The coroner hesitated. He was afraid of this strange young man who seemed so daring and yet had an effect of bravado rather than guilt.
“Was it you, Mr. Landon who telephoned to Mr. Trowbridge the message we have heard reported?”
“It was not.”
“Did you telephone your uncle at all yesterday?”
“In the morning, yes. In the afternoon, no.”
“Do you know of any one else who could call him uncle?”
“No man, that I know of.”
“This was a man speaking, Miss Wilkinson?”
“Yes, sir, I’m sure it was a man. And Mr. Trowbridge called him nephew.”
“That means, then, Mr. Landon, that it was you speaking, or some other nephew of Mr. Trowbridge.”
“Might not the stenographer have misunderstood the words? The young lady reports a strange conversation. I would never have dreamed of offering my uncle stephanotis.”
“I cannot think any man would. Therefore, I think Miss Wilkinson must have misunderstood that part of the talk.”
A diversion was created just here by the arrival of a messenger from headquarters, who brought a possible clue. It was a lead pencil which had been found near the scene of the crime.
“Who found it?” asked the coroner.
“One of the police detectives. He’s been scouring ground by daylight, but this is all he found.”
“Ah, doubtless from Mr. Trowbridge’s pocket. Do you think it was his, Miss Trowbridge?”
Avice looked at the pencil. “I can’t say positively,” she replied. “It very likely was his. I think it is the make he used.”
“Not much of a clue,” observed Groot, glancing at the pencil.
“Kin I see it?” asked Fibsy, eagerly. And scarce waiting for permission, he stepped to the coroner’s table, and looked carefully at the new exhibit.
“Yep,” he said, “it’s the make and the number Mr. Trowbridge always has in the office. Keep it careful, Mr. Berg, maybe there’s finger marks on it, and they’ll get rubbed off.”
“That’ll do, McGuire. If you must see everything that’s going on, at least keep quiet.”
“No, it’s no clue,” grumbled Detective Groot. “Thereisno real clue, no key clue, as you may say. And you have to have that, to get at a mystery. This crime shows no brains, no planning. It isn’t the work of an educated mind. That’s why it’s most likely an Italian thug.”
Kane Landon’s deep gray eyes turned to the speaker. “Whoever planned that weird telephone message showed some ingenuity,” he said.
“And you did it!” cried the detective, “I meant you to fall into that trap, and you did. My speech brought it to your mind and you spoke before you thought. Now, what did you mean by it? What about the Caribbean Sea? Were you going to take your uncle off there? Was the trap laid for that?”
“One question at a time,” said Landon, with a look that he permitted to be insolent. “Does it seem to you the sender of that message was getting my uncle into a trap, or saving him from one? I believe the young woman reported that the message ran ‘He set a trap for you.’ Then was it not a rescuer telling of it?”
“Don’t be too fresh, young man! You can’t pull the wool over my eyes! And that telephone message isn’t needed to settle your case. When a man is found dead, and with his dying breath tells who killed him, I don’t need any further evidence.”
“Keep still, Groot,” said the coroner. “We’ve all agreed that those words about Cain, might mean any murderer.”
“They might, but they didn’t,” answered Groot, angrily.
“As Mr. Landon says,” spoke up Judge Hoyt, “it may be merely a coincidence that his name is Kane, when his uncle had so recently stigmatized his assailant as Cain. Surely such questionable evidence must be backed up by some incontrovertible facts.”
Landon looked at this man curiously. He knew him but slightly. He remembered him as a friend of his uncle’s, but he knew nothing of his attachment for Avice Trowbridge. Kane noted the fine face, the grave and scholarly brow, and he breathed a sigh of relief to think that the lawyer had said a kindly word for him. Landon’s was a peculiar nature. Reproof or rebuke always antagonized him, but a sympathetic word softened him at once.
Had Landon but known it, he had another friend present. Harry Pinckney, his college mate, recognized him the moment he entered the room. Then, obeying a sudden impulse, Pinckney drew back behind a pillar that divided the two drawing-rooms, as is the fashion of old houses, and had remained unseen by Landon all the morning. Pinckney himself could scarcely have told why he did this, but it was due to a feeling that he could not write his story for his paper with the same freedom of speech if Landon knew of his presence. For though he refused to himself to call it by so strong a term as suspicion, Pinckney felt that the coincidence of Cain and Kane was too unlikely to be true. Regretting his friend’s downfall, Pinckney thought, so far as he had yet discovered, that Landon was the most likely suspect. And so he did not want to meet him just yet. Later, perhaps, he could help him in some way or other, but the “story” came first.
“Nothing but an old milk bottle!” exclaimed Berg, disgustedly, as the exhibit was placed before him on the table.
That’s all it was, and yet somehow the commonplace thing looked uncanny when considered as evidence in a murder case. But was it evidence? Or was it merely the remnant of a last week’s picnic in the woods?
A search of the Swede’s house had brought the thing to light, and now the big fellow told again of his finding it.
Buried, he declared it was, not fifty feet from where he had seen the dying man. He had not thought at first, that it had any connection with the murder, and had taken it merely on an impulse of thrifty acquisition of anything portable. He told his wife to wash out the ill-smelling contents, and she had done so.
“If you’d only let it alone!” wailed Groot. “What did the stuff smell like? Sour milk?”
“No, no,” and Sandstrom shook his head vigorously. “It bane like a droog.”
“A droog?”
“Drugs, I suppose you mean,” said Berg. “What sort of a drug? Camphor? Peppermint? Or, say, did it smell like prussic acid? Peach pits? Bitter almonds? Hey?”
“Ay tank Ay don’t know those names. But it smell bad. And it had molasses.”
“You stick to that molasses! Well, then I say it’s an old molasses bottle long since discarded, and time and the weather had sunk it in the mud.”
“Na, not weathers. It bane buried by somebody. Ay tank the murderer.”
“The witness’s thinks would be of more value,” said the policeman who had brought the bottle, “if we hadn’t found this bit of property also, in his shanty.”
And then, before the eyes of all present, he undid a parcel containing a blood-stained handkerchief! Blood-soaked, rather, for its original white was as incarnadined as the hypothetical seas.
“Hid in between their mattresses,” he added; “looks like that settles it!”
It did look that way, but had there been a question as to the import of this mute testimony, it was answered by the effect on the two Swedes. The woman sank back in her chair, almost fainting, and the man turned ashy white, while his face took on the expression of despair that signifies the death of the last flicker of hope.
“Yours?” asked the coroner, pointing to the tell-tale thing and looking at Sandstrom.
“Na!” and the blue eyes looked hunted and afraid. “Ay bane found it anear the body,——”
“Yes, you did! Quit lying now, and own up! You’re caught with the goods on. The jig is up, so you may as well confess decently. You hid this in your mattress!”
“Yes, Ay hid it, but it is not mine. Ay found it anear the——”
“Don’t repeat that trumped-up yarn! You killed that man! What did you do with the knife?”
“Ay got na knife—”
“Yes, you have! Lots of knives. Come, Mrs. Sandstrom, what have you to say?”
But the Swede woman could only incoherently repeat that her husband had brought home the handkerchief, and declared he had found it, as he had found the bottle, near the dead body of a strange man. They had hidden it quickly, lest some of the police come to their house; and the bottle they had washed to get rid of the foul odor.
“She’s in earnest,” said the coroner, looking sharply at her, “he told her this tale and she believes it, even yet. Or if she doesn’t, she’ll stick to it that she does. You see, it all hangs together. Sandstrom killed Mr. Trowbridge, and probably the dying mandidcall him Cain, and cry out ‘Wilful murder!’ for this fellow wouldn’t be likely to make up such a speech. But it referred to himself and he tried to place it on another. The bottle story is a made-up yarn, by which he clumsily tried to imply a poisoning. The lead pencil found there, is Mr. Trowbridge’s own; the queer telephone call had nothing to do with the affair, and there you are!”
The case was certainly plain enough. The stained handkerchief showed clearly that it had been used to wipe a bloody blade. The long red marks were unmistakable. There was no chance that it might have been used as a bandage or aid to an injured person. The stains spoke for themselves, and proclaimed the horrid deed they mutely witnessed.
A few further questions brought only unintelligible replies from the Swede, and the verdict was speedy and unanimous.
Sandstrom was taken off to jail, but his wife was allowed to return to her home.
Avice felt sorry for the poor woman, and stepping to her side offered some words of sympathy.
“My man didn’t do it, Miss,” and the light blue eyes looked hopelessly sad. “He ba’n’t that kind. He wouldn’t harm anybody. He——”
But foreseeing an imminent scene, Judge Hoyt took Avice gently by the arm and drew her away.
“Don’t talk to her,” he whispered, “you can do the poor thing no good, and she may become intractable. Let her alone.”
Avice let herself be persuaded, and she followed the judge to the library. On the way, however, she was stopped by Stryker, who said the boy wanted to speak to her.
“What boy?” asked Avice.
“That office boy, Miss Avice. He says just a minute, please.”
“Certainly,” she returned, kindly, and went back a few steps to find Fibsy, bashfully twisting his cap in his hands as he waited for her.
“’Scuse me, Miss, but—are you boss now?”
“Boss? of what?”
“Of the—the diggin’s—the whole layout—” More by the boy’s gestures than his words, Alice concluded he meant her uncle’s business rather than the home.
“Why, no, I don’t suppose I am, child.”
“Who is, then? The lawyer guy?”
“Judge Hoyt? No,—what do you want to know for?”
“Well, Miss, I want a day off—off me job, you know.”
“Oh, is that all? You are—were my uncle’s office boy, weren’t you?”
“Yes’m.”
“And your name is Fibsy?”
“Well, dat name goes.”
“Then I’ll take the responsibility of saying you may have your day off. Indeed, I’m sure you ought to. Go ahead, child, and if anybody inquires about it, refer him to me. But you must be back in your place tomorrow. They may need you in—in settling up matters, you know——”
“Oh, gee, yes! I’ll be on deck tomorrow, Miss. But I want today somepin’ fierce,—fer very special reasons.”
“Very well, run along, Fibsy.”
Avice stood looking after the red-headed boy, who seemed for the moment so closely connected with her uncle’s memory. But he darted out of the open front door and up the street, as one on most important business bent.
The girl went on to the library, and found there Kane Landon and the reporter Pinckney busily engaged in the staccato chatter of reunion. Meeting for the first time in five years, they reverted to their college days, even before referring to the awfulness of the present situation.
“But I must beat it now,” Pinckney was saying, as Avice appeared.
“Look me up, old scout, as soon as you can get around to it. A reporter’s life is not a leisure one, and I’ve got to cover this story in short order. Mighty unpleasant bit for you, that Cain speech. No harm done, but it will drag your name into the paper. So long. Good-by, Miss Trowbridge. I may see you again sometime,—yes?”
“I hope so,” said Avice, a little absently. “Good-by.”
Then she turned to Landon. For a moment they took each other’s two hands and said no word.
Then, “It’s great to see you again,” he began; “I’d scarcely recognize the little pig-tailed girl I played with five years ago.”
“You teased me more than you played with me,” she returned. “You were twenty then, but you put on all the airs of a grown man.”
“I was, too. I felt old enough to be your father. That’s why I used to lecture you so much, don’t you remember?”
“Indeed I do! You could make me mad by half a dozen words.”
“I knew it, and I loved to do it! I expect I was an awful torment.”
“Yes, you were. But tell me all about yourself. Why are you in New York and not staying here? Oh, Kane, what does it all mean? I’ve been in such miserable uncertainty all the morning. Not that I thought for a minute you’d done anything—anything wrong, but it’s all so horrible. Did you quarrel with Uncle Rowly yesterday?”
“Yes, Avice, just as the little chap said. But don’t talk about awful things now. It’s all over, the harrowing part, I mean. Now, I just want to look at you, and get acquainted all over again. Let’s put off anything unpleasant until another day.”
“I remember that trait in you of old. Always put off everything disagreeable, and hurry on anything nice,” and Avice smiled at the recollection.
“And not a bad philosophy, my dear. Now tell me of yourself. You are well—and happy? I mean until this tragedy came.”
“Yes, Kane, I’ve had a happy home here with Uncle. I liked it better before Eleanor Blade came, but Uncle wanted a housekeeper, and she applied for the position and he took her. That was about a year or more ago, and Kane, what do you think? They were engaged to be married!”
“Yes, so I learned at the inquest. Don’t you like her?”
“I don’t know; I suppose so. But sometimes, I think I don’t trust her.”
“Don’t trust anybody, my dear Avice. That’s the safest and sanest plan.”
“Have you become a cynic? You talk like one.”
“Don’t you want me to be one?”
“Surely not. I hate cynicism.”
“Then I won’t be one. For the only wish I have in life is to please you.” Landon’s voice fell lower, and glancing about to make sure there was no one in hearing, he went on, “All these years, Avice, I’ve been loving you more and more. I’ve been striving to make a name and a fortune worthy of you. And I came home to further that purpose, and to see if there’s any hope for me. Is there, dear?”
“Oh, Kane, don’t talk like that now. Why, just think, Uncle——”
“I know it, little girl. Uncle isn’t yet buried. But when I saw you this morning, for the first time in so long, and when I saw how beautiful you have grown, I couldn’t wait to tell you of my love and hopes. Tell me I may hope,—tell me that, Avice.”
“I don’t know, Kane. You bewilder me. I never dreamed of this——”
“What, Avice! Never dreamed of it? Never evendreamedthat I loved you—that you could—some day, love me?”
Avice blushed and looked down. Perhaps she had dreamed,—just dreamed of such a thing.
“Don’t ask me about it now, Kane,” she said, firmly. “I’m all nervous and unstrung. These awful excitements following one another so fast and furious. Oh, I shall break down.” The tears came, but Landon said lightly, “No, you won’t, girlie, it’s all right. I’m here now to look after you. But you’re right. I mustn’t tease you now,—why, I’m back at my old teasing tricks, amn’t I?”
His strong, frank voice quieted Avice, and she looked up at him as Judge Hoyt entered the room.
“Well, Mr. Landon,” he said, “I congratulate you on an escape from a mighty unpleasant predicament. Things looked dark for a few moments back there. But it all came out right. Queer coincidence, wasn’t it?”
“It was all of that, Judge Hoyt. And it was probably more dangerous to—to my peace of mind, than I realized at the time. I was pretty much bewildered at the attack, I can tell you. You see, that was all true about my call on my uncle, and it looked a little plausible, I suppose.”
“H’m, yes. And are you staying East for a time?”
“Forever, I hope. I’ve had enough of the wild and woolly.”
“Mr. Landon will stay here with us,” said Avice, decidedly. “I invite him for an indefinite stay.”
“I hope you’ll accept,” observed Hoyt. “I’d be glad, Avice, for you to have a man in the house. There’ll be more or less unpleasant publicity after this and, until it blows over, Mr. Landon can probably save you from tiresome interviews with reporters, if nothing more.”
“Of course, I can do that. Shall you want to remain in this house Avice, after the estate is settled?”
“I don’t know yet. Don’t let’s talk about that now, Kane.”
“All right. What do you make of that crazy telephone message attributed to me, Judge Hoyt?”
“Why, Mr. Landon, if you don’t mind, I’ll not answer that question.”
“But I do mind. I want you to answer it.”
“Want me to answer it honestly?”
“Honestly, certainly.”
“Then, sir, I think it was you who telephoned.”
“Oh, you do? And I said that somebody had set a trap for my uncle? And I said I would give him Frangipanni, or whatever it was? And I said I’d send him to the Caribbean Sea?”
“You asked me what I thought. You have it. Yes, I think you said these things, but I think they were some jests between your uncle and yourself that were perfectly intelligible to you two. I have no reason to think you were angry at your uncle. Disappointed, doubtless, in not getting the loan you asked for, but still quite ready to forgive and forget. Now, honest, am I not right?”
Kane Landon had a curious look in his eyes. “You’re a good guesser,” he said, a little shortly, “but you haven’t guessed right this time.”
“Then I beg your pardon, but I still believe whoever telephoned that farrago of nonsense, had no intent but pleasantry of some sort.”
Eleanor Black came bustling in. She looked strikingly beautiful in her black gown. Not what is technically known as “mourning,” but softly draped folds of dull, lusterless silk, that threw into higher relief her clear olive complexion and shining black eyes.
“A family conclave?” she said, lightly. “May I join? But first may I not have Mr. Landon duly presented to me?”
“Oh, surely, you’ve never really met, have you?” said Avice. “Mrs. Black, this is my cousin, or the same as cousin, for he’s Uncle Rowly’s nephew. Kane, my very good friend, Mrs. Black.”
The two bowed, rather formally, and Mrs. Black murmured some conventional phrases, to which Landon responded courteously.
Judge Hoyt took the occasion to draw Avice outside the hall.
“Let them get acquainted,” he said, “and suppose you pay some slight attention to me. You’ve had eyes and ears for no one but that cousin ever since you first saw him this morning. And now you’re asking him to live here!”
“But you expressed approval of that!” and Avice looked surprised at his tone.
“How could I do otherwise at the time? But I don’t approve of it, I can tell you, unless, Avice, dearest, unless you will let us announce our engagement at once. I mean after your uncle is buried, of course.”
“Announce our engagement! You must be crazy. I’ve never said I’d marry you.”
“But you’ve never said you wouldn’t. And you are going to. But all I ask just now, is that you’ll assure me you’re not in love with this Lochinvar who has so unexpectedly come out of the West.”
“Of course, I’m not!” But the emphasis was a little too strong and the cheek that turned away from him, a little too quickly flushed, to give the words a ring of sincerity.
However, it seemed to satisfy Judge Hoyt. “Of course, you’re not,” he echoed. “I only wanted to hear you say it. And remember, my girl, youhavesaid it. And soon, as soon as you will let me, we will talk this over, but not now. Truly, dear, I don’t want to intrude, but you know, Avice, you must know how I love you.”
With a little gasping sigh Avice drew away the hand Hoyt had taken in his own, and ran back into the library.
She found Landon and Eleanor Black in a close conversation that seemed too earnest for people just introduced.
“Very well,” Eleanor was saying, “let it be that way then. I’ll give it to you this very afternoon. But I am not sure I approve,—” and then, as she heard Avice enter, she continued, “of—of Western life myself.”
The artifice was not altogether successful. Avice’s quick ears detected the sudden change of inflection of the voice, and the slight involuntary hesitation. But she ignored it and responded pleasantly to their next casual remarks.
The funeral ceremonies of Rowland Trowbridge were of the dignity and grandeur that are deemed necessary for a man of his station in life. Great men of the financial world, scholars and statesmen had all come to pay their last respects to the one so suddenly taken from his busy and forceful career.
And now, the obsequies over, a group of people were gathered in the library of the Trowbridge home to hear the reading of the will.
There was a hush of expectancy as Judge Hoyt produced and read aloud the document.
As has already been disclosed there was a bequest of fifty thousand dollars to Kane Landon. The house and furniture were given unreservedly to Mrs. Eleanor Black, with fifty thousand dollars in addition. There were bequests of one thousand dollars each to Miss Wilkinson and to Terence McGuire, both favorites with their employer. Also a similar sum to Stryker, the butler, and various smaller sums to other servants and to a few charities.
And then came the disposition of the residuary fortune, which, it was rumored, ran well up into the millions.
In the words of the will it was set forth that all moneys and properties, not otherwise designated, were bequeathed to Avice Trowbridge, on the conditions that “she shall keep my collection of Natural History Specimens intact, and, within a year duly present it to some worthy museum; and herself become the wife of Leslie Hoyt. Also, she must add to said collection not less than twenty-five specimens of certain value every year. If these conditions are not fulfilled, my niece, Avice, inherits but fifty thousand dollars of my fortune, and the residue must form a trust fund, under the supervision of Leslie Hoyt, to be used to found and endow a museum of Natural History.”
With the exception of Hoyt and Avice, every one present looked astounded at the terms of the will. And yet it was not surprising that Mr. Trowbridge desired the union of his niece and his friend. Besides being the lawyer of the dead man, Hoyt had been his intimate friend and companion for years, and Hoyt’s regard for Avice was no secret. Moreover, the girl had always looked on the lawyer with friendly eyes, and it had been assumed by many that they were destined for each other. To be sure, Avice was only twenty, and Leslie Hoyt was forty-five. But he was a man who seemed ten years younger than he was, and Avice was mature for her years. So, while it was a surprise that their union had been made a condition of the bequest, it was not thought by any one that this fact would be objectionable to either of the two concerned.
But Avice looked grave, and an obstinate expression came into her eyes. Hoyt saw this, and smiled a little as he remembered her aversion to beingmadeto do a thing, even though she fully intended to do it. It was the girl’s nature to chafe at authority, and Hoyt well knew he would have to give her free rein in many matters. Of course, having drawn up the will, he had known of this condition, but this was the first time he had had opportunity to note how it affected Avice. And it was quite plain that she was displeased.
“Then,” she burst out, “does my inheritance depend on my marriage to Judge Hoyt?”
“Yes,” answered Hoyt, himself, smiling at her.
“Then I refuse it! I will not be told whom I shall marry!”
“Let us not discuss that now,” said Hoyt, gently; “there is time enough for you to decide that later.”
Avice realized that this was not the time or place for such a discussion, and said no more.
Mrs. Black was dissatisfied. Although she had a handsome inheritance, she well knew that this will had been made before her betrothal to Rowland Trowbridge, and had he lived to marry her, she would have had much more. Indeed, the only person who seemed satisfied was Kane Landon. He looked serenely pleased, and began to make inquiries as to how soon he could have his share in cash.
Judge Hoyt looked at him, as if incredulous that any one could be so mercenary, and rising, went over to sit beside him and discuss the matter. On his way, Hoyt passed by the boy, Fibsy, and patting his shoulder, remarked genially, “I’m glad you were remembered, sonny. When you want to invest your money, let me advise you.”
Fibsy glanced up at the lawyer, and with an inquiring look on his face, he exclaimed “Vapo-Cottolene!”
What this cryptic utterance meant, no one could guess; and no one gave it a second thought, except Landon, who smiled at the red-headed boy and said, “Yes!”
As soon as she could do so, Avice escaped to her own room. So this was her inheritance! A fortune, only if she took also a husband of her uncle’s choice! It had come upon her so suddenly, that she had to reiterate to herself that it was true.
“If I’d only known,” she thought. “I’m sure I could have persuaded Uncle Rowly not to do that! I don’t blame him so much, for I know he thought I wanted to marry Leslie, but I never told him I did. I suppose he had a right to think so,—but—that was all before Kane came back.” And then her thoughts wandered far away from her inheritance, both real and personal, and concerned themselves with the strange man who had come out of the West. For he was strange. Landon had abrupt ways and peculiar attitudes that Avice could not altogether understand. He was so blunt and breezy. That, of course, was owing to his recent surroundings; then, again, he was so masterful and dominating, but that he had always been. Still more, he was incomprehensible. She couldn’t understand his curt, almost rude manner at the time of the inquest proceedings. To be sure, it was enough to make a man furious to have insinuating questions put to him about the murder of his uncle,—as if Kane could have known anything of it!—but, well, hewasmysterious in some ways.
And his attitude toward Eleanor Black. They must have met before or they never would have talked as absorbedly as they had been doing when Avice came upon them unexpectedly. And Eleanor was another mysterious one! She had her inheritance now, and Avice hoped they might separate, never to meet again. Well, of course, they would, for neither had a desire to continue living with the other. As for Avice herself, she would go out of that house at once. But where? That must soon be decided. Then, like a flooding wave, came back the memory of her uncle’s will! She must marry Judge Hoyt or lose her fortune. She would have some money, to be sure, but the interest of that, as an income would make life a very different matter from what it had been!
And Eleanor would have this house,—to live in, or to sell. Idly she speculated on this, feeling an undercurrent of satisfaction that the widow’s bequest had not been even larger.
Then her thoughts reverted to the episode of Mrs. Black’s telephoning so late that night, after the death of her uncle. She remembered she had secured the telephone number.
“I’ve a notion to call up and see who it is,” she mused. “I am going to devote myself to searching out the murderer, and while I don’t, of course, dream that Eleanor had anything to do with it, yet—she is Italian,—and suppose she is mixed up with some secret society—oh—well—I’ll have to call that number or never rest. I might as well do it now.”
Unwilling to take a chance of being overheard in the house, Avice dressed for the street and went out. She said to a maid in the hall, “If any one asks, say I’ve gone out for a little breath of air.”
Glad of a walk in the sunshine, she went to the nearest public telephone booth and called the number. She had a queer feeling of doing wrong, but she persuaded herself that her motive was a right one.
“Hello,” she heard a man’s hearty voice say.
“Hello,” she returned, thoroughly frightened now, but not willing to back out. “Who is this, please?”
“Lindsay, Jim Lindsay; who wants me?”
“But,—but,——” Avice was at her wits’ end what to say, “are you—do you know—that is, are you a friend of Mrs. Black? Eleanor Black?”
“Don’t know the lady. Is this Mrs. Black?”
“No; but you must know her. She—she talked to you last Tuesday night, late—very late.”
“Tuesday night? Oh, I wasn’t here Tuesday night. A chum of mine had my rooms; Landon—Kane Landon,—”
“Who?”
“Landon. Say, what’s the matter? Won’t you tell me who you are? What’s it all about? Oh, I beg your pardon, I’m inexcusably butting in! Forgive me, do. Yes, Kane Landon had these rooms to himself for a night or two while I was away. I believe he’s at a relative’s on Fifth Avenue now. Want to see him?”
“No—thank you. Good-by.”
Avice hung up the receiver, her brain in a whirl. Had Eleanor, then, been telephoning to Kane the very night of the murder? What had she said? For him not to try to see her that night! For him to meet her next day at the same time and place! Oh, theywereold friends, then. More, they were keeping that fact quiet, and pretending to meet as strangers! Was there, could there be any connection between all this and the murder?
Scarce knowing what she was doing, Avice left the booth and went for a long walk. But she could get no meaning or explanation of the facts she had learned. The more she mulled them over the more confused she became as to their import. Her mind turned to Hoyt. After all, Leslie was the one to bank on. He would help her and advise her as he had always done. But, that will! She could ask no favors or advice of Judge Hoyt now, unless she acknowledged herself his betrothed. And was she prepared to do that? Well, one thing was certain, if Kane was all mixed up with Eleanor Black, she surely wanted no more to do with him! And he had told her he loved her. Perhaps because he thought she was her uncle’s heiress! Of course, he did not know then of the clause about her marrying the judge. Probably now, Kane would have no further interest in her. Well, he could marry Eleanor, for all she cared!
She went home, and paused first for a few moments in a small reception room, to calm her demeanor a little. But, on the contrary, the sight of the familiar walls and the realization that she was to leave them, struck a sudden sadness to her already surcharged heart, and she gave way to silent weeping. And here Hoyt, looking for her, found her.
“What is it, dearest?” he said, sitting beside her. “I have now a right to comfort you.”
“Why?” said Avice, throwing back her head and meeting his eyes.
Hoyt smiled tenderly at her. “Because our betrothal, long tacitly agreed upon, is now ratified by your uncle’s wish and decree.”
“Not at all. Because my uncle wished me to marry you, is no reason that I am obliged to do so.”
“Not obliged, my darling. That is a harsh word. But you want to, don’t you, my Avice? My beautiful girl!”
“I don’t know whether I do or not. But I’m sure of one thing, I won’t marry you simply because Uncle Rowly wanted it! Much as I loved him, and much as I revere his memory, I shall not marry a man I don’t love for his sake!”
“But you do love me, little Avice. You are so worried and perturbed now, you can’t think clearly. But you will find yourself soon, and realize that you love me as I love you.”
Hoyt spoke very tenderly and the girl’s quivering nerves were soothed by his strong, gentle voice, and his restrained manner. He didn’t offer endearments which she might resent. He knew enough to bide his time, confident that she would turn to him of her own accord when ready.
“I don’t want to think about marrying now,” she said, wearily; “I have so much to think about.”
And then Leslie Hoyt made his mistake.
“No, dear, don’t think about it now,” he said; “but remember, if you don’t marry me, you lose a very big fortune.”
The words were meant to be half playful, half remindful, but they roused the deepest indignation in the heart of Avice Trowbridge.
She turned on him with flaming eyes. “How dare you? How can you put forth such an argument? Do you think that will help your cause? Do you suppose I would marry any one for a fortune? And any way, as a lawyer you can find some way to set aside that proviso. It can’t be possible a whim like that can stand in law!”
Hoyt looked at her intently. “It will stand,” he said, coldly; “I do not use it as a bribe, but I tell you truly, if you do not marry me the bulk of your uncle’s fortune will go to a museum.”
“Can’t a will like that be broken?”
“In no possible way. Your uncle was in full possession of all his faculties, the will is duly witnessed and recorded, there isn’t a flaw that could be found on which to base a contest. But don’t let us talk in this strain, dear. If you don’t want to marry me, you shan’t, but you must realize the situation.”
“I begin to realize it at last. But I cannot decide now. Give me time, Leslie,” and the sweet brown eyes looked appealingly into his.
“Of course, I will, you darling girl, all the time you want. And please, Avice, if you want any information or advice, come to me and let me help you, without feeling that you are committing yourself to anything. You understand?”
“Oh, thank you! That is what I wanted. Yes, I do understand, and I bless you for it. I am very much perplexed, Leslie, but I want to think out things a little for myself, before I tell you what I’m bothered about.”
“So be it, then. And whenever you’re ready, I’m waiting.”
Judge Hoyt went away, and Avice, wandering listlessly through the house, came upon Eleanor Black. That volatile spirit had already assumed complete ownership and command of the home that was now all her own. She was giving orders to the servants in quite a different manner from the one she had shown as a mere housekeeper, and was already arranging for a different mode of life.
“I shall close the house for the summer and go away,” she was saying to Stryker, “and then in the fall there must be complete renovation. Avice, what are your plans?”
“Oh, Eleanor, I haven’t made any yet. How can you be so hasty? Do have a little respect for uncle’s memory, if you have no sorrow in your heart.”
“Don’t trouble yourself to talk to me like that, Avice,” and the black eyes snapped. “There’s no need of pretense between us.”
“Then let’s lay pretense aside,” and the girl’s attitude suddenly became as haughty as the older woman’s. “Who is Jim Lindsay?”
“Mercy! I don’t know, I never heard of him. Why?”
It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of Eleanor’s speech and expression, and Avice was at once sure that it was the truth.
“Nothing, then. I don’t know him either. And Eleanor, I’ll talk with you some time, soon, about our future plans and all that, but I can’t just yet. You don’t mind my staying in the house a short time, do you?”
“Of course, not. Don’t be a goose. Stay till you marry Judge Hoyt, if you will. But I’m going away for the summer.”
“When?”
“As soon as I can settle up some matters and get off. But you stay here if you choose. Keep the servants, and get some one to chaperone you. My dear Avice, look on the place as your home just as long as it suits you to do so, won’t you?”
The invitation was given in a whole-souled, honest manner, and Avice really appreciated the kindness that prompted it.
“Thank you, Eleanor,” she said; “I shall be glad to stay for a time, I can’t say yet how long. And it’s good of you to be so hospitable.”
“I’ve asked Mr. Landon to stay a while,” Mrs. Black added, “until I go away, at any rate.”
Avice wanted to ask her then, how long she had known Kane Landon, but something seemed to restrain the question. So with a few murmured words of acquiescence, she went her way.
It was soon after this, that the reporter, Pinckney, came again to see Avice. The girl liked the wide-awake young man, and granted him an interview.
“Shall I announce your engagement to Judge Hoyt?” he asked, gravely, but with intense interest.
“No, indeed!” said Avice, with spirit.
“You’re not going to lose all that fortune?”
“Not necessarily. But I object to having my engagement announced before it has taken place! Oh,doall these things have to be in the papers?”
“Certainly they do; and that’s why you’d better tell me the truth than to have to stand for all the yarns I’d make up.”
“Oh,don’tmake up a lot of stuff,pleasedon’t!”
“Well, I won’t, if you’ll give me a few facts to work on. First, do you think that Swede killed your uncle?”
“Oh, I don’t know what to think! But I’m going to get the best detective I can find, and let him find out all he can. I believe uncle was killed by some robber, and his reference to Cain was merely the idea of a murderer. Uncle often talked that way.”
“Look here, Miss Trowbridge, I don’t want to butt in, I’m sure; but I’m a bit of a detective, myself, in an amateur way. Don’t you want me to,—but I suppose you want a professional.”