_ CHAPTER XII. THE APPROACH OF A MAN NAMED SMITH
Mr. Redmond Wrandall, grey and gaunt and somewhat wistful, rode slowly through the leafy lane, attended some little distance behind by Griggs the groom, who slumped in the saddle and thought only of the sylvan dell to curse it with poetic license. (Ever since Mr. Wrandall had been thrown by his horse in the Park a few years before his wife had insisted on having a groom handy in case he lost his seat again: hence Griggs.) It sometimes got on Mr. Wrandall's nerves, having Griggs lopping along like that, but there didn't seem to be any way out of it, nor was there the remotest likelihood that the groom himself might one day be spilled and broken in many places while engaged in this obnoxious espionage.
Mr. Wrandall was grey because he was old, he was gaunt because he was old, and he usually was somewhat wistful for the same reason. He nourished the lament that he had grown old before his time, despite the sixty odd years that lay behind him. He was always a trifle annoyed with himself for not having demanded more of his youth. Griggs, therefore, was a physical insult, any way you looked at him: his very presence in the road behind was a blatant, house-top sort of proclamation that he, Redmond Wrandall, was in his dotage, and that was something Mr. Wrandall would never have admitted if he had had anything to say about it.
To-day he was riding over to Southlook to visit his daughter-in-law and one whom he looked upon as a prospective daughter-in-law. It was Wednesday and the family had been in the country since Monday. His wife and Vivian had motored over on Tuesday. They were letting no grass grow under their feet, notwithstanding a sudden and unexplained period of procrastination on the part of Leslie, who had gone off for a fortnight's fishing in Maine. Moreover, so far as they knew, he had departed without proposing to Miss Castleton: an oversight which deprived his mother of at least two weeks of activity along obvious lines. Naturally, it was quite impossible to discuss the future with Miss Castleton under the circumstances, and it was equally out of the question to discuss it with security in the very constricted circle that Mrs. Wrandall affected in the country. It really was too bad of Leslie! He should have known better.
Half way to Southlook, Mr. Wrandall, turning a bend in the road, caught sight of two people walking some distance ahead: a man and a woman. They were several hundred yards away, and travelling in the direction he was going. He pulled his horse down to a walk, a circumstance that for the moment escaped the attention of Griggs, who rode alongside before he quite realised what had happened.
"Griggs," said his master, staring at the pedestrians, "when did my son return?"
Griggs grasped the situation at a glance--a rather vague and imperfect glance, however. "This morning, sir," he replied promptly, although he was as much at sea as his master.
"I understood Mrs. Wrandall to say he was not expected before Saturday."
"Yes, sir. He came unexpected, sir."
"Well," said Mr. Wrandall, with an indulgent smile, "we will not ride them down."
"No, indeed, sir," consented Griggs, with a wink that Mr. Wrandall did not see.
The pleased, satisfied smile grew on Redmond Wrandall's gaunt old face: not reminiscent, I am bound to say, yet reflective.
The tall young man and the girl far ahead apparently were not aware of the scrutiny. They appeared to be completely absorbed in each other. At last, coming to a footpath diverging from the macadam, they stopped and parleyed. Then they turned into this narrow, tortuous path over the hillside and were lost to view.
Mr. Wrandall's smile broadened as he touched his horse lightly with the crop. Coming to the obscure little bypath, he shot a surreptitious glance into the fastnesses of the wood, but did not slacken his speed. No one was in sight.
"I dare say the danger is past, Griggs," he said humorously. "They are safe."
"I believe you, sir," said Griggs, also forgetting himself so far as to steal a look over his right shoulder.
It was Mr. Wrandall's design to ride on to Southlook and surprise Leslie and his inamorata at the lodge gates, where he would wait for them. Arriving there, he dismounted and turned his steed over to Griggs, with instructions to ride on. He would join Mr. Leslie and Miss Castleton and walk with them for the remainder of the distance.
He sat down on the rustic bench and lighted a cigar. The lodge-keeper saluted him from the garden below. Later the keeper's small son came up and from the opposite side of the roadway regarded him with the wide, curious gaze of a four-year-old. Mr. Wrandall disliked children. He made no friendly overtures. The child stood his ground, which was in a sense disconcerting, althought he couldn't tell why. He felt like saying "shoo!" Presently the keeper's collie came up and sniffed his puttees, all the while looking askance. Mr. Wrandall said: "Away with you," and the dog retreated with some dignity to the steps where he laid down and fixed his eyes on the stranger.
Half-an-hour passed. Mr. Wrandall frowned as he looked at his watch. Another quarter of an hour went by. He changed his position, and the dog lifted his head, without wagging his tail.
"'Pon my soul," said Mr. Wrandall in some annoyance.
Just then the dog and the child deflected their common stare. He was at first grateful, then interested. The child was beaming, the dog's tail was thumping a merry tattoo on the wooden step. Footsteps crunched on the gravel and he turned to look, although it was not the direction from which he expected his son and Miss Castleton.
He came to his feet, plainly perplexed. Miss Castleton approached, but the fellow beside her was not Leslie.
"How are you, Mr. Wrandall?" called out the young man cheerily, crossing the road.
"Good afternoon, Brandon," said Mr. Wrandall, nonplussed. "How do you do, Miss Castleton? Delighted to see you looking so well. Where did you leave my son?"
"Haven't seen him," said Booth. "Is he back?"
Mr. Redmond Wrandall swallowed hard.
"I was so informed," he replied, with an effort.
"Are you not coming up to the house, Mr. Wrandall?" inquired Miss Castleton, and he thought he detected a note of appeal in her voice.
"Certainly," he announced, taking his place beside her. To himself he was saying: "This young blade has been annoying her, confound him."
"Miss Castleton had a note from Leslie this morning, saying he wouldn't start home till Friday," said Booth, puzzled. "You don't mind my saying so, Miss Castleton?"
"Not at all. I am sure he said Friday."
"I fancy he did say Friday," said Mr. Wrandall. "I think Griggs had been drinking."
"Griggs?" inquired the two in unison.
He volunteered no more than that. He was too busily engaged in wondering what his son could be thinking of, to leave this delightful girl to the tender mercies of a handsome, fascinating chap like Brandon Booth. He didn't relish the look of things. She was agitated, suspiciously so; and Booth wasn't what one would describe as perfectly at ease. There was something in the air, concluded Leslie's father.
"I hear you are coming over to spend a fortnight with us, Miss Castleton," said he pleasantly.
Hetty started. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Wrandall," she said, although he had spoken very distinctly.
"Leslie mentioned it a--oh, some time ago, my dear. This is the first time I have seen you, otherwise I should have added my warmest appeal for you to come early and to stay late. Ha-ha! Hope you will find your way to our place, Brandon. You are always a most welcome visitor."
The girl walked on in silence, her lips set with curious firmness. Booth looked at her and indulged in a queer little smile, to which she responded with a painful flush.
"Vivian expects to have a few friends out at the same time--very quietly, you know, and without much of a hurrah. Young ladies you ought to know in New York, my dear Miss Castleton. I dare say you will remember all of them, Brandon."
"I dare say," said Booth, without interest.
"I understand the portrait is finished," went on the old gentleman, blissfully oblivious to the disturbance he had created. "Mrs. Wrandall says it is wonderful, Brandon. You won't mind showing it to me? I am very much interested."
"Glad to have you see it, sir."
"Thanks."
He slackened his pace, an uneasy frown appearing between his eyes.
"I am almost afraid to tell Sara the news we have had from town this morning. She is so opposed to notoriety and all that sort of thing. Poor girl, she's had enough to drive one mad, I fear, with all that wretched business of a year ago."
Hetty stopped in her tracks. She went very white.
"What news, Mr. Wrandall?"
"They say they have stumbled upon a clew,--an absolutely indisputable clew. Smith had me on the wire this morning. He is the chief operative, you understand, Miss Castleton. He informs me that his original theory is quite fully substantiated by this recent discovery. If you remember, he gave it as his opinion a year ago that the woman was not--er--I may say, of the class catalogued as fast. He is coming out to-morrow to see me."
Things went suddenly black before her eyes, but in an instant she regained control of herself.
"They have had many clews, Mr. Wrandall," she complained, shaking her head.
"I know," he replied; "and this one may be as futile as the rest. Smith appears to be absolutely certain this time, however."
"I understood that Mrs. Wrandall--I mean Mrs. Challis Wrandall--refused to offer a reward," said Booth. "These big detective agencies are not keen about--"
"There is a ten thousand dollar reward still standing, Brandon," said Mr. Wrandall.
Again the girl started.
"That isn't generally known, sir," observed the painter. "Leslie told me there was no reward."
"It was privately arranged," explained Leslie's father.
They came in sight of the house at that moment, and the subject was dropped, for Sara was approaching them in earnest conversation with Mr. Carroll, her lawyer.
They met at the edge of the lower basin, where the waters trickled down from an imposing Italian fountain on the level above, forming a deep, clear pool to which the lofty sky lent unfathomable depths. To the left of the basin there was a small tea-house, snug in the shadow of the cypresses that lined the crest of the hill. A series of rough stone steps wound down to the water's edge and the boathouse.
"Mr. Carroll is the bearer of startling news, Mr. Wrandall," said Sara, after the greetings. There was a trace of the sardonic in her voice.
"Indeed?" said Mr. Wrandall gravely.
"I was not aware, sir," said the old lawyer stiffly, and with a positive glare, "that your detectives were such unmitigated asses as they now appear to be."
"I fail to understand, Mr. Carroll," with considerable loftiness.
"That confounded rascal Smith called to see me this morning, sir. He is a rogue, sir. He--"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Carroll," protested Mr. Wrandall, in a far from conciliatory manner.
"It seems, in short, that he has been working on a very intimate clew," said Sara, staring fixedly at her father-in-law's face.
"So he informed me over the 'phone this morning," said he, rather taken a-back. "However, he did not go into the details. I am here, Sara, to tell you that he is coming out to-morrow. I want to ask you to come over to my place at--"
"That is out of the question, sir," exclaimed Mr. Carroll vehemently.
"My dear Mr. Carroll--" began Wrandall angrily, but Sara interrupted him to suggest that they talk it over in the tea-house. She would ring for tea.
"If you will excuse me, Mrs. Wrandall, I think I will be off," said Booth.
"Please stay, Mr. Booth," she urged. "I would like to have you here."
She fell behind with Hetty. The girl's eyes were glassy.
"Don't be alarmed," she whispered.
Booth pressed the button for her. "Thank you. You will be surprised, Mr. Wrandall, to hear that the new clew leads to a member of your own family."
Mr. Wrandall was in the act of sitting down. At her words he dropped. His eyes bulged.
"Good God!"
"It appears that Mr. Smith suspects--ME!" said she coolly.
Her father-in-law's lips moved, but no sound issued. His face was livid.
"The stupid fool!" hissed the irate Mr. Carroll.
There was deathly silence for a moment following this outburst. Every face was pale. In Hetty's there was an expression of utter horror. Her lips too were moving.
"He has, it seems, put one thing and another together, as if it were a picture puzzle," went on Sara. "His visit to Mr. Carroll this morning was for the purpose of ascertaining how much it would be worth to me if he dropped the case--NOW."
"The infernal blackmailer!" gasped Mr. Wrandall, finding his voice. "I will have him kicked off the place if he comes to me with--My dear, my dear! You cannot mean what you say."
He was in a shocking state of bewilderment.
"I'd advise you to call off your infernal blackmailer, Mr. Redmond Wrandall," snarled Mr. Carroll, pacing back and forth.
"My dear sir," stammered the other, "I--I--do you mean to imply that I know anything about this infamous business?"
"He is your dog, not ours," declared the lawyer, pacing the brick floor.
"Peace, gentlemen," admonished Sara. "Let us discuss it calmly."
"Calmly?" gasped Mr. Wrandall.
"Calmly!" snapped the lawyer.
"At least deliberately. It appears, Mr. Wrandall, that Smith has been working on the theory all along that it was I who went to the inn with Challis. You recall the description given of the woman? She was of my size and figure, they said at the time. Well, he has--"
"It is infamous!" shouted Mr. Wrandall, springing to his feet. "He shall hear from me to-night. I shall have him lodged in jail before--"
"You will do nothing of the sort," interrupted Sara firmly. "I think you will do well to hear his side of the story. And remember, sir, that it would be very difficult for me to establish an alibi."
"Bless me!" groaned the old man. Then his eyes brightened. "But Miss Castleton can prove that for you, my dear. Don't forget Miss Castleton."
"Miss Castleton did not come to me, you should remember, until after the--the trouble. It occurred the second night after my arrival from Europe. Mr. Smith has discovered that I was not in my rooms at the hotel that night."
"You were not?" fell from Mr. Wrandall's lips. "Where were you?"
"I spent the night in our apartment--alone." She shivered as with a chill as she uttered these words.
"What!"
"Leslie met me at the dock. He said that Challis had gone away from town for a day or two. The next day I telephoned to the garage and asked them to send the big car to me as I wanted to make some calls. They said that Mr. Wrandall had discharged the chauffeur a week or two before and had been using my little French runabout for a few days, driving it himself. I then instructed them to send the runabout around with one of their own drivers. You can imagine my surprise when I was told that Mr. Wrandall had taken the car out that morning and had not returned with it."
"I see," said Mr. Wrandall, beads of perspiration standing on his forehead.
"He had not left town. I will not try to describe my feelings. Late in the afternoon, I called them up again. He had not returned. It was then that I thought of going to the apartment, which had been closed all winter. Watson and his wife were to go in the next day by my instructions. Challis had been living at a club, I believe. Somehow, I had the feeling that during the night my husband would come to the apartment--perhaps not alone. You understand. I went there and waited all night. That is the story. Of course, it is known that I did not spend the night at the hotel. Mr. Smith evidently has learned as much. It is on this circumstance that he bases his belief."
Booth was leaning forward, breathless with interest.
"May I enquire, Mr. Carroll, how the clever Mr. Smith accounts for the secrecy observed by Mr. Wrandall and his companion, if, as he proclaims, you were the woman? Is it probable that husband and wife would have been so mysterious?"
Mr. Carroll answered. "He is rather ingenious as to that, Mr. Booth. You must understand that he does not specifically charge my cli--Mrs. Wrandall with the murder of her husband. He merely arranges his theories so that they may be applied to her with a reasonable degree of assurance. He only goes this far in his deductions: If, as he has gleaned, Challis Wrandall was engaged in an illicit--er--we'll say distraction--with some one unknown to Sara his wife, what could be more spectacular than her discovery of the fact and the subsequently inspired decision to lay a trap for him? Of course, it is perfect nonsense, but it is the way he goes about it. It has been established beyond a doubt that Wrandall met the woman at a station four miles down the line from Burton's Inn. She came out on one of the local trains, got off at this station as prearranged, and found him waiting for her. Two men, you will recall, testified to that effect at the inquest sixteen months ago. She was heavily veiled. She got in the motor and drove off with him. This was at half past eight o'clock in the evening. Smith makes this astounding guess; the woman instead of being the person expected, was in reality his wife, who had by some means intercepted a letter. Our speculative friend Smith is not prepared to suggest an arrest on these flimsy claims, but he believes it to be worth Mrs. Wrandall's while to have the case permanently closed, rather than allow these nasty conclusions to get abroad. They would spread like wildfire. Do you see what I mean?"
"It is abominable!" cried Hetty, standing before them with flashing eyes. "I KNOW she did not--"
"Hetty, my dear!" cried Sara sharply.
The girl looked at her for a moment in a frenzied way, and then turned aside, biting her lips to keep back the actual confession that had rushed up to them.
"It is blackmail," repeated Mr. Wrandall miserably.
"In the most diabolical form," augmented Carroll. "The worst of it is, Wrandall, we can't stop his tongue unless we fairly choke him with greenbacks. All he has to do is to give the confounded yellow journals an inkling of his suspicions, and the job is done. It seems to be pretty well understood that the crime was not committed by a person in the ordinary walks of life, but by one who is secure in the protection of mighty influences. There are those who believe that his companion was one of the well-known and prominent young matrons in the city, many of whom were at one time or another interested in him in a manner not at all complimentary. Smith suggests--mind you, he merely suggests--that the person who was to have met Wrandall in the country that night was so highly connected that she does not dare reveal herself, although absolutely innocent of the crime. Or, it is possible on the other hand, he says, that she may consider herself extremely lucky in failing to keep her appointment and thereby alluring him to take up with another, after she had written the letter breaking off the engagement,--said letter not having been received by him because it had fallen into the hands of his wife. Do you see? It is ingenious, isn't it?"
"What is to be done?" groaned Mr. Wrandall, in a state of collapse. He was sitting limply back in the chair, crumpled to the chin.
"The sanest thing, I'd suggest," said Booth sarcastically, "is the capture of the actual perpetrator of the deed."
"But, confound them," growled Carroll, "they say they can't."
"I shall withdraw my offer of reward," proclaimed the unhappy father, struggling to his feet. "I never dreamed it could come to such a pass as this. You DO believe me, don't you, Sara, my child--my daughter? God hear me, I never--"
"Oh," said she cuttingly, "you, at least, are innocent, Mr. Wrandall."
He looked at her rather sharply.
"The confounded fellow is coming to see me to-morrow," he went on after a moment of indecision. "I shall be obliged to telephone to the city for my attorney to come out also. I don't believe in taking chances with these scoundrels. They--"
"May I enquire, sir, why you entrusted the matter to a third rate detective agency when there are such reputable concerns as the Pinkertons or--" began Mr. Carroll bitingly.
Mr. Wrandall held up his hand deprecatingly.
"We had an idea that an unheard of agency might accomplish more than one of the famous organisations."
"Well, you see what has come of it," growled the other.
"I was opposed to the reward, sir," declared Mr. Wrandall with some heat. "Not that I was content to give up the search, but because I felt sure that the guilty person would eventually reveal herself. They always do, sir. It is the fundamental principle of criminology. Soon or late they falter. My son Leslie is of a like opinion. He has declared all along that the mystery will be cleared up if we are quiescent. A guilty conscience takes its own way to relieve itself. If you keep prodding it with sharp sticks you encourage fear, and stealth, and all that sort of thing, without really getting anywhere in the end. Give a murderer a free rope and he'll hang himself, is my belief. Threaten him with that self-same rope, and he'll pay more attention to dread than to conscience, and your ends are defeated."
Sara was inwardly nervous. She stole a glance at the white, emotionless face of the girl across the table, and was filled with apprehension.
"Can you be sure, Mr. Wrandall," she began earnestly, "that justice isn't the antidote for the poisonous thing we call a conscience? Suppose this woman to have been fully justified in doing what she did, does it follow that conscience can force her to admit, even to herself, that she is morally guilty of a crime against man? I doubt it, sir."
She was prepared for a subtle change in Hetty's countenance and was not surprised to see the light of hope steal back into her eyes.
"Fully justified?" murmured the old gentleman painfully.
"Perhaps we would better not go into that question too intimately," suggested Mr. Carroll.
"My son Leslie has peculiar views along the very line--" began Mr. Wrandall, in great distress of mind. He fell into a reflective mood and did not finish the sentence.
"I shall see this man Smith," announced Sara calmly.
Her father-in-law stood over her, his face working. "My dear," he said, "I promise you this absurd business shall go no farther. Don't let it trouble you in the least. I will attend to Smith. If there is no other way to check his vile insinuations, I will pay his price. You are not to be submitted to these dreadful--"
She interrupted him. "You will do nothing of the kind, Mr. Wrandall," she said levelly. "Do you want to convince him that I AM guilty?"
"God in heaven, no!"
"Then why pay him the reward you have offered for the person who is guilty?"
"It is an entirely different propo--"
"It amounts to the same thing, sir. He tells you he has discovered the woman you want and you fulfil your part of the bargain by paying him for his services. That closes the transaction, so far as he is concerned. He goes his way fully convinced that he has put his hands on the criminal, and then proceeds to wash them in private instead of in public. No. Let me see this man. I insist."
"He will be at my place to-morrow at eleven," said Wrandall resignedly. "I wish Leslie were here. He is so level-headed."
Sara laid her hand on his arm. He looked up and found her regarding him rather fixedly.
"It would be just as well as to keep this from Mrs. Wrandall and Vivian," she said meaningly.
"You are right, Sara. It would distress them beyond words."
She smiled faintly. "May I enquire whether Mr. Smith is to report to you or to Mrs. Wrandall?"
He flushed. "My wife--er--made the arrangements with him, Sara," he said, but added quickly: "With my sanction, of course. He reports to me. As a matter of fact, now that I think of it, he advised me to say nothing to my wife until he had talked with me."
"Inasmuch as he has already talked it over with me, through counsel, I don't see any reason why we should betray his gentle confidence, do you?"
"I--I suppose not," said he uncomfortably.
"Then, bring him here at eleven, Mr. Wrandall," said she serenely. "He has already paved the way. I imagine he expects to find me at home. Put the things here, Watson."
Watson had appeared with the tray. It being a very hot day, he did not bring tea. _