wants to see Lily as well, and, although there is a - great deal of risk in this, if you will follow my - directions, I think we can manage. Telephone to the nurse - with whom the child is boarding to bring her to the - station at Greenwich by the train leaving New York at 7.20 - A.M. on Tuesday and Eddy will meet her there. You can take - an early afternoon train to Stamford. Take a taxi there - and go up the Post Road to Bonnifer Lane, a little past - the Raven Inn. There is a new church being built on the - corner. Turn down here, and stop at the first house, about - half a mile from the main road. You will find the little - girl there, and I shall be there, waiting for you, between - three and five, and we can make arrangements for you to - see Amy. - - Remember, Mr. Ives, that Amy trusts you to do _nothing_ - until you have seen her. - - Respectfully yours, - Amanda Jones. - -Ross folded up the letter. Yes; nobody could ask for a much better -clew. He took out another letter, but before opening it, he glanced -out of the window. And he saw Donnelly coming back. - -He put the wallet into his pocket, and went to the head of the stairs. -A great lassitude had come upon him; he felt physically exhausted. His -doubt—and his hope—were ended now. - -Donnelly came in quietly, and advanced to the foot of the stairs. It -was not possible to read his face by that dim light, but his voice was -very grave. - -“Come on!” he said. - -“Find anything?” asked Ross. - -Donnelly was silent for a moment. - -“I’ve finished,” he said, at last. - -“What—” began Ross. - -“I’ve finished,” Donnelly repeated, almost gently. “It’s up to the -police now. We’ll have that pond dragged.” - -Ross, too, was silent for a moment. - -“All right!” he said. “I’ll just get my hat.” - -He turned back into the room; Donnelly waited for him below. In a few -minutes Ross joined him, and they got into the cab. - - - XVIII - -Mr. Solway descended from the train and walked briskly toward his car. -The new chauffeur was standing there, stiff as a poker. - -“Well, Moss!” he said. “Everything all right, eh?” - -“Yes, thank you, sir,” said Ross. - -“That’s it!” said Mr. Solway, with his vague kindliness. He got into -the car, and Ross started off through the sleet and the dark. Mr. -Solway made two or three observations about the weather, but his -chauffeur answered “Yes, sir,” “That’s so, sir,” rather -absent-mindedly. He was, to tell the truth, very much preoccupied with -his own thoughts. He was wondering how a pond was dragged, and how -long such a thing might take. - -He had seen no one, spoken to no one, since he had left Donnelly at -the police station and gone back to the garage alone. So he had had -plenty of time to think. - -He stopped the car before the house, Mr. Solway got out, and Ross -drove on to the garage. There would be a little more time for thinking -before he was summoned to dinner. He went upstairs and sat down, -stretched out in a chair, staring before him. He was still wearing the -peaked cap which had belonged to Wheeler; perhaps it was not a -becoming cap, for his face looked grim and harsh beneath it. - -He was not impatient, now, as that James Ross had been who had landed -in New York three days ago. Indeed, he seemed almost inhumanly -patient, as if he were willing to sit there forever. And that was how -he felt. He had done his utmost; now he could only wait. - -The sleet was rattling against the windows, and a great wind blew. It -must be a wild night, out in the fields, where a lonely little pond -lay. A bad night to be in that little cottage. A bad night, anywhere -in the world, for a child who had nobody. - -From his pocket he brought out a snapshot, and looked at it for a long -time; then he tore it into fragments and let them flutter to the -floor. He closed his eyes, then, but he was not asleep; the knuckles -of his hand grasping the arm of the chair were white. - -No; he wasn’t asleep. When the telephone rang in the garage, he got up -at once and went downstairs to answer it. - -“Dinner’s ready!” said Gracie’s voice. “Eddy come in yet?” - -“Not yet,” answered Ross. “But—wait a minute!” - -For he thought he heard some one at the door. He was standing with the -receiver in his hand when the door slid open and Eddy came in. - -“He’s just—” he began, turning back to the telephone, when Eddy sprang -forward and caught his arm, and whispered: “Shut up! Sh-h-h!” - -“Just about due,” said Ross to Gracie. Then he hung up the receiver -and faced Eddy. - -“Don’t tell ’em I’m here!” said Eddy. “I—I don’t want—I c-can’t stand -any—jabbering. I—Oh, Gawd!” - -At the end of his tether, Eddy was. His lips twitched, his face was -distorted with his valiant effort after self-control. And it occurred -to Ross that, for all his shrewdness and his worldly air, Eddy was not -very old or very wise. - -“What’s up, old man?” he asked. - -“Tell me. You’d better get your dinner now.” - -“Nope!” said Eddy. “I—can’t eat. I—I don’t want to talk.” - -Ross waited for some time. - -“Lissen here,” said Eddy, at last. “You—you seemed to like—that kid. -You—you’ll look after her, won’t you?” - -“Yes,” Ross answered. - -He would have been surprised, and a little incredulous, if any one had -called him tactful, yet few people could have handled Eddy better. He -knew what the boy wanted; knew that he needed just this cool and -steady tone, this incurious patience. - -“Go and get her,” Eddy pleaded. “She’s down at the barber’s—near the -movie theayter. Go and get her.” - -“All right. I’ll have my dinner first, though. Want me to bring you -something?” - -“Nope!” said Eddy. “Lissen! I guess the cops are after me already.” - -“You mean they’ve—found him?” - -“Yep,” said Eddy. “They’ve found him. How did you know?” - -Ross did not answer the question. - -“Can’t you get away?” he asked. - -“Not going to try,” said Eddy. “I—I’m too d-darn tired. I—I _don’t -care_!” There was a hysterical rise in his voice, but he mastered it. -“Let ’em come!” - -“What have they got against you?” - -“They’ve found him—in the pond—where I put him.” - -“Who’s going to know that?” - -“Oh, they’ll know, all right!” said Eddy. “They got ways of finding -out things. They’ll know, and they’ll think it was me that—All right! -Let ’em!” - -“Then you’re not going to tell?” - -Eddy looked at him. - -“D’you think it—wasn’t me?” - -“Yes,” Ross replied. “I think it wasn’t you, Eddy.” - -There was a long silence between them. - -“What d’you think I’d ought to do?” asked Eddy, almost in a whisper. - -“Suppose we talk it over,” said Ross. - -“Yes—but—_I_ dunno who you are.” - -“Well, let’s say I’m Ives.” - -Eddy sprang back as if he had been struck. - -“_Ives!_” - -“Look here!” said Ross. “I’m going to tell you what I did.” - -And, very bluntly, he told. Eddy listened to him in silence; it was a -strange enough thing, but he showed no surprise. - -“D’you think it’ll work?” he asked, when Ross had finished. - -“I hope so. Anyhow, there’s a chance. Now, you better tell me the -whole thing. There’s a lot that I don’t know—and I might make a bad -mistake.” - -The telephone rang again. It was Gracie, annoyed by this delay. - -“I’ll come as soon as I can,” said Ross, severely. “But I’m working on -the car, and I can’t leave off for a few minutes.” - -He turned again to Eddy. - -“Go ahead!” he said. - -Eddy sat down on the step of the sedan, and Ross leaned back against -the wall, his arms folded, his saturnine face shadowed by the peaked -cap. - -“Tuesday I went and got her—the kid, y’ know, and took her to the -cottage.” - -“Did you know about her before?” - -“Sure I did! I knew when they got married—her and Ives—four years ago. -She told me herself. You know the way she tells you things—crying an’ -all.” - -Ross did know. - -“Well, I used to see Ives hanging around. He was a nice feller—but he -didn’t have a cent. He was an actor. She was too young, -anyway—eighteen—same age as me. I told her I’d tell Mr. Solway, and -then she told me they’d got married. I felt pretty bad—on Mr. Solway’s -account. But she—well, you know how she acts. Her mother’d left her -some money she’s going to get when she’s twenty-five, if she don’t get -married without her stepfather’s consent. Mrs. Solway had the right -idea. She knew Amy, all right. Only, it didn’t work. Amy wanted to get -married and have the money, too. That’s how she is. So she told me she -was going to tell Mr. Solway when she was twenty-five. I know I’d -ought to have told him then, but—I didn’t.” - -Ross understood that. - -“Mr. Solway went over to Europe that summer, and she and Mrs. Jones -went somewheres out West, and Lily was born out there. And Ives, he -took the kid, and she came back here. She used to see Ives pretty -often for awhile—go into the city and meet him. Then she began talking -about what a risk it was. That was because she’d met this Gayle -Dexter. That made me sick! I said I’d tell Mr. Solway, but she said -her and Ives was going to get divorced, an’ nobody’d ever know, and -that I’d ruin her life and all. And I gave in—like a fool. Only, you -see, I—I’ve known Amy all my life.” - -“I see!” said Ross. - -“Well, it seems Ives was beginning to get suspicious, when she didn’t -see him no more. He kept writing; I used to get the letters for -her—general delivery—an’ she kept stalling—and at last he said he was -coming here to see her. Well, her and Mrs. Jones must have told him to -come along. And Tuesday I met the kid and took her to that cottage. My -idea, that was. I told Mrs. Jones about the place. I wish to Gawd I -hadn’t.” He was silent for a moment. “Only, I thought it might—I was -glad to do it, ’cause I thought maybe if Amy seen Ives and the kid, -she’d—kinder change her mind. He come that afternoon, and seen Mrs. -Jones. Well, I went there after work, and he told me Amy was coming to -see him next morning. He was real pleased. He was—he was a—nice -feller—” - -Eddy’s mouth twitched again. “I wish—I’d known. Anyway, she wouldn’t -go to see him. Jones tried to make her—said she’d got to have a talk -with him—but Amy, she took on something fierce. Said she’d never see -him again. Well, I guess he must of waited and waited, and in the -afternoon he come here to the garage. I tried to argue with him and -all, but it wouldn’t work. He started off for the house, and I -telephoned over to Jones. An’ he went—he went out of that door—” - -Eddy turned and stared at the door with an odd blank look. It was as -if he saw something—which was not there. - -“This very door,” he muttered. “My Gawd!” - -“Yes,” said Ross, quietly. “He went to the house. And then?” - -Eddy turned back with a shudder. - -“I didn’t never think,” he said. “Wheeler’d left, then, so I drove the -big car down to the station to meet Mr. Solway, and when I brung him -home, you was there. Old Lady Jones tried to tip me off. I saw her -trying to tell me something behind your back. I couldn’t make out what -it was, but I knew there was something queer. I thought you was a -detective Ives’d sent to see what was going on, ’cause he’d been -saying he’d do that. I didn’t know, then— But next day Jones told me -that—that Ives had—died. Said he’d fell down dead from a heart attack. -And she said we’d got to get rid of him on the Q. T., for Amy’s sake. -I—I thought I couldn’t—but I did. Fella I know lent me his Ford. I -said I wanted to take a girl out. And, while you were out there on the -lawn, I—I got him—out of Jones’s room.” - -“Do you mean he’d been there all that time?” - -“I guess so. She told me she been sitting up all night, trying to—to -see if she could—do anything for him. But he— Anyway, Jones told me -what to do, and I did it. I—you don’t know what it was like—going all -that way—alone—with him. And I had to put stones in his pockets.” He -looked at Ross with a sort of wonder. - -“I can’t believe it now!” he cried. “It don’t seem true! I don’t know -_why_—only Jones told me that if I didn’t, there’d be a inquest an’ -all. And she said everyone’d think that Amy— It would all come out, -she said, and Amy and Mr. Solway’d be in the newspapers and all. And -she said he was dead, anyway. The pond couldn’t hurt _him_. I—” - -He came closer to Ross, and laid a hand on his sleeve. “Lissen here!” -he said. “D’you think that’s true—that he—just died?” - -“There’s no use thinking about that—now,” said Ross. - - - XIX - -Ross could feel sorry enough for Eddy, for his ghastly trip to the -pond, for all the dread and misery that lay upon his soul. He was -sorry for Ives, although his sufferings were at an end. He pitied Mr. -Solway, in his ignorance of all this. He was sorry, in his own way, -for Amy. But, above all creatures in this world, he pitied that little -child. - -Eddy told him about her. When Ives had gone to “Day’s End,” he had -left the child with the obliging barber in town, and she had been -there all that night and the next day, until Mrs. Jones had sent Eddy -after her. - -“She said it would start people talking, if the kid stayed there, and -she told me to take her back to the cottage and leave her till she -made some plans. But I couldn’t do that. The way I felt last night, I -didn’t care. I’d rather have seen the whole thing go to smash than -leave the kid alone there all night. That’s why I brung her here. And -this morning—I couldn’t stay there—in that house. It kind of gave me -the creeps. So I took her back to the barber’s.” He paused. - -“Jones don’t care about the kid,” he added. “She don’t care about -anything on earth but Amy. Lissen here! I know she’s old and all, but -I think—maybe she—I just wonder if the old girl had the nerve?” - -Ross had had that thought, too. But it seemed to him that, no matter -who had actually done this thing, even if it were an accident—which he -did not believe—the guilt still lay upon the woman who had betrayed -and abandoned the man and the child. Amy was guilty, and no one else. -He straightened up, with a sigh. - -“Come along!” he said. “We’ll get our dinner. No! Don’t be a fool, my -lad. It’s what you need.” - -Eddy was considerably relieved by his confession. He went upstairs, -washed, changed his coat, and brushed his glossy hair, and when he set -off toward the house, there was a trace of his old swagger about him. -Only a trace, though, for he walked beneath a shadow. - -As for Ross, there was precious little change to be discerned in his -dour face and impassive bearing. And it was his very good fortune to -be so constituted that he did not show what he felt, for he was to -receive an unexpected shock. - -“Sit down!” said Gracie, sharply. “I put somethin’ aside for you. Now -hurry up! It puts me back with the dishes an’ all.” - -“An’ thim extry people,” said the cook, who was also a little out of -temper. “There’ll not be enough butter for breakfast, the way they did -be eatin’, an’ me without a word of warnin’ at all.” - -“It’s that Mr. Teagle,” said Gracie. “Them small men is always heavy -eaters.” - -“Teagle? Who’s he?” asked Eddy. - -“Haven’t you heard?” cried Gracie, almost unable to believe that she -was to have the bliss of imparting this amazing news. “Why, there was -a body found in a lake somewheres.” - -“Oh, I heard about that, down at the comp’ny!” said Eddy, scornfully. - -“But lissen, Eddy! It turns out it was a cousin o’ Miss Amy’s! It -seems they found some papers an’ letters an’ all near where they found -him, an’ he turns out to be her cousin! This Mr. Teagle, he’s a -lawyer. They sent for him, an’ he come out here to look at the poor -feller, and then he come to the house, ’cause Miss Amy’s goin’ to get -all his money. She took on somethin’ terrible! Mr. Solway, he -telephoned to Mr. Dexter, and he come out, too. I guess it was kinder -to comfort her.” - -“What would she be needin’ all the comfortin’ for?” demanded the cook. -“She’d never set eyes on the cousin at all, and her to be gettin’ all -that money.” - -“She’s kinder sensitive,” said Gracie. - -“Sensitive, is it!” said the cook, with significance. - -Ross went on eating his dinner. He did not appear to be interested. -When he had finished, he bade them all a civil good night, and got up -and went out. - -“He’s a cold-blooded fish,” said Gracie. - -Yet, something seemed to keep him warm—something kept him steadfast -and untroubled as he walked, head down, against the storm of wind and -sleet, along the lonely roads to the town. He found the barber shop to -which Eddy had directed him, and when he entered, the lively little -Italian barber did not think his face forbidding. - -“I’ve come for the little girl,” said Ross. - -“Oh, she’s all right!” cried the barber. “She’s O. K. She eata soom -nica dinner—verrie O. K. She sooma kid.” - -He was a happy little man, pleased with his thriving business, with -his family, with his own easy fluency in the use of the American -tongue. He took Ross through the brilliantly lighted white tiled -shop—a sanitary barber, he was—into a back room, where were his wife -and his own small children. - -And among them was the little fairhaired Lily, content and quite at -home as she seemed always to be. You might have thought that she knew -she had nobody, and no place of her own in this world, and that she -had philosophically made up her mind to be happy wherever fate might -place her. - -She was sitting on the floor, much in the way of the barber’s wife, -who pursued her household duties among the four little children in the -room with the deft unconcern of a highly skilled dancer among -eggshells. The woman could speak no English, but she smiled at Ross -with placid amiability. She could not understand why three different -men should have brought this child here at different times; but, after -all, she didn’t particularly care. A passing incident, this was, in -her busy life. - -As for the barber himself, he had his own ideas. He saw something -suspicious in the affair; a kidnaping, perhaps; but he preferred to -know nothing. It was his tradition to be wary of troubling the police. - -He took the money Ross gave him, and he smiled. Nobody had told him -anything. He knew nothing. - -The barber’s wife got the little girl ready, and Ross picked her up in -his arms. She turned her head, to look back at the children, and her -little woolen cap brushed across his eyes; he had to stop in the -doorway of the shop, to shift her on to one arm, so that he could see. -And then, what he did see was Donnelly. - -“Well! Well!” said Donnelly, in a tone of hearty welcome. - -“Well!” said Ross. “I’m in a hurry to get back, now. Tomorrow—” - -“Of course you are!” said Donnelly. “I’m not going to keep you a -minute. I’ve got something here I’d like the little girl to identify.” - -Ross’s arm tightened about the child. - -“No!” he protested. “No! She’s got nothing to do with—this.” - -“Pshaw!” said Donnelly, with a laugh. “It’s only this.” And from his -pocket he brought out the rabbit. - -“Oh, _my_ wabbit!” cried the little girl, with a sort of solemn -ecstasy. - -“Hi! Taxi!” called Donnelly, suddenly, and a cab going by slowed down, -turned, skidding a little on the wet street, and drew up to the curb. -Without delay, Ross put the child inside, and got in after her, but -Donnelly remained standing on the curb, holding open the door. Light -streamed from the shop windows, but his back was turned toward it; his -face was in darkness; he stood like a statue in the downpour. - -“There’s some funny things about this case—” he observed. - -Ross said nothing. - -“Mighty funny!” Donnelly pursued. “And, by the way—” He leaned into -the cab. “I’ve seen a good deal of you today, but I don’t believe -you’ve told me your name.” - -It seemed to Ross for a moment that he could not speak. But, at last, -with a great effort, he said: - -“_Ives._” - -“Ah!” said Donnelly. - -Ross waited and waited. - -“If you’d like to see—my bank book and papers,” he finally suggested. - -“No,” said Donnelly, soothingly. “No, never mind. And this James Ross. -You never heard of him, I suppose?” - -“No.” - -“He landed in New York on Wednesday, went to a hotel in the city, left -his bags, and came right out to Stamford—and fell in a pond. Now, -that’s a queer stunt, isn’t it?” - -Ross put his arm round the child’s tiny shoulders and drew her close -to him. - -“Very!” he agreed. - -“I thought so myself. Queer! I found the man’s pocketbook in that -cottage—in that very room where you waited for me. What d’you think of -that? There was a letter from a lawyer in New York—name of Teagle. I -telephoned to him, and he came out. He could identify the man’s -handwriting and so on. But he’d never seen him. Said he didn’t think -there was any one in this country who had. He has a theory, though. -Like to hear it—or are you in a hurry?” - -“No! Go ahead!” - -“Well, Teagle’s theory is that this Mr. James Ross knew he had a -cousin out this way. Miss Solway, you know. It seems her mother made a -match the family didn’t approve of, and they dropped her, years ago. -Now, Teagle thinks this Mr. James Ross wanted to see for himself what -this cousin was like, and that he came out to that cottage to stay -while he sort of mooched around, getting information about her. Family -feeling, see? Only—he met with an accident.” - -“That sounds plausible,” said Ross. - -“You’re right! Now, of course, there’ll be a coroner’s inquest -tomorrow. _But_—” He paused. “I happened to be around when the doctor -made his examination. And he says—the man was dead before he fell in -the pond.” - -“Oh, God!” cried Ross, in his torment. “Don’t go on!” - -“Hold on a minute! Hold on! Of course that startles you, eh? You think -it’s a case of murder, eh? Well, I’ll tell you now that the verdict’ll -be—death from natural causes. No marks of violence. And Mr. James Ross -had a very bad heart. I dare say he didn’t know it. He died of heart -failure, and then he rolled down that slope. _I_ saw that for -myself—saw bushes broken, and so on, where something had rolled or -been dragged down there.” - -“Then?” - -“Then,” said Donnelly, “as far as I’m concerned, there’s no case. And -I’ll say good-by to you. Maybe you wouldn’t mind shaking hands, -Mr.—Ives?” - -Their hands met in a firm clasp. - -“On Miss Solway’s account,” said Donnelly, “I’m mighty glad you’re Mr. -Ives. _Good_-by!” - - - XX - -Ross was going away, at last. He was going as he had come, with no -luggage, with no ceremony. Only, he was going to take with him a small -child, and he left behind him his name, his money, and a good many -illusions—and a friend. Eddy was not likely to forget him. - -“You’re—you’re a white man!” he said, in a very unsteady voice. -“You’re—a prince.” - -“No,” Ross objected. “I’m a fool. The biggest damned fool that ever -lived.” - -“Have it your own way!” said Eddy. - -“I can think different if I like. I—” He paused a moment. “It makes me -_sick_, you goin’ away like this. It—it—” - -Ross laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. - -“Drop it!” he said. “Now, then! It’s about time for us to be off.” He -turned toward the bedroom. “I’ll wake her up, while you start the car. -I’ll take one of the blankets to wrap her in.” - -It was a little early for the train he wanted to catch, but he was in -a hurry to be gone. He might have known, though, that it was his fate -never to leave this place when or how he wished. - -He might have known that there was one inevitable thing still to be -faced. He heard the throb of the sturdy little engine downstairs; he -thought, he hoped, that the last moment had come, and, instead, he was -called upon to endure a moment almost beyond endurance. - -For Amy came. The sound of the engine prevented his hearing her -entrance; he had just gone into the bedroom when he heard her -footsteps on the stairs. In a wild storm of tears, desperate, white as -a ghost, she ran in to him. - -“Jimmy!” she gasped. “Oh, Jimmy! Jimmy!” - -He did not speak. What had he to say to her now? - -She was panting for breath, and her sobs were horrible, as if they -choked her. He wanted to close the bedroom door, but she had seized -him by the shoulder. - -“I didn’t know!” she cried. “Not—till tonight. Oh, Jimmy, I didn’t -know he was dead! He came to see me—and he died. Oh, Jimmy! Just when -Nanna told him—that I didn’t want to see him ever again. It killed -him, Jimmy. _I_ killed him!” - -“Oh, do keep quiet!” said Ross, in a sort of despair. - -“I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! If I’d only seen him—just once more! Nanna -begged me to—but I wouldn’t. And when Nanna told him, he—died! How can -I bear that? Oh, Jimmy! I didn’t think he’d care so much! Just as I -care for Gayle. Jimmy, listen to me! I’ll tell Gayle. I’ll go to him -now. I can’t let you do this for me, Jimmy!” - -For a moment his heart beat with a great hope. - -“Do you mean that?” he asked. - -“I never meant it to be like this. Never! Never! I thought Martin -would let me go—let me get a divorce. And if he hadn’t, I’d have given -up Gayle. I’ll give him up now, if you tell me to. Even if I die, -too!” - -The hope was faint now. - -“You think he’d give you up, if he knew?” he asked. - -“Think? I know! He’d loathe me!” - -“And you’d be willing to marry him with—” - -“You don’t understand!” she interrupted, violently. “You never could. -You’re too good. And I’m not good—in your way. I was just a child when -I met Martin. I’m not a child now. Gayle’s my whole life to me. I love -him so that—” - -“For God’s sake, stop!” cried Ross. “It’s—infamous! Have you -_forgotten_?” - -All the light and passion fled from her face at his tone. She looked -up at him in terrified inquiry. Ross stood aside from the doorway, so -that she could see the child lying asleep on the bed. She went in very -softly, and stood looking down at the little creature. - -“You see,” she whispered, “I’ve given up—my soul—for Gayle.” - -He took her by the arm and led her out of the room, closing the door -behind them. - -“Very well!” he said. “On her account, it’s better like this. I’ll -take her. And you’ll have to forget her. Do you understand? There’s to -be no repentance, and so on. Make up your mind now.” - -“No,” she said, faintly. “I can’t. I won’t! I’ll just do what you tell -me. _You’ve_ got to decide.” - -“What!” he cried, appalled. “You’d try to make me?” - -The child gave a little chuckle in her sleep. He thought what the -child’s life would be, with Amy, if Amy were denied her Gayle. He -thought of Ives. He had taken Ives’s name, and with it the burden that -Ives could no longer carry. - -“All right!” he said. “It’s finished. I only hope to Heaven that Mr. -Solway can end his days without knowing. As for Dexter—he’ll have to -take his chance—like the rest of us. Good-by, Amy!” - -She caught one of his hands in both of hers, and pressed it against -her wet cheek. - -“Can you ever, ever forgive me, Jimmy?” she asked, with a sob. - -“I dare say!” said Ross, grimly. - - - XXI - -“Left hand, please!” - -Obediently, Mrs. Barron took her left hand out of the bowl of warm -water, and laid it on the towel, carefully, as if it might melt. And -the manicurist bent over it with her nice air of earnest attention. - -All this was agreeable to Mrs. Barron. She was rather proud of her -hands; she was altogether comfortable and tranquil; she had a -pleasant, restful day before her. - -In the afternoon she and her daughter were going to look at fur coats, -which was really better than the actual buying; and, in the evening, -they were all going to a play. The sun was shining, too, and the -formal sitting room of her hotel suite was cheerful and warm, and -filled with the perfume of the roses that stood all about. - -“It’s good to be home again,” she remarked. “At my time of life -traveling is not—” The telephone bell rang. “Answer that, my dear. -It’s dangerous to touch a telephone with damp hands—Oh! A gentleman to -see Miss Barron? What a strange time to call—ten o’clock in the -morning! Ask his name, my dear. He was on the Farragut with us? But -how very strange! Why doesn’t he give his name? But ask him to come -up.” - -She dried her hands and arose, majestic even in her frivolous -negligee. - -“Very strange!” she murmured. - -There was a knock at the door. - -“Come in!” she said. - -The door opened—and it was Mr. Ross! She took a step forward, with a -welcoming smile; then she stopped short. - -“Mr. Ross!” she cried. “But—Mr. Ross!” - -He did not fail to notice the change in her tone, the vanishing of her -smile. It did not surprise him. He stood in the doorway, hat in one -hand, the little girl clinging to the other, and he felt that, to her -piercing glance, he was a sorry enough figure. He felt shabby, as if -he had been long battered by wind and rain; he felt that somehow the -emptiness of his pockets was obvious to any one. - -“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I’m afraid I’ve disturbed you. I -thought perhaps I could see Miss Barron, just for a moment.” - -“Come in!” said Mrs. Barron, and, turning to the manicurist, “Later, -my dear!” she said. - -Ross came in, and the manicurist, gathering her things together on her -tray, made haste to escape. She went out, closing the door behind her. - -“Mr. Ross!” said Mrs. Barron, in the same tone of stern wonder. - -“I’m sorry,” he said, again. “I’m afraid I’ve dis—” - -“But, my dear boy, what has happened?” she cried. - -He was absolutely astounded by her voice, by the kindly anxiety in her -face. - -“I just thought—” he began. - -“Sit down!” said she. “Here! On the sofa. You _do_ look so tired!” - -“I—I am,” he admitted. - -“And such a dear little girl!” said Mrs. Barron. “Such a dear little -mite.” - -She had sat down on the sofa beside the child, and was stroking her -fair mane, while her eyes were fixed upon Ross with genuine -solicitude. She looked so kind, so honest, so sensible—he marveled -that he had ever thought her formidable. - -“You wanted to see Phyllis?” she went on. “She’s out, just now; but -you must wait.” - -“By George!” cried Ross. - -For he had an inspiration. With all his stubborn soul he had been -dreading to meet Phyllis in his present condition. He was penniless, -and, what was worse, he could not rid himself of an unreasonable -conviction of guilt. And now that he found Mrs. Barron so kind— - -“Mrs. Barron!” he said. “It’s really you I ought to speak to. It’s -about this child. She’s a—sort of cousin of mine, and she’s”—he paused -a moment—“alone.” - -Mrs. Barron was looking down at the child, very thoughtfully. - -“I don’t know any one in this country,” he went on, “so I thought if -you’d advise me. I want to find a home for her. A—a real home, you -know, with people who’ll—be fond of her. Just for a few months; later -on I’ll take her myself. But, just now—” His dark face flushed. - -“I’m a bit hard up just now,” he said; “but I’ll find a job right -away, and I’ll be able to pay for her board and so on.” - -Mrs. Barron continued to look thoughtful, and it occurred to him that -his request must seem odd to her—very odd. The flush on his face -deepened. - -“I’m sorry,” he said, coldly; “but there are a good many things I -can’t explain—” - -“Yes, you can!” Mrs. Barron declared, in her old manner. “And that’s -just what you’re going to do. As soon as I set eyes on you, on board -that ship, I knew what you were. And I am _never_ deceived about -character. Never, Mr. Ross! I knew at once that you were to be -trusted. I said to Phyllis: ‘That young man has force of character!’ I -knew it. Now you’ve gone and got yourself into trouble of some sort, -and you’ve come to me—very properly—and you’re going to tell me the -whole thing.” - -“I can’t!” Ross protested. - -“Oh, yes, you can! Here you come and tell me you haven’t a penny, and -don’t know a soul in this country, and here’s this poor little child -who’s been foisted upon you— Don’t look surprised! I know it very -well! She’s been foisted upon you by selfish, heartless, unscrupulous -people, and you can’t deny it! Now, tell me what’s happened.” - -He did. And what is more, he was glad to tell her. - -There were a good many details that he left out, and he mentioned no -names at all, but the main facts of his amazing story he gave to her. -Especially was he emphatic in pointing out that he had now no name and -no money, and he thought that would be enough for her. - -But when he carefully pointed this out, she said: - -“Nonsense! You’ve got your own name, and you can go right on using it. -As for money, you’re never going to let that horrible, wicked woman -rob you like that—” - -“Look here, Mrs. Barron!” said Ross. “I am. I give you my word, I’ll -never reopen that case again. It’s finished. I’m going to make a fresh -start in the world and forget all about it.” - -“I shan’t argue with you now,” said Mrs. Barron, firmly. “You’re too -tired. And if you want a position—for awhile—Mr. Barron will find you -one. The little girl will stay here with us, of course. Now, take off -your coat and make yourself comfortable until lunch time.” - -“No!” said Ross. “No! I—don’t you see for yourself? I don’t want to -see—anybody.” - -“Mr. Ross!” said Mrs. Barron. “I’m not young any longer. I’ve lived a -good many years in the world, and I’ve learned a few things. And one -of them is—that character is the one thing that counts. Not money, Mr. -Ross; not intellect, or appearance, or manners; but character. What -you’ve done is very, very foolish, but—” She leaned across the child, -and laid her hand on his shoulder. “But it was very splendid, my dear -boy.” - -Ross grew redder than ever. - -“Just the same, I’d rather go,” he muttered, obstinately. - -“Here’s Phyllis now!” cried Mrs. Barron, in triumph. - -So he had to get up and face her—the girl he had run away from when he -had had so much to offer her. He had to face her, empty-handed, now; -heartsick and weary after his bitter adventure. - -And she seemed to him so wonderful, with that dear friendly smile. - -“Mr. Ross!” she said. - -She held out her hand, and he had to take it. He had to look at -her—and then _he_ could not stop. They forgot, for a moment; they -stood there, hands clasped, looking at each other. - -“Didn’t I _know_ he’d come!” cried Mrs. Barron. - -[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 1926 issue -of Munsey’s Magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLOTTED OUT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Blotted Out</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Elisabeth Sanxay Holding</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 15, 2022 [eBook #67411]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLOTTED OUT ***</div> -<h1>Blotted Out</h1> - -<div class='ce'> -<div>By Elisabeth Sanxay Holding</div> -</div> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:0.8em; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:2em;'> -IN THIS STORY A TIGRESS MASQUERADES AS A BEAUTIFUL<br/> -WOMAN—IN OTHER WORDS, AMY ROSS WAS<br/> -PREDATORY AND CRUEL</div> -<h2 id='chI'></h2> - -<p>James Ross was well content, that morning. He stood on the deck, one -elbow on the rail, enjoying the wind and the cold rain that blew in -his face, enjoying still more his feeling of complete isolation and -freedom.</p> - -<p>None of the other passengers shared his liking for this bleak November -weather, and he had the windward side of the deck to himself. He was -alone there; he was alone in the world—and he meant to remain alone.</p> - -<p>Through the window of the saloon he could, if he liked, see the -severe, eagle-nosed profile of Mrs. Barron, who was sitting in there, -more majestic than ever in her shore-going outfit. She was a -formidable lady, stern, resolute, and experienced; she had marked him -down as soon as he had come on board at San Juan.</p> - -<p>Yet he had escaped from her; he had got the better of her, and so -skillfully that even to this moment she was not sure whether he had -deliberately avoided her, or whether it was chance. Yes, even now, if -the weather had permitted, she would have come out after him with her -card.</p> - -<p>But, if the weather had permitted that, Ross would not have been where -he was. The day before, she had captured him for an instant in the -dining saloon, and she had said that before they landed she would give -him her card.</p> - -<p>He had thanked her very civilly, but he had made up his mind that she -should do nothing of the sort. Because, if she did, she would expect a -card from him in return; she would want to know where he was going, -and he meant that she should never know, and never be able to find -him. Even she was not likely to go so far as to rush across the -rain-swept deck with that card of hers.</p> - -<p>He could also see, if he liked, the little blond head of Phyllis -Barron, who was sitting beside her mother, her hat in her lap. He knew -very well that Phyllis had taken no part at all in pursuing him, yet, -in a way, she was far more dangerous than Mrs. Barron.</p> - -<p>Before he had realized the danger, he had spent a good deal of time -with Phyllis—too much time. It was only a five days’ run up from Porto -Rico; he had never seen her before he came on board, and he intended -never to see her again; yet he felt that it might take him -considerably more than five days to forget her.</p> - -<p>This made him uncomfortable. Every glimpse of that quiet, thoughtful -little face, so very pretty, so touching in its brave young dignity -and candor, gave him a sort of qualm, as if she had spoken a friendly -word to him, and he had not answered. Indeed, so much did the sight of -Phyllis Barron disquiet him that he turned away altogether.</p> - -<p>And now, through the downpour, he saw the regal form of the Statue of -Liberty. It pleased him, and somehow consoled him for those qualms. It -was a symbol of what his life was going to be, a life of completest -liberty. He had left nobody behind him, there was nobody waiting for -him anywhere in the world; he cared for nobody—no, not he; and nobody -cared for him. That was just what he liked.</p> - -<p>He was young, he was in vigorous health, he had sufficient money, and -no one on earth had any sort of claim upon him. He could go where he -pleased, and do what he pleased. He was free. And here he was, coming -back to what was, after all, his native city, and not one soul there -knew his face.</p> - -<p>He smiled to himself at the thought, his dour, tight-lipped smile. -Coming home, eh? And nobody to greet him but the Statue of Liberty. He -was glad it was so. He didn’t want to be greeted; he wanted to be let -alone. And, in that case, he had better go now, before they came -alongside the pier, and Mrs. Barron appeared.</p> - -<p>He went below to his cabin, intending to stop there until all other -passengers had disembarked. The steward had taken up his bags, and the -little room had a forlorn and untidy look; not an agreeable place in -which to sit. But it was safe.</p> - -<p>Ross hung up his wet overcoat and cap, and sat down with a magazine, -to read. But he could not read a word. The engines had stopped; they -had arrived; he was in New York. In New York. Try as he would to -stifle his emotions, a great impatience and restlessness filled him.</p> - -<p>There were, in this city, thousands of men to whom Manila and Mayaguez -would seem names of almost incredible romance; men to whom New York -meant little but an apartment, the subway, the office, and the anxious -and monotonous routine of earning a living. But to Ross, New York had -all the allurement of the exotic, and those other ports had meant only -exile and discontent. He thought uncharitable thoughts about Mrs. -Barron, because she kept him imprisoned here when he so longed to set -foot on shore.</p> - -<p>There was a knock at the door.</p> - -<p>“Well?” Ross demanded.</p> - -<p>“Note for you, sir,” answered the steward.</p> - -<p>Ross grinned to himself at what he considered a new instance of Mrs. -Barron’s enterprise. For a moment he thought he would refuse to take -the note, so that he might truthfully say he had never got it; then he -reflected that Mrs. Barron was never going to have a chance to -question him about it, and he unlocked the door.</p> - -<p>“We’ve docked, sir,” the steward said.</p> - -<p>“I know it,” Ross agreed briefly.</p> - -<p>He took the note, tipped the steward, and locked the door after him. -Extraordinary, the way this lady had pursued him, all the way across! -He was not handsome, not entertaining, not even very amiable; she knew -nothing about him.</p> - -<p>Indeed, as far as her knowledge went, he might be any sort of -dangerous and undesirable character. Yet she had persistently—and -obviously—done her best to capture him for her daughter.</p> - -<p>He glanced at himself in the mirror. A lean and hardy young man, very -dark, with the features characteristic of his family, a thin, keen -nose, rather long upper lip, a saturnine and faintly mocking -expression. They were a disagreeable family, bitterly obstinate, -ambitious, energetic, and grimly unsociable.</p> - -<p>And he was like that, too; like his father and his grandfather and his -uncles. Without being in the least humble, he still could not -understand what Mrs. Barron had seen in him to make her consider him a -suitable son-in-law.</p> - -<p>With Phyllis Barron it was different. He had sometimes imagined that -her innocent and candid eyes had discerned in him qualities he had -long ago tried to destroy. It was possible that she had found him a -little likable.</p> - -<p>But <i>she</i> wouldn’t pursue him. He was certain that she had not written -this note, or wanted her mother to write it. When he had realized his -danger, and had begun to spend his time talking to the doctor, instead -of sitting beside her on deck, she had never tried to recall him. -Whenever he did come, she always had that serious, friendly little -smile for him; but she had tried to make it very plain that, where she -was concerned, he was quite free to come or to go, to remember or to -forget.</p> - -<p>Well, he meant to forget. His life was just beginning, and he did not -intend to entangle himself in any way. He sighed, not knowing that he -did so, and then, out of sheer idle curiosity, just to see how Mrs. -Barron worked, he opened the note.</p> - -<p>“Dear Cousin James—” it began.</p> - -<p>But, as far as he knew, he hadn’t a cousin in the world. With a -puzzled frown, he picked up the envelope; it was plainly addressed, in -a clear, small hand, to “Mr. James Ross. On board the S. S. Farragut.”</p> - -<p>“Must be a mistake, though,” he muttered. “I’ll just see.” And he went -on reading:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>You have never seen me, and I know you have heard all sorts of cruel -and false things about me. But I beg you to forget all that now. I am -in such terrible trouble, and I don’t know where to turn. I beg you to -come here as soon as you get this. Ask for Mrs. Jones, the -housekeeper. Say you have come from Cren’s Agency, about the job as -chauffeur. She will tell you everything. You can’t refuse just to come -and let me tell you about this terrible thing.</p> - -<div style='text-align:right;margin-right:4em;'>Your desperately unhappy cousin,</div> -<div style='text-align:right;margin-right:2em;'>Amy Ross Solway.</div> -<div style='margin-top:1em'>“Day’s End,” Wygatt Road, near Stamford.</div> -</blockquote> -<p>He sat, staring in amazement at this letter.</p> - -<p>“It’s a mistake!” he said, aloud.</p> - -<p>But, all the same, it filled him with a curious uneasiness. Of course, -it was meant for some one else—and he wanted that other fellow to get -it at once; he wanted to be rid of it in a hurry.</p> - -<p>He had nothing to do with any one’s Cousin Amy and her “terrible -trouble.” He rang the bell for the steward, waited, rang again, more -vigorously, again waited, but no one came.</p> - -<p>Then, putting the note back in its envelope, he flung open the door -and strode out into the passage, shouting “Steward!” in a pretty -forcible voice. No one answered him. He went down the corridor, turned -a corner, and almost ran into Mrs. Barron.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ross!” said she, in a tone of stern triumph. “So here you are! -Phyllis, dear, give Mr. Ross one of our cards—with the address.”</p> - -<p>Then he caught sight of Phyllis, standing behind her mother. In her -little close fitting hat, her coat with a fur collar, she looked -taller, older, graver, quite different from that bright-haired, -slender little thing in a deck chair. And, somehow, she was so dear to -him, so lovely, so gentle, so utterly trustworthy.</p> - -<p>“I’ll never forget her!” he thought, in despair.</p> - -<p>Then she spoke, in a tone he had not heard before.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” she said. “I haven’t any cards with me.”</p> - -<p>“Phyllis!” cried her mother. “I particularly asked you—”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” Phyllis declared again. “We’ll really have to hurry, -mother. Good-by, Mr. Ross!”</p> - -<p>Her steady blue eyes met his for an instant, but, for all the regret -and pain he felt, his stubborn spirit refused to show one trace. -Evidently she knew he had tried to run away, and she didn’t want to -see him again. Very well!</p> - -<p>“Good-by, Miss Barron!” he said.</p> - -<p>She turned away, and he, too, would have walked off, but the dauntless -Mrs. Barron was not to be thwarted.</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll tell you the address!” said she. “Hotel Benderly—West -Seventy-Seventh Street. Don’t forget!”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t,” Ross replied. “Thank you! Good-by!”</p> - -<p>He went back along the corridor, forgetting all about the note, even -forgetting where he was going, until the sight of a white jacket in -the distance recalled him.</p> - -<p>“Steward!” he shouted.</p> - -<p>The man came toward him, anxious and very hurried.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” said Ross. “This note—it’s not meant for me.”</p> - -<p>“Beg your pardon, sir, but a boy brought it aboard and told me to give -it to you.”</p> - -<p>“I tell you it’s not meant for me!” said Ross. “Take it back!”</p> - -<p>“But it’s addressed to you, sir. Mr. James Ross. There’s no other Mr. -Ross on board. The boy said it was urgent.”</p> - -<p>“Take it back!” Ross repeated.</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t like to do that, sir,” said the steward, firmly. “I said -I’d deliver it to Mr. Ross. If you’re not—satisfied, sir, the purser -might—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right!” Ross interrupted, with a frown. “I haven’t time to -bother now. I’ll keep it. But it’s a mistake. And somebody is going to -regret it.”</p> - -<h2 id='chII'>II</h2> - -<p>A casual acquaintance in San Juan had recommended the Hotel Miston to -Ross. “Nice, quiet little place,” he had said; “and you can get a -really good cup of coffee there.”</p> - -<p>So, when the United States customs officers had done with Ross, he -secured a taxi, and told the chauffeur to drive him to this Hotel -Miston. Not that he was in the least anxious for quiet, or had any -desire for a cup of coffee; simply, he was in a hurry to get -somewhere, anywhere, so that he could begin to live.</p> - -<p>In spite of the rain, he lowered the window of the cab, and sat -looking out at the astounding speed and vigor of the life about him. -This was what he had longed for, this was what he had wanted; for -years and years he had said to himself that when he was free, he would -come here and make a fortune.</p> - -<p>Well, he was free, and he was in New York, and he had already the -foundation of a nice little fortune. For eight years he had worked in -the office of a commission agent in Manila, and every day of those -eight years he had told himself that he wouldn’t stand it any longer. -But he had stood it.</p> - -<p>His grandfather had been a cynical old tyrant; he had thwarted the boy -in every ambition that he had. When James said he wanted to be a civil -engineer, as his father had been, old Ross told him he hadn’t brains -enough for that. James had not agreed with him, but as he had no money -to send himself home to college, he had been obliged to put up with -what old Ross called “a sound practical education.”</p> - -<p>At eighteen his education was declared finished, and he went to work. -He hated his work, he hated everything about his life, and from his -meager salary he had saved every cent he could, so that he would get -away.</p> - -<p>Long ago he had saved enough to pay his passage to New York—but he had -not gone. His grandfather was old and ill, and, because of his bitter -tongue, quite without friends; he certainly gave no sign that he -enjoyed his grandson’s company, and James showed no affection for him; -their domestic life was anything but agreeable.</p> - -<p>Sick at heart, James saw his youth slipping by, wasted, his abilities -all unused; he told himself that he had done his duty, and more than -his duty to his grandfather. Yet he could not leave him.</p> - -<p>Then, six months ago, the old man had died, leaving everything he had -to “my grandson, James Ross, in appreciation of his loyalty,” the only -sign of appreciation he had ever made. It was a surprisingly large -estate; there was some property in Porto Rico, where James had spent -his childhood with his parents, but the greater part consisted of very -sound bonds and mortgages in the hands of a New York lawyer, Mr. -Teagle.</p> - -<p>Mr. Teagle had written to James, and James had written to Mr. Teagle -several times in the last few months, but James had not told him when -he expected to arrive in New York. He had gone to Porto Rico in a -little cargo steamer, by the way of Panama; he had wound up his -business there, and now he wanted to walk in on Mr. Teagle in the most -casual fashion. He hated any sort of fuss; he didn’t want to be met at -the steamer, he didn’t want to be advised and assisted. He wanted to -be let alone.</p> - -<p>The taxi stopped before the Hotel Miston, a dingy little place not far -from Washington Square. Ross got out, paid the driver, and followed -the porter into the lobby. He engaged a room and bath, and turned -toward the elevator.</p> - -<p>“Will you register, sir?” asked the clerk.</p> - -<p>Ross hesitated for a moment; then he wrote “J. Ross, New York.” After -all, this was his home; he had been born here, and he intended to live -here.</p> - -<p>He went upstairs to his room, and, locking the door, sat down near the -window. The floor still seemed to heave under his feet, like the deck -of a ship. He visualized the deck of the Farragut, and Phyllis in a -deck chair, looking at him with her dear, friendly little smile.</p> - -<p>He frowned at the unwelcome thought. That was finished; that belonged -in the past. There was a new life before him, and the sooner he began -it, the better.</p> - -<p>He reached in his pocket for Mr. Teagle’s last letter—and brought out -that note to “Cousin James.” At the sight of it, he frowned more -heavily; he tossed it across the room in the direction of the desk, -but it fluttered down to the floor. Let it lie there. He found Mr. -Teagle’s letter, and took up the telephone receiver. Presently:</p> - -<p>“Mr. Teagle’s office!” came a brisk feminine voice.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to see Mr. Teagle this morning, if possible.”</p> - -<p>“Sorry, but Mr. Teagle won’t be in today. Will you leave a message?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Ross. “No, thanks.” And hung up the receiver.</p> - -<p>He sat for a time looking out of the window at the street, far below -him. The rain fell steadily; it was a dismal day. He could not begin -his new life today, after all. Very well; what should he do, then? -Anything he wanted, of course. Nobody could have been freer.</p> - -<p>He lit a cigarette, and leaned back in the chair. Freedom—that was -what he had wanted, and that was what he had got. And yet—</p> - -<p>He turned his head, to look for an ash tray, and his glance fell upon -that confounded note on the floor. In the back of his mind he had -known, all the time, that he would have to do something about it.</p> - -<p>He disliked it, and disapproved of it; a silly, hysterical sort of -note, he thought, but, nevertheless, it was an appeal for help, and it -was from a woman. Somebody ought to answer it.</p> - -<p>He began idly to speculate about the “terribly unhappy” Amy Ross -Solway. Perhaps she was young—not much more than a girl—like Phyllis.</p> - -<p>“Not much!” he said to himself. “<i>She</i> wouldn’t write a note like -that. She’s not that sort. No matter what sort of trouble menaced—”</p> - -<p>It occurred to him that if Phyllis Barron were in any sort of trouble, -she would never turn to James Ross for help. He had shown her too -plainly that he was not disposed to trouble himself about other people -and their affairs.</p> - -<p>His family never did. They minded their own business, they let other -people alone, and other people soon learned to let them alone. Very -satisfactory! Lucky for this Amy Ross Solway that she didn’t know what -sort of fellow had got that note of hers.</p> - -<p>Still, something had to be done about it. At first he thought he would -mail it back to her, with a note of his own, explaining that he was -not her Cousin James, but another James Ross, who had got it by -mistake. But, no; that plan meant too much delay, when she was no -doubt waiting impatiently for a gallant cousin.</p> - -<p>Then he thought he would try to get her on the telephone, but that -idea did not suit him, either. It was always awkward, trying to -explain anything on the telephone—and, besides, she seemed anxious for -secrecy. He might explain to the wrong person, and do a great deal of -harm.</p> - -<p>He began to think very seriously about that note now. And, for some -unaccountable reason, his thoughts of the unknown woman were confused -with thoughts of Phyllis Barron. It seemed to him that if Phyllis -could know how much attention he was giving to this problem which was -not his business, she would realize that he was not entirely callous. -If she thought he was, she misjudged him.</p> - -<p>Perhaps he was not what you might call impulsively sympathetic, but he -was not lacking in all decent feeling. He was not going to ignore this -appeal.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go out there!” he decided. “I’ll see this Amy Ross Solway, and -explain. And, if her trouble’s anything real, I’ll—” He hesitated. -“Well, I’ll give her the best advice I can,” he thought.</p> - -<p>No, James Ross was not what you might call impulsively sympathetic. -But, considering how vehemently he hated to be mixed up in other -people’s affairs, it was creditable of him even to think of giving -advice, creditable of him to go at all.</p> - -<p>He arose, put on his overcoat, caught up his hat, and went downstairs. -Nobody took any notice of him. He walked out of the Hotel Miston—and -he never came back.</p> - -<h2 id='chIII'>III</h2> - -<p>It did not please the young man to ask questions in this, his native -city. He had spent time enough in studying a map of New York, and he -knew his way about pretty well. But there were, naturally, things he -did not know; for instance, he went to the Pennsylvania Station, and -learned that his train for Stamford left from the Grand Central.</p> - -<p>It was after one o’clock, then, so he went into a restaurant and had -lunch before going farther—his first meal in the United States. He had -never enjoyed anything more. To walk through these streets, among the -hurrying and indifferent crowds, to be one of them, to feel himself at -home here, filled him with something like elation. It was <i>his</i> city.</p> - -<p>A little after three, he boarded the train. And, in spite of his -caution and his native reticence, he would, at that moment, have -relished a talk with one of his fellow countrymen in the smoking car. -He was not disposed to start a conversation without encouragement, -though, and nobody took any notice of him; nobody had, since his -landing. A clever criminal, escaping from justice, could not have been -much more successful in leaving no traces.</p> - -<p>When he got out at Stamford, the rain had ceased, but the sky was -menacing and overcast. He stood for a moment on the platform, again -reluctant to ask questions, but there was no help for it this time.</p> - -<p>He stopped a grocer’s boy, and asked him where Wygatt Road was. The -boy told him. “But it’s a long way,” he added.</p> - -<p>Ross didn’t care how long it was. This was the first suburban town he -had seen, and it charmed him. Such a prosperous, orderly, lively town! -He thought that he might like to live here.</p> - -<p>Dusk was closing in early this dismal day; it was almost dark before -he reached the hill he had to climb. The street lights came on, and -through the windows of houses he could see shaded lamps and the -shadows of people, comfortable rooms, bright little glimpses of -domestic life. Past him, along the road, went an endless stream of -motor cars, with a rush and a glare of light; he scarcely realized -that he was in the country until he came to the top of the hill, and -saw before him a signpost marked “Wygatt Road.”</p> - -<p>He turned down here, and was at once in another world. It was dark, -and very, very quiet; no motors passed him, no lights shone out; he -walked on, quite alone, under tall old trees, to which clung a few -leaves, trembling in every gust of wind. Overhead, ragged black clouds -flew across the darkening sky; the night was coming fast.</p> - -<p>And now he began to think about his extraordinary errand, now he began -to think that he had been a fool to come. But it did not occur to him -to turn back. He never did that. He was sorry he had begun a foolish -thing, but, now that he had begun, he would carry on. If it took him -all night, if it took him a week, he would find “Day’s End,” and do -what he had set out to do.</p> - -<p>There was no one to ask questions of here; no human being, no house in -sight.</p> - -<p>On one side of him was a belt of woodland, on the other an iron fence -which appeared to run on interminably. Well, he also would go on -interminably, and if “Day’s End” was on Wygatt Road, he would -certainly come to it in the course of time.</p> - -<p>He did. There was a break in the fence at last, made by a gateway -between stone pillars, and here he saw, by the light of a match, -“Day’s End,” in gilt letters. He opened the gate and went in; a long -driveway stretched before him, tree lined; he went up it briskly.</p> - -<p>He saw nothing, and heard nothing, but he had a vague impression that -the grounds through which he passed were somber and forbidding, and he -expected to see a house in keeping with this notion, an old, sinister -house, suitable for people in “terrible trouble.”</p> - -<p>It was not like that, though. A turn in the driveway brought him in -sight of a long façade of lighted windows, and a large, substantial, -matter-of-fact house—which made him feel more of a fool than ever. -Yet, still he went on, mounted the steps of a brick terrace, and rang -the doorbell.</p> - -<p>The door was opened promptly by a pale and disagreeable young -housemaid.</p> - -<p>“I want to see Mrs. Jones, the housekeeper,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“You ought to go to the back door!” she remarked sharply. “You ought -to know that much!”</p> - -<p>Ross did not like this, but it was not his habit to let his temper -override discretion.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said, and was turning away, ready to go to the back -door, ready to go anywhere, so that he accomplished his mission, when -the housemaid relented.</p> - -<p>“As long as you’re here, you can come in,” she said. “This way!”</p> - -<p>He followed her across a wide hall, with a polished floor and a fine -old stairway rising from it, to a door at the farther end.</p> - -<p>“It’s the room right in front of you when you get to the top,” she -explained.</p> - -<p>She opened the door; he went in, she closed the door behind him, and -he found himself in what seemed a pitch-black cupboard. But, as he -moved forward, his foot struck against a step, and he began cautiously -to mount a narrow, boxed-in staircase, until his outstretched hand -touched a door.</p> - -<p>He pushed it open, and found himself in a well lighted corridor, and, -facing him, a white painted door. And behind that door he heard some -one sobbing, in a low, wailing voice.</p> - -<p>He stopped, rather at a loss. Then, because he would not go back, he -went forward, and knocked.</p> - -<p>“Who is it?” cried a voice.</p> - -<p>“I came to see Mrs. Jones,” Ross replied casually.</p> - -<p>There was a moments silence; then the door was opened by the loveliest -creature he had ever seen in his life. He had only a glimpse of her, -of an exquisite face, very white, with dark and delicate brows and -great black eyes, a face childlike in its soft, pure contours, but -terribly unchildlike in its expression of terror and despair.</p> - -<p>“Wait!” she said. “Go in and wait!”</p> - -<p>She brushed past him, with a flutter of her filmy gray dress and a -breath of some faint fragrance, and vanished down the back stairs.</p> - -<p>Ross went in as he was instructed, and stood facing the door, waiting -with a certain uneasiness for some one to come. But nobody did come, -and at last he turned and looked about him.</p> - -<p>It was a cozy room, with a cheerful red carpet on the floor, and -plenty of solid, old-fashioned walnut furniture about; it was well -warmed by a steam radiator, and well lighted by an alabaster -electrolier in the ceiling; a clock ticked smartly on the mantelpiece, -and on the sofa lay a big yellow cat, pretending to be asleep, with -one gleaming eye half open.</p> - -<p>It was such a thoroughly commonplace and comfortable room that the -young man felt reassured. He decided to ignore the wailing voice he -had heard, and the pallid, lovely creature who had opened the door. -For all he knew, such things might be quite usual in this household, -and, anyhow, it was none of his business. He had come to see Mrs. -Jones, and to explain an error.</p> - -<p>He watched the smart little clock for five minutes, and then began to -grow restless. He had walked a good deal this day; he was tired; his -shoes were wet; he wanted to be done with this business and to get -away. Another five minutes—</p> - -<p>It seemed to him that this was the quietest room he had ever known. -Even the tick of the clock was muffled, like a tiny pulse. It was -altogether too quiet. He didn’t like it at all.</p> - -<p>He frowned uneasily, and turned toward the only other living thing -there, the cat. He laid his hand on its head, and in a sort of drowsy -ecstasy the cat stretched out to a surprising length, opening and -curling up its paws. Its claws caught in the linen cover and pulled it -up a little, and Ross saw something under the sofa.</p> - -<p>He doubted the very evidence of his senses. He could not believe that -he saw a hand stretched out on the red carpet. He stared and stared at -it, incredulous.</p> - -<p>Then he stooped and lifted up the cover and looked under the sofa. -There lay a man, face downward.</p> - -<p>He was very still. It seemed to Ross that it was this man’s stillness -which he had felt in the room; it was the quiet of death.</p> - -<h2 id='chIV'>IV</h2> - -<p>Ross stood looking down at the very quiet figure in a sort of daze. He -did not find this horrible, or shocking; it was simply impossible. -Here, in this tranquil, cozy room—No, it was impossible!</p> - -<p>Going down on one knee, he reached out and touched the nape of the -man’s neck. But he did it mechanically; he had known, from the first -glance, that the man was dead. No living thing could lie so still. -Quite cold—</p> - -<p>The sound of a slow footstep in the corridor startled him. He sprang -to his feet, pulled down the linen cover, and was standing idly in the -center of the room when a woman entered, a stout, elderly woman with -calm brown eyes behind spectacles.</p> - -<p>“Well?” said she.</p> - -<p>“I came to see Mrs. Jones,” said Ross. “I had a note—”</p> - -<p>He spoke in a tone as matter-of-fact as her own, for to save his life -he could think of no rational manner in which to tell her what he had -seen. Such a preposterous thing to tell a sensible, elderly woman! The -very thought of it dismayed him. Of all things in the world, he hated -the theatrical. He could not be, and he would not be, dramatic. He -wished to be casual.</p> - -<p>But, in this case, it would not be easy. The thing he had found was, -in its very nature, dramatic, and was even now defying him to be -casual and sensible. He would have to tell her, point-blank, and she -probably would shriek or faint, or both.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Jones. A note?”</p> - -<p>Her voice trailed away, and she stood regarding him in thoughtful -silence. Ross was quite willing to be silent a little longer, while he -tried to find a reassuring form for his statement; he looked back at -her, his lean face quite impassive, his mind working furiously.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” said Mrs. Jones. “Miss Solway did think, for a time, that she -might need some one to—advise her. But everything’s quite all right -now.” She paused a moment. “She’ll be sorry to hear you’ve made the -journey for nothing. She’ll appreciate your kindness, I’m sure. But -everything’s quite all right now.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, is it?” murmured Ross.</p> - -<p>He found difficulty in suppressing a grim smile. Everything was all -right now, was it, and he could run away home? He did not agree with -Mrs. Jones.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she replied. “It was very kind of you to come, but—”</p> - -<p>“Wait!” cried Ross, for she had turned away toward the sofa.</p> - -<p>Without so much as turning her head, she went on a few steps, took the -knitted scarf from her shoulders, and threw it over the end of the -sofa. And he saw then that just the tip of the man’s fingers had been -visible, and that the trailing end of the scarf covered them now. She -<i>knew</i>!</p> - -<p>“Well?” she asked, looking inquiringly at him through her spectacles. -No; it was impossible; the whole thing was utterly impossible!</p> - -<p>This sedate, respectable, gray-haired woman, this housekeeper who -looked as if she would not overlook the smallest trace of dust in a -corner, certainly, surely would not leave a dead man under her sofa.</p> - -<p>She was stroking the cat, and the animal had assumed an expression of -idiotic delight, pink tongue protruding a little, eyes half open. -Would even a cat be so monstrously indifferent if—if what he thought -he had seen under the sofa were really there?</p> - -<p>“Would you like me to telephone for a taxi to take you to the -station?” asked Mrs. Jones, very civilly.</p> - -<p>“Ha!” thought Ross. “You want to get rid of me, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>And that aroused all his stiff-necked obstinacy. He would <i>not</i> go -away now, after all his trouble, without any sort of explanation of -the situation.</p> - -<p>“There’s a good train—” Mrs. Jones began, with calm persistence, but -Ross interrupted.</p> - -<p>“No, thanks,” he said. “I’d like to see Miss Solway first.”</p> - -<p>His own words surprised him a little. After all, why on earth should -he want to see this Miss Solway? A few hours ago he had been greatly -annoyed at the thought of having to do so; he would have been only too -glad never to see or to hear of her again.</p> - -<p>“It’s because I don’t like being made such a fool of,” he thought.</p> - -<p>For the first time since she had entered the room, Mrs. Jones’s calm -was disturbed. She came nearer to him, and looked into his face with -obvious anxiety, speaking very low, and far more respectfully.</p> - -<p>“It would be much better not to!” she said. “Much better, sir, if -you’ll just go away—”</p> - -<p>“I want to see Miss Solway,” Ross repeated. “There’s been a mistake, -and I want to explain.”</p> - -<p>“I know that, sir!” she whispered. “Of course, as soon as I saw you, I -knew you weren’t Mr. Ross. But—”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” said Ross, bluntly. “What’s it all about, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>“There was a little difficulty, sir,” said Mrs. Jones, still in a -whisper. “But it’s all over now.”</p> - -<p>All over now? A new thought came to Ross. Had the man under the sofa -been Miss Solway’s “terrible trouble,” and had Cousin James been sent -for to help—in doing what had already been done?</p> - -<p>He had, at this moment, a most clear and definite warning from his -brain. “<i>Clear out!</i>” it said. “<i>Get out of this, now. Don’t wait; -don’t ask questions; just go!</i>” All through his body this warning -signal ran, making his scalp prickle and his heart beat fast. “<i>It is -bad for you here. Go! Now!</i>”</p> - -<p>And his stubborn and indomitable spirit answered: “<i>I won’t!</i>”</p> - -<p>“I want to see Miss Solway,” he said, aloud.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jones looked at him for a moment, and apparently the expression -on his face filled her with despair.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear!” she said, with a tremulous sigh. “I knew; I told her it -was a mistake to send. Oh, dear!”</p> - -<p>Ross stood there and waited.</p> - -<p>“If you’ll go away,” she said, “Miss Solway will write to you.”</p> - -<p>Ross still stood there and waited.</p> - -<p>“Very well, sir!” she said, with another sigh. “If you must, you must. -This way, please!”</p> - -<p>He followed her out of the room, and he noticed that she did not even -glance back. She couldn’t know. It was impossible that any one who was -aware of what lay under the sofa could simply walk out of the room -like that, closing the door upon it.</p> - -<p>They went down the corridor, which was evidently a wing of the house, -and turned the corner into a wider hall. Mrs. Jones knocked upon a -door.</p> - -<p>“Miss Amy, my pet!” she called, softly.</p> - -<p>The door opened a little.</p> - -<p>“The gentleman,” said Mrs. Jones. “He <i>will</i> see you!”</p> - -<p>“All right!” answered a voice he recognized; the door opened wider, -and there was the girl he had seen before. Her body, in that soft gray -dress, seemed almost incredibly fragile; her face, colorless, framed -in misty black hair, with great, restless black eyes and delicate -little features, was strange and lovely as a dream.</p> - -<p>Too strange, thought Ross. For the first time he realized the -significance of her presence in the housekeeper’s room. He remembered -the wailing voice, her air of haste and terror as she had brushed past -him. She had been in there, alone. What did she know? What had she -seen?</p> - -<p>“I had a note from you—” he began.</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Mrs. Jones. “If you please, sir! It’s a mistake, Miss -Amy, my pet. This isn’t Mr. Ross. It’s quite a stranger.”</p> - -<p>Obviously she was warning her pet to be careful what she said, and -Ross decided that he, too, would be careful. He would have his own -little mystery.</p> - -<p>“Quite a stranger!” he repeated.</p> - -<p>“But—how did you get my note?” asked the girl.</p> - -<p>“It was given to me,” he answered.</p> - -<p>He saw Mrs. Jones and the girl exchange a glance.</p> - -<p>“If I hold my tongue and wait,” he thought, “they’ll surely have to -tell me something.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t—” the girl began, when, to Ross’s amazement, Mrs. Jones -gave him a vigorous push forward.</p> - -<p>“You’re the new chauffeur!” she whispered, fiercely.</p> - -<p>Then he heard footsteps in the hall. He stood well inside the room, -now; a large room, furnished with quiet elegance. It was what people -called a boudoir, he thought, as his quick eye took in the details; a -dressing table with rose shaded electric lights and gleaming silver -and glass; a little desk with rose and ivory fittings; a silver vase -of white chrysanthemums on the table.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid we can’t take you,” said Mrs. Jones, in an altogether new -sort of voice, brisk, and a little loud. “I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p>Ross was very well aware that some one else had come to the door and -was standing behind him. He was also aware of a sort of triumph in -Mrs. Jones’s manner. She thought she was going to get rid of him. But -she wasn’t.</p> - -<p>“If it’s a question of wages,” he said, “I’ll take a little less.”</p> - -<p>He saw how greatly this disconcerted her.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said. “No, I’m afraid not.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter? What’s the matter? What’s the matter?” demanded an -impatient voice behind him. He turned, and saw a stout, middle-aged -man of domineering aspect standing there and frowning heavily.</p> - -<p>“The young man’s come to apply for the chauffeur’s position, sir,” -Mrs. Jones explained. “But I’m afraid—”</p> - -<p>“Well, what’s the matter with him?” cried the domineering man. “Can he -drive a car? Has he got references, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” Ross replied.</p> - -<p>“Let’s see your references!”</p> - -<p>“I left them at the agency,” said Ross, as if inspired.</p> - -<p>“Agency sent you, eh? Well, they know their business, don’t they? Can -you take a car to pieces and put it together again? Have you brains -enough to keep your gasoline tank filled, and to remember that when -you’re going round a corner some other fellow may be doing the same -thing?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>The domineering man stared hard, and Ross met his regard steadily.</p> - -<p>“He’ll do,” said the man. “I like him. Looks you straight in the face. -Level headed. Well set up. Good nerves. Doesn’t drink. We’ll give him -a chance. Eddy!”</p> - -<p>He went out into the hall.</p> - -<p>“Eddy!” he shouted. “I want Eddy!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Jones came close to Ross.</p> - -<p>“Go away!” she whispered. “You <i>must</i> go away!”</p> - -<p>The domineering man had come back into the room.</p> - -<p>“Now, then, what’s your name?” he demanded brusquely.</p> - -<p>“Moss,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“Moss, eh? Very well! Ah, here’s Eddy! Eddy, take this young man over -to the garage. See that he’s properly looked after. He’s our new -chauffeur.”</p> - -<h2 id='chV'>V</h2> - -<p>The door closed behind them, and Ross round himself in the hall, alone -with this Eddy. They stared at each other for a moment; then, in spite -of himself, a grudging smile dawned upon Ross’s lean and dour face. -Eddy grinned from ear to ear.</p> - -<p>“Come on, shover!” he said. “I’ll show you your stall!”</p> - -<p>A sheik, Eddy was; very slender, with black hair well oiled and combed -back from his brow, and wearing clothes of the latest and jauntiest -mode. But he lacked the lilylike languor of the true sheik; his rather -handsome face was alert and cheerful; and although he moved with the -somewhat supercilious grace of one who had been frequently called a -just wonderful dancer, there was a certain wiry vigor about him.</p> - -<p>Ross followed him down the hall and around the corner, into the -corridor where Mrs. Jones’s room was. Ross saw that the door was a -little ajar, and he dropped behind, because he wanted to look into -that room, but Eddy, in passing, pulled it shut.</p> - -<p>Did he know, too? Certainly he did not look like the sort of youth who -went about closing doors unbidden, simply from a sense of order and -decorum. And that grin—did it signify a shrewd understanding of a -discreditable situation?</p> - -<p>It was at this instant that Ross began to realize what he had done. -Only dimly, though; for he thought that in a few moments he would be -gone, and the whole affair finished, as far as he was concerned. He -felt only a vague disquiet, and a great impatience to get away. He -went after Eddy down the back stairs and through a dark passage on the -floor below, at the end of which he saw a brightly lit kitchen where a -stout cook bent over the stove, and that same disagreeable housemaid -was mixing something in a bowl at the table.</p> - -<p>Then Eddy opened a door, and a wild gust of wind and rain sprang at -them.</p> - -<p>“Step right along, shover!” said Eddy. “Here! This way!” And he took -Ross by the arm.</p> - -<p>It was black as the pit out there; the wind came whistling through the -pines, driving before it great sheets of rain that was half sleet. It -was a world of black, bitter cold and confusion, and Ross thought of -nothing at all except getting under shelter again.</p> - -<p>It was only a few yards; then Eddy stopped, let go of Ross’s arm, and -slid back a door. This door opened upon blackness, too, but Ross was -glad enough to get inside. Eddy closed the door, turned on a switch, -and he saw that they were in a garage.</p> - -<p>It was a very ordinary garage, neat and bare, with a cement floor, and -two cars standing, side by side; yet, to Ross it had a sinister -aspect. He was very weary, wet and chilled to the bone, and this place -looked to him like a prison, a stone dungeon. Storm or no storm, he -wanted to get out, away from this place and these people.</p> - -<p>“Look here—” he began, but Eddy’s cheerful voice called out: “This -way!” and he saw him standing at the foot of a narrow staircase in one -corner.</p> - -<p>The one thing which made Ross go up those stairs was his violent -distaste for the dramatic. He felt that it would be absurd to dash out -into the rain. Instinct warned him, but once again he defied that -warning, and up he went.</p> - -<p>He was surprised and pleased by what he found up there: the jolliest, -coziest little room, green rug on the floor, big armchairs of -imitation red leather, reading lamp. It was not a room of much -aesthetic charm, perhaps, but comfortable, cheerful and homelike, and -warm.</p> - -<p>The rain was drumming loud on the roof and dashing against the -windows, and Ross sighed as he looked at the big chairs. But he was -beginning to think now.</p> - -<p>“Take off your coat and make yourself at home,” said Eddy.</p> - -<p>“No,” Ross objected. “I can’t stay tonight. Didn’t bring my things -along.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, didn’t you?” said Eddy. “Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Because I didn’t come prepared to stay.”</p> - -<p>“What <i>did</i> you come for?” asked Eddy.</p> - -<p>Now, this might be mere idle curiosity, and Ross decided to accept it -as that.</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, slowly. “I’ll go back to the city and get my things.”</p> - -<p>“It’s raining too hard,” Eddy declared. “It wouldn’t be healthy for -you to go out just now, shover.”</p> - -<p>This was a little too much for Ross to ignore.</p> - -<p>“Just the same,” he insisted, “I’m going now.”</p> - -<p>“Nope!” said Eddy.</p> - -<p>Ross moved forward, and Eddy moved, too, so that he blocked the -doorway. He was grinning, but there was an odd light in his eyes.</p> - -<p>“Now, lookit here!” he said. “You just make yourself comfortable for -the night, see?”</p> - -<p>Ross looked at him thoughtfully. He believed that it would not be -difficult to throw this slender youth down the stairs, and to walk out -of the garage, but he disliked the idea.</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to make any trouble, Eddy,” he explained, almost mildly. -“But I’m going.”</p> - -<p>“Nope!” said Eddy.</p> - -<p>Ross took a step forward. Eddy reached in his hip pocket and pulled -out a revolver.</p> - -<p>“Nope!” he said again.</p> - -<p>“What!” cried Ross, astounded. “Do you mean—”</p> - -<p>“Tell you what I mean,” said Eddy. “I mean to say that I know who you -are, and what you come for, and you’re going to sit pretty till -tomorrow morning. That’s what I mean.”</p> - -<p>He spoke quite without malice; indeed, his tone was good-humored. But -he was in earnest, he and his gun; there was no doubt about it.</p> - -<p>It was not Ross’s disposition to enter into futile arguments. He took -off his overcoat, sat down, calmly took out a cigarette and lit it.</p> - -<p>“I see!” he remarked. “But I’d like to know who I am, and what I came -for. I’d like to hear your point of view.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe you wouldn’t,” said Eddy. “Anyway, that can wait. Got to see -about feeding you now.”</p> - -<p>He locked the door behind him and dropped the key into his pocket. -Then he opened another door leading out of the sitting room, -disclosing a small kitchen.</p> - -<p>“Last shover we had, he was a married man,” he explained. “Him and his -wife fixed the place up like it is. I been living here myself, lately. -Let’s see—I got pork and beans, cawfee, cake—good cake—cook over at -the house made it. How does that strike you?”</p> - -<p>“Good enough!” answered Ross, a little absently.</p> - -<p>Eddy was moving about in the kitchen, whistling between his teeth; -from time to time he addressed a cheerful remark to his captive, but -got no answer. Presently he brought in a meal, of a sort, and set it -out on a table.</p> - -<p>“Here you are!” he announced.</p> - -<p>Ross drew up his chair, and fell to, with a pretty sharp appetite.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said, abruptly. “Who was that man—the one who—hired -me?”</p> - -<p>“Him? The Prince of Wales!” Eddy replied. “Thought you’d recognized -him.”</p> - -<p>This was Ross’s last attempt at questioning. Indeed, he was quite -willing to be silent now, for his deplorably postponed thinking was -now well under way. His brain was busy with the events of this -day—this immeasurably long day. Was it only this morning that he had -got the note? Only this morning that he had said good-by to Phyllis -Barron?</p> - -<p>“She’d be a bit surprised if she knew where I’d gone!” he thought.</p> - -<p>And then, with a sort of shock, it occurred to him that -nobody—absolutely nobody on earth knew where he had gone, or cared. -These people here did not know even his name. He had come here, had -walked into this situation, and if he never came out again, who would -be troubled?</p> - -<p>Mr. Teagle had not expected him at any definite time, and would wait -for weeks and weeks before feeling the least anxiety about his unknown -client. The people at the Hotel Miston would scarcely notice for some -time the absence of Mr. Ross of New York, especially as his luggage -remained there to compensate them for any loss. Nobody would be -injured, or unhappy, or one jot the worse, if he never saw daylight -again.</p> - -<p>This was one aspect of a completely free life which he had not -considered. He was of no interest or importance to any one. He began -to consider it now.</p> - -<p>Eddy had cleared away their meal, and had been turning over the pages -of a magazine. Now he began to yawn, and presently, getting up, opened -another door, to display a tidy little bedroom.</p> - -<p>“Whenever you’re ready to go by-by, shover,” he suggested.</p> - -<p>“Thanks, I’m all right where I am,” Ross asserted.</p> - -<p>“Suit yourself,” said Eddy.</p> - -<p>He set a chair against the locked door, pulled up another chair to put -his feet on, and made himself as comfortable as he could. But Ross -made no such effort. His family had never cared about being -comfortable. No; there he sat, too intent upon his thoughts to sleep.</p> - -<p>The realization of his own utter loneliness in this world had set him -to thinking about the man under the sofa. There might be some one -waiting, in tears, in terrible anxiety for that man. Probably there -was. There were very, very few human beings who had nobody to care.</p> - -<p>He had made up his mind to go to the police with his story the next -morning. And he saw very clearly the disagreeable position into which -his perverse obstinacy had brought him. He had discovered a man who -was certainly dead, and possibly murdered, and he had said not a word -about it to any one.</p> - -<p>He had refused to go away when he had a chance, and now, here he was, -held prisoner while, if there had been foul play, the persons -responsible would have ample time to make what arrangements they -pleased. He could very well imagine how his tale would sound to the -police.</p> - -<p>“Good Lord!” he said to himself. “What a fool I’ve been!”</p> - -<h2 id='chVI'>VI</h2> - -<p>It seemed to Ross that the great noise of the wind outside was mingled -now with the throb of engines and the rushing of water. He thought he -felt the lift and roll of the ship beneath him; he thought he was -lying in his berth again, on his way across the dark waste of waters, -toward New York. He wondered what New York would be like.</p> - -<p>Phyllis Barron was knocking at his door, telling him to hurry, hurry -and come on deck. This did not surprise him; he was only immensely -relieved and glad.</p> - -<p>“I knew you’d come!” he wanted to say, but he could not speak. He -tried to get up and dress and go out to her, but he could not move. He -made a desperate struggle to call to her.</p> - -<p>“Wait! Wait!” he tried to say. “I’m asleep. But I’ll wake in a minute. -Please don’t go away!”</p> - -<p>Then, with a supreme effort, he did wake. He opened his eyes. There -was Eddy, stretched out on his two chairs, sound asleep. And there was -a muffled knocking at the door, and a little wailing voice:</p> - -<p>“Eddy! Eddy! Oh, <i>can’t</i> you hear me? Eddy!”</p> - -<p>For a moment Ross thought it was an echo from his dream, but, as the -drowsiness cleared from his head, he knew it was real. He got up and -touched the sleeping youth on the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“There’s some one calling you!” he said. Eddy opened his eyes with an -alert expression and glared at Ross.</p> - -<p>“What?” he demanded, sternly. “No monkey tricks, now!”</p> - -<p>As a matter-of-fact, he was still more than half asleep, and Ross had -to repeat his statement twice before it was understood. Then he sprang -up, pushed aside the chairs, and unlocked the door.</p> - -<p>It was Miss Solway. She came in, like a wraith; she was wrapped in a -fur coat, but she looked cold, pale, affrighted; her black eyes wide, -her misty dark hair in disorder; a fit figure for a dream.</p> - -<p>“Eddy!” she said. “Go away!”</p> - -<p>“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy protested, anxiously. “Wait till -morning.”</p> - -<p>“But it <i>is</i> morning!” she cried. “Go away, Eddy! Quick! I want to -speak to— Go away, do! I only have a minute to spare.”</p> - -<p>“Morning!” thought Ross. He looked at his watch, which showed a few -minutes past six; then at the window. It was as black as ever outside.</p> - -<p>“Lookit here, Miss Amy,” Eddy began again. “If I was you, I’d—”</p> - -<p>“Get out, fool!” she cried. “Idiot! This instant!”</p> - -<p>Her fierce and sudden anger astounded Ross. Her eyes had narrowed, her -nostrils dilated, her short upper lip was drawn up in a sort of snarl. -Yet this rage was in no way repellent; it was like the fury of some -beautiful little animal. He could perfectly understand Eddy’s -answering in a tone of resigned indulgence.</p> - -<p>“All right, Miss Amy. Have it your own way.”</p> - -<p>It seemed to Ross that that was the only possible way for any man to -regard this preposterous and lovely creature, not critically, but -simply with indulgence.</p> - -<p>Taking up his cap and overcoat, Eddy departed, whistling as he went -down the stairs. Miss Solway waited, scowling, until he had gone; then -she turned to Ross.</p> - -<p>“<i>Who are you?”</i> she demanded.</p> - -<p>He was greatly taken aback. He had not yet had time to collect his -thoughts; nothing much remained in his mind except the decision of the -night before that this morning he was going to the police with an -account of what he had seen. And, stronger and clearer than anything -else, was his desire and resolve to get away from here.</p> - -<p>“Oh, tell me!” she entreated.</p> - -<p>Ross reflected well before answering. Eddy suspected him of -something—Heaven knew what. Perhaps this girl did, too. He imagined -that they were both a little afraid of him. And, if he held his -tongue, and didn’t let them know how casual and unpremeditated all his -actions had been, he might keep them in wholesome doubt about him, and -so get away.</p> - -<p>“My name’s Moss,” he replied, as if surprised. “I came to get a job.”</p> - -<p>“No!” she said. “You got my note. But how could you? Who <i>can</i> you be? -Nanna said—but I don’t believe it! I knew—as soon as I saw you—I felt -sure you’d come to help me. Oh, tell me! My cousin James sent you, -didn’t he?”</p> - -<p>“James Ross?” asked Ross, slowly.</p> - -<p>“Yes!” she answered, eagerly. “My cousin James. He did! I know it! -Mother always told me to go to him if I needed help. Of course, I know -he must be old now. I was afraid—so terribly afraid that he’d left the -ship, or that I’d forgotten the name of it. But I was right, after -all. I thought mother had said he was purser on the Farragut.”</p> - -<p>“What!” cried Ross.</p> - -<p>He began to understand now. Years and years ago—the dimmest memory—he -had had a cousin James who was purser on one of the Porto Rico boats. -He could vaguely remember his coming to their house in Mayaguez; a -gloomy man with a black beard; son of his father’s elder brother -William. It must have been on the old Farragut, scrapped nearly twenty -years ago.</p> - -<p>And that cousin James had vanished, too, long ago. William Ross had -had three children, and outlived them all. Ross could remember his -grandfather telling him that.</p> - -<p>“All gone,” the old man had said; “both my sons and their sons. No -doubt the Almighty has some reason for sparing <i>you</i>; but it’s beyond -me.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Your</i> Cousin James?” said Ross, staring at her—because that had been -<i>his</i> Cousin James.</p> - -<p>“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she answered, impatiently. “I told you. Now tell me -how—”</p> - -<p>But Ross wanted to understand.</p> - -<p>“What was your father’s name?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“Luis Delmano,” she replied. “But what does that matter? I only have a -minute—”</p> - -<p>“Then why do you call yourself Solway if your name is—”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she cried. “Now I see! You didn’t know the name of my mother’s -second husband! Nobody had told you that! Of course! I should have -thought of that. Mother told me how horrible her brothers were. When -she married daddy, they were so furious. They said they’d never see -her or speak to her or mention her name again—and I suppose they -didn’t. Nasty, heartless beasts! Their only sister!”</p> - -<p>Although Ross had never before heard of any sister of his father’s, -the story seemed to him probable. His grandfather, his father, and his -uncle were so exactly the sort of people to possess a sister whose -name was never mentioned; grim, savage, old-fashioned, excommunicating -sort of people. Yes; it was probable; but it was startling. Because, -if this girl’s mother had been his father’s sister, then he was her -Cousin James, after all.</p> - -<p>He did not want to be. His dark face grew a little pale, and he turned -away, looking down at the floor, considering this new and unwelcome -idea.</p> - -<p>“Now you understand!” she said. “And you did come to help me, didn’t -you?”</p> - -<p>This time his silence was deliberate, and not due to any confusion in -his thoughts. The blood in his veins spoke clearly to him. What those -other Rosses had condemned, he, too, condemned. He was like them. This -girl was altogether strange, exotic, and dangerous, and he wanted to -get away from her.</p> - -<p>It was his gift, however, to show no sign of whatever he might be -thinking; his face was expressionless, and she read what she chose -there. She came nearer to him, and laid her hand on his arm.</p> - -<p>“You will help me?” she said, softly.</p> - -<p>He looked down at her gravely. He knew that she was willfully -attempting to charm him—and how he did scorn anything of that sort! -And yet— He looked at her as some long forgotten Ross of Salem might -have looked at a bonny young witch. The creature was dangerous, and -yet— Bonny she was, and a young man is a young man.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see,” he began, doubtfully, when suddenly she cried: “Look!” -and pointed to the window. He turned, startled, but he saw nothing -there.</p> - -<p>“It’s getting light!” she cried.</p> - -<p>That was true enough. The sky was not black now, but all gray, pallid, -swept clean of clouds. The rain had ceased, but the mighty wind still -blew, and the tops of the trees bowed and bent before it, like inky -marionettes before a pale curtain. There was no sign yet of the sun, -but you could feel that the dawn was coming.</p> - -<p>“What of it?” asked Ross, briefly.</p> - -<p>“It’s the last day!” she answered.</p> - -<p>What a thing to say! The last day. It filled him with a vague sense of -dread, and it made him angry.</p> - -<p>“That’s not—” he began, but she did not heed him.</p> - -<p>“Listen!” she said. “You must help me! I don’t know what to do. -I’m—I’m desperate! I’ve—” She stopped, looking up into his wooden -face; then, seizing him by the shoulder, she tried to shake him.</p> - -<p>“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, look at me like a human being!” she cried.</p> - -<p>He stared at her, dumfounded.</p> - -<p>“Stop it!” she commanded. “You’ve got to listen to me!”</p> - -<p>He had never in his life been so amazed. She had flown at him, and -shaken him! It was unbelievable. It was pathetic. She was such a -little thing; so fierce, and so helpless.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said, mildly. “I’m listening. What’s it all about?”</p> - -<p>His tone, his faint smile, did not please her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you think it’s nothing!” she said. “You think I’m just a silly -girl, making an awful fuss about some childish trouble. <i>Don’t</i> you? -Well, you’re wrong. Listen to me!”</p> - -<p>She stopped, and drew back a little, looking him straight in the face -with those strange black eyes of hers.</p> - -<p>“I’ve done a terrible thing,” she said, in a low, steady voice. “A -wicked, terrible thing. If I get what I deserve, I’m ruined and lost.”</p> - -<p>She turned away from him, and walked over to the window. Ross turned, -too, and followed her. She was gazing before her at the gray sky; the -curve of her cheek, her half parted lips, her wide brow, were -altogether innocent and lovely, but the look on her pale face was not -so. It was somber, bitter, and tragic.</p> - -<p>“The sun is coming up,” she said, almost inaudibly. “<i>Will</i> you help -me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Ross answered.</p> - -<h2 id='chVII'>VII</h2> - -<p>Ross stood by the window, watching the sun come up—the first sunrise -he had witnessed in his native land. From the east the light welled up -and spread, slow and inexorable, across the sky, like the Master’s -glance traveling over the chill world; and in his soul Ross dreaded -that light. It would mean discovery. That very quiet figure in the -housekeeper’s room would have his revenge.</p> - -<p>“I’m in it now,” Ross muttered. “Up to the neck.”</p> - -<p>And why? Was it pity for that girl? Was it a stirring of sentiment -because she was his kinswoman, his cousin? He did not think so. He -might have pitied her, and still gone away. He might have recognized -their kinship simply by keeping silent about what he had seen. No; it -was something more than that; something he could not quite understand.</p> - -<p>It was the claim of life upon a strong spirit. You are hardy and -valiant, life said; your shoulders are fitted to bear burdens, and -bear them you shall. Here before you is a cruel burden, and you cannot -turn aside. All the strong ones shall be chosen to suffer for the -weak. You are chosen, and you shall suffer.</p> - -<p>Well, he did.</p> - -<p>“I’ve done a wicked, terrible thing. If I get what I deserve, I’m -ruined and lost.”</p> - -<p>That was what she had said to him, and he interpreted it readily -enough. It was hideous to think of, but not difficult to believe. She -was, he thought, capable of any imaginable thing, good or evil. She -would not weigh, or calculate, or even understand; she would only -<i>want.</i> She would want to possess something, or she would want to -destroy something which irked her.</p> - -<p>“And after all,” he thought, “it’s not a hard thing to do. Even a -little, weak thing like her can—”</p> - -<p>His mind balked at the fatal word, but, with a frown, he deliberately -uttered it to himself.</p> - -<p>“Can kill,” he said. “I’ve got to face this squarely. Other women have -done things like that. A few drops of something in a glass, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>An uncontrollable shudder ran through him.</p> - -<p>“No!” he thought. “I needn’t think—that. I’ll wait till she’s told me. -The whole thing may be—some accident—something else.”</p> - -<p>But he remembered that she had been there alone in the housekeeper’s -room, and that he had heard her crying in there. He remembered her -words—“a wicked, terrible thing.” And he remembered, above everything -else, her face, with that look upon it.</p> - -<p>“Damn it!” he cried. “I won’t think at all—until I know something -definite. I’ll just carry on.”</p> - -<p>He could, and did, refuse to think of his immediate problem, but his -mind would not remain idle. It presented him with a very vivid picture -of Phyllis Barron. And now, for the first time, he welcomed that -gentle image. She was so immeasurably remote now, so far away, in an -entirely different world; a friendly, honest world, where she was -living her daily life, while he stood here, watching the sun rise upon -a dreaded and unpredictable day.</p> - -<p>“Well, shover!” said Eddy’s cheerful voice behind him. “The big boss -’ll want the car for the eight forty.”</p> - -<p>“All right!” Ross agreed, promptly. “I want a bath and a shave first. -And maybe you’ll lend me a collar and a pair of socks.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll do that for you!” said Eddy. “And say! You could try Wheeler’s -uniform that he left behind. He was the shover before you. He left in -a hurry. Got kicked out. Most of our shovers do.”</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll tell you,” Eddy explained, sitting down on the edge of the -bed, and watching Ross shave with cold water, a very dull razor, and -the minute fragment of a shaving stick. “Most of our shovers get -tempted and fall—hard. Miss Amy ’ll ask ’em to take her some place -where the boss don’t want her to go, and not to mention it at home. -And they do. And then, the next time she gets mad at the boss, she -tells him the whole tale, just to worry him. And the shover goes. -See?”</p> - -<p>“I see!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“She was talking to me just now,” Eddy went on. “I guess I was -mistaken about you. She says you’re going to stay. Well!” He grinned. -“I wish you luck!”</p> - -<p>“Thanks!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>He understood that Eddy was warning him against the devices of Miss -Amy, but it was a little too late.</p> - -<p>He took a bath in water colder than any he had yet encountered; then -he tried on the uniform left behind by the unfortunate Wheeler. It was -a bit tight across the shoulders, and the style was by no means in -accordance with his austere taste, but he could wear it.</p> - -<p>“And I shan’t keep up this silly farce much longer,” he thought.</p> - -<p>“We might as well go over to the house for breakfast,” said Eddy. -“Ready?”</p> - -<p>Ross did not relish the glimpse he had of his reflection in the -mirror. That snug-fitting jacket with a belt in the back, those -breeches, those puttees—he did not like them. Worst of all, Eddy’s -collar would not meet round his neck, and he had fastened it with a -safety pin. As he took up the peaked cap and followed the cheerful -youth, he felt, not like an accomplice in a tragedy, but like a very -complete fool—and that did not please him.</p> - -<p>They crossed the lawn to the house, went in at the back door, and -entered the kitchen. There he sat down to breakfast with the cook, the -housemaid, the laundress, and Eddy. The kitchen was warm and clean, -and neat as a new pin; very agreeable in the morning sunshine. The -breakfast was good, and he was very hungry, and ate with a healthy -appetite. But, except for a civil good morning, he did not say one -word.</p> - -<p>For he was listening. He was waiting, in an unpleasant state of -tension, for something which would shatter this comfortable serenity. -It must come. It was not possible that the figure under the sofa -should remain undiscovered, that life should progress as if nothing at -all had happened. Amy had said this was the “last day.”</p> - -<p>Nothing interrupted the breakfast, though; and, when he had finished, -he went back to the garage, to look over the sedan he was to drive. It -was a good car, and in perfect condition; nothing for him to do there. -He lit a cigarette, and stood talking to Eddy for a time.</p> - -<p>Eddy’s theme was Mr. Solway, Miss Amy’s long-suffering stepfather.</p> - -<p>“He’s the best man Gawd ever made,” said Eddy, seriously. “My father -was coachman to him for eighteen years, and when he passed out, Mr. -Solway, he kept me here. He seen that I got a good education and all. -I wanted this here shover’s job, but he said nothing doing. He said -I’d ought to get a job with a future. I’m down in the telephone -comp’ny now—repair man. He lets me live here for nothing—just for -doing a few odd jobs. He’s a prince!” He stamped out his cigarette -with his heel. “And he has a hell of a life!” he added.</p> - -<p>“How?” asked Ross, thirsting for any sort of information about this -household.</p> - -<p>“Her,” said Eddy. “Remember, I’m not saying nothing against Miss Amy. -I’ve known her all my life. But, I’ve done things for that girl I -wouldn’t have done for my own mother.” He paused. “I done things for -her I wish to Gawd I hadn’t done,” he said, and fell silent.</p> - -<p>Ross was silent, too. He remembered how Eddy had closed the door of -the housekeeper’s room. He remembered how very anxious Eddy had been -to keep him shut up in the garage all night. And he remembered that -Eddy carried a revolver.</p> - -<p>Why should he imagine that Amy Solway would do for herself any -unpleasing task, when apparently she found it so easy to make others -do things for her? This boy admitted he had done things for her which -he wished “to Gawd” he hadn’t.</p> - -<p>“You better start,” said Eddy, and Ross got into the sedan and drove -up to the house. He was undeniably nervous. He expected to see—he -didn’t know what; a pale face looking at him from one of the windows, -a handkerchief waved to him, a note slipped into his hand, some -signal. But there was nothing.</p> - -<p>Mr. Solway came bursting out of the front door, ran down the steps, -said “Good morning! Good morning!” to his new chauffeur, popped into -the sedan, and immediately began to read the newspaper. At the station -he bounced out, said “Four fifty,” and walked off.</p> - -<p>Ross stopped in the town and bought himself some collars. Even this -delay worried him; he might be badly needed at the house. But, in -spite of his haste to get back, he was mighty careful in his driving, -because he had no sort of license. He returned to the garage and put -up the car—and waited.</p> - -<p>Four hours did he wait. Eddy was nowhere about; no doubt he was -repairing telephones. Nobody came near the garage. Ross sketchily -overhauled both cars, swept out the place, and waited, not patiently, -either.</p> - -<p>He had agreed to help that girl, and he was prepared to do so, but he -was not going to be a chauffeur much longer. It was, he thought, a -singularly dull life. What is more, he had his own affairs to look -after; he wanted to get back to New York, and to see Mr. Teagle.</p> - -<p>At one o’clock the telephone in the garage rang, and the disagreeable -housemaid informed him that lunch was ready. Very well, he was ready -for lunch; he went over to the house and again sat down in the -kitchen, and ate again in silence. He had nothing to say, and the -three women said nothing to him.</p> - -<p>He was not a talkative young man; he and his grandfather had often -passed entire days with scarcely a word between them, and he took this -silence as a matter of course, quite innocent of the fact that it was -hostile. The new chauffeur was not liked in the kitchen.</p> - -<p>Then he went back to the garage, and waited, and waited, and waited, -with grim resentment. A little after four o’clock he was preparing to -take the sedan out again, when Amy appeared in the doorway, in her fur -coat and a little scarlet hat.</p> - -<p>“Oh, good!” she cried. “You’re all ready! I want you to take me—”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Ross. “Mr. Solway said four fifty, and I’m going to meet -his train.”</p> - -<p>“But he meant the four fifty from New York!” said she. “You’ll have -plenty of time.” She came nearer to him. “Please, please be quick!” -she said. “It’s my last chance!”</p> - -<h2 id='chVIII'>VIII</h2> - -<p>“To the left, and straight ahead!” said Amy, as they drove out of the -gates.</p> - -<p>So, to the left he turned, and drove straight ahead. And he looked -straight ahead, too, although he knew very well that she was looking -at him. This girl took entirely too much for granted. It was one thing -to help her, but to obey her orders blindly was quite another, and it -did not suit him. Here he was, dressed up in a chauffeur’s uniform -somewhat too small for him, and behaving, no doubt, as those other -chauffeurs had behaved—like a fool.</p> - -<p>He heard her stir restlessly, with little flutterings and jinglings of -her silly feminine finery. She sighed deeply.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you’ve told me your right name,” she said, -plaintively.</p> - -<p>“James Ross,” he announced.</p> - -<p>“James Ross!” she cried. “Oh, but you said—But he’s <i>old</i>!”</p> - -<p>“Another James Ross,” he remarked, coldly but in his heart he was -rather pleased with the sensation his words caused.</p> - -<p>“Another one? Then—are you my cousin? Are you?”</p> - -<p>“I believe so,” Ross replied.</p> - -<p>She was silent for a moment; then she observed, thoughtfully:</p> - -<p>“I guess I’ll call you Jimmy.”</p> - -<p>“I’d rather you didn’t,” said Ross. “I don’t like it.”</p> - -<p>“I do!” said she. “I think Jimmy’s a darling name.” Suddenly she flung -one arm about his neck. “And I think <i>you’re</i> a darling!” she added, -with a sob.</p> - -<p>“Look out!” Ross cried, sharply. “You mustn’t do that when I’m -driving.” He cast a glance along the straight, empty road, and then -turned to her. Her dark eyes were soft and shining with tears, but she -was trying to smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Jimmy!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’ve come!”</p> - -<p>“All right!” said the Spartan young man. “Then suppose you tell me -what’s wrong?”</p> - -<p>“I can’t, Jimmy,” she answered. Her hand rested on his shoulder, but -her head was turned away. “I can’t—just now. Only, oh, Jimmy! -Sometimes I wish I were dead! Dead and buried with my darling mother—”</p> - -<p>He could think of nothing adequate to say to that, and, once more -giving a careful glance at the road, he patted her hand.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he declared gravely.</p> - -<p>“I know it’s not fair—not to tell you,” she said. “But—can’t you just -help me, Jimmy, and—and not care?”</p> - -<p>A curious emotion filled him; a great compassion and a great dread.</p> - -<p>“Why not?” he thought. “I don’t want to hear. I don’t want to know. -Better let well enough alone.”</p> - -<p>But he knew it was not better, and not possible. Not all the pity in -the world should make him a blind and ignorant tool. He was in honor -bound to ask his question.</p> - -<p>“Just this,” he said. “That man—in the housekeeper’s room?”</p> - -<p>“Why, what man?” she asked. “I don’t know what you mean.”</p> - -<p>His heart sank. Disappointment, and a sort of disgust for this -childish lie filled him; he did not want to look at her again. He -drove on, down a road which seemed to him endless, like a road in a -dream.</p> - -<p>The sun was going down quietly, without pomp and glory, only slipping -out of sight and drawing with it all the light and color in the world. -They passed houses, they passed other cars, and it seemed to him that -he and this girl passed through the everyday life about them like -ghosts, set apart from their fellows, under a chill shadow.</p> - -<p>“Jimmy!” she said, abruptly. “How can you be so horrid! Why don’t you -<i>talk</i>? Why can’t you be like—like a real cousin?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I haven’t had enough practice,” Ross replied.</p> - -<p>She did not like this.</p> - -<p>“All right, then! <i>Don’t</i> help me! Just go away and leave me to suffer -all alone!” she cried. “You’re a heartless—beast! Go away!”</p> - -<p>“Just as you please,” said Ross. “Can you drive the car?”</p> - -<p>She began to cry, but he paid no attention to this.</p> - -<p>“Jimmy,” she resumed, at last, “my Gayle’s coming tonight.”</p> - -<p>“Your Gayle?” he repeated “What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“He’s the man I love,” she said, simply. And she was honest now, -wholly in earnest; the childish artfulness had gone, and she spoke -quietly.</p> - -<p>“He’s coming tonight,” she went on. “And if anything—goes wrong, he’ll -go away, and never come back. And something’s very likely to go wrong, -Jimmy.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll have to remember that I don’t know what you’re talking about,” -said Ross.</p> - -<p>She did not resent his blunt manner now.</p> - -<p>“In the house where we’re going,” she explained, “there’s some one -Gayle must not see—no matter what happens. I’ll talk to—this person -first; I’ll try to persuade him. But if I can’t—That’s what I want you -to do for me. I want you to be sure to see that—this person doesn’t -leave that house tonight.”</p> - -<p>“And how am I to do that?”</p> - -<p>She was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care,” she said then. “It doesn’t matter how it’s done.”</p> - -<p>“It does matter—to me.”</p> - -<p>“Listen to me!” she said, with a sort of sternness. “This man—in the -cottage—he’s blackmailing me. Because of something I did—something I’m -sorry for—terribly, terribly sorry—”</p> - -<p>“What will he take to keep quiet?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing. All he wants is to hurt and ruin me.”</p> - -<p>“That’s not blackmail,” said Ross. “If he can’t be bribed—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, what does it matter what you call it? He’s coming tonight, to -tell—this thing—and Gayle will go away!”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” said Ross. “Let him tell. If this Gayle of yours cares -for you, he’ll stand by you. If he doesn’t, you’re well rid of him. -No; just wait a minute! Don’t you see? You can’t lie to a man -you’re—fond of. You—”</p> - -<p>“I’m not going to lie. I’ll just say nothing. The thing is over, -Jimmy; over and done with. Mustn’t I even have a chance? Jimmy, I’m -young! I’m sorry—God knows I’m sorry for what I did—but it’s done. -Nothing can undo it. Won’t you—<i>won’t</i> you let me have just a chance?”</p> - -<p>“But look here! Even if the man didn’t come tonight, he’d come some -other time. You don’t expect me to—”</p> - -<p>He stopped short, appalled by the words he had not spoken. He looked -at her, and in the gathering dusk he saw upon her white face that -terrible, still look again.</p> - -<p>“No!” he cried.</p> - -<p>“Jimmy!” she said. “Just keep him from coming tonight. Then tomorrow -I’ll tell you the whole thing. And perhaps you’ll think of something -to do. But—just tonight—keep him from coming!”</p> - -<p>Ross made no answer.</p> - -<p>“Down here, Jimmy—to the left,” she said, presently, and he turned the -car down a solitary lane, narrow, scored with ruts of half frozen mud. -It had grown so dark now that he turned on the headlights.</p> - -<p>“There!” she said. “That’s the house. Let me out!”</p> - -<p>He stopped the car.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he began, but she had sprung out, and was hurrying across -a field of stubble. He could not let her go alone. He followed her, -sick at heart, filled again with that sense of utter solitude, of -being cut off from all his fellows, in a desolate and unreal world. -His soul revolted against this monstrous adventure, and yet he could -not abandon her.</p> - -<p>She went before him, light, surprisingly sure-footed upon those high -heels of hers. For some reason of her own, she had chosen to approach -the house from the side, instead of following the curve of the lane. -She came to a fence, and climbed it like a cat, and Ross climbed after -her.</p> - -<p>They were in a forlorn garden, where the withered grass stood high, -and before them was the sorriest little cottage, battered and -discolored by wind and rain, all the shutters closed, not a light, not -a curtain, not a sign of life about it.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” Ross began again. “I’ve got to know—”</p> - -<p>She ran up the steps to the porch, where a broken rocking-chair began -to rock as she brushed it in passing. She opened the door and entered; -it was dark in there, but she ran up the stairs as if she knew them -well; before he was halfway up, he heard her hurrying footsteps on the -floor above, heard doors open and shut.</p> - -<p>Then a light sprang out in the upper hall, and she stood there, -looking down at him. By the unshaded gas jet he could see her face -clearly, and it shocked him; such anguish there, such terror.</p> - -<p>“Gone!” she gasped. “<i>Gone!</i>”</p> - -<h2 id='chIX'>IX</h2> - -<p>To Ross, with his rigid self-control, it seemed impossible that a -human creature could safely endure such violent emotion as hers. She -was so fragile; she looked ill, horribly ill, ghastly; he thought she -would faint, would fall senseless at his feet. He sprang up the stairs -to be with her.</p> - -<p>“Amy!” he cried.</p> - -<p>Her dark brows met in a somber frown; she shook her head, waving her -forefinger in front of her face; an odd, foreign little gesture.</p> - -<p>“No!” she said. “Keep quiet! Don’t speak to me. Let me think.”</p> - -<p>“Think!” said Ross to himself. “I don’t believe you’re capable of it, -my girl. But certainly you’re even less capable of listening to any -one. Very well; go ahead with your thinking, then; and I’ll wait for -the next development.”</p> - -<p>He lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall, smoking, not sorry -for an interval of peace.</p> - -<p>“Look at the time!” Amy commanded sharply “You’ll be late getting to -the station, unless you hurry. Why didn’t you remind me?”</p> - -<p>“Inexcusable of me,” said Ross. “I hope I shan’t lose my job.”</p> - -<p>She apparently did not choose to notice this flippancy.</p> - -<p>“Come!” she ordered, and went past him, down the stairs, and out of -that sorry little cottage. She ran all the way to the car, and two or -three times she said “Hurry!” to Ross, who kept easily at her side -with his usual stride.</p> - -<p>“Now!” she said. “Drive as fast as you possibly can!”</p> - -<p>“Sorry,” said Ross, “but my only license is one I had in Manila—and -even that’s expired. I can’t afford to take chances.”</p> - -<p>She shrugged her shoulders, with an unpleasant little laugh. She was -in a very evil temper; the light was on inside of the car, and now and -then he glanced at her, saw her sitting there, her black eyes staring -straight before her, her mouth set in a mutinous and scornful line.</p> - -<p>She was in torment; he felt sure of that, but he felt equally sure -that she would not hesitate to inflict torment upon others. She was -cruel, reckless, blind, and deaf in her folly. He wondered why it was -that he pitied her so.</p> - -<p>Then he, too, shrugged his shoulders; mentally, that is, for he was -incapable of so theatric a gesture in the flesh. He himself was in an -odd humor, a sort of resigned indifference. He had, for the moment, -lost interest in the whole affair. It was too fantastic, too -confusing; he didn’t care very much what happened, just now.</p> - -<p>“Let me out here!” she said. “There’s not time for you to take me up -to the house. I’ll walk. Now hurry!”</p> - -<p>He stopped the car at the corner of Wygatt Road; she got out, and he -went on, alone. And he was surprised by the difference which her going -made. It was as if a monstrous oppression were lifted from his spirit, -and he could once more draw a free breath, and once more see the open -sky. One clear star was out. No; it was not a mad world; there was -awful and majestic order in the universe, inexorable law.</p> - -<p>And she was truly pitiable, hurrying home beneath that one star; a -poor, helpless futile young thing, defying the whole world for her own -desire. She wanted him to help her! He would not help her in her -desperate folly, but he would not leave her now. Not now.</p> - -<p>These admirable ideas were entirely put out of his head by a new -dilemma. He arrived at the station; he heard the train coming in, and -he could find no advantageous place for his car. All the good places -were taken. He had to stop where he was certain Mr. Solway would never -find him, until, as the train came in, a taxi was seized by an alert -woman, and Ross got his car into that vacant place.</p> - -<p>Mr. Solway was not in the vanguard of the commuters; he came leisurely -and with dignity, talking with another man. Ross stood beside the open -door of the car; with a nod Mr. Solway got in, and the other man, too. -They paid no attention whatever to Ross; they settled themselves, and -went on talking, as if he were a ghost.</p> - -<p>“They closed at five and an eighth,” said the other man. “I can’t help -thinking that—”</p> - -<p>“Now, see here!” Mr. Solway interrupted. “You hold on to them, my boy. -I told you it was a good thing.”</p> - -<p>“It would be,” said the other. “A very good thing, sir, if I could -unload at five and an eighth—or even a bit less—when I bought at three -and three-fourths.”</p> - -<p>“Now, see here!” said Mr. Solway. “I’ll tell you something—which you -needn’t mention anywhere. I’m <i>buying</i> at five and an eighth—up to six -and a half. Buying, mind you, my boy!”</p> - -<p>This was almost more than Ross could bear. This was just the sort of -talk he had thirsted for; this was what he had come to New York for; -to buy stocks at three and three-fourths and sell at six and one-half, -or more. There he sat, with his peaked cap pulled down over his lean, -impassive face, listening with a sort of rage. If he could only ask -Mr. Solway questions, only tell him that he had a few thousands of his -own all ready and waiting for a little venture like this.</p> - -<p>“And you’ll need all you can get, my boy,” Mr. Solway went on, “if -you’re going to marry Amy.”</p> - -<p>Then this was Gayle? Ross turned his head for one hasty glance—and -then, encountering the astonished frown of Mr. Solway, realized what -an improper thing he had done. Chauffeurs must not look.</p> - -<p>He had had this look, though, and had gained a pretty accurate -impression of the stranger. A tall young fellow, fair haired and gray -eyed; he was stalwart and broad shouldered, and altogether manly, but -there was in his face something singularly gentle and engaging.</p> - -<p>“And that’s the fellow!” thought Ross. “That’s the fellow who’s going -to be fooled and lied to.”</p> - -<p>He liked him. And he liked the vigorous and blustering Mr. Solway, and -he liked this rational, masculine conversation. It reassured him. He -reflected that, after all, he was not alone in this miserable affair, -not hopelessly cornered with the preposterous girl. No; Solway was her -stepfather, and the other man was her “Gayle.” They were in it, too. -They were his natural allies.</p> - -<p>“She’s got to tell them, that’s all,” he said to himself. “They’ll -both stand by her. I’ll make her tell them. I can’t handle this -infernal mystery alone. I’m too much in the dark.”</p> - -<p>He drove in at the gates, up the driveway, and stopped the car before -the house with a smartness that pleased him. Mr. Solway bounced out.</p> - -<p>“Here, now!” he said. “You—Moss—Moss, that’s it. Moss, just lend a -hand with this bag. That’s right; up the stairs—first door on the -left. That’s it! That’s it! There you are, Gayle, my boy!”</p> - -<p>He turned to Ross.</p> - -<p>“Moss,” he said. “Everything going along all right? That’s it! That’s -it! You let me know if there’s anything wrong.”</p> - -<p>Ross was hard put to it to suppress a smile. He imagined how it would -be if he should say:</p> - -<p>“Well, sir, there <i>was</i> one little thing—a dead man under the -housekeeper’s sofa. But, perhaps I shouldn’t mention it.”</p> - -<p>He looked for a moment into the bluff, scowling, kindly face of the -man Eddy had called “a prince.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, sir,” he said, and turned away, down the hall toward the -back stairs. And, as he came round the corner into the corridor, where -the housekeeper’s room was, his quick ear caught some words of such -remarkable personal interest to him that he stood still.</p> - -<p>“Another James Ross!” Mrs. Jones was saying. “That’s a likely story, I -must say! Amy, that man’s a fraud and a spy!”</p> - -<p>“No, Nanna darling, he’s not!” answered Amy, with sweet obstinacy.</p> - -<p>“I tell you he is, child. He’s got to go.”</p> - -<p>“No, dear,” said Amy. “He’s going to help me.”</p> - -<p>“Amy!” cried Mrs. Jones. “Can’t you trust me? I tell you it’s all -right. He won’t come tonight. I promise you he won’t!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you mean well!” Amy remarked. “But you’ve made plenty of mistakes -before this.”</p> - -<p>“Amy, I promise you—”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Amy. “You told me before that I needn’t worry, that you’d -‘settled everything.’ And what happened? No; I’m afraid you’re getting -old, Nanna—old and stupid. I’m going to manage for myself now. And -Jimmy’s going to help me.”</p> - -<p>“Child!” Mrs. Jones protested. “That man will ferret out—”</p> - -<p>“I don’t care if he does,” said Amy. “He won’t tell, anyhow. Now don’t -bother me any more, Nanna. I’ve simply got to go.”</p> - -<p>Ross stepped quickly backward along the hall for a few yards; then he -went forward again, with a somewhat heavier tread. And just round the -corner of the corridor, he came face to face with Amy.</p> - -<p>Her beauty almost took his breath away. She wore a dress of white and -silver, and round her slender throat a short string of pearls. And -against all this gleaming white the pallor of her skin was rich and -warm, with a tint almost golden; and her misty hair was like a cloud -about her face, and her black eyes so soft, so limpid.</p> - -<p>“Jimmy!” she whispered. “Do I look nice?”</p> - -<p>“Er—yes; very nice,” Ross answered stiffly.</p> - -<p>She came close to him, put her hand on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Please, Jimmy!” she said, earnestly. “I do so awfully want to be -happy—just for a little while!”</p> - -<p>Ross had a moment of weakness. She was so young, so lovely; it seemed -important, even necessary, that she should be happy. But he valiantly -resisted the spell.</p> - -<p>“Who doesn’t?” he inquired.</p> - -<p>“Jimmy, dear!” she said. “I’m coming to the garage after dinner—to ask -you something—to beg you to do something. Will you do it, my <i>dear</i> -little Jimmy?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to hear what it is first,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>But she seemed satisfied.</p> - -<h2 id='chX'>X</h2> - -<p>Ross went up to the room over the garage, and sat down there. He was -hungry and tired, and in no pleasant humor.</p> - -<p>“It’s entirely too damned much!” he said to himself. -“I’m—comparatively speaking—a rich man. There’s money waiting for me. -There’s a nice, comfortable room in a hotel waiting for me; and decent -clothes. I could have gone to a play tonight. There was one I wanted -to see. And here I am—in a garage—dressed up like a monkey. No, it’s -too much! I’m going back to the city tomorrow. I’m going to see -Teagle, and settle my affairs. If Amy wants me to help her, I suppose -I shall. But I won’t stay here, and I won’t be a chauffeur.”</p> - -<p>The more he thought of all this, the more exasperated he became. And -it was nearly nine o’clock before he was summoned to dinner, which did -not tend to placate him. In spite of his hunger, he took his time in -going over to the house. He had no objection to being late, and he -would have no objection to hearing some one complain about it. Indeed, -he wished that some one would complain. Just one word.</p> - -<p>Looking for trouble, Ross was, when he entered the house. He pushed -open the swing door of the kitchen.</p> - -<p>What marvelous aromas were there! What a festive air! That grave -woman, the cook, was wreathed in smiles, for had she not this night -accomplished a dinner which even Mrs. Jones had praised?</p> - -<p>And the disagreeable housemaid was in softened mood, too, for she had -waited upon romance. She had already described, more than once, the -splendor of Miss Amy’s costume, and the way “him and her” had looked -at each other.</p> - -<p>The laundress was elated, because she was fond of romance, and still -more because she was a greedy young creature, and scented an -especially good dinner. And they all welcomed Ross with cordiality.</p> - -<p>“It’s too bad you had to be waiting the long time it was!” said the -cook. “You’ve a right to be famished entirely, Mr. Moss!”</p> - -<p>Much mollified, the young man admitted that he <i>was</i> hungry.</p> - -<p>“You’d oughter of come over for a cuper tea this afternoon,” said the -housemaid. “And a piecer cake.”</p> - -<p>“You’d oughter of tole him, Gracie,” the laundress added. “Poor -feller! He don’t know the ways here, yet!”</p> - -<p>“Sit down, the lot of ye!” said the cook.</p> - -<p>They did, and that unparalleled dinner began. It must be borne in mind -that Ross was wholly unaccustomed to this sort of thing, to home -cooking at its best, to the maternal kindness of women toward a hungry -man. He liked it.</p> - -<p>He was in no hurry to go back to the solitude of the garage, and his -own thoughts. Being invited to smoke, he lit a cigarette and made -himself very comfortable, while the cook washed the dishes, and Gracie -and the laundress dried them. He was still taciturn, because he -couldn’t be anything else; but he answered questions.</p> - -<p>He admitted that he had traveled a bit, and when the laundress, who -was disposed to be arch, asked to be told about them queer places, he -gave a few facts about the exports and imports of Manila. Anyhow, they -all listened to him, and said, “Didjer ever!” and it was altogether -the pleasantest hour he had yet spent in his native land.</p> - -<p>And then—the swing door banged open, and there stood Amy, with a fur -coat over her shimmering dress, and an ominous look in her black eyes.</p> - -<p>“Moss!” she said. “What are you doing here? Get up and come with me at -once! I want to speak to you!”</p> - -<p>Without a word, he arose and followed her into the passage.</p> - -<p>“I told you I was coming to the garage!” she pointed out, in a low, -furious voice. “Why didn’t you wait there?”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” said Ross. “I don’t like this sort of thing.”</p> - -<p>Before his tone her wrath vanished at once.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Jimmy!” she said. “I didn’t mean to be horrid. Only, it -was so hard for me to slip away—and I went all the way out to the -garage in the cold and the dark, and you weren’t there—and I’m so -terribly worried. Oh, you will hurry, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Hurry? Well, what do you want me to do?”</p> - -<p>“It may be too late, even now. Any instant he may come. He’ll ring the -bell, and Gracie will open the door. I <i>can’t</i> tell her not to. He’ll -come in. Oh, Jimmy, you won’t let that happen, will you? Oh, do, do -please hurry!”</p> - -<p>“But just what—”</p> - -<p>“Go out and hide some place where you can watch the front door. And if -you see him coming—stop him! A thin, dark man, with a mustache. Oh, -hurry, Jimmy! All evening long I’ve been waiting and waiting—in -torment—for the sound of the bell. Go, Jimmy dear!”</p> - -<p>“How long do you expect me to wait for him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, not so awfully long, dear. Just—” She paused. “Just till Eddy -comes home. I’m sure he won’t be late. Now hurry!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to do this,” said Ross. “I can’t stop—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, shut up!” she cried; and then tried to atone by patting his -cheek. “Jimmy, I’m desperate! Just help me this once! Tomorrow I’ll -explain it all, and you’ll see. Only go now!”</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to get my overcoat from the garage,” he explained.</p> - -<p>“All right, dear!” she said, gently, and turned away. And as he went -toward the back door, he heard her sob.</p> - -<p>All the way to the garage that sob echoed in his ears. Her tears had -not affected him; they were too facile, too convenient. But that half -stifled sob in the dark—He went quickly, taking the key from his -pocket as he went; he, too, was in a hurry, now, to spare her this -thing she dreaded.</p> - -<p>He unlocked the door, turned on the switch, ran up the stairs, through -the sitting room, and into the bedroom, where his coat hung.</p> - -<p>He stopped short in the doorway. For, sitting on the bed was a tiny -girl, seriously engaged in tying a ribbon about the waist of a white -flannel rabbit. She looked up at the young man, but apparently was not -interested, and went on with her job.</p> - -<p>“Who are <i>you</i>?” demanded Ross.</p> - -<p>“Lil-lee,” said she.</p> - -<p>“Yes, but I mean—how did you get here?”</p> - -<p>“I comed in a balloon,” she assured him.</p> - -<p>Ross was completely ignorant about young children, but he realized -that they were not to be held strictly accountable for their -statements. And this child was such a very small one; such a funny -little doll. She had a great mane of fair hair hanging about her -shoulders, and, on one temple, a wilted bit of pink ribbon; she had -serene blue eyes, a plump and serious face, by no means clean.</p> - -<p>She wore a white dress, still less clean, a coral necklace, white—or -grayish white—socks all down about her ankles, and the most dreadful -little white shoes. He observed all this, because it was his way to -observe, and because he was so amazed that he could do nothing but -stare at her.</p> - -<p>“But who brought you?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Minoo,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“Who’s Minoo?”</p> - -<p>The child held up the rabbit.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord!” cried Ross. “Won’t you please try to be—sensible? I don’t -know— Are you all alone here?”</p> - -<p>“I fink I are.”</p> - -<p>“The door was locked,” he said, aloud. “I can’t see— But what shall I -do with you?”</p> - -<p>“Gimme my dindin,” said she.</p> - -<p>Ross wished to treat so small and manifestly incompetent a creature -with all possible courtesy, but he was handicapped by his -inexperience.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Lily!” he said, earnestly. “I’m in the deuce of a hurry -just now. If you’ll wait here, I’ll come back as soon as I can.”</p> - -<p>“I will be a good baby!” said she. “But I want my dindin!”</p> - -<p>He could have torn his hair. He could not fail Amy now. And he could -not leave a good baby alone and hungry, for he did not know how long.</p> - -<p>“Shall I take it to the house?” he thought. “The cook would feed it. -But—perhaps it’s another of these damned mysteries. I haven’t time to -think it out now. I’d better keep it here until I’ve thought a bit. -See here, Lily, what do you eat?”</p> - -<p>“Dindin,” Lily answered.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know. But—I’ve got bread. Will that do?”</p> - -<p>“I <i>like</i> bread and thugar!” she agreed.</p> - -<p>He hurried into the kitchen, cut four good, sturdy slices of bread, -covered them well with butter and sugar, and brought them back on a -plate. Then, with a vague memory of a puppy he had once had, he -thought of water, and brought a glassful.</p> - -<p>“Now I’ve got to go, Lily,” he explained. “But I’ll come back as soon -as I can. You just wait, see?”</p> - -<p>“I will!” she said, pleasantly, and held out her arms.</p> - -<p>He hesitated for a moment, half frightened; then he caught up the -funny little doll and kissed its cheek.</p> - -<p>It was not a doll. It was warm and alive, and solider than it looked. -It clung to him, and kissed him back again.</p> - -<h2 id='chXI'>XI</h2> - -<p>“You won’t feel the cold the first winter in the States.”</p> - -<p>That was what people in Manila and Porto Rico had told Ross. He -thought of those people now. You didn’t feel it, did you? Yes, you -did!</p> - -<p>He had found “some place where he could hide and watch the front -door”; a plantation of firs halfway between the house and the gates. -He had been there more than an hour, prowling up and down behind the -screen of branches; he had at first tried to smoke, but darkness and -cold annihilated any sort of zest in the tobacco. He had attempted the -army setting-up exercises, considerably hampered by his overcoat; but -nothing produced in him either bodily warmth or a patient serenity of -mind.</p> - -<p>He was worried about that child. Not once did he say to himself that -it was none of his business; he admitted willingly that a creature of -that size had a claim upon all full-grown persons; he admitted that, -whoever it was, and wherever it came from, it was entitled to his -protection.</p> - -<p>“She’s too little to be left there alone,” he thought. “Much too -little. They always have nurses—or some one. She might fall down the -stairs—or turn on the gas stove. I’ve been gone more than an hour. -Good Lord! This is too much! What the devil’s the matter with that -fellow, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>He was disgusted with this thin dark man with a mustache, who was so -outrageously late in coming. Very likely the funny little doll was -sitting up there, crying. The raw cold pierced to the marrow of his -bones.</p> - -<p>And this, he reflected, was his second night in his native land. The -first had been spent imprisoned in the garage, at the point of a -revolver, but it had been a thousand times better than this. He had -been warm and comfortable—and he had been innocent, a victim. Now he -was taking an active part in a thoroughly discreditable affair.</p> - -<p>He was committed to wait for a thin dark man with a mustache, and to -prevent his entering the house. And how was he to do this? Walk up to -him and begin to expostulate? Try to bribe him?</p> - -<p>The thought of bribery aroused in the young man an anger which almost -made him warm. No Ross would ever pay blackmail. Indeed, no Ross of -his branch was fond of parting with money for any purpose at all. They -were very prompt in paying their just bills and debts, but they took -care that these should be moderate.</p> - -<p>“No!” thought Ross. “If I was fool enough to give this fellow money, -he’d only come back for more, later on. I’m not going to start that. -No! But how am I going to stop him? Knock him out? That’s all very -well, but suppose he knocked me out? Or he may carry a gun. Of course, -I suppose I could come up behind him and crack him over the head with -a rock. That’s what my Cousin Amy would appreciate. But somehow it -doesn’t appeal to me. After all, what have I got against this fellow? -What do I know about him? Only what she’s told me. And she’s not what -you’d call overparticular with her words.”</p> - -<p>His thoughts were off, then, upon the track of that problem which -obsessed him. What had happened to the man under the sofa? He couldn’t -still be there. But who had taken him away, and where was he now? He -looked toward the house, so solid and dignified, with its façade of -lighted windows. He remembered his cozy dinner in the kitchen; he -thought of the orderly life going on there.</p> - -<p>It was impossible! Yet it was true. He had seen that dead man with his -own eyes. He had touched him.</p> - -<p>Who else knew? Surely Amy; but it was obvious that she had some one to -help her in all emergencies. Mrs. Jones? Ross believed that Mrs. Jones -had been well aware of the man’s presence in her room. Eddy? Eddy’s -behavior had been highly suspicious.</p> - -<p>He refused to go on with this profitless and exasperating train of -thought. He was sick of the whole thing. Amy had said that she would -“explain everything” to him the next day. Not for a moment did he -believe that she would do anything of the sort, but he did hope that -at least she would tell him a little. And, anyhow, whatever she told -him, whatever happened or did not happen, he was going away—back to -normal, honest, decent life.</p> - -<p>“I said I’d help her, and, by Heaven, I am!” he thought. “After -tonight we’re quits. I’ll hold my tongue about all this; but—I’m -going!”</p> - -<p>He whacked his stiff arms across his chest.</p> - -<p>“Hotel Benderly, West Seventy-Seventh Street,” he said to himself. -“I’m going there tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>For he no longer saw Phyllis Barron as a danger. He was considerably -less infatuated with liberty after these two days. It occurred to him, -now, that to be entirely free meant to be entirely alone, and that to -be without a friend was not good.</p> - -<p>He wanted some one to trust, and he trusted Phyllis. No matter that he -had known her only five days; he had seen that she was honest; that -she was steadfast, and, loveliest virtue of all, she was -self-controlled. He knew that from her one need never dread tears, -fury, despairs, selfishness and cajoleries.</p> - -<p>Out there, in the cold and dark of his unhappy vigil, he thought of -Phyllis, and longed for her smile.</p> - -<p>“She’d never in her life get a fellow into a mess like this!” he -thought. “But Amy—”</p> - -<p>His distrust for his Cousin Amy was without limits. There was nothing, -he thought, that she might not do. She was perfectly capable of -forgetting all about him, and then, in the morning, if he were found -frozen to death at his post, she would pretend to wonder what on earth -the new chauffeur had been doing out there.</p> - -<p>“After eleven,” he thought. “And Eddy hasn’t come yet. Very likely she -knew he wouldn’t come. Perhaps he’s never coming back. All right! I’ll -wait till twelve, and then I’m going to take a look at that little -kid. I’ve got to. It’s too little.”</p> - -<p>So he walked up and down, up and down, over the rough, frozen patch of -ground behind the fir trees; his coat collar turned up, his soft hat -pulled low over his eyes, his face grim and dour; a sinister figure he -would have been to meet on a lonely road.</p> - -<p>Up and down—and then something happened. At first he could not grasp -what it was, only that in some way his world had changed. He stopped -short, every nerve alert. Then he realized that it was a sudden -increase in the darkness, and, turning toward the house, he saw the -lights there going out, one by one.</p> - -<p>“By George!” he thought. “They’re all going to bed! And I suppose I -can stay here all night, eh? While they’re warm and snug, the faithful -Cousin James will be on guard. All right! I said I’d do it. But I’m -going to get a glass of milk for that baby.”</p> - -<p>He set off as fast as his numb feet and stiff legs would carry him, -toward the back door. He would tell the cook that he was hungry, and -she would give him what he wanted. A kind, sensible woman, that cook.</p> - -<p>He pushed open the back door and went in; it was dark in the passage, -but warm, and the entrancing perfumes of the great dinner still -lingered there. He went on, toward the kitchen, but before he got -there, the swing door opened, and Mrs. Jones appeared. She stopped, -and he thought that she whispered: “It’s I!”</p> - -<p>He was a little disconcerted, because he knew that Mrs. Jones was not -fond of him, and he was extremely suspicious of her. But she looked so -sedate, almost venerable, standing there in the lighted doorway, in -her best black dress, with her gray hair, her spectacles. He took off -his hat, and spoke to her civilly.</p> - -<p>“I came to ask for a glass of milk,” he said.</p> - -<p>Then she repeated what she had said before, and it was not “It’s I,” -but the word “Spy!” uttered with a suppressed scorn that startled him.</p> - -<p>“Spy!” she said. “I know you!”</p> - -<p>He looked at her in stern amazement.</p> - -<p>“Leave this house!” she said. “You can deceive a poor innocent young -girl, but you can’t deceive me. You and your glass of milk! I know -you! And I tell you straight to your face that you’re not coming one -step farther. I’m going to stay here all night, and I’m going to see -to it that neither you nor anybody else comes to worry and torment -that poor girl. Go!”</p> - -<p>“All right!” said Ross, briefly, and, turning on his heel, went out of -the house.</p> - -<p>“If she’s going to take over the job of watchdog, she’s welcome to -it,” he thought. “I guess she’d be pretty good at that sort of thing. -But—spy!”</p> - -<p>His face grew hot.</p> - -<p>“I don’t feel inclined to swallow that,” he said to himself, -deliberately. “Some day we’ll have a reckoning, Mrs. Jones!”</p> - -<h2 id='chXII'>XII</h2> - -<p>The funny little doll lay asleep, very neat and straight, just in the -center of the bed, the covers drawn up like a shawl, one cheek pressed -against the pillow, its fair mane streaming out behind, as if it were -advancing doggedly against a high wind. There was no creature in the -world more helpless, yet it was not alert, not timid, as defenseless -little animals are; it slept in utter confidence and security.</p> - -<p>And that confidence seemed to Ross almost terrible. The tiny creature, -breathing so tranquilly, took for granted all possible kindness and -protection from him. It had asked him for food; it had offered a kiss.</p> - -<p>He stood looking down at it with considerable anxiety, yet with the -hint of a smile on his lips.</p> - -<p>“Made yourself at home, didn’t you?” he thought.</p> - -<p>As he looked, the child gave an impatient flounce, and threw one arm -over her head. Ross drew nearer, frowning a little; bent over to -examine that arm, that ruffled sleeve.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe—” he muttered, and very carefully pulled out the -covers from the foot of the bed. His suspicions were confirmed; she -was fully dressed, even to her shoes.</p> - -<p>“Must be darned uncomfortable!” he thought. He hesitated a moment, -half afraid to touch her; but at last he cautiously unbuttoned one -slipper. She did not stir. He drew off the slipper, then the other -one; then the socks, and tucked in the covers again.</p> - -<p>“Poor little devil!” he said to himself. “Poor little devil! I -wonder—”</p> - -<p>A great yawn interrupted him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll think about this in the morning,” he thought; “but I’m going to -get some sleep now—before anything else happens.”</p> - -<p>For, coming from the cold of his vigil into this warmth was making him -intolerably drowsy. He took off his collar and sat down to remove -those objectionable puttees.</p> - -<p>As this unprincipled intruder had so coolly taken possession of the -bed, he would have to sleep on the couch in the sitting room, but that -didn’t trouble him. He felt that he could sleep anywhere, and that -nothing—absolutely nothing—could keep him awake ten minutes longer.</p> - -<p>A sound from below startled him. Some one was unlocking the door.</p> - -<p>In his blind fatigue, he was ready to ignore even that. He didn’t -<i>care</i> who came; he wanted to go to sleep.</p> - -<p>But he remembered the tiny creature in the bed, the creature who -expected his protection, and that roused him. Closing the bedroom -door, he went to the head of the stairs, and, in a voice husky with -sleep, but distinctly threatening, called out:</p> - -<p>“Who’s that?”</p> - -<p>“Me,” answered Eddy’s voice.</p> - -<p>Even before he saw the boy, Ross was aware that there was something -amiss with Eddy tonight. His voice was different; he climbed the -stairs so slowly. He came into the sitting room, and flung down the -bag he was carrying.</p> - -<p>“I’m all in!” he said.</p> - -<p>He looked it. His face was haggard and white; his glossy hair was no -longer combed back, but flopped untidily over his forehead. There was -nothing jaunty about Eddy now. He was weary, grimy, and dispirited.</p> - -<p>“Been doing overtime,” he explained. “Lot of wires down in that storm -last night.”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” said Ross. “There’s a child here—a baby. I don’t know -whose it is, or how it got here. But it’s asleep in there. Better not -disturb it.”</p> - -<p>“Wha-at!” cried Eddy. He looked amazed, he spoke in a tone of -amazement, but there was something—</p> - -<p>“By Heaven!” thought Ross. “You’ve got the other key to the garage, my -lad! And the child didn’t come through a locked door.”</p> - -<p>“A kid!” Eddy repeated.</p> - -<p>“Queer, isn’t it?” Ross inquired, sarcastically. “If not peculiar!”</p> - -<p>Eddy glanced at him, and then sat down and lit a cigarette.</p> - -<p>“I’ll say it’s queer!” he observed.</p> - -<p>“Especially as I’d left the door locked when I went out.”</p> - -<p>Again Eddy glanced at him.</p> - -<p>“Did you—what did they say—over at the house?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing much!”</p> - -<p>He observed, with satisfaction, that this answer alarmed Eddy.</p> - -<p>“Well, lissen here,” he said. “Who did you tell? Old Jones?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t remember,” Ross declared.</p> - -<p>“But—” Eddy began, and stopped.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to turn in now,” said Ross. “Afraid you’ll have to put up -with the chair again tonight.”</p> - -<p>He crossed the room to the couch and lay down there. He was only -partly undressed, and he put his shoes beside him, and his overcoat -across his feet, because, in this nightmare existence, he had to be -prepared for every impossible emergency.</p> - -<p>“But I’ll get some sleep anyhow!” he thought, defiantly.</p> - -<p>He stretched out, with a sigh of relief, and closed his eyes, when an -almost inaudible sound, like the faintest echo of his own sigh, made -him glance up again. He saw that Eddy had buried his face in his -hands, and sat there, his slight shoulders hunched, his young head -bent, in an attitude of misery and dejection.</p> - -<p>And Ross was sorry for him. All through his confused and heavy dreams -that night ran a little thread of pity, of regret and pain, which he -could not understand. Only, he felt that in this adventure there was -more than the tragedy of death.</p> - -<p>When he opened his eyes again, the room was filled with a strange, -pale light, unfamiliar to him. Dawn? It was more like twilight. He -raised himself on one elbow and looked out of the window, and, for the -first time in his life, he saw the snow.</p> - -<p>Thick and fast the flakes went spinning by, tapping lightly against -the glass, and, out beyond, he saw that all the world was white. White -and unimaginably still. He had seen plenty of pictures of snow-covered -landscapes, but he had never known the <i>feel</i> of a snowstorm, the odd -tingle in the air, the sense of hushed expectancy.</p> - -<p>He was amazed and delighted with it. Old and forgotten fancies of his -childhood stirred in him now; queer little memories of glittering -Christmas cards, of fairy tales. He remembered a story his mother had -read to him, so very long ago, about a Snow Queen.</p> - -<p>And it was good for him to remember these things, after so many -ungracious years, just as it was good to see the snow, after so long a -time of tropic sun and rain. He knew that it was good, and for a -little time he was content, watching the snow fall.</p> - -<p>But his destiny was not inclined to allow him many peaceful moments -just then. Before he had even begun to think of his complicated -anxieties, a sound from the next room brought the whole burden upon -him like an avalanche. It was the child’s voice.</p> - -<p>He jumped up from the couch, and then he noticed that Eddy had gone. -He frowned, not knowing whether this was a disaster or a thing of no -importance, and, without stopping to put on his shoes, went across to -the bedroom door and turned the knob. He had come so quietly that no -one had heard him, and he was able to observe a curious scene.</p> - -<p>Eddy was on his knees, his head bowed before the little girl, who sat -on the bed, lifting strands of his glossy hair and pulling them out to -their fullest extent, with a grave and thoughtful air.</p> - -<p>“Lookit here!” whispered Eddy. “I wish you’d quit that, baby!”</p> - -<p>“You dot funny, flippety-floppety hair,” said she.</p> - -<p>“Well, anyway, hold your foot still, won’t you?” he entreated.</p> - -<p>Ross saw, then, that Eddy was trying to put the child’s socks on, and -getting no intelligent coöperation from her.</p> - -<p>“What are you doing that for?” he asked.</p> - -<p>Eddy sprang to his feet like a cat. He looked at Ross, and Ross looked -at him, and the little girl lay back on the bed and began jouncing up -and down.</p> - -<p>“Well,” Eddy replied, slowly, “if you really want to know, it was me -brought her here, and now I’m goin’ to take her away again; that’s -all.”</p> - -<p>Once more Ross was conscious of a disarming pity for the boy. He -thought he had never seen a human creature who looked so unhappy.</p> - -<p>“Look here, Eddy!” he remarked. “Who is she, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>“Her?” said Eddy. “Why, what does it matter?”</p> - -<p>Ross was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“I—I’m interested in the little girl,” he said, half ashamed of this -weakness. “I’d like to know where she’s going.”</p> - -<p>“Gawd knows,” said Eddy, briefly.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“She can’t stay here,” said Eddy. “That’s one sure thing.”</p> - -<p>Again he looked at Ross, with a strange intensity, as if he were -trying desperately to read that quite unreadable face.</p> - -<p>“If you’re really interested in the kid—” he began.</p> - -<p>“I am,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>Eddy sat down on the bed.</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you told them, over at the house,” he continued. -“’Cause, if they knew, they’d of—”</p> - -<p>“No, I didn’t,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“Then nobody knows she’s here—but me and you?”</p> - -<p>“That’s all.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Eddy.</p> - -<p>Again Ross had a distinct warning of danger, and again he defied it, -standing there stubbornly resistant to all the ill winds that might -blow.</p> - -<p>“This kid,” Eddy pointed out—“she hasn’t got anybody in the world.”</p> - -<p>As if by common consent, they both turned to look at the child. She -was holding the rabbit aloft, and trying to touch it with one little -bare foot; she was quite happy; with superb unconcern she left her -fate in the hands of these two young men.</p> - -<p>“I’d explain it to you, if I could,” Eddy went on; “but I can’t, just -now. Later on, maybe. Only, she can’t stay here. I got to take her -away before anybody sees her.” He paused. “I know somewheres I could -leave her today, and bring her back here tonight, all right, only -after that—”</p> - -<p>A dim and monstrous suspicion stirred in Ross, but he would not -examine it. He did not want to understand.</p> - -<p>“After that,” he said, “I’ll look after her.”</p> - -<h2 id='chXIII'>XIII</h2> - -<p>They had breakfast together, Ross and Eddy and the child. And the -rabbit was there, too, propped up against the coffeepot; he was fed -with spoonfuls of water, and he got pretty wet in the process.</p> - -<p>It was an amazing meal. It seemed to Ross sometimes that he was still -asleep, and this a dream—the little kitchen filled with that strange, -pale light, the snow falling steadily outside, and the child beside -him.</p> - -<p>“Why did I say I’d look after her?” he thought, with a sort of wonder. -“What’s the matter with me, anyhow?”</p> - -<p>He didn’t know, and could not understand. He was hopelessly involved, -now, in this sorry muddle, and he saw, very clearly, that every step -had been taken deliberately, of his own free will. He could have got -out, long ago, but—here he was. And he was committed now to an -undertaking almost too fantastic, too preposterous to contemplate.</p> - -<p>Yet he did not regret it. Just as, in a shipwreck, he would have given -his life for a tiny creature like this, so was he obliged now to offer -it his protection. Eddy said she had nobody in the world. Very well, -then; he had to stop, to turn aside from his own affairs, and lend a -hand to this forlorn little fellow traveler. He had to do it.</p> - -<p>“More!” said the child, briskly.</p> - -<p>“More what?” asked Ross.</p> - -<p>“More—evvysing!” she cried, bouncing up and down perilously upon the -telephone directories he had piled on her chair. “More evvysing!”</p> - -<p>“Give her some cawfee,” suggested Eddy.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Ross. “Too young. They only have milk—things like that.”</p> - -<p>And, with these words, the fantasy became real. He had actually -assumed the responsibility, now. He was taking care of the child. He -looked down at her, frowning a little, and she looked up into his face -with cheerful expectancy. She knew very well! He was the one appointed -to serve her, and she knew it. He was to supply her with “more -evvysing.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Eddy!” he said. “There must be some one who’ll turn up -later to—to take care of the child. There’s bound to be <i>some one</i>”</p> - -<p>Eddy glanced up as if he were about to speak, but his face grew -scarlet, and he turned away.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he said, after a time, “I dunno. It’s kind of hard to say. -Only, I thought you—I thought you’d be a good one to—take her.”</p> - -<p>Ross was surprised and curiously touched by this, and somewhat -embarrassed. A good one, was he, for this charge? He looked at the -child again.</p> - -<p>“Her face is dirty,” he observed, sternly. “She ought to be washed. -Any warm water in that kettle, Eddy?”</p> - -<p>“Yep. But I got to hurry, before the rest of ’em get up. Go on and -eat, kid!” He turned to Ross. “Tell you what I thought. I know a place -where I can take her and keep her till you come and get her after -dark. It’s a cottage where there’s nobody living just now. You go up -the Post Road about eight miles, till you come to a church that’s -being built on the left side of the road. Then you turn—”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Ross. “I—” He stopped, and Eddy sat staring blankly at -him.</p> - -<p>“What?” he cried. “D’you know?”</p> - -<p>“Go on!” said Ross. “Go on! Tell me how to get there.”</p> - -<p>“What made you say ‘yes,’ like that?”</p> - -<p>“I meant I was listening to you. Go on, man!” And because of his -distaste for this lie, Ross spoke with a brusque impatience which -impressed Eddy.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said. “But lissen here! I—well—you’re a funny sort of -guy. I never seen any one so close-mouthed in my life. I can’t make -out yet who you are, or what you come here for. But—” He sighed, and -stroked his glossy hair. “I got to trust you, that’s all. Last night I -thought I’d go crazy, trying to think what I could do about the kid. I -couldn’t—I’ll tell you where this place is, and I hope to Gawd you’ll -keep still about it. ’Cause, if we get any one else monkeying around -there—well—there’ll be trouble, that’s all. Big trouble.”</p> - -<p>“Go on!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>So Eddy did go on, giving him careful directions for reaching the -cottage Ross had visited the day before with Amy.</p> - -<p>“And for Pete’s sake, come as early as you can,” he ended. “Come -before it gets dark, will you? I—” He arose. “Come on, baby!”</p> - -<p>She jumped down from her chair, with a piece of bread and butter in -one hand, and the rabbit in the other; she was quite ready to go -anywhere, with any one. Ross washed her sticky hands and tried to wash -her face, but this annoyed her so much that he was not successful. -Eddy brought out her coat and bonnet from a cupboard; put on his own -very modish overcoat, and a cap, picked up the child, and off they -went.</p> - -<p>From an upper window, Ross watched them go across the great white -waste that was so strange and yet somehow so familiar to him. Eddy -stumbled now and then, over some hidden unevenness in the ground, but -the child in his arms sat up straight and triumphant, her head, in the -knitted hood, turning briskly from side to side. Then they were lost -to sight in the falling snow and the gray morning light, and Ross -turned back to the empty rooms.</p> - -<p>It was only half past seven; he had nearly an hour before Mr. Solway -expected him, and he thought he would use that time for investigating -the engine of the limousine. Both cars were in deplorably good -condition; there was little he could justifiably do to them, and he -was, moreover, a mechanic of more enterprise than experience. But he -was devoted to engines, and pretty well up in the theory of the -internal combustion type.</p> - -<p>He put on a suit of overalls he found in the garage; he started the -engine and opened the hood; he was so pleased with that fine roar, -that powerful vibration which was like the beat of a great, faithful -heart, that he began to whistle. A superb motor; he would enjoy -driving that car.</p> - -<p>“She’s a beauty, all right!” said a voice, so very close to his ear -that he jumped.</p> - -<p>Standing at his elbow was a burly fellow of thirty-five or so, with a -bulldog jaw; his voice and his smile were friendly, but his blue eyes, -Ross thought, were not.</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir!” he went on. “You’ve got a mighty fine car there.”</p> - -<p>Ross said nothing. He did not care to continue his amateur -explorations under those cold blue eyes. He shut off the engine, -closed the hood, and turned toward the stranger with a challenging -glance.</p> - -<p>But the stranger was not at all abashed.</p> - -<p>“Have a smoke,” he asked, proffering a packet of cigarettes.</p> - -<p>“No, thanks!” said Ross, and stood there, facing the other, and -obviously waiting for an explanation.</p> - -<p>“Dirty weather!” said the stranger.</p> - -<p>“All right!” said Ross sullenly. “What about it?”</p> - -<p>His tone was very nearly savage, for, to tell the truth, his position -was having a bad effect upon his temper. Having so much to conceal, so -many unwelcome secrets intrusted to him, he had begun to suspect every -one. He didn’t like this fellow.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ll tell you,” said the stranger, in an easy and confidential -manner. “I came up this way, looking for a man. And I thought I’d drop -in here and see if you could give me any information.” He stopped to -light a cigarette, and his blue eyes were fixed upon Ross. “Fellow by -the name of Ives,” he said. “Ever hear of him, eh?”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“Ives,” said the other, slowly. “Martin Ives. Fellow about your age. -About your build. Dark complexioned—like you.”</p> - -<p>“D’you think I’m your Martin Ives?” demanded Ross, angrily.</p> - -<p>“I wish you were,” said the stranger, and his tone was so grave that -Ross had a sudden feeling of profound uneasiness.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m not,” he said, “and I never heard of him. I’m new here—just -came two days ago.”</p> - -<p>“Two days, eh?” said the stranger. “That was Wednesday, eh?”</p> - -<p>“I shouldn’t have told him that,” thought Ross, dismayed. “But, good -Lord, I can’t remember to lie all the time! And, anyhow, what -difference can it make—when I came here?”</p> - -<p>But he could see, from the stranger’s face, that it had made a -difference.</p> - -<p>“You came here on Wednesday,” he continued. “I wonder, now, did you -happen to see any one—”</p> - -<p>“No!” shouted Ross. “I didn’t see any one. I didn’t see anything. I -never heard of your Ives. Go and ask some one else. I’m busy!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to bother you,” said the stranger, grown very mild. “I -can see you’re busy. But it’s a pretty serious thing. You see, Ives -came to Stamford on Tuesday. I’ve traced him that far. And after -that—he’s disappeared.”</p> - -<p>“Well, do you think I’ve got him hidden here?”</p> - -<p>“My name’s Donnelly,” the stranger went on. “And I’ve come out here to -find Ives.”</p> - -<p>“All right! I wish you luck!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” said Donnelly, thoughtfully. “Maybe it won’t be so -lucky—for some people.”</p> - -<p>He was not looking at Ross now; his cold blue eyes were staring -straight before him.</p> - -<p>“But I think I’ll find him, all the same,” he declared, gently.</p> - -<p>“Ives was the man under the sofa,” thought Ross.</p> - -<h2 id='chXIV'>XIV</h2> - -<p>Ross could not understand why that notion came as a shock to him. -Naturally, the man under the sofa had a name; every one had. Yet, -directly he thought of that figure as “Martin Ives,” instead of “the -man,” the whole affair grew ten times more tragic and horrible—and ten -times more dangerous.</p> - -<p>“A man” might disappear, but not Martin Ives. Martin Ives was real, he -had friends; he must have lived somewhere. He would be sought for—and -found.</p> - -<p>“This Donnelly—” thought Ross. “He’s got this far already. And he’ll -keep on.”</p> - -<p>In his mind he envisaged the inexorable progress of the search. Step -by step, hour by hour. If this man went away, another would come. The -awful march of retribution had begun. Nothing could stop it.</p> - -<p>“Murder will out.”</p> - -<p>His anger, his impatience, had quite vanished now. He could not resent -Donnelly’s presence, because he was inevitable. He seemed to Ross the -very personification of destiny, not to be eluded, not to be -mollified. He looked at him and, as he had expected, found the cold -blue eyes regarding him.</p> - -<p>“Do you think you can help me?” asked Donnelly.</p> - -<p>“I don’t see how,” said Ross. “I don’t know the fellow you’re looking -for. I’ll have to get along, now. Got to drive down to the station.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Donnelly, blandly, “I can wait.”</p> - -<p>“Not here!” said Ross, with energy. “They wouldn’t like—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no, not here!” said the other. “See you later. So long!” And off -he went.</p> - -<p>Ross watched his burly figure tramping along the driveway until he was -out of sight; then he made haste to get himself ready, took out the -car, locked the garage, and drove up to the house.</p> - -<p>It was much too early. There he sat, shut up in the snug little sedan, -with the snow falling outside, as if he were some unfortunate victim -of an enchantment, shut up in a glass cage. And he began to think, -now, of what lay immediately before him.</p> - -<p>“I’ll have to make some sort of excuse to Mr. Solway for going away,” -he thought. “A lie, of course. I wish to Heaven I didn’t have to lie -to <i>him</i>. Then I’ll get the child, and clear out. I’ll find some sort -of home for her. Phyllis Barron will help me.”</p> - -<p>The idea dazzled him, the magnificent simplicity of it, the -unspeakable relief of just picking up the child and walking off. No -explanations, no more lies. He contemplated it in detail. How he would -walk into the Hotel Miston, into his comfortable room, and unpack his -bags. How he would take the child to Phyllis Barron, and tell her that -here was a poor little kid who had nobody in the world. She would know -what to do; she would help him; the nightmare would end.</p> - -<p>As for Amy—</p> - -<p>“I’ll have it out with her today!” he thought. “I’m not called upon to -give up my entire life for that girl. I’ve done enough, and more than -enough.”</p> - -<p>The door opened, and out came Mr. Solway. Ross jumped out and opened -the door of the car.</p> - -<p>“Ha!” said Mr. Solway. “Very sensible—very sensible! You came early, -so that you’d have time to drive carefully. Very important—weather -like this. Very sensible! But wait a bit! Mr. Dexter’s coming along.” -Standing out in the snow, he shouted: “Gayle! Come, now! Come!” to the -unresponsive house; then, he got into the car.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to speak to you for a minute, sir,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>Mr. Solway observed how white and strained the young man’s face was, -and he spoke to him very kindly.</p> - -<p>“Well?” he said. “What is it, Moss?”</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid I’ll have to leave tomorrow, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Leave, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, sir. I—it’s—family troubles, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Married man?” asked Mr. Solway, in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” said Ross. The honest sympathy in the other man’s tone made -him sick with shame. “It’s a—a younger sister of mine.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my boy,” said Mr. Solway, “I’m sorry, very sorry. You’re the -sort of young fellow I like. Family troubles— Too bad! I’m sorry. Come -back here any time you like.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, sir,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! Nonsense! You’re the type of young— Ha, Gayle! Step in! -Step in. Start her up, Moss!”</p> - -<p>Ross did so. He had never been more unhappy in his life than he was -now, with his lie successfully accomplished.</p> - -<p>“This finishes it!” he thought, as he drove back from the station. -“I’m going to see Amy, and have it out with her. I’ll tell her about -this Donnelly. I’ll warn her—”</p> - -<p>And then go off and leave her to face the consequences alone?</p> - -<p>“But, hang it all, she’s not alone!” he cried to himself. “She’s got -Solway, and she’s got her Gayle. Why doesn’t she go to him? He’s the -natural one to share her troubles.”</p> - -<p>Unfortunately, however, he could not help understanding a little why -Amy did not want to tell Gayle. He had had another good look at Gayle -when he got out of the car at the station, and he was obliged to admit -that there was something very uncompromising in that handsome face. -Nobody, he thought, would want to tell Gayle Dexter a guilty secret.</p> - -<p>“I suppose she doesn’t particularly mind my knowing anything,” he -reflected, “because, as far as she’s concerned, I don’t count.”</p> - -<p>This idea pleased him as much as it would please any other young -fellow of twenty-six. And, combined with his many anxieties, and his -hatred and impatience toward his present position, it produced in him -a very unchivalrous mood. He brought the car into the garage, and sat -down on its step, with his watch in his hand. He gave Amy thirty -minutes in which to send him a message.</p> - -<p>Of course she didn’t send any. Then he went to the telephone which -connected with the house. Gracie’s voice answered him.</p> - -<p>“I want to speak to Miss Solway!” he said.</p> - -<p>“I’ll see,” said Gracie.</p> - -<p>He waited and waited, feeling pretty sure that Amy would not come; -that she would, indeed, never speak to him or think of him unless she -wanted him to do something for her. But presently, to his surprise, he -heard her voice, so very gentle and sweet that he could scarcely -recognize it.</p> - -<p>“Moss?” she said, as if in wonder.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said. “Look here! I’d like to—”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think I’ll want the car all day,” said she. “Not in this -weather.”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he began, again. “I want to speak to you. Now.”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t need you at all today, Moss,” said she, graciously, and he -heard the receiver go up on the hook.</p> - -<p>He stood for a moment, looking at the telephone. His dark face had -grown quite pale, and there was upon it a peculiar and unpleasant -smile.</p> - -<p>But he was, in his way, a just man, and not disposed to let his temper -master him. He looked at the telephone, and he thought his thoughts -for a few moments; then he resolutely put this exasperation out of his -mind, and proceeded with his business.</p> - -<p>He decided to go and get the child without any further delay. There -was no reason for delay, and, to tell the truth, he was vaguely uneasy -with her away. He could easily keep her hidden in the garage until the -morning, and then get away early. And he wanted her here.</p> - -<p>He took off the hated uniform, dressed himself in his customary neat -and sober fashion, put his papers and what money he had into his -pockets, and set off toward the station, where he knew he could get a -taxi.</p> - -<p>The beauty which had so enchanted him early in the morning was -perishing fast, now. The fields still showed an unbroken expanse of -white, but the trees were bare again. The flakes melted as they fell; -the roads were a morass of slush, and all the tingle had gone out of -the air. It was a desolate, depressing day, now, with a leaden sky. -The slush came over the tops of his shoes, his hat brim dripped, his -spirits sank, in this melancholy world.</p> - -<p>But at least he was alone, and able to go his own way, in his own good -time, and that was a relief. He stopped in the town, and bought -himself a pipe and a tin of tobacco. He stopped whenever he felt like -it, to look at things; and, passing a fruit stand, went in and bought -two apples for the little girl.</p> - -<p>“Good for children,” he thought, with curious satisfaction.</p> - -<p>He reached the station, and saw three or four vacant taxis standing -there; he selected one and went up to it, and was just about to give -his directions when a hand fell on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Well!” said a voice—the most unwelcome one he could have heard.</p> - -<p>It was Donnelly, grinning broadly.</p> - -<p>“Well!” said Ross, in a noncommittal tone.</p> - -<p>His brain was working fast. He couldn’t go to the cottage now. He must -somehow get rid of this fellow, and he must invent a plausible reason -for being here.</p> - -<p>“I walked down to get a few things,” he said, “but I guess I won’t try -walking back. The roads are too bad.”</p> - -<p>“You’re right!” said Donnelly, heartily.</p> - -<p>“Wygatt Road!” Ross told the taxi driver, and got into the cab.</p> - -<p>“Hold on a minute!” said Donnelly. “I’m going that way, too. I’ll -share the cab with you.”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” cried Ross.</p> - -<p>“Well?” said Donnelly. “I’m looking.”</p> - -<p>The unhappy young man did not know what to say. He felt that it would -be extremely imprudent to antagonize the man.</p> - -<p>“All right,” he said, at last, and Donnelly got in beside him.</p> - -<p>The cab set off, splashing through the melted snow—going back again to -that infernal garage. Suppose Donnelly hung about all day?</p> - -<p>“Where do you want to get out?” he demanded.</p> - -<p>“To tell you the truth,” said Donnelly, “I was waiting for you.”</p> - -<p>“Waiting! But—”</p> - -<p>“I sort of thought you might be coming to the station some time -today,” said the other, tranquilly, “and I waited. Wanted a little -talk with you.”</p> - -<p>“What about?”</p> - -<p>“Well, it’s this. I told you I was looking for a man called Ives.”</p> - -<p>“And I told you I didn’t—”</p> - -<p>“Now, hold on a minute! You told me you’d never heard of him. All -right. Now, I told you I knew Ives came out to Stamford on Tuesday. -That was about all I did know—this morning. But I’ve found out a -little more since then.”</p> - -<p>“What’s that got to do with me?” asked Ross, with a surly air and a -sinking heart.</p> - -<p>“That’s just what I don’t know. On Wednesday you came to Mr. Solway’s -house. You didn’t bring anything with you, and you haven’t sent for -any bag or trunk, or anything like that. Now, hold on! Just wait a -minute! You said you’d come from Cren’s Agency, I’m told. But Cren’s -Agency told me on the telephone that— Now, hold on! Don’t lose your -temper! You can clear this up easy enough. Just show me your license. -Haven’t got it with you, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“<i>All</i> right. You’ve left it in the garage. Very well. That’s where -you’re going now, isn’t it? Unless—” He paused. “Unless you’d like to -come along with me.”</p> - -<p>“Come—where?” asked Ross.</p> - -<p>“Why, there’s a little cottage off the Post Road,” said Donnelly. “I’d -like to pay a little visit there this morning, and it came into my -head that maybe you’d like to come along with me, eh?”</p> - -<h2 id='chXV'>XV</h2> - -<p>Ross was, by nature, incapable of despair; but he felt something akin -to it now. He was so hopelessly in the dark; he did not know what to -guard against, what was most dangerous. He remembered Eddy’s warning, -not to let any one come “monkeying around” that cottage; but he did -not know the reason for that warning. Nor could he think of any way to -prevent Donnelly’s going there.</p> - -<p>Should he lock the fellow up in the garage until he had warned Eddy? -No; that was a plan lacking in subtlety. Certainly it would confirm -whatever suspicions Donnelly might have; it might do a great deal more -harm than good.</p> - -<p>Should he tell Amy, on the chance that she might suggest something? -No. The chance of her suggesting anything helpful was very small, and -the chance that she would do something reckless and disastrous very -great. Better keep Amy out of it.</p> - -<p>Then what could he do? The idea came into his head that he might keep -Donnelly quiet for a time by boldly asserting that he himself was -Ives. But perhaps Donnelly knew that he wasn’t.</p> - -<p>“By Heaven, why shouldn’t I tell him the truth?” he thought, in a sort -of rage. “Why not tell him I’m James Ross? There’s nothing against me. -I’ve done nothing criminal. I don’t even know what’s happened here. -I’ll just tell him.”</p> - -<p>And then Donnelly would ask him why he had come, and why he was here -masquerading as a chauffeur. How could he explain? For it never -occurred to him as a possibility that he could ignore Donnelly’s -questions.</p> - -<p>There was an air of unmistakable authority about the man. Ross had not -asked him who he was, and he had no wish in the world to find out, -either; simply, he knew that Donnelly was justified in his very -inconvenient curiosity, that he had a right to know, and that he -probably would know, before long.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I can manage to get away from him,” thought Ross.</p> - -<p>That was the thing! Somehow he must sidetrack Donnelly; get him off -upon a false scent, while he himself hastened to Eddy. Such a simple -and easy thing to do, wasn’t it?</p> - -<p>“Well!” said Donnelly. “Do we go back, and have a look at that license -of yours—or do we go and pay a little visit to that cottage, eh?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going back,” said Ross, curtly.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” Donnelly went on, in a mild and reasonable tone, “<i>I</i> -know, and <i>you</i> know, that you’re not going to show me any license. -What you want is a little time to make up your mind. You’re saying to -yourself: ‘I don’t know this fellow. I don’t know what he’s up to. I -don’t see any reason why I should trust him with any of my private -affairs.’ You’re right. Why should you? You’ve talked to certain other -people, and you’ve heard good reasons why you ought to keep -quiet—about one or two little things. That’s sensible enough. Why, -naturally,” he went on, growing almost indignant in defense of Ross, -“naturally an intelligent young man like you isn’t going to tell all -he knows to a stranger. Why should you?”</p> - -<p>Ross found it difficult to reply to this.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Donnelly. “Naturally not. What you say to me is: ‘Put your -cards on the table, Donnelly. Let’s hear who you are, and what you -know, and what you’re after. Then we can talk.’ That’s what you say. -All right. Now, I’ll tell you. I’ll be frank. I’ll admit that when I -saw you this morning, I thought you were Ives. You see, I’m frank—not -pretending to know it all. I made a mistake. You’re not Ives.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“When Ives came out here on Tuesday,” Donnelly proceeded, “he took a -taxi. I’ll tell you frankly that I just found that out this morning by -a lucky fluke. No credit to me. He went out to this cottage, and there -he met somebody.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>that</i> was me, I suppose” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Donnelly. “It was a woman.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord!” thought Ross. “This is—I can’t stand much more of this.”</p> - -<p>“Now, I’m not going to pretend I know who that woman was,” Donnelly -went on. “I don’t. I haven’t found that out—yet. Not yet.”</p> - -<p>“But you will,” thought Ross.</p> - -<p>He felt sure of that. He believed that there was no hope now for the -guilty ones, and he felt that he was one of the guilty ones. He did -not know what had happened at “Day’s End,” but the burden of that -guilt lay upon his heart. This man was the agent of destiny, -inexorable, in no way to be eluded. He had come to find out, and find -out he surely would.</p> - -<p>Ross was a young man of remarkable hardihood, though; no one had ever -yet been able to bully him, or to intimidate or fluster him. He had -precious little hope of success, but he meant to do what he could. If -he could only gain a little time, perhaps he might think of a plan, -and, in the meanwhile, he would say nothing and admit nothing.</p> - -<p>“Now, before we talk,” said Donnelly, “you want to know who I am, and -how I came to be mixed up in this business. As soon as you saw me, you -said to yourself: ‘Police!’”</p> - -<p>Ross winced at the word.</p> - -<p>“That was natural. But you made a mistake. I’ll tell you frankly that -I was a police detective once, but I’ve left the force. I’m a private -citizen, now, same as you are. Got a little business of my own—what -you might call a private investigator. Collecting information—jobs -like that. Nothing to do with criminal cases.”</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Nothing to do with criminal cases,” he repeated. “I don’t like ’em. -Now, this—”</p> - -<p>Again he fell silent.</p> - -<p>“We’ll hope this isn’t one,” he said. “I’ll tell you about it. My -sister, she’s a widow, and she keeps a rooming house, down on West -Twelfth Street. Well, yesterday she came to me with a story that sort -of interested me. She told me that about a month ago a young fellow -took a room in her house. Quiet young fellow, didn’t give any trouble, -but she’d taken a good deal of notice of him, in what you might call a -sort of motherly way.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know,” Ross nodded.</p> - -<p>“A good-looking young fellow, very polite and nice in his ways—and she -thought from the start that he was pretty badly worried about -something. She’d hear him walking up and down at night—and she said -there was a look on his face—You know how women are.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Ross agreed.</p> - -<p>“So, when he didn’t show up for a couple of nights, she came to me. I -told her to go to the police, but she had some sort of notion that he -wouldn’t like that—and I dare say she didn’t like it herself. Bad for -business—a thing like that in the newspapers, you know. So, just to -please her, I got his door unlocked, and had a look at his room.”</p> - -<p>“You found—”</p> - -<p>“Well, the first thing I saw there was a pile of money on the -table—about seventy-five dollars in bills, under a paper weight, and a -half finished letter. No name—just began right off—‘I won’t wait any -longer.’ But here’s the letter. You can see for yourself.”</p> - -<p>Unbuttoning his overcoat, he took a folded piece of paper from his -breast pocket and handed it to Ross. It read:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>I won’t wait any longer. I am coming out to Stamford tomorrow, and if -you refuse to see me this time, it will be the end. You’ve been -putting me off with one lie after the other for all this time, and now -it’s finished. I don’t know how you <i>can</i> be so damned cruel. Don’t -you even want to see your own child? As for your husband—I have no -more illusions about that. You’re sick of me. All you want is to get -rid of me, and you don’t care how, either. Well, <i>I</i> don’t care. I’d -be better off with a bullet through the head. It’s only the baby—</p> - -</blockquote> -<p>Here there were several words scratched out, and it began again:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p>Darling, my own girl, perhaps I’m wrong. I hope to God I am. Perhaps -you are really doing your best, and thinking of what’s best for the -child. Only, it’s been so long. I want you back so. I’ve got a little -money saved. I can keep you both. I can work. I can make you happy, -even if we are a bit poor. Darling, just let me see you and—</p> - -</blockquote> -<p>That was the end. Ross touched his tongue to his dry lips, and folded -up the letter again. He dared not look at Donnelly, but he knew -Donnelly was looking at him.</p> - -<p>“Ives wrote that letter,” said Donnelly. “The way I figure it out is -this. He began to write, and then he decided that, instead of sending -a letter, he’d go. He must have been in a pretty bad state to leave -all that money behind. But, of course, he meant to come back. Well, he -didn’t. Aha! Here we are!”</p> - -<p>The taxi stopped before the gates of “Day’s End,” and Donnelly, -getting out, told the driver to wait for him. Then he set off with -Ross, not along the drive, but across the lawn, behind the fir trees.</p> - -<p>“I won’t bother you by telling you how I know he came to Stamford on -Tuesday,” he proceeded. “It’s my business to find out things like -that. He came, and he took a taxi out to this cottage I’ve mentioned, -and a woman met him there. He sent the taxi away—and that’s the last -I’ve heard of him.”</p> - -<p>The snow was wholly turned to rain, now; it blew against Ross’s face, -cold and bitter; the trees stood dripping and shivering under the gray -sky. He was wet, chilled to the bone, filled with a terrible -foreboding.</p> - -<p>“That cottage belongs to an old lady in the neighborhood,” said -Donnelly. “But she doesn’t know anything about this. She said the -place had been vacant two years, and she didn’t expect to rent it till -she’d made some repairs. She said anybody could get into it easily -enough if they should want to. Well!”</p> - -<p>They stood before the garage, now, and Ross took the key from his -pocket.</p> - -<p>“So you see,” said Donnelly, “that’s how it is. We’ve traced him that -far. I know that there’s some woman in Stamford who has a good reason -for wanting to get rid of him. And now—” He looked steadily at Ross. -“And now I’ve about finished.”</p> - -<p>“Finished?” said Ross. “You—you mean—”</p> - -<p>But Donnelly did not answer.</p> - -<h2 id='chXVI'>XVI</h2> - -<p>Ross went upstairs to the sitting room over the garage. It did not -occur to him to extend an invitation to his companion; he knew well -enough that he would hear those deliberate footsteps mounting after -him; he knew that Donnelly would follow.</p> - -<p>He took off his hat and overcoat and flung himself into a chair, and -Donnelly did the same, in a more leisurely fashion. Certainly he was -not a very troublesome shadow; he did not speak or disturb Ross in any -way. He just waited.</p> - -<p>And Ross sat there, his legs stretched out before him, hands in his -pockets, his head sunk, lost in a reverie of wonder, pity, and great -dread.</p> - -<p>“Her child?” he thought. “Amy’s child? Ives was her husband, and that -baby is her child?”</p> - -<p>He recalled with singular vividness the phrases of that pitiful, -unreasonable letter. “Just let me see you.” “It’s been so long!” -“You’re sick of me. All you want is to get rid of me.” He could -imagine Ives, that fellow who was about his age, about his build—alone -in his furnished room, writing that letter. “How <i>can</i> you be so -damned cruel?” And “darling.”</p> - -<p>“In a pretty bad state,” Donnelly had said. And he had come, with all -his hope and his fear and his pain, to “Day’s End,” and—</p> - -<p>“But if—if that was Ives I saw in Mrs. Jones’s room,” thought Ross, -“then who was it Amy wanted me to watch for last night?”</p> - -<p>This idea gave him immeasurable relief. That man had not been Ives. -Ives hadn’t come yet. The whole tragedy was an invention of his own.</p> - -<p>“No reason to take it for granted that that letter was meant for Amy,” -he thought. “Plenty of other women in Stamford. No; I’ve simply been -making a fool of myself, imagining.”</p> - -<p>But there was one thing he had not imagined. There was, among all -these doubts and surmises, one immutable fact, the man under the sofa. -He could, if he pleased, explain away everything else, but not that.</p> - -<p>It seemed to him incredible that he had, in the beginning, accepted -that fact so coolly. He had thought it was “none of his business.” And -now it was the chief business of his life. It was as if that silent -figure had cried out to him for justice; as if he had come here only -in order to see that man, and to avenge him.</p> - -<p>“No!” he protested, in his soul. “I’ve got nothing to do with justice -and—vengeance. The thing’s done. It can never be undone. I don’t want -to see—any one punished for it. That’s not my business. I’m nobody’s -judge, thank God!”</p> - -<p>“Well?” said Donnelly, gently.</p> - -<p>Ross looked up, met his glance squarely.</p> - -<p>“I can’t help you,” he said.</p> - -<p>Donnelly arose.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry for that,” he said. “Mighty sorry. I’ve been very frank -with you. Showed you the letter—laid my cards on the table. Because I -had a notion that you’d heard one side of the case, and that if you -heard the other you might change your mind. You might think that Ives -hadn’t had a fair deal.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help that,” muttered Ross.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Donnelly, “of course you can’t. And I can’t help it now, -either.” He sighed. “Well,” he said, “I’ll be off now. Good-by!”</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” asked Ross, sitting up straight.</p> - -<p>“Why, I’m going to that cottage I mentioned,” said Donnelly. “And if I -don’t find Ives there, or something that’ll help me to find him—then -I’ll have to turn the case over to the police.”</p> - -<p>Ross got up and began to put on his damp overcoat.</p> - -<p>“I’ll go with you,” he said.</p> - -<p>Whether this was the best thing for him to do, he could not tell. But -he could see no way of preventing Donnelly from going, and he would -not let him go alone. He meant to be there, with Eddy and the little -girl.</p> - -<p>Donnelly had already gone to the head of the stairs, and Ross followed -him, impatient to be gone. But the other’s burly form blocked the way. -He was listening. Some one was opening the door of the garage.</p> - -<p>Ross made an attempt to get by, but Donnelly laid a hand on his arm.</p> - -<p>“Wait!” he whispered.</p> - -<p>Light, quick footsteps sounded on the cement floor below, and then a -voice, so clear, so sweet:</p> - -<p>“Jim-my!”</p> - -<p>“Miss Solway!” he cried. “Jimmy’s not here. Only me—Moss—and a friend -of mine!”</p> - -<p>This was his warning to her, and he hoped with all his heart that she -would understand, and would go. Donnelly had begun to descend the -stairs. If she would only go, before that man saw her!</p> - -<p>But she had not gone. When he reached the foot of the stairs, and -looked over Donnelly’s shoulder, he saw her there. She was wearing her -fur coat, with the collar turned up, and a black velvet tam; the cold -air had brought a beautiful color into her cheeks; her hair was -clinging in little damp curls to her forehead; he had never seen her -so lovely, so radiant. And for all that he knew against her, and all -that he suspected, he saw in her now a pitiful and terrible innocence.</p> - -<p>“She doesn’t know!” he thought. “She doesn’t realize—she <i>can’t</i> -realize—ever—what she’s done. She doesn’t even know when she hurts any -one.”</p> - -<p>And there was Donnelly, standing before her, hat in hand, his eyes -modestly downcast; a most inoffensive figure. She was not interested -in him; she thought he didn’t matter; she was looking past him at -Ross, with that cajoling, childish smile of hers.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Moss!” she said. “Will you bring the sedan round to the house? -Please? I want to go out.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Miss Solway,” he said, and it seemed to him that any one -could hear the significance in his voice. “Mr. Solway told me not to -take you out—in this weather.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” she said, and sighed. “All right,” with gentle resignation; -“I’ll just have to wait, then.”</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry, Miss Solway,” said Ross again.</p> - -<p>Didn’t she see how that fellow was watching her? It was torment to -Ross. There was not a shadow on her bright face; she stood there, gay, -careless, perfectly indifferent to the silent Donnelly.</p> - -<p>“All right!” she said, and turned away, then, to open the door. But it -was heavy for her small fingers, and Donnelly hastened forward.</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, miss!” he said, and pushed back the door for her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, thanks!” she said, smiling into his face, and off she went, -running through the rain across the sodden lawn. Ross looked after -her; so little, so young.</p> - -<p>“And that’s Miss Solway!” said Donnelly, speculatively.</p> - -<p>Ross glanced at him, and his heart gave a great leap. For, on the -other’s face, was an unmistakable look of perplexity.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “that’s Miss Solway.”</p> - -<p>“She’s pretty young, isn’t she?” Donnelly pursued, still following -with his eyes the hurrying little figure.</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” said Ross, casually. It was difficult for him to -conceal his delight. Donnelly was evidently at a loss; he couldn’t -believe ill of that girl with her careless smile. He thought she was -too young, too light-hearted. The very fact of her ignoring Ross’s -warning had done this for her. If she had understood, if across her -smiling face had come that look Ross had seen, that look of terror and -dismay, Donnelly would not have thought her too young.</p> - -<p>“He’s not sure now!” thought Ross. “He’s not sure. She has a chance -now. If I can only think of something.”</p> - -<p>He could not think of anything useful now, but he felt sure that he -would, later on. There was a chance now. Donnelly was only human; he, -like other men, could be deluded.</p> - -<p>They left the garage and walked back to the waiting taxi.</p> - -<p>“What about a little lunch first?” suggested Donnelly.</p> - -<p>“All right!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>So they stopped at a restaurant in the town, and sent away the cab. -They sat down facing each other across a small table. Ross was hungry, -and Donnelly, too, ate with hearty appetite, but he did not talk. He -was thoughtful, and, Ross believed, somewhat downcast.</p> - -<p>“Getting up a new theory,” said the young man to himself. “Perhaps I -can help him.”</p> - -<p>The vague outline of a plan was assembling in his mind, but he could -not quite discern it yet. It seemed to him plain that Donnelly had -nothing but suspicions; that he had no definite facts as to any -connection between Ives and Amy Solway. He had thought she was the -woman to whom that letter was addressed; but since he had seen her, he -doubted. Very well; he must be kept in doubt.</p> - -<p>When they had finished lunch, they went round the corner to a garage, -and took another taxi. Ross settled himself back comfortably, and -filled and lighted his new pipe; a good time to break it in, he -thought. Donnelly brought out a big cigar, which he kept in the corner -of his mouth while he talked a little upon the subject of tobacco. The -cab grew thick with smoke, and Ross opened the window beside him. The -rain blew in, but he did not mind that.</p> - -<p>They came to the cottage along the lane which took them directly to -its front gate. There it stood, forlorn and shabby, the shutters -closed, the neglected garden a dripping tangle. They went up the -steps; Donnelly knocked, but there was no answer. He pushed open the -door, and they went in. He called out: “Is there anybody here?”</p> - -<p>But Ross knew then that the house was empty. The very air proclaimed -it.</p> - -<p>“My luck’s in!” he thought, elated.</p> - -<h2 id='chXVII'>XVII</h2> - -<p>“Nice, cheerful little place!” observed Donnelly, looking about him.</p> - -<p>Ross said nothing. He had not even dared hope for such a stroke of -luck as that Eddy and the little girl should be gone, yet the silence -in this dim, damp, little house troubled him. Where and why had they -gone?</p> - -<p>“We’ll just take a look around,” said Donnelly.</p> - -<p>He opened a door beside him, revealing a dark and empty room. He -flashed an electric torch across it; nothing there but the bare floor -and the four walls. He closed the door and went along the passage, and -opened the door of the next room. The shutter was broken here, and one -of the window panes, and the rain was blowing in, making a pool on the -floor that gleamed darkly when the flash light touched it.</p> - -<p>That door, too, he closed, with a sort of polite caution, as if he -didn’t want to disturb any one. Then he looked into the room at the -end of the passage. This was evidently the kitchen, for there was a -sink there, and a built-in dresser. He turned on the taps; no water.</p> - -<p>“Now we’ll just take a look upstairs,” he said, in a subdued tone.</p> - -<p>He mounted the stairs with remarkable lightness for so heavy a man; -but Ross took no such precaution. Indeed, he wanted to make a noise. -He did not like the silence in this house.</p> - -<p>Donnelly opened the door facing the stairs. One shutter had been -thrown back, and the room was filled with the gray light of the rainy -afternoon. And, lying on the floor, Ross saw a white flannel rabbit.</p> - -<p>It lay there, quite alone, its one pink glass eye staring up at the -ceiling, and round its middle was a bedraggled bit of blue ribbon -which Ross remembered very well.</p> - -<p>“Now, what’s this?” said Donnelly.</p> - -<p>He picked up the rabbit, frowning a little; he turned it this way and -that, he fingered its sash. And, to Ross, there was something -grotesque and almost horrible in the sight of the burly fellow with a -cigar in one corner of his mouth, and an intent frown on his red face, -holding that rabbit.</p> - -<p>“It’s a clew, isn’t it?” he inquired, with mock respect.</p> - -<p>Donnelly glanced at him quickly. Then he put the rabbit into the -pocket of his overcoat, from which its long ears protruded -ludicrously.</p> - -<p>“Come on!” he said.</p> - -<p>The next door was locked, and here Donnelly displayed his professional -talents. Before Ross could quite see what he was at, he had taken -something from his pocket; he bent forward, and almost at once the -lock clicked, and he opened the door.</p> - -<p>It seemed to Ross that nothing could have been more eloquent of crime, -of shameful secrecy and misery, than that room. There was a wretched -little makeshift bed against one wall, made up of burlap bags and a -ragged portiére; there was a box on which stood a lantern, an empty -corned beef tin, and a crushed and sodden packet of cigarettes. There -was nothing else.</p> - -<p>With a leaden heart, he looked at Donnelly, and saw him very grave.</p> - -<p>“Come on!” he said, again.</p> - -<p>And they went on, into every corner of that house that was so empty -and yet so filled with questions. They found nothing more. Some one -had been here, and some one had gone; that was all.</p> - -<p>Donnelly led the way back to the room where that some one had been.</p> - -<p>“Now we’ll see if we can find some more clews here,” he said. “Like -the fellows in the story books.”</p> - -<p>He took up the packet of cigarettes and went over to the window with -it. But, instead of examining the object in his hand, his glance was -arrested by something outside, and he stood staring straight before -him so long that Ross came up beside him, to see for himself.</p> - -<p>From this upper window there was an unexpectedly wide vista of empty -fields, still white with snow, and houses tiny in the distance, and a -belt of woodland, dark against the gray sky; all deserted and desolate -in the steady fall of sleet. What else?</p> - -<p>Directly before the house was the road, where the taxi waited, the -driver inside. Across the road the land ran downhill in a steep slope, -washed bare of any trace of snow, and at its foot was a pond, a somber -little sheet of water, shivering under the downpour. But there was -nobody in sight, nothing stirred. What else? What was Donnelly looking -at?</p> - -<p>“I think—” said Donnelly. “I guess I’ll just go out and mooch around a -little before it gets dark. Just to get the lay of the land. <i>You</i> -don’t want to come—in this weather. You just wait here. I won’t keep -you long.”</p> - -<p>Ross did want to go with him, everywhere, and to see everything that -he saw, but he judged it unwise to say so. He stood where he was, -listening to the other’s footsteps quietly descending; he heard the -front door close softly, and a moment later he saw Donnelly come out -into the road and cross it, with a wave of his hand toward the taxi -driver, and begin to descend the steep slope toward the pond.</p> - -<p>“What’s he going there for?” thought Ross. “What does he think—”</p> - -<p>Before he had finished the question, the answer sprang up in his mind. -Donnelly had not found Ives in the cottage, so he was going to look -for him down there. Suppose he found him?</p> - -<p>“No!” thought Ross. “It’s—impossible. I—I’m losing my nerve.”</p> - -<p>To tell the truth, he was badly shaken. He was ready to credit -Donnelly with superhuman powers, to believe that he could see things -invisible to other persons, that he could, simply by looking out of -the window, trace the whole course of a crime.</p> - -<p>“I’ve got to do something,” he thought. “Now is my chance. I can give -him the slip now.”</p> - -<p>But he was a good seven or eight miles from “Day’s End.” Well, why -couldn’t he hurry down, jump into the taxi, and order the driver to -set off at once? Long before Donnelly could find any way of escape -from this desolate region, he could get back to the house and warn -Amy. And, in doing so, he would certainly antagonize Donnelly, and -confirm any suspicions he might already have.</p> - -<p>“No,” he thought. “He’s not sure about Amy now. And I don’t believe -he’s got anything against me. I can’t afford to run away. He hasn’t -found anything yet that definitely connects Amy with the—the case.”</p> - -<p>But when he did?</p> - -<p>Donnelly had reached the bottom of the slope now, and was sauntering -along the edge of the pond, hands in his pockets. He had in nowise the -air of a sleuth hot upon a scent, but to Ross his leisurely progress -suggested an alarming confidence. He knew—what didn’t he know? And -Ross, the guilty one, knew nothing at all. In angry desperation, he -turned away from the window.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said, aloud. “I’ll have a look for clews myself!”</p> - -<p>And, without the slightest difficulty, he found all the clews he -wanted.</p> - -<p>The makeshift bed was the only place in the room where anything could -be hidden; he lifted up the portiére that lay over the bags, and there -he found a shabby pocketbook in which were the papers of the missing -Martin Ives.</p> - -<p>Everything was there—everything one could want. There was a savings -bank book, there were two or three letters, and there was a little -snapshot of Amy, on the back of which was written: “To Marty—so that -he won’t forget.”</p> - -<p>Ross looked at that photograph for a long time. He was not expert -enough to recognize that the costume was somewhat outmoded, but he did -know that this picture had been taken some time ago, because Amy was -so different. It showed her standing on a beach, with the wind blowing -her hair and her skirts, her head a little thrown back, and on her -face the jolliest smile—a regular schoolgirl grin.</p> - -<p>It hurt him, the sight of that laughing, dimpled, little ghost from -the past. He remembered her as he had seen her today, still smiling, -still lovely, but so changed. She was reckless now, haunted now, even -in her most careless moments.</p> - -<p>He opened the top letter; it bore the date of last Monday, but no -address. It read:</p> - -<blockquote> -<p style='text-indent:0'>Dear Mr. Ives:</p> - -<p>Amy has asked me to reply to your letter of a month ago. I scarcely -need to tell you how greatly it distressed her. If you should come to -the house publicly now, everything she has tried to do would be -ruined. She had hoped that you would wait patiently, but as you refuse -to do so, she has consented to see you.</p> - -<p>She wants to see Lily as well, and, although there is a great deal of -risk in this, if you will follow my directions, I think we can manage. -Telephone to the nurse with whom the child is boarding to bring her to -the station at Greenwich by the train leaving New York at 7.20 A.M. on -Tuesday and Eddy will meet her there. You can take an early afternoon -train to Stamford. Take a taxi there and go up the Post Road to -Bonnifer Lane, a little past the Raven Inn. There is a new church -being built on the corner. Turn down here, and stop at the first -house, about half a mile from the main road. You will find the little -girl there, and I shall be there, waiting for you, between three and -five, and we can make arrangements for you to see Amy.</p> - -<p>Remember, Mr. Ives, that Amy trusts you to do <i>nothing</i> until you have -seen her.</p> - -<div style='text-align:right; margin-right:4em;'>Respectfully yours,</div> -<div style='text-align:right; margin-right:2em;'>Amanda Jones.</div> -</blockquote> -<p>Ross folded up the letter. Yes; nobody could ask for a much better -clew. He took out another letter, but before opening it, he glanced -out of the window. And he saw Donnelly coming back.</p> - -<p>He put the wallet into his pocket, and went to the head of the stairs. -A great lassitude had come upon him; he felt physically exhausted. His -doubt—and his hope—were ended now.</p> - -<p>Donnelly came in quietly, and advanced to the foot of the stairs. It -was not possible to read his face by that dim light, but his voice was -very grave.</p> - -<p>“Come on!” he said.</p> - -<p>“Find anything?” asked Ross.</p> - -<p>Donnelly was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“I’ve finished,” he said, at last.</p> - -<p>“What—” began Ross.</p> - -<p>“I’ve finished,” Donnelly repeated, almost gently. “It’s up to the -police now. We’ll have that pond dragged.”</p> - -<p>Ross, too, was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said. “I’ll just get my hat.”</p> - -<p>He turned back into the room; Donnelly waited for him below. In a few -minutes Ross joined him, and they got into the cab.</p> - -<h2 id='chXVIII'>XVIII</h2> - -<p>Mr. Solway descended from the train and walked briskly toward his car. -The new chauffeur was standing there, stiff as a poker.</p> - -<p>“Well, Moss!” he said. “Everything all right, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, thank you, sir,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“That’s it!” said Mr. Solway, with his vague kindliness. He got into -the car, and Ross started off through the sleet and the dark. Mr. -Solway made two or three observations about the weather, but his -chauffeur answered “Yes, sir,” “That’s so, sir,” rather -absent-mindedly. He was, to tell the truth, very much preoccupied with -his own thoughts. He was wondering how a pond was dragged, and how -long such a thing might take.</p> - -<p>He had seen no one, spoken to no one, since he had left Donnelly at -the police station and gone back to the garage alone. So he had had -plenty of time to think.</p> - -<p>He stopped the car before the house, Mr. Solway got out, and Ross -drove on to the garage. There would be a little more time for thinking -before he was summoned to dinner. He went upstairs and sat down, -stretched out in a chair, staring before him. He was still wearing the -peaked cap which had belonged to Wheeler; perhaps it was not a -becoming cap, for his face looked grim and harsh beneath it.</p> - -<p>He was not impatient, now, as that James Ross had been who had landed -in New York three days ago. Indeed, he seemed almost inhumanly -patient, as if he were willing to sit there forever. And that was how -he felt. He had done his utmost; now he could only wait.</p> - -<p>The sleet was rattling against the windows, and a great wind blew. It -must be a wild night, out in the fields, where a lonely little pond -lay. A bad night to be in that little cottage. A bad night, anywhere -in the world, for a child who had nobody.</p> - -<p>From his pocket he brought out a snapshot, and looked at it for a long -time; then he tore it into fragments and let them flutter to the -floor. He closed his eyes, then, but he was not asleep; the knuckles -of his hand grasping the arm of the chair were white.</p> - -<p>No; he wasn’t asleep. When the telephone rang in the garage, he got up -at once and went downstairs to answer it.</p> - -<p>“Dinner’s ready!” said Gracie’s voice. “Eddy come in yet?”</p> - -<p>“Not yet,” answered Ross. “But—wait a minute!”</p> - -<p>For he thought he heard some one at the door. He was standing with the -receiver in his hand when the door slid open and Eddy came in.</p> - -<p>“He’s just—” he began, turning back to the telephone, when Eddy sprang -forward and caught his arm, and whispered: “Shut up! Sh-h-h!”</p> - -<p>“Just about due,” said Ross to Gracie. Then he hung up the receiver -and faced Eddy.</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell ’em I’m here!” said Eddy. “I—I don’t want—I c-can’t stand -any—jabbering. I—Oh, Gawd!”</p> - -<p>At the end of his tether, Eddy was. His lips twitched, his face was -distorted with his valiant effort after self-control. And it occurred -to Ross that, for all his shrewdness and his worldly air, Eddy was not -very old or very wise.</p> - -<p>“What’s up, old man?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Tell me. You’d better get your dinner now.”</p> - -<p>“Nope!” said Eddy. “I—can’t eat. I—I don’t want to talk.”</p> - -<p>Ross waited for some time.</p> - -<p>“Lissen here,” said Eddy, at last. “You—you seemed to like—that kid. -You—you’ll look after her, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Ross answered.</p> - -<p>He would have been surprised, and a little incredulous, if any one had -called him tactful, yet few people could have handled Eddy better. He -knew what the boy wanted; knew that he needed just this cool and -steady tone, this incurious patience.</p> - -<p>“Go and get her,” Eddy pleaded. “She’s down at the barber’s—near the -movie theayter. Go and get her.”</p> - -<p>“All right. I’ll have my dinner first, though. Want me to bring you -something?”</p> - -<p>“Nope!” said Eddy. “Lissen! I guess the cops are after me already.”</p> - -<p>“You mean they’ve—found him?”</p> - -<p>“Yep,” said Eddy. “They’ve found him. How did you know?”</p> - -<p>Ross did not answer the question.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you get away?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Not going to try,” said Eddy. “I—I’m too d-darn tired. I—I <i>don’t -care</i>!” There was a hysterical rise in his voice, but he mastered it. -“Let ’em come!”</p> - -<p>“What have they got against you?”</p> - -<p>“They’ve found him—in the pond—where I put him.”</p> - -<p>“Who’s going to know that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, they’ll know, all right!” said Eddy. “They got ways of finding -out things. They’ll know, and they’ll think it was me that—All right! -Let ’em!”</p> - -<p>“Then you’re not going to tell?”</p> - -<p>Eddy looked at him.</p> - -<p>“D’you think it—wasn’t me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” Ross replied. “I think it wasn’t you, Eddy.”</p> - -<p>There was a long silence between them.</p> - -<p>“What d’you think I’d ought to do?” asked Eddy, almost in a whisper.</p> - -<p>“Suppose we talk it over,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“Yes—but—<i>I</i> dunno who you are.”</p> - -<p>“Well, let’s say I’m Ives.”</p> - -<p>Eddy sprang back as if he had been struck.</p> - -<p>“<i>Ives!</i>”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” said Ross. “I’m going to tell you what I did.”</p> - -<p>And, very bluntly, he told. Eddy listened to him in silence; it was a -strange enough thing, but he showed no surprise.</p> - -<p>“D’you think it’ll work?” he asked, when Ross had finished.</p> - -<p>“I hope so. Anyhow, there’s a chance. Now, you better tell me the -whole thing. There’s a lot that I don’t know—and I might make a bad -mistake.”</p> - -<p>The telephone rang again. It was Gracie, annoyed by this delay.</p> - -<p>“I’ll come as soon as I can,” said Ross, severely. “But I’m working on -the car, and I can’t leave off for a few minutes.”</p> - -<p>He turned again to Eddy.</p> - -<p>“Go ahead!” he said.</p> - -<p>Eddy sat down on the step of the sedan, and Ross leaned back against -the wall, his arms folded, his saturnine face shadowed by the peaked -cap.</p> - -<p>“Tuesday I went and got her—the kid, y’ know, and took her to the -cottage.”</p> - -<p>“Did you know about her before?”</p> - -<p>“Sure I did! I knew when they got married—her and Ives—four years ago. -She told me herself. You know the way she tells you things—crying an’ -all.”</p> - -<p>Ross did know.</p> - -<p>“Well, I used to see Ives hanging around. He was a nice feller—but he -didn’t have a cent. He was an actor. She was too young, -anyway—eighteen—same age as me. I told her I’d tell Mr. Solway, and -then she told me they’d got married. I felt pretty bad—on Mr. Solway’s -account. But she—well, you know how she acts. Her mother’d left her -some money she’s going to get when she’s twenty-five, if she don’t get -married without her stepfather’s consent. Mrs. Solway had the right -idea. She knew Amy, all right. Only, it didn’t work. Amy wanted to get -married and have the money, too. That’s how she is. So she told me she -was going to tell Mr. Solway when she was twenty-five. I know I’d -ought to have told him then, but—I didn’t.”</p> - -<p>Ross understood that.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Solway went over to Europe that summer, and she and Mrs. Jones -went somewheres out West, and Lily was born out there. And Ives, he -took the kid, and she came back here. She used to see Ives pretty -often for awhile—go into the city and meet him. Then she began talking -about what a risk it was. That was because she’d met this Gayle -Dexter. That made me sick! I said I’d tell Mr. Solway, but she said -her and Ives was going to get divorced, an’ nobody’d ever know, and -that I’d ruin her life and all. And I gave in—like a fool. Only, you -see, I—I’ve known Amy all my life.”</p> - -<p>“I see!” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“Well, it seems Ives was beginning to get suspicious, when she didn’t -see him no more. He kept writing; I used to get the letters for -her—general delivery—an’ she kept stalling—and at last he said he was -coming here to see her. Well, her and Mrs. Jones must have told him to -come along. And Tuesday I met the kid and took her to that cottage. My -idea, that was. I told Mrs. Jones about the place. I wish to Gawd I -hadn’t.” He was silent for a moment. “Only, I thought it might—I was -glad to do it, ’cause I thought maybe if Amy seen Ives and the kid, -she’d—kinder change her mind. He come that afternoon, and seen Mrs. -Jones. Well, I went there after work, and he told me Amy was coming to -see him next morning. He was real pleased. He was—he was a—nice -feller—”</p> - -<p>Eddy’s mouth twitched again. “I wish—I’d known. Anyway, she wouldn’t -go to see him. Jones tried to make her—said she’d got to have a talk -with him—but Amy, she took on something fierce. Said she’d never see -him again. Well, I guess he must of waited and waited, and in the -afternoon he come here to the garage. I tried to argue with him and -all, but it wouldn’t work. He started off for the house, and I -telephoned over to Jones. An’ he went—he went out of that door—”</p> - -<p>Eddy turned and stared at the door with an odd blank look. It was as -if he saw something—which was not there.</p> - -<p>“This very door,” he muttered. “My Gawd!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Ross, quietly. “He went to the house. And then?”</p> - -<p>Eddy turned back with a shudder.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t never think,” he said. “Wheeler’d left, then, so I drove the -big car down to the station to meet Mr. Solway, and when I brung him -home, you was there. Old Lady Jones tried to tip me off. I saw her -trying to tell me something behind your back. I couldn’t make out what -it was, but I knew there was something queer. I thought you was a -detective Ives’d sent to see what was going on, ’cause he’d been -saying he’d do that. I didn’t know, then— But next day Jones told me -that—that Ives had—died. Said he’d fell down dead from a heart attack. -And she said we’d got to get rid of him on the Q. T., for Amy’s sake. -I—I thought I couldn’t—but I did. Fella I know lent me his Ford. I -said I wanted to take a girl out. And, while you were out there on the -lawn, I—I got him—out of Jones’s room.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean he’d been there all that time?”</p> - -<p>“I guess so. She told me she been sitting up all night, trying to—to -see if she could—do anything for him. But he— Anyway, Jones told me -what to do, and I did it. I—you don’t know what it was like—going all -that way—alone—with him. And I had to put stones in his pockets.” He -looked at Ross with a sort of wonder.</p> - -<p>“I can’t believe it now!” he cried. “It don’t seem true! I don’t know -<i>why</i>—only Jones told me that if I didn’t, there’d be a inquest an’ -all. And she said everyone’d think that Amy— It would all come out, -she said, and Amy and Mr. Solway’d be in the newspapers and all. And -she said he was dead, anyway. The pond couldn’t hurt <i>him</i>. I—”</p> - -<p>He came closer to Ross, and laid a hand on his sleeve. “Lissen here!” -he said. “D’you think that’s true—that he—just died?”</p> - -<p>“There’s no use thinking about that—now,” said Ross.</p> - -<h2 id='chXIX'>XIX</h2> - -<p>Ross could feel sorry enough for Eddy, for his ghastly trip to the -pond, for all the dread and misery that lay upon his soul. He was -sorry for Ives, although his sufferings were at an end. He pitied Mr. -Solway, in his ignorance of all this. He was sorry, in his own way, -for Amy. But, above all creatures in this world, he pitied that little -child.</p> - -<p>Eddy told him about her. When Ives had gone to “Day’s End,” he had -left the child with the obliging barber in town, and she had been -there all that night and the next day, until Mrs. Jones had sent Eddy -after her.</p> - -<p>“She said it would start people talking, if the kid stayed there, and -she told me to take her back to the cottage and leave her till she -made some plans. But I couldn’t do that. The way I felt last night, I -didn’t care. I’d rather have seen the whole thing go to smash than -leave the kid alone there all night. That’s why I brung her here. And -this morning—I couldn’t stay there—in that house. It kind of gave me -the creeps. So I took her back to the barber’s.” He paused.</p> - -<p>“Jones don’t care about the kid,” he added. “She don’t care about -anything on earth but Amy. Lissen here! I know she’s old and all, but -I think—maybe she—I just wonder if the old girl had the nerve?”</p> - -<p>Ross had had that thought, too. But it seemed to him that, no matter -who had actually done this thing, even if it were an accident—which he -did not believe—the guilt still lay upon the woman who had betrayed -and abandoned the man and the child. Amy was guilty, and no one else. -He straightened up, with a sigh.</p> - -<p>“Come along!” he said. “We’ll get our dinner. No! Don’t be a fool, my -lad. It’s what you need.”</p> - -<p>Eddy was considerably relieved by his confession. He went upstairs, -washed, changed his coat, and brushed his glossy hair, and when he set -off toward the house, there was a trace of his old swagger about him. -Only a trace, though, for he walked beneath a shadow.</p> - -<p>As for Ross, there was precious little change to be discerned in his -dour face and impassive bearing. And it was his very good fortune to -be so constituted that he did not show what he felt, for he was to -receive an unexpected shock.</p> - -<p>“Sit down!” said Gracie, sharply. “I put somethin’ aside for you. Now -hurry up! It puts me back with the dishes an’ all.”</p> - -<p>“An’ thim extry people,” said the cook, who was also a little out of -temper. “There’ll not be enough butter for breakfast, the way they did -be eatin’, an’ me without a word of warnin’ at all.”</p> - -<p>“It’s that Mr. Teagle,” said Gracie. “Them small men is always heavy -eaters.”</p> - -<p>“Teagle? Who’s he?” asked Eddy.</p> - -<p>“Haven’t you heard?” cried Gracie, almost unable to believe that she -was to have the bliss of imparting this amazing news. “Why, there was -a body found in a lake somewheres.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I heard about that, down at the comp’ny!” said Eddy, scornfully.</p> - -<p>“But lissen, Eddy! It turns out it was a cousin o’ Miss Amy’s! It -seems they found some papers an’ letters an’ all near where they found -him, an’ he turns out to be her cousin! This Mr. Teagle, he’s a -lawyer. They sent for him, an’ he come out here to look at the poor -feller, and then he come to the house, ’cause Miss Amy’s goin’ to get -all his money. She took on somethin’ terrible! Mr. Solway, he -telephoned to Mr. Dexter, and he come out, too. I guess it was kinder -to comfort her.”</p> - -<p>“What would she be needin’ all the comfortin’ for?” demanded the cook. -“She’d never set eyes on the cousin at all, and her to be gettin’ all -that money.”</p> - -<p>“She’s kinder sensitive,” said Gracie.</p> - -<p>“Sensitive, is it!” said the cook, with significance.</p> - -<p>Ross went on eating his dinner. He did not appear to be interested. -When he had finished, he bade them all a civil good night, and got up -and went out.</p> - -<p>“He’s a cold-blooded fish,” said Gracie.</p> - -<p>Yet, something seemed to keep him warm—something kept him steadfast -and untroubled as he walked, head down, against the storm of wind and -sleet, along the lonely roads to the town. He found the barber shop to -which Eddy had directed him, and when he entered, the lively little -Italian barber did not think his face forbidding.</p> - -<p>“I’ve come for the little girl,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“Oh, she’s all right!” cried the barber. “She’s O. K. She eata soom -nica dinner—verrie O. K. She sooma kid.”</p> - -<p>He was a happy little man, pleased with his thriving business, with -his family, with his own easy fluency in the use of the American -tongue. He took Ross through the brilliantly lighted white tiled -shop—a sanitary barber, he was—into a back room, where were his wife -and his own small children.</p> - -<p>And among them was the little fairhaired Lily, content and quite at -home as she seemed always to be. You might have thought that she knew -she had nobody, and no place of her own in this world, and that she -had philosophically made up her mind to be happy wherever fate might -place her.</p> - -<p>She was sitting on the floor, much in the way of the barber’s wife, -who pursued her household duties among the four little children in the -room with the deft unconcern of a highly skilled dancer among -eggshells. The woman could speak no English, but she smiled at Ross -with placid amiability. She could not understand why three different -men should have brought this child here at different times; but, after -all, she didn’t particularly care. A passing incident, this was, in -her busy life.</p> - -<p>As for the barber himself, he had his own ideas. He saw something -suspicious in the affair; a kidnaping, perhaps; but he preferred to -know nothing. It was his tradition to be wary of troubling the police.</p> - -<p>He took the money Ross gave him, and he smiled. Nobody had told him -anything. He knew nothing.</p> - -<p>The barber’s wife got the little girl ready, and Ross picked her up in -his arms. She turned her head, to look back at the children, and her -little woolen cap brushed across his eyes; he had to stop in the -doorway of the shop, to shift her on to one arm, so that he could see. -And then, what he did see was Donnelly.</p> - -<p>“Well! Well!” said Donnelly, in a tone of hearty welcome.</p> - -<p>“Well!” said Ross. “I’m in a hurry to get back, now. Tomorrow—”</p> - -<p>“Of course you are!” said Donnelly. “I’m not going to keep you a -minute. I’ve got something here I’d like the little girl to identify.”</p> - -<p>Ross’s arm tightened about the child.</p> - -<p>“No!” he protested. “No! She’s got nothing to do with—this.”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw!” said Donnelly, with a laugh. “It’s only this.” And from his -pocket he brought out the rabbit.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>my</i> wabbit!” cried the little girl, with a sort of solemn -ecstasy.</p> - -<p>“Hi! Taxi!” called Donnelly, suddenly, and a cab going by slowed down, -turned, skidding a little on the wet street, and drew up to the curb. -Without delay, Ross put the child inside, and got in after her, but -Donnelly remained standing on the curb, holding open the door. Light -streamed from the shop windows, but his back was turned toward it; his -face was in darkness; he stood like a statue in the downpour.</p> - -<p>“There’s some funny things about this case—” he observed.</p> - -<p>Ross said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Mighty funny!” Donnelly pursued. “And, by the way—” He leaned into -the cab. “I’ve seen a good deal of you today, but I don’t believe -you’ve told me your name.”</p> - -<p>It seemed to Ross for a moment that he could not speak. But, at last, -with a great effort, he said:</p> - -<p>“<i>Ives.</i>”</p> - -<p>“Ah!” said Donnelly.</p> - -<p>Ross waited and waited.</p> - -<p>“If you’d like to see—my bank book and papers,” he finally suggested.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Donnelly, soothingly. “No, never mind. And this James Ross. -You never heard of him, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“He landed in New York on Wednesday, went to a hotel in the city, left -his bags, and came right out to Stamford—and fell in a pond. Now, -that’s a queer stunt, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>Ross put his arm round the child’s tiny shoulders and drew her close -to him.</p> - -<p>“Very!” he agreed.</p> - -<p>“I thought so myself. Queer! I found the man’s pocketbook in that -cottage—in that very room where you waited for me. What d’you think of -that? There was a letter from a lawyer in New York—name of Teagle. I -telephoned to him, and he came out. He could identify the man’s -handwriting and so on. But he’d never seen him. Said he didn’t think -there was any one in this country who had. He has a theory, though. -Like to hear it—or are you in a hurry?”</p> - -<p>“No! Go ahead!”</p> - -<p>“Well, Teagle’s theory is that this Mr. James Ross knew he had a -cousin out this way. Miss Solway, you know. It seems her mother made a -match the family didn’t approve of, and they dropped her, years ago. -Now, Teagle thinks this Mr. James Ross wanted to see for himself what -this cousin was like, and that he came out to that cottage to stay -while he sort of mooched around, getting information about her. Family -feeling, see? Only—he met with an accident.”</p> - -<p>“That sounds plausible,” said Ross.</p> - -<p>“You’re right! Now, of course, there’ll be a coroner’s inquest -tomorrow. <i>But</i>—” He paused. “I happened to be around when the doctor -made his examination. And he says—the man was dead before he fell in -the pond.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, God!” cried Ross, in his torment. “Don’t go on!”</p> - -<p>“Hold on a minute! Hold on! Of course that startles you, eh? You think -it’s a case of murder, eh? Well, I’ll tell you now that the verdict’ll -be—death from natural causes. No marks of violence. And Mr. James Ross -had a very bad heart. I dare say he didn’t know it. He died of heart -failure, and then he rolled down that slope. <i>I</i> saw that for -myself—saw bushes broken, and so on, where something had rolled or -been dragged down there.”</p> - -<p>“Then?”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Donnelly, “as far as I’m concerned, there’s no case. And -I’ll say good-by to you. Maybe you wouldn’t mind shaking hands, -Mr.—Ives?”</p> - -<p>Their hands met in a firm clasp.</p> - -<p>“On Miss Solway’s account,” said Donnelly, “I’m mighty glad you’re Mr. -Ives. <i>Good</i>-by!”</p> - -<h2 id='chXX'>XX</h2> - -<p>Ross was going away, at last. He was going as he had come, with no -luggage, with no ceremony. Only, he was going to take with him a small -child, and he left behind him his name, his money, and a good many -illusions—and a friend. Eddy was not likely to forget him.</p> - -<p>“You’re—you’re a white man!” he said, in a very unsteady voice. -“You’re—a prince.”</p> - -<p>“No,” Ross objected. “I’m a fool. The biggest damned fool that ever -lived.”</p> - -<p>“Have it your own way!” said Eddy.</p> - -<p>“I can think different if I like. I—” He paused a moment. “It makes me -<i>sick</i>, you goin’ away like this. It—it—”</p> - -<p>Ross laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder.</p> - -<p>“Drop it!” he said. “Now, then! It’s about time for us to be off.” He -turned toward the bedroom. “I’ll wake her up, while you start the car. -I’ll take one of the blankets to wrap her in.”</p> - -<p>It was a little early for the train he wanted to catch, but he was in -a hurry to be gone. He might have known, though, that it was his fate -never to leave this place when or how he wished.</p> - -<p>He might have known that there was one inevitable thing still to be -faced. He heard the throb of the sturdy little engine downstairs; he -thought, he hoped, that the last moment had come, and, instead, he was -called upon to endure a moment almost beyond endurance.</p> - -<p>For Amy came. The sound of the engine prevented his hearing her -entrance; he had just gone into the bedroom when he heard her -footsteps on the stairs. In a wild storm of tears, desperate, white as -a ghost, she ran in to him.</p> - -<p>“Jimmy!” she gasped. “Oh, Jimmy! Jimmy!”</p> - -<p>He did not speak. What had he to say to her now?</p> - -<p>She was panting for breath, and her sobs were horrible, as if they -choked her. He wanted to close the bedroom door, but she had seized -him by the shoulder.</p> - -<p>“I didn’t know!” she cried. “Not—till tonight. Oh, Jimmy, I didn’t -know he was dead! He came to see me—and he died. Oh, Jimmy! Just when -Nanna told him—that I didn’t want to see him ever again. It killed -him, Jimmy. <i>I</i> killed him!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, do keep quiet!” said Ross, in a sort of despair.</p> - -<p>“I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! If I’d only seen him—just once more! Nanna -begged me to—but I wouldn’t. And when Nanna told him, he—died! How can -I bear that? Oh, Jimmy! I didn’t think he’d care so much! Just as I -care for Gayle. Jimmy, listen to me! I’ll tell Gayle. I’ll go to him -now. I can’t let you do this for me, Jimmy!”</p> - -<p>For a moment his heart beat with a great hope.</p> - -<p>“Do you mean that?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I never meant it to be like this. Never! Never! I thought Martin -would let me go—let me get a divorce. And if he hadn’t, I’d have given -up Gayle. I’ll give him up now, if you tell me to. Even if I die, -too!”</p> - -<p>The hope was faint now.</p> - -<p>“You think he’d give you up, if he knew?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Think? I know! He’d loathe me!”</p> - -<p>“And you’d be willing to marry him with—”</p> - -<p>“You don’t understand!” she interrupted, violently. “You never could. -You’re too good. And I’m not good—in your way. I was just a child when -I met Martin. I’m not a child now. Gayle’s my whole life to me. I love -him so that—”</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, stop!” cried Ross. “It’s—infamous! Have you -<i>forgotten</i>?”</p> - -<p>All the light and passion fled from her face at his tone. She looked -up at him in terrified inquiry. Ross stood aside from the doorway, so -that she could see the child lying asleep on the bed. She went in very -softly, and stood looking down at the little creature.</p> - -<p>“You see,” she whispered, “I’ve given up—my soul—for Gayle.”</p> - -<p>He took her by the arm and led her out of the room, closing the door -behind them.</p> - -<p>“Very well!” he said. “On her account, it’s better like this. I’ll -take her. And you’ll have to forget her. Do you understand? There’s to -be no repentance, and so on. Make up your mind now.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, faintly. “I can’t. I won’t! I’ll just do what you tell -me. <i>You’ve</i> got to decide.”</p> - -<p>“What!” he cried, appalled. “You’d try to make me?”</p> - -<p>The child gave a little chuckle in her sleep. He thought what the -child’s life would be, with Amy, if Amy were denied her Gayle. He -thought of Ives. He had taken Ives’s name, and with it the burden that -Ives could no longer carry.</p> - -<p>“All right!” he said. “It’s finished. I only hope to Heaven that Mr. -Solway can end his days without knowing. As for Dexter—he’ll have to -take his chance—like the rest of us. Good-by, Amy!”</p> - -<p>She caught one of his hands in both of hers, and pressed it against -her wet cheek.</p> - -<p>“Can you ever, ever forgive me, Jimmy?” she asked, with a sob.</p> - -<p>“I dare say!” said Ross, grimly.</p> - -<h2 id='chXXI'>XXI</h2> - -<p>“Left hand, please!”</p> - -<p>Obediently, Mrs. Barron took her left hand out of the bowl of warm -water, and laid it on the towel, carefully, as if it might melt. And -the manicurist bent over it with her nice air of earnest attention.</p> - -<p>All this was agreeable to Mrs. Barron. She was rather proud of her -hands; she was altogether comfortable and tranquil; she had a -pleasant, restful day before her.</p> - -<p>In the afternoon she and her daughter were going to look at fur coats, -which was really better than the actual buying; and, in the evening, -they were all going to a play. The sun was shining, too, and the -formal sitting room of her hotel suite was cheerful and warm, and -filled with the perfume of the roses that stood all about.</p> - -<p>“It’s good to be home again,” she remarked. “At my time of life -traveling is not—” The telephone bell rang. “Answer that, my dear. -It’s dangerous to touch a telephone with damp hands—Oh! A gentleman to -see Miss Barron? What a strange time to call—ten o’clock in the -morning! Ask his name, my dear. He was on the Farragut with us? But -how very strange! Why doesn’t he give his name? But ask him to come -up.”</p> - -<p>She dried her hands and arose, majestic even in her frivolous -negligee.</p> - -<p>“Very strange!” she murmured.</p> - -<p>There was a knock at the door.</p> - -<p>“Come in!” she said.</p> - -<p>The door opened—and it was Mr. Ross! She took a step forward, with a -welcoming smile; then she stopped short.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ross!” she cried. “But—Mr. Ross!”</p> - -<p>He did not fail to notice the change in her tone, the vanishing of her -smile. It did not surprise him. He stood in the doorway, hat in one -hand, the little girl clinging to the other, and he felt that, to her -piercing glance, he was a sorry enough figure. He felt shabby, as if -he had been long battered by wind and rain; he felt that somehow the -emptiness of his pockets was obvious to any one.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly. “I’m afraid I’ve disturbed you. I -thought perhaps I could see Miss Barron, just for a moment.”</p> - -<p>“Come in!” said Mrs. Barron, and, turning to the manicurist, “Later, -my dear!” she said.</p> - -<p>Ross came in, and the manicurist, gathering her things together on her -tray, made haste to escape. She went out, closing the door behind her.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ross!” said Mrs. Barron, in the same tone of stern wonder.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, again. “I’m afraid I’ve dis—”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear boy, what has happened?” she cried.</p> - -<p>He was absolutely astounded by her voice, by the kindly anxiety in her -face.</p> - -<p>“I just thought—” he began.</p> - -<p>“Sit down!” said she. “Here! On the sofa. You <i>do</i> look so tired!”</p> - -<p>“I—I am,” he admitted.</p> - -<p>“And such a dear little girl!” said Mrs. Barron. “Such a dear little -mite.”</p> - -<p>She had sat down on the sofa beside the child, and was stroking her -fair mane, while her eyes were fixed upon Ross with genuine -solicitude. She looked so kind, so honest, so sensible—he marveled -that he had ever thought her formidable.</p> - -<p>“You wanted to see Phyllis?” she went on. “She’s out, just now; but -you must wait.”</p> - -<p>“By George!” cried Ross.</p> - -<p>For he had an inspiration. With all his stubborn soul he had been -dreading to meet Phyllis in his present condition. He was penniless, -and, what was worse, he could not rid himself of an unreasonable -conviction of guilt. And now that he found Mrs. Barron so kind—</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Barron!” he said. “It’s really you I ought to speak to. It’s -about this child. She’s a—sort of cousin of mine, and she’s”—he paused -a moment—“alone.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Barron was looking down at the child, very thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know any one in this country,” he went on, “so I thought if -you’d advise me. I want to find a home for her. A—a real home, you -know, with people who’ll—be fond of her. Just for a few months; later -on I’ll take her myself. But, just now—” His dark face flushed.</p> - -<p>“I’m a bit hard up just now,” he said; “but I’ll find a job right -away, and I’ll be able to pay for her board and so on.”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Barron continued to look thoughtful, and it occurred to him that -his request must seem odd to her—very odd. The flush on his face -deepened.</p> - -<p>“I’m sorry,” he said, coldly; “but there are a good many things I -can’t explain—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, you can!” Mrs. Barron declared, in her old manner. “And that’s -just what you’re going to do. As soon as I set eyes on you, on board -that ship, I knew what you were. And I am <i>never</i> deceived about -character. Never, Mr. Ross! I knew at once that you were to be -trusted. I said to Phyllis: ‘That young man has force of character!’ I -knew it. Now you’ve gone and got yourself into trouble of some sort, -and you’ve come to me—very properly—and you’re going to tell me the -whole thing.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t!” Ross protested.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, you can! Here you come and tell me you haven’t a penny, and -don’t know a soul in this country, and here’s this poor little child -who’s been foisted upon you— Don’t look surprised! I know it very -well! She’s been foisted upon you by selfish, heartless, unscrupulous -people, and you can’t deny it! Now, tell me what’s happened.”</p> - -<p>He did. And what is more, he was glad to tell her.</p> - -<p>There were a good many details that he left out, and he mentioned no -names at all, but the main facts of his amazing story he gave to her. -Especially was he emphatic in pointing out that he had now no name and -no money, and he thought that would be enough for her.</p> - -<p>But when he carefully pointed this out, she said:</p> - -<p>“Nonsense! You’ve got your own name, and you can go right on using it. -As for money, you’re never going to let that horrible, wicked woman -rob you like that—”</p> - -<p>“Look here, Mrs. Barron!” said Ross. “I am. I give you my word, I’ll -never reopen that case again. It’s finished. I’m going to make a fresh -start in the world and forget all about it.”</p> - -<p>“I shan’t argue with you now,” said Mrs. Barron, firmly. “You’re too -tired. And if you want a position—for awhile—Mr. Barron will find you -one. The little girl will stay here with us, of course. Now, take off -your coat and make yourself comfortable until lunch time.”</p> - -<p>“No!” said Ross. “No! I—don’t you see for yourself? I don’t want to -see—anybody.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ross!” said Mrs. Barron. “I’m not young any longer. I’ve lived a -good many years in the world, and I’ve learned a few things. And one -of them is—that character is the one thing that counts. Not money, Mr. -Ross; not intellect, or appearance, or manners; but character. What -you’ve done is very, very foolish, but—” She leaned across the child, -and laid her hand on his shoulder. “But it was very splendid, my dear -boy.”</p> - -<p>Ross grew redder than ever.</p> - -<p>“Just the same, I’d rather go,” he muttered, obstinately.</p> - -<p>“Here’s Phyllis now!” cried Mrs. Barron, in triumph.</p> - -<p>So he had to get up and face her—the girl he had run away from when he -had had so much to offer her. He had to face her, empty-handed, now; -heartsick and weary after his bitter adventure.</p> - -<p>And she seemed to him so wonderful, with that dear friendly smile.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ross!” she said.</p> - -<p>She held out her hand, and he had to take it. He had to look at -her—and then <i>he</i> could not stop. They forgot, for a moment; they -stood there, hands clasped, looking at each other.</p> - -<p>“Didn’t I <i>know</i> he’d come!” cried Mrs. Barron.</p> - -<div style='font-size:0.9em; border:1px solid silver; margin-bottom:2em; - margin-top:1.8em; margin-left:8%; width:80%; padding:0.4em 2%; - background-color:#EFF1F6; text-indent:0'> - Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 1926 issue of - <i>Munsey’s Magazine</i>. -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLOTTED OUT ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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