Kirk was roused from a heavy, senseless slumber the next morning by a vigorous rapping at his door. He lay still for a time, vaguely resentful of the noise, then glanced at his watch, and found, with a shock, that it was quite late. Realizing only that he was due at the office, he leaped out of bed. He opened the door and Runnels rushed in.
"Have you heard?"
"I heard your infernal pounding; that's what woke me up."
Runnels calmed his excitement, which Kirk now observed was intense.
"Where did you go after I left you last night?"
"I came here, of course." As the memory of the previous night swept over him he scowled.
"Did you stay here?"
"No. I went out again, and was out nearly all night trying to walk it off."
Runnels' face blanched, and he drew back.
"Then of course you know?"
"What?"
"About Cortlandt. He's dead!"
It was Kirk's turn to start and grow pale. The last cobweb was swept from his brain, and he gasped:
"DEAD! When? Where? How did it happen?"
"Nobody knows just how. He was found on the sea-wall near Alfarez' house, shot."
"Shot! Good Lord!"
"It happened some time early this morning, and the whole city is talking about it. I came to you the first thing."
"We'd better hurry down there. Mrs. Cortlandt must be all broken up."Kirk began to dress hastily, but paused as his friend stammered:
"Wait! I—I—let's understand each other first. I met Wade just now.The news has rattled him, and he's been talking."
"What do you mean?"
"Did you see Cortlandt again after I left you?" Runnels swallowed hard.
Kirk whirled about and faced him. "Great heavens! No! See here, that idea is ridiculous."
Runnels sank weakly into a chair and mopped his face. "I'm glad to hear you say that. It frightened me just the same, for I remembered you acted so queerly when I left you, and Wade seemed to think, perhaps—When you said you'd gone out again, it knocked me flat, understand?"
"I can prove where I was, for Allan was with me. I couldn't sleep, so I tried to walk off my excitement. No, no. I couldn't do a thing like that. I thought last night that I could, but—I couldn't, really."
"I'm afraid Wade will tell all about the party if we don't stop him."
"Then we'd better hunt him up." Kirk resumed his dressing, whileRunnels consulted his watch.
"No. 5 is due in twenty minutes. We'll probably find him at the office."
Together they hastened to the railroad building, Runnels telling all he knew of the tragedy as they went along. Cortlandt's body, it seemed, had been found about daylight by a Spiggoty policeman, who had identified it. Becoming panic-stricken at the importance of his discovery, he had sounded the alarm, then reported directly to the Governor, whose house was close by. It was General Alfarez himself who had informed Mrs. Cortlandt over the telephone of her husband's death. The whole city was alive with the news, the police were buzzing like bees. Rumors of suicide, murder, robbery were about, but no one seemed to know anything definite. Colonel Jolson in his motor-car had just come from Culebra, and Colonel Bland was on No. 5 from Gatun, hence Runnels' desire to be at the station.
"It was suicide," Kirk averred, with conviction. "The man was insane last night, and that accounts for what he said about me. He's been sick for a long time."
"If those boys will only keep their mouths shut!" Runnels said, anxiously. "There's no telling what these Spiggoties might do if they heard about that row."
"Cortlandt was an American."
"But it happened in Panama, and it would be their affair."
Although it was Sunday, the four young fellows who had taken part in the entertainment on the night before had gathered in the office, and at the appearance of Runnels greeted him eagerly. Toward Kirk, however, they maintained a disheartening constraint.
The Acting Superintendent began to caution them tersely.
"Boys, there's no use to tell you that we must keep still about what happened last night. Kirk thinks Cortlandt's mind was unbalanced; but whether it was or not, he left a widow, and what went on at that supper must never leak out."
"Why do you think he was crazy?" Wade inquired.
"His actions last night would show it," Kirk answered. "The man must have been out of his mind to believe or to say such a thing."
"You mean, then, that he shot himself?"
Kirk nodded.
"I don't agree with you. I've seen crazy people, but he was as sane as any of us. And I don't believe in secrecy, either. I think we ought to be entirely frank about the matter. The truth never hurt anybody."
"It's a bad business," said Runnels, "and it's something I for one don't want to be mixed up in. I've heard rumors already about some sort of a quarrel at our party, so I'm afraid you fellows have been talking."
Wade acknowledged it recklessly. "Yes, I'll answer for my part, and I'm not going to make any promise of secrecy, either. If that affair had anything to do with Steve Cortlandt's death, it ought to be known, so the man who did it can be made to answer."
Into the office behind them came Ramon Alfarez and two Panamanian policemen, one evidently a sergeant.
"Eh, there you are!" Alfarez cried, as he caught sight of Kirk. Then he said something in Spanish to the sergeant, who advanced and laid hands upon the American. "You are arrest'."
"What for?"
"Gentlemen, you will be so kind as to geeve the names, yes? The jodge will desire to make inquiries regarding those sopper to Senor Cortlan' las' night."
"What am I arrested for?" Kirk demanded.
"Come! You are arrest'. That is enough."
At that moment the building began to shake and reverberate, as No. 5 rolled in from Colon, bearing John Weeks, American Consul, and Mr. Williams, of St. Louis, in one of the forward coaches. As the two hurried out through the turnstiles, they found the street blocked by a considerable crowd, evidently interested in something quite apart from the arrival of the morning train. But before they could learn the cause, out from the near-by building came Ramon Alfarez, accompanied by several policemen and a group of railroad employes, among whom was Kirk Anthony.
"There he is!" wheezed the consul, clutching at his companion's arm. "Get him now, before his friends." But Williams had been even quicker of eye than his fat guide, and was plunging through the crowd toward his quarry. He thrust the policemen and the curious onlookers aside and, laying hold of Anthony, cried in triumph:
"Well, Mr. Jefferson Locke, I want you."
"Hello, Williams! You got around finally, didn't you?" Kirk smiled at him.
A little man in blue uniform was attempting to take the prisoner in charge, but the detective disregarded him.
"It won't do you any good to resist," he went on. "I've come to get you."
Runnels elbowed his way forward with a question.
"Oh, I've got a warrant for him," Williams declared. "What for? Well, for one thing he embezzled eighty thousand dollars, and I'm going to take him back."
"Eh? W'at is this?" Alfarez bustled into the conversation. "Embezzle?He is then a t'ief?"
"Exactly. If you're the inspector I'll ask you to make this arrest for me. I believe we're on foreign ground."
"That's right, Alfarez," came the voice of John Weeks, anxious to have a word in the affair. "I'll vouch for Mr. Williams. This chap is a smooth one, but his name isn't Anthony at all, nor Locke, either; it's Wellar; and he's wanted for other things besides embezzlement." Turning his triumphant little red eyes upon the prisoner, he puffed, "Got you, didn't we?"
"I regret you 'ave arrive' so late," smirked Alfarez. "The gentleman is already arrest' for the murder of Senor Cortlan'. He will first answer to that, I assure you."
Kirk nodded. "Too bad, Williams! I'm sorry you didn't come last night."
They went on down the street, leaving the detective staring and Weeks open-mouthed.
"Cortlandt murdered!" the consul gasped. "Lord! And to think I nourished that viper at my breast."
Williams wheeled and cursed the fat man furiously. It was during the lunch-hour that Ramon Alfarez called at the Garavel home, finding the banker and his daughter still loitering over their midday meal and discussing the topic that had electrified the whole city.
"Ah, Ramon!" the old gentleman began, eagerly. "Be seated and tell us quickly the latest news. A terrible thing, was it not, this death of our good friend? I have been to see his unfortunate widow, but even yet I cannot believe it to be true."
"Yes. A terrible thing! It was only last night that we saw him well and happy."
Although Alfarez was trembling with eagerness to tell his news, he also meant to extract the greatest possible satisfaction from it, and now bent an inquiring glance upon Gertrudis. His look turned to one of malicious triumph as he saw that he was, indeed, the first to bring the tidings of Anthony's arrest; for the girl's acceptance of his suit had by no means wiped out the memory of her momentary preference for his rival, and he had hastened hither straight from the police barracks, delighting in the chance to make her suffer.
"So fine a man," the father was saying. "He was, indeed, my good friend. It is shocking."
"Yes, and to think he should have been killed in this cowardly manner!"
"Killed! Is it believed that he was murdered? Caramba! I supposed he had shot himself. That was the gossip an hour ago." Garavel was deeply affected, and motioned for the dishes in front of him to be removed.
Ramon nodded. "There are suspicious circumstances, it seems. Last night, after the ball, he had a serious quarrel—one of those American fights, almost. That much is known."
Gertrudis, who had remained silent until now, her dark eyes clouded with distress, said, sympathetically:
"And the poor lady! She must suffer terribly."
"Ah, perhaps! One cannot always tell!" Ramon shrugged and smiled.
"What do you mean?" cried Garavel. "This quarrel you speak of?Continue, Ramon, I am consumed with eagerness."
"Upon leaving the Tivoli last night, Senor Cortlan' dined with six of his friends at the Central. There was drinking. The waiters have been questioned; also, one of the men who was present has recounted to me what occurred. It seems that for a long time Senor Cortlan' has been jealous of his wife."
"Impossible! Jealous? My dear Ramon, an admirable lady."
"I—I shall leave you, perhaps?" questioned Gertrudis, modestly, as she rose, but Ramon exclaimed:
"No, no! By all means remain. I have remarkable things to disclose, amazing news that will interest you. There was a serious altercation, and Senor Cortlan' openly accused his enemy before all the others. It was most dramatic, it was terrible! There was a scene of violence, the other man made threats."
Garavel breathed an incredulous exclamation.
"Ah, but wait! It was Senor Cortlan's best friend, too, the man for whom he had accomplished many favors whom he accused." He noted with mingled anger and satisfaction the pallor that was creeping into the girl's cheeks. "You would never guess. It was—I hesitate, and yet you are bound to learn, my dear friends, it was this Ant'ony."
His moment had indeed been worth waiting for. It even went far to atone for the sense of injury under which he smarted; for the banker was stricken speechless, and his daughter went deathly white. Her eyes began to fill with horror.
Garavel was the first to recover himself. "Infamous! It is unbelievable! The wretch, then, had betrayed his friend."
"He is indeed a villain. That much I have always known."
"It is a lie!" said the girl, quietly. She had risen and was standing straight, a tragic little figure.
"Gertrudis!" her father admonished. "You hear what Ramon has said."
"Yes!" said Ramon. "He deceived Senor Cortlan' very nicely; it had been going on for months."
"It is a lie!" she repeated. "He loved no one but me."
"Gertrudis!" The banker was shocked beyond measure at what he considered his daughter's jealousy. "Those are not nice words. He told you so, yes; but if he would betray his best friend, he would deceive you also. It was our great good-fortune to be done with him in time. You will see now that I did well in sending him off—eh, Chiquita?"
"No! I do not believe you."
Ramon had not counted upon such a spirit, and, his anger getting the better of him, he sneered: "I should not have spoken. I did not know you still care."
"She does not care," Garavel declared, loudly.
"Ah, but I do. I love him very dearly."
The two men were upon their feet in an instant, staring at her, the elder in amazement, the younger with rage and resentment blazing from his countenance.
"Silence!" thundered the banker. "Yonder stands your affianced husband."
"It is a mistake—" she persisted, gently.
"No, no, no! There is no mistake," chattered Ramon. "Those other men have told all, and your Ant'ony is now in the Carcel under guard. It was I who saw to his arrest." The slender figure swayed, a tiny olive hand fluttered to her breast.
"Ramon, you must not heed her, she is upset. This is but a girl's foolish fancy, and it will pass. The man was handsome, and he cast a spell over her."
"Nor is that all," Ramon ran on, excitedly. "He is not at all the man he pretended to be, even his name is false. This morning there arrived an American officer of police to arrest him on other charges. He is a thief, it seems, having stolen eighty thousand dollars 'gold' from his employers. Oh, there is no mistake. Within the hour I have been talking with this detective, and he has the papers of proof. It will be in the newspapers, every one will know shortly. Last night, when Senor Cortlan' made his accusation, there was a frightful quarrel, and Ant'ony swore to kill him. At dawn the poor husband is found shot on the sea wall. Is not that enough?"
"It is indeed!" gasped the father. "You see, then, my child, from what you were saved. This should be a day of thanksgiving to you as it is to me. For this deliverance I shall erect a cross of stone on the hill by our house, so that all our lives we may offer a prayer when our eyes rest upon it. Come, now, it is Ramon who has unmasked this person. Have you no thanks to give him?"
"But it is not true," maintained the girl, simply, and her eyes were as steady as altar flames.
"Eh? Well! He is in the barracks at this moment," snarled Ramon, "and there he shall remain, I promise you, until he goes to Chiriqui or—"
Gertrudis turned to her father.
"Take me to him, please. I must go at once to the Carcel."
But he only answered her with a stare of amazement. "Go!" he murmured, after an instant. "Have I lost my senses?" He began to summon his indignation for a terrific outburst.
"Yes, I must go, for he is my husband. We were wed last night."
There was a moment of absolute silence, during which the clatter of a passing coach sounded loudly in the room. Then—
"Mother of God!" the banker ejaculated, hoarsely, and sank into the seat from which he had arisen. Ramon was staring from one to the other, his head turning jerkily.
The girl raised her face proudly. "Yes! I am his wife, although I had not expected to tell you so soon; therefore, you see I must go to him quickly, or he will think I believe these lies."
"You are mad! Do you know what you are saying?"
"Oh yes. The judge from Colon married us during the dance. I would have liked a church wedding; but that will come later. The Senor Ronnels and his wife were there also, and they will tell you. It made me very happy. You see, I prayed the Virgin that I might be happy, and she heard. Oh, I offered so many prayers, and all last night I lay awake giving thanks for my great happiness, which even yet I cannot believe." Her face was transfigured by a look that left the two men no choice but to believe.
"A civil marriage!" stammered Ramen.
"A civil marriage, indeed!" said Garavel, in a choking voice. "So that is where you were when I believed you to be dancing!" He burst forth violently, pounding the table with his clenched fist until the dishes danced, his brilliant black eyes flashing beneath their thatch of white. "But I will not have it, understand! You are betrothed. You have given your word to Ramon."
"Ah, but I never loved him. You compelled me to consent, because you said you could not be President unless I married him. And that was not so. Ramon deceived you. Now it is all right. You will be President, and I can be happy."
Ramon's suspicion kindled on the instant. He turned upon the banker."So! I begin to see! That was a trick, then, to betray my father."
"But wait!" Gertrudis exclaimed, sharply. "Did you not trick us also? Did you not use the General, your father, to make me give up the man I love? Which of us, then, is the better?"
Andres Garavel spoke threateningly, menacingly, to his daughter. "Enough! Our word was given, and you have broken it! You have brought disgrace to our name. Can a Garavel be President of the Republic with his daughter wed to a murderer?"
"He is not that!"
"It was no marriage, and it will not stand. I will have it annulled. Such things are easily done, Ramon. She is no wife. The man was a criminal, a fugitive, even when he forced her to marry—"
"No, no! You cannot do that. It was I who asked him to marry me." The girl lied tremulously, panic-stricken at the threat. "Before God, I am his wife!" she maintained. "And if this marriage has a flaw, then I will stand beside the prison gates and remarry him as he comes forth."
"He will not come forth," Ramon declared, harshly.
"Oh yes! And now will you take me to him?"
"NO!" her father bellowed. "You are my daughter, you are under my roof, and here you shall stay until you give up this madness and this man."
"That I can never do," she retorted, proudly. "You see, I am not all Spanish, I have in me also the blood of his people, and that makes me steadfast. I could not doubt him if I wished."
"I forbid you to go near him. Come! Do you promise?" She inclined her dark head. "I must learn more of this affair at once. You will find your senses, miss, or if you do not you will spend your life in meditation and prayer—that much I promise you."
"I do not wish to enter a convent," she said, with white lips. "I wish to be happy. When Keerk is free I shall go to him. Now, if you please, I—think I shall go away." She turned and went out of the big high-ceilinged room, and not until she had reached the hall did her feet waver or her head droop.
When the two men were alone, Garavel said, brokenly: "She is the first to bring disgrace upon our name. Is there absolute proof that the man is guilty, Ramon?"
"Proof?" Alfarez turned dazed eyes from the door through which Gertrudis had gone. "Proof? I believe so. I have not thought much of the matter as yet, but—I think there will be proof in plenty. Oh yes!"
"Come then. I must go to see him. Perhaps—oh, God! Perhaps what? My head is afire, my heart is broken for you, my poor boy."
That was not a pleasant interview for Anthony. His surroundings were not such as to lend him assurance, and Garavel's grief at his daughter's disgrace was really distressing. Moreover, the unequivocal threat to annul the marriage filled him with alarm. His only consolation came from the fact that Gertrudis had made known the truth without the slightest hesitation. That showed that she was loyal, at any rate. Kirk tried to assure his caller that he would have no trouble in proving his innocence, but Garavel seemed very little concerned with that phase of the affair, and continued to bewail the dishonor that had fallen upon his name.
Kirk's pride arose at this, and he exclaimed with some heat:
"My dear Mr. Garavel, if you are so blamed sure that I did all these things, why did you come to see me?"
"It was to learn if she spoke the truth."
"Oh, we're married, right enough. And you'll have some difficulty in breaking it up before I get out."
"You expect, then, to prove your innocence easily?"
"I do."
"But I hear there are other serious charges."
"It is quite the same with them."
"But—suppose you should not clear yourself of this—murder—would you wish to drag down my daughter's name?"
"Of course not."
"I understand you have not spoken of this marriage. Perhaps you might consent to remain silent. If by any chance you should be convicted of guilt, what satisfaction could you derive from injuring me and mine?"
"None at all, sir."
"I am rich," Garavel went on, meaningly. "If you are acquitted, I might, perhaps, arrange amply for your future—upon conditions."
"In other words, if I am to be hanged or shot or whatever it is they do to people down here, you'll expect me to keep my mouth shut on general principles, and if I'm acquitted you'll pay me well to disappear. Is that it? Well, there is some family pride to that." He laughed lightly.
"My political future may depend upon it."
"If I can help you in that way I'll gladly keep silent as long as you wish, but I don't think I care to make any further terms."
"Make sure of this," snapped the father, "your marriage will be annulled, no matter what you prove or fail to prove. Already Chiquita is repentant, and I shall not rest until she is free. You have done me a great injury, and I shall not forget it."
On the following morning the leading American attorney of the city called at the jail, announcing that he had been retained as counsel, but refusing to tell who had employed him. Supposing, of course, that he had been sent by friends who wished no publicity in the matter, Kirk did not press him for information. Together they outlined their defence as best they could. With characteristic optimism, Kirk insisted upon treating the charge against him as of little consequence, and it was not until he had undergone his preliminary hearing that he fully realized the gravity of his situation.
To his unspeakable indignation, the officer who had discovered Cortlandt's body swore that he had seen the deceased pass him shortly before the time of his death, evidently taking a walk along the water's edge for relief from the heat, and that immediately afterward—perhaps a minute or so—the prisoner had also passed, going in the same direction! There was a street light close by, he said, and there could be no possible mistake as to Anthony's identity. A few moments later there had been a pistol-shot, muffled, but unmistakable, and the policeman had hastened in the direction from which it came. The prisoner had appeared suddenly out of the darkness and hurried past. In the politest manner possible, the witness declared, he had questioned him regarding the shot, but Mr. Anthony had neither stopped nor answered; on the contrary, he had broken into a run. The officer had considered this strange behavior, but, being at all times most respectful toward Americans, he had made no effort to detain him. Passing on, he had found the body of the dead man. A revolver was beside it. It was shocking! It had quite upset the witness. He had blown his whistle, and seeing a light in the Governor's mansion close by had called there for assistance. Soon afterward another officer had arrived upon the scene.
When this amazing testimony was translated to Kirk he was astounded; but his indignation was as nothing to that which swept over him when a servant in the Alfarez household swore to having actually witnessed the murder.
This fellow declared that he had been troubled greatly with a toothache. Toward morning of the night in question, too restless for sleep, he had gone out upon the sea wall. Even now, his face was swollen, and he made a determined effort to show the court the particular tooth which had made him an unwilling beholder of the tragedy. Overcome by exhaustion, he had fallen asleep after a time, and he was awakened by the sounds of a quarrel. On opening his eyes, he saw two Americans, one of whom was Senor Cortlandt, and the other Kirk Anthony. Being utterly ignorant of their language, he had no means of knowing what was said, nor did he consider the altercation serious until the large man shot the Senor Cortlandt. Then, being terror-stricken at what he had beheld, he had run away, entirely forgetting his toothache, which, by the grace of God, was quite gone. That was all he knew of the matter. He recognized Anthony as the man who had done the shooting. He was troubled greatly with toothaches.
It all seemed like some grotesque, practical joke, and Kirk at first could not believe that the evidence of these witnesses could have weight. But he soon became convinced that this was no laughing matter. Since they had perjured themselves so readily, it was evident that some determined influence was back of them, and how far that influence might carry it was hard to tell. The reason for it was all very simple, of course, and yet he was at a loss how to combat it. Wade was called next and told the story of that damning incident at the supper-party, being corroborated by the others. Then there were several witnesses who swore to inconsequent things, such as waiters at the Hotel Central, and the doctor who had examined Cortlandt.
For once in his careless life the young man realized that he was face to face with something bigger and stronger than his own determination, and it daunted him. He began to see that he had underestimated these foreigners, for it seemed an easy matter to convict an innocent man in these Central American courts. He recalled certain ridiculous stories of Spanish justice which he had laughed at; he remembered Mrs. Cortlandt's vivid tale of an execution she had once beheld in the court-yard of Chiriqui prison; and suddenly he decided to cable for Darwin K. Anthony—the one man who was strong enough to save him.
When it came time for him to speak, he told a straight story about his own actions on that night, and he was corroborated by Allan; but he knew that their words had little weight against that other testimony. Of course, he was remanded for trial, and that night the newspapers of the city were crowded with columns of sensational reading-matter bearing upon the crime.
Anson, the lawyer, gave him a ray of encouragement as he left.
"Don't go too much on this hearing," he said. "I think we'll pull you out all right."
"You THINK! I dare say Ramon Alfarez can get a dozen men to perjure themselves as easily as he got those two."
"Exactly. But I have a little coup that I intend to spring at the right moment."
"For Heaven's sake, tell me what it is."
"I'm sorry, but I can't just yet. In the first place, one must handle these people exactly right or they explode."
"But give me an idea at least. I'm really interested in the outcome of this case, you know."
Anson smiled. "Of course you are, and I'll tell you as soon as I can, but not now."
"These Spiggoties would enjoy standing me up against a wall with my head in a rag—they'd make it a holiday and ring all the bells in town."
"I can't assure you that it isn't serious," Anson acknowledged, gravely, "for it is—any time an American goes to court in this country it is serious—but that doesn't mean that we'll lose."
"You may be a good lawyer," said Kirk, ruefully, "but you're a blamed poor comforter. I—I wish my dad was here; he'd fix it. He wouldn't let 'em convict me. He's great, my dad is. He can swear—like the devil." His voice caught, and his eyes were unusually bright as he turned away to hide his emotions. "I like him better than any man I've ever met, Anson. And you watch him come when he hears I'm in trouble."
He wrote a lengthy cablegram, which the lawyer, with a peculiar smile, agreed to despatch at once. He spent a sleepless night. In the morning a message came signed by Copley—Kirk's heart leaped at the familiar name—saying that Darwin K. Anthony had left Albany for the West on Sunday night, and could not be located for a few days.
"He was never gone when I needed money," the son mused. "He'll be worried when he hears about this, and he has enough to worry him as it is. I'm mighty sorry, but—I simply must have him."
Anson brought in the day's papers, which alluded, as usual, to Cortlandt's death as a murder, and printed their customary sensational stories, even to a rehash of all that had occurred at the stag supper. This in particular made Kirk writhe, knowing as he did that it would reach the eyes of his newly made wife. He also wondered vaguely how Edith Cortlandt was bearing up under all this notoriety. The lawyer brought the further news that Allan was in captivity as an accessory to the crime, and that henceforth Kirk need expect but few visitors. Somebody—probably Ramon Alfarez—had induced the officials to treat their prisoner with special severity.
During the days which followed, Kirk suffered more than he chose to confess even to his attorney. In the first place, it was hard to be denied all knowledge of what was going on—Anson would tell him little, except that he was working every day—and, then, too, the long hours of solitude gnawed at his self-control. Runnels managed to see him once or twice, reporting that, so far as he could learn, Chiquita had disappeared. He took a message from Kirk to her, but brought back word that he could not deliver it. Kirk wondered if she could really believe those frightful half-complete newspaper accounts, or if she had been unable to withstand the combined weight of her whole family, and had given up. It was almost too much to hope that a girl reared as she had been could keep her mind unpoisoned, with all those lying tongues about her. And, besides, she had the Spanish ideas of morality, which would make the actions of which he was accused seem doubly shocking. The more he speculated upon the cause of her silence, the wilder grew his fancies, until it became a positive torture to think of her at all. Instead, his thoughts turned to Edith Cortlandt in a curiously uninterested way. Her attitude was a problem. Perhaps she would leave him to his fate. Reviewing the circumstances coldly, he could hardly blame her.
It was on Sunday, a week after his arrest, that she came to him. He was surprised to see the ravages that this short time had made in her, for she was pale and drawn and weary-looking, as if from sleeplessness. Strange to say, these marks of suffering did not detract from her appearance, but rather enhanced her poise and distinction. She was not even veiled. On the contrary, she had driven openly to the police barracks, and ordered her coachman to wait in the street outside, then demanded to be shown to Anthony's cell.
"I'm awfully glad to see you, Mrs. Cortlandt," he said, as she extended her hand. "But do you think it was wise for you to come?"
She shrugged. "People can say no more than they have already said. My name is on every tongue, and a little more gossip can make matters no worse. I had to come. I just couldn't stay away. I wonder if you can realize what I have been through."
"It must have been terrible," he said, gently.
"Yes, I have paid. It seems to me that I have paid for everything I ever did. Those newspaper stories nearly killed me, but it wasn't that so much as the thought that you were suffering for my acts."
"I'm very sorry. You never thought for a moment that I did what they claim?"
"No, no! It has all been a mistake from the first. I was sure of that."
"You heard what those two men testified?"
"Bah! That is Ramon Alfarez—but he can do nothing."
"Nothing! I don't call a week in the Bastile 'nothing.' Why, he has perjured two witnesses already, and I dare say he'll have the whole native population swearing against me when the trial comes up."
"Never mind. I have had no time to do anything as yet. There were—so many things to be attended to." She shuddered and sank down upon the edge of his cot. "Stephen had a great many friends in various parts of the world; I have been swamped with cablegrams."
"If my dad were here he'd have me free in a jiffy; he can do anything."
"I don't think we'll need him," she said, in a way that comforted him somehow, though the feeling shamed him. She laid a soft hand upon his arm, and, looking up eagerly into his face, exclaimed: "You will forgive me for what I said that night at the hotel, won't you? I didn't really mean to injure you, Kirk, but I was half hysterical. I had suffered so these last few months that I was ready to do anything. I was torn by two great desires, one to remain what I am and have always been, and the other—well, the other was the stronger, or would have been if you had allowed it. I never dreamed there was a way out of my misery, a way so close at hand; but somehow even before General Alfarez' voice on the 'phone told me what had happened, I knew, and I—I felt—"
"I know you had a great deal to put up with," he said, "but for both our sakes I wish it had come in some other way."
"Oh, I don't care," she cried, recklessly. "The one thing I can grasp in all this turmoil, the one thing that rings in my ears every moment, is that I am free, FREE! That is all that matters to me. You showed your loyalty to Stephen more than once, and, though your scruples angered me, I honor you for them now. I can see, too, that you had no choice but to put me off even that night of the dance. But my chains are broken, and it is all different now."
"Your husband's death can make no difference with us, Mrs. Cortlandt," he said, gravely.
"We have talked openly before, and there is no need to do otherwise now. You mean by that that you don't care for me, but I know better. I believe there is a love so strong that it must find an answer. Although you may not care for me now as you care for—some one else—I KNOW that I can make you forget her and put me in her place. I know men, and I know you. I came here prepared to be honest—shameless, if you like. I am young, I have money, I have power; I work for the love of doing things, and you are learning to do the same. I can help you, oh, so much! We can win happiness together just as easily as we can win material success, and that is ours now for the asking. It dazzles me to think of it, Kirk. It is like a glimpse of paradise, and I can show it all to you." She was bending forward, her lips parted, the color gleaming in her cheeks, her whole face transformed by a passionate eagerness.
"Wait!" he said, harshly. "You force me to break my word. I don't want to tell you this, but—I am married."
She rose slowly, her eyes fixed in bewilderment upon his, her hand clutching at his sleeve.
"You—never told me that! It was some mad college prank, I suppose."
"No, no. I married Gertrudis Garavel that night at the Tivoli."
"Oh, that can't be. That was the night of the dance."
"It is quite true."
Mrs. Cortlandt stared about the squalid cell dully.
"Miss Garavel! Why didn't you tell me? Why isn't she here? Why does she leave you alone? No, no! You hardly know each other. Why, she's not old enough to know her own mind—"
"But I know my mind, and I love her."
Her white hands strained at each other as she steadied her shaking voice. "Love!" she cried. "You don't know what love means, nor does she. She CAN'T know, or she'd be here, she'd have this prison torn block from block."
"I suppose her father would not let her come," said Kirk, slowly, but Edith did not seem to hear him. The realization of her broken hopes was coming home to her poignantly.
"My happiness!" she exclaimed. "I have been unhappy so long! And I seemed to see it just within my reach. Oh, Kirk, she thinks you are guilty, she hasn't faith."
"You have no right to say that."
"See! I came to you when I was married and asked you to take me; I'll do the same with you now."
"You don't know what you're saying. You're hysterical, Mrs. Cortlandt. I love Gertrudis so deeply that there's no room in me for anything else, and never will be. Heaven only knows what they have made her believe about me, but I don't care; I'll upset this little plot of Alfarez's, and when she learns the truth she will come back again."
"This little plot!" Edith cried, in distraction. "And I suppose you wish me to give you back to her?"
They confronted each other a moment in silence.
"But I won't help her," she went on. "I'm not that sort. I'm a selfish woman. I've always been selfish because I've never had anybody to work for. But I have it in me to be generous."
"I'm sorry," he said. "You have suffered, I know. Don't trouble any more about me—please."
She stared at him defiantly, although her whole frame was shaking as if from an ague.
"Oh, I'd rather face the gallows as you face it than what is before me, and I'm not sure I could help you, after all. You are in Latin America now, remember, and your enemies are strong."
"I am Darwin K. Anthony's son," he protested. "He won't allow it."
"Bah! He is an American, and these are Spanish people. You have seen how they like us, and you have seen what Alfarez can do. He's rich, and he'll perjure more witnesses, he'll manipulate the court with his money. Yes, and I'd rather he succeeded than see you—No, no! What am I saying? L-let me go; let me get away from here!" She broke down, and went sobbing out into the corridor. The iron door clanged to behind her.
On the same afternoon, Mr. Clifford, accompanied by Anson, the lawyer, took the 3.20 train for Colon. As soon as he arrived, he called up Colonel Jolson, to request that the Commissioner's motor-car should, without fail, await him at ten o'clock sharp on the next morning, with an open track ahead of it. Strangely enough, the Colonel agreed very readily.
About noon on Monday, Edith Cortlandt received a caller. The name she read on the card her maid handed her gave her a start of surprise, and set her wits whirling in speculation.
"Show him into the drawing-room," she said, at length. "I'll be right down."
As she descended, a few moments later, she was greeted by a gigantic old man with a rumbling voice, who, instead of seating himself in the drawing-room as he had been requested, had flung open the carefully closed shutters to admit more light, then kicked aside whatever articles of furniture happened to be in his way. He was now pacing back and forth with the restlessness of a polar bear.
"How do you do, Mrs. Cortlandt?" he began, at sight of her, his big voice flooding the room. "I'm sorry to disturb you under the circumstances."
"You are Mr. Anthony?"
"Yes, madam. You'll pardon my intrusion. I knew your husband slightly, and I've heard about you. I extend my sympathy."
She bowed. "When did you arrive?"
"Just now; came across in one of those damned joy-wagons—fifty miles an hour. We hit a nigger on the way, but we didn't stop. I know everything, madam. What I didn't know before I landed, I learned on the way across the Isthmus, so don't let's waste time. Hell of a position for you to be in—I understand and all that—and I'm sorry for you. Now let's get down to business, for I must get back to New York."
It was impossible not to feel Darwin K. Anthony's force; it spoke in his every tone and action. It looked out from his harsh-lined features, and showed in his energetic movements. He was a great granite block of a man, powerful in physique, in mind, and in determination. He had Kirk's eyes, Mrs. Cortlandt noted, except that they were deeper set, more fierce and eager.
She was not used to being overridden, and his masterful air offended her.
"In what way may I be of service to you?" she inquired, coldly.
"I want my boy," he said, simply, and she began to see that underneath his cold and domineering exterior his heart was torn by a great distress.
"You know all the circumstances, of course?"
"I do. That's why I came straight to you. I know you're the keystone of the whole affair, so I didn't waste time with these other people. Kirk's a damned idiot, and always has been; he isn't worth the powder to blow him to—excuse me—I mean he's just a ne'er-do-well; but I suppose I'll have to do my duty by him."
"I understand that has always been your attitude."
"Exactly! I got sick of his performances and cut him off; couldn't stand for him any longer. I tried my best to make a man out of him, but he wouldn't have it, so we severed our connections absolutely. I just kicked him out. Sorry I didn't do it sooner."
"If you have cut him off, why do you care what becomes of him?"
Darwin K. Anthony's eyes dimmed, but his voice rose fiercely. "He's my boy, and I've a right to treat him any damned way I please, but nobody else is going to abuse him! These Spaniards can't do it! I'll teach them to lay hands on my—boy." He tore a handkerchief from his pocket and blew a blast into it. "I'll tear their little Republic to pieces," he shouted. "I'll buy the whole works and throw it away. I'll buy their President and their courts and their whole infernal population, and if they won't sell I've got enough men to take it. Hell's bells, madam, do you think these little black people can shoot MY son? I don't care what he's done, they've got to give him up. And he's going back with me. He's going home; I—I—want him."
"Why have you come to me?" she queried.
"Because you must know the truth, if anybody does, and I want your help." His voice softened suddenly, and he regarded her with a gentle kindness that was surprising. "I've heard all about you and Kirk. In fact, I've known what was going on all the time, for I've had a man on his track night and day. You may know him—Clifford? Well, he followed Kirk that night after the supper to your husband, but Anson didn't dare call him to the stand at the hearing for fear this Alfarez would perjure more of his black-and-tans." He ground his teeth in rage. "By God! I'll get that Ramon, if it costs me a million—they can't stand for such things even here. But I want MORE proof; I want to snow him under absolutely, completely."
"So Clifford is your man?"
"Yes! I took him off my system and sent him down here as soon as I got Kirk's idiotic, impudent letter—" The old man began to sputter with indignation. "What d'you think he wrote me, Mrs. Cortlandt? He had the impudence to turn down a good job I offered him because 'his wife might not like our climate!' Imagine! And I had positively begged him to come back—on any terms. Of course, it gave me an awful scare, and I lost no time in learning if it was true. Thank God, he had sense enough not to do that!"
"Then you don't know?"
"Know what?"
"That he is married."
"DAMNATION!" roared Anthony, furiously.
She nodded. "A Miss Garavel. They were married a—week ago." She broke down miserably and hid her face in her hands. He strode to her with a light of understanding in his eyes. Laying a great hand upon her drooping head, he exclaimed with wonderful softness:
"My dear Mrs. Cortlandt, I'm very sorry for you, indeed I am. How the boy ever let you go for any other woman I don't see, but he's always been a fool—that's why he never cared for me. Now, now, try to face it squarely—all good women are brave, and you're a good woman. We both love him, and I know we can save him if we pull together."
"Yes, yes!" She raised her drawn, white face eagerly to his. "It will only take a word, but I have been like a mad woman. I couldn't bear to give him up, and when I learned the truth I thought I could let him—suffer. But I couldn't. Oh, I couldn't, and I knew it all the time. I was distracted, that is all. You see I have no shame in telling you this, for he is the first and only man—"
"I know." He patted her in a way that said more than words.
"I couldn't have stood out much longer."
"Then you have proof?" His face was wild with eagerness.
"This. Take it quickly. I only found it last night. It had been mislaid in the confusion. I meant to give it up, I really did." With clumsy fingers she drew from the front of her dress an unsealed letter and handed it to him. "Stephen was not a bad man, you see, and he had no intention of wronging an innocent person."
Darwin K. Anthony's pallor matched hers as he read the sheet, then he exclaimed, weakly, "Thank God! Something told me to come straight to you. Something always tells me where to find the heart of things."
"Quick! You must lose no time," she exclaimed. "He is in prison, and the place is frightful. I will go with you to the Mayor. Ah, I'm very glad he will get his freedom from your hands. I was so weak. When this is done I shall go back North and try to live it out. But I love him very dearly, Mr. Anthony." Her lip trembled piteously. "And I could have done so much for him."
Grim-faced and scowling he re-read the letter in his hand during the moment it required for Edith to make ready. The injustice that had been done his blood roused every passion in him. He had himself well in hand, however, and he restrained his yearning to burst forcibly into the police barracks and take his boy to his heart. He determined there should be no possible slip—and he longed ferociously to meet Ramon Alfarez.
Kirk was considerably surprised that afternoon when a sergeant and two policemen came to his cell, signifying that he was to accompany them. He could not make out where they were taking him, and, despite their unusual politeness, they were dense to all inquiries. It was a bright, hot afternoon, and the city seemed very beautiful and desirous as he was driven through it; but the whole procedure filled him with uneasiness. He was sure that it had nothing to do with his trial, or Anson would have posted him, and he began to fear that it might concern his marriage. Perhaps Chiquita was ill, dying, or perhaps they were trying to annul the bond. The smiling little officer only shook his head, shrugged, and chattered unintelligibly at his questions.
The coach drew up at last before a large, white building, and he was told to descend. Up a flight of stairs he was escorted, his pulses quickening with apprehension, down a long corridor, and into a large room, where he saw Runnels, Colonel Jolson, Anson, Clifford, a dozen or more Panamanian officials, and—he stopped in his tracks as his eyes fell upon a huge, white-crowned figure that came to meet him. His heart leaped wildly, a great drumming set up in his ears, something gripped his throat with agonizing pressure and robbed him of speech.
A certain harsh yet tender voice pronounced his name. He felt his hands crushed in his father's palms, found the old man's arm about his shoulders, and saw the deep-set, steel-blue eyes he loved so well wet and shiny. Then, for once and for all time, he realized that in the whole wide world there was but one man who really mattered, one man for whom he honestly cared. A sudden sense of security swept over him, banishing all his fears. The room with its smiling faces became blurred and distant; a thousand words of endearment sprang to his lips. What he really said was:
"Hello!" And even that he pronounced as shyly as a girl.
"My kid!" the old man said, shakingly. "H-how have they treated you, Buster?" It was a nickname he had given his son when he was a sturdy, round-faced urchin of eight, and which he had laid away regretfully in lavender, so to speak, when the boy grew to manhood.
"You came, didn't you?" Kirk said, in a voice not at all like his own."I knew you'd come."
"Of course I came, the instant Clifford cabled me that these idiots had arrested you. By God! They'll sweat for this. How are you anyhow, Kirk? Dammit, you need a shave! Wouldn't they give you a razor? Hey! Clifford, Colonel Jolson, come here! These scoundrels wouldn't give him a shave." Darwin K. Anthony's eyes began to blaze at this indignity, and he rumbled on savagely: "Oh, I'll smash this dinky government—try to convict my kid, eh? I suppose you're hungry, too; well, so'm I. We'll be out of here in a minute, then you show me the best place in town and we'll have a decent meal, just we two, the way we used to. I'll pay the bill. God Almighty! I've missed you, Buster."
"Wait, dad." Kirk was smiling, but his heart ached at his father's emotion. "I'm a jail-bird, you know. They think I—killed a fellow. But I don't care much what they think now."
"That's all over," Clifford broke in. "We've squared that, and you'll be discharged in ten minutes."
"Honest?"
"Certainly," said the old gentleman. "Cortlandt shot himself. Anybody but a blithering Spanish ass would have known it at the start. We have a letter he wrote to his wife an hour before he did it. She just found it and turned it over. She left here a moment ago, by-the-way, all broken up. She's a great woman, Kirk. That's not all, either. Clifford followed you that night, and knows you didn't go near Cortlandt. Oh, you should have seen 'em jump when we flashed it on 'em all at once and they learned who I was!"
"But those men who swore they saw me?"
"Bah! We've got that little Dago with the mustache, and both his witnesses. If they don't send him up, I'll run in a shipload of my brakemen, and we'll push this Isthmus overboard and him with it."
"I knew you could fix things."
"Fix 'em! Fix 'em! That's EASY! Say, how have you been getting along, anyhow?"
"Great!"
"And you married one of these Panamanicures, eh?" The father scowled."Lord! I can trust you to make a fool of yourself."
"Say, dad. She's only—so big." Anthony Junior indicated his wife's stature, smiling rapturously.
"Dwarf, eh?"
"Oh no!"
"Love her?"
"DO I? It's fierce."
"Humph! You'll have to get over it. I'll pay your debts and take care of you, but I can't stand a mulatto around me."
"There aren't any debts, and she's not a mulatto. She's a—dream."
"They're waiting, Mr. Anthony," Clifford made bold to say. "I think we'd better get this over with."
Kirk paid little attention to the formalities of the next few minutes. He was too busy with thoughts of his amazing good-fortune, his mind was too dazzled by the joy of freedom. Allan appeared from somewhere and clung to him in an ecstasy of delight. Colonel Jolson, Runnels, Anson, even the Panamanian officials shook hands with him. He accepted their congratulations mechanically, meanwhile keeping very close to his father's side.
Some time later he found himself out in the open sunlight a free man once more, with Darwin K. Anthony and Runnels on either side of him. But before he had gone a block, he halted suddenly, saying:
"Williams! I'd forgotten him and his warrant."
"He's fixed," Runnels explained. "While your father and Mrs. Cortlandt and Colonel Jolson were getting you out of jail, Clifford and I told him the truth. He's rather a decent fellow. They have caught the real Jefferson Locke, or whatever his name is."
"No!"
"Yes; a week ago. He landed in Boston; couldn't stay away from his own country any longer. Williams hadn't heard of it."
"What has become of Higgins?" Kirk inquired of his father.
Anthony Senior exploded:
"Oh, he's back scorching up the Tenderloin as usual, but you'll have to cut him out, or I'll leave you here. That's final, understand?"
"I intend to stay here, anyhow."
"Huh?" The old man turned with a start. "I'm damned if you do." Then, savagely: "What do you suppose I came down here for? I'm lonesome. I want you to come home."
Kirk smiled craftily and looked at Runnels. "Well, what can you offer?I'm doing pretty well as it is, and I can't afford to lay off."
His father in turn appealed to the Acting Superintendent. "See! It's nothing less than blackmail. Is he any good, Mr. Runnels?"
"If there weren't so much politics in this job, he'd be Master ofTransportation of the P. R. R. That's doing pretty well, isn't it?We're both going to quit and look for new work."
"Do you drink, Kirk?"
"I haven't even had an alcohol rub since I left New York. But, dad, if you place me, you'll have to take care of Runnels, too. He knows more about railroads than—you do."
Mr. Anthony grunted a trifle sceptically at this and murmured: "He must be a bright young man. I suppose what he doesn't know, you do. Well, how would you both like to come North and give me some lessons?"
"Do you mean it?" they cried in chorus.
"I do."
"Oh, there's Allan, too, he'll have to go."
"Any cats and dogs you'd like to have drawing salary from me? Now let's go somewhere and eat. I haven't tasted anything to speak of since Clifford's message came."
"If you don't mind, I—I'd like to stop at the Garavels' for a minute,"Kirk said, longingly, and his father scowled.
"I'd forgotten this—wife of yours."
"She's not there," Runnels hastened to say. "I've tried to find her, but I was told she was out at the country place."
"Then I think I'd rather drive out there than eat. Won't you go with me, dad?"
"Well—yes! I want to see this banker fellow, and—I'm not so damned hungry, after all. We'll settle this thing right now."
The afternoon sun was still an hour high when Kirk Anthony came down the hill from the Garavels' home and crossed the meadow toward the forest glade he knew so well. The grateful coolness of evening was stealing downward, and Nature was roused from her midday lethargy. It was the vibrant, active hour when odors are freshest and spirits rise. The forest was noisy with the cry of birds, and flocks of shrill-voiced paroquets raised an uproar in the tallest trees. The dense canopy of green overhead was alive with fluttering wings; the groves echoed to the cries of all the loud-voiced thicket denizens. The pastured cattle, which had sauntered forth from shaded nooks, ceased their grazing to stare with gentle curiosity at the hurrying figure. Of course they recognized a lover speeding to his tryst, and gave him passage, shaking their heads at one another and wagging their ears in knowing fashion.
He faltered a bit despite his haste, for this nook had grown sacred to him, and even yet he felt that it was haunted. The laughter of the waterfall helped to drown the sound of his approach, but he surprised no dancing wood-sprites. Instead, he saw what filled his heart with a greater gladness than he had ever known.
Chiquita was there, huddled upon the seat where they had rested together, one foot curled beneath her like a child, her head bowed down disconsolately. From one brown hand, now drooping listlessly, a few wild flowers had scattered, and her slim figure was clad once more in the stiff, coarse denim dress of blue. Her other hand was toying with her beads mechanically, as if the fingers had learned their task from long practice. Her dusky eyes were fast upon the lights that wavered in the pool.
As if to prove that the spot was really peopled by kind spirits, a gentle voice seemed to whisper the news to her, and she turned to find him smiling at her. She rose and met him with her hands outstretched, her face transfigured.
After a time she leaned backward in his arms, and said, gravely: "You see! When one says many, many prayers, the good saints always answer. The padre told me that I should never cease until you came, but I grew very tired, senor."
"And you never doubted me?"
"Oh no!"
"I'm free, you know."
"Of course! What else were my prayers for? Had my father allowed, I would have gone to your prison, but he forbade it, so I had no choice. But every hour I prayed that he might give me leave, and I think his heart was yielding."
"I'm sure of that," he told her, "for I have just come from him."
It was some time later, when the sun was dipping, that voices sounded outside the wall of verdure, and Kirk heard Andres Garavel saying:
"Of a certainty I shall try that experiment, senor, for the ticks in this country are a pest to cattle. A little to the right, and you will find the path—So!"
An instant later the two white-haired men appeared.
"Hello! There you are, eh?" Darwin K. Anthony exclaimed, gruffly."Where's that girl?" He paused and let his hostile eyes rest uponGertrudis.
She saw a great, forbidding giant of a man scowling down at her with eyes like Kirk's, and she came forward timidly, holding out her hands. She was smiling up at him faintly.
"You are Keerk's father, yes? You are the Senor Antonio."
Mr. Anthony uttered a curious, choking exclamation, and gathered her gently in his arms. When he looked up, his eyes were wet and his deep-lined face was working.
"I couldn't wait any longer," he apologized humbly to his son. "I had to come and see her."
"Ah, then I hope you will like me," she said in her grave, quaint way.
"Your father has told me everything"—Garavel laid a hand upon his new son's shoulder—"and we have become good friends already. I fear I owe you a great apology, my boy; but if I consent that you take my little girl away to your country, will that be reparation?"
"Then you WILL let her go with us?" Kirk cried, happily.
"If she doesn't go, I'll stay," Anthony Senior rumbled. "I—I don't see how you ever did it, you're such a blamed fool. Now let's go back to the house, it's sundown."
"We'll be along directly," his son assented.
"There are chills in the evening air," Mr. Garavel protested.
"I'm sorry, but we were waiting for the fairies. They were almost in sight when you frightened them away."
Gertrudis nodded. "It is quite true, Senor Antonio. We heard them all about, everywhere." She placed her little hand in Kirk's, then checked her father's remonstrance, saying:
"Oh, it is quite proper for us to walk home together, even in the dark; we are married now, you know."
"Come on, Garavel," exclaimed Darwin K. Anthony. "You understand how it is." Together they went out through the fragrant path a little way, then old man Anthony paused and called back to his son, wistfully: "But, I say, Kirk, don't stay too long; we're lonesome."