Officer Keogh, an hour later, under the white light of the desk lamps over at the —— Precinct, was telling his story to the desk-sergeant behind the rail. The desk-sergeant listened disinterestedly until he heard mentioned the name Cradlebaugh. At that juncture he held up his hand, placed a warning finger on his lips, nodded toward the drowsy doorman and toward two of the reserve squad in the room, and looking Keogh in the eyes, whispered:—
"Officer, speak low."
Keogh, taken aback for the moment, dropped his voice as he went on with his story. Once more the sergeant stopped him.
"The most important thing is just where the body was found. Be exact now, if possible; it's important."
Keogh went on to give a minute description, and wound up by saying:—
"The man was dragged, all right, after he was dead."
The desk-sergeant's eyes narrowed to pin points as he demanded:—
"In which direction?"
"To the west."
The desk-sergeant shook his head portentously, and observed:—
"Looks for sure like this was pulled off in Cradlebaugh's."
"That'swhatI'vebeen telling everybody," returned Keogh, the pride of proper diagnosis resting cheerfully upon him.
The desk-sergeant shot out his forefinger and exclaimed:—
"The least you have to say about the matter the better. This is not a case for you or for me, but for the captain in the morning."
The captain appeared unusually early in the morning with some half-dozen papers in his hand. Slapping the morning editions, scareheads, uppermost in front of the sergeant, he blurted out:—
"What's this here?"
The sergeant glanced at the topmost sheet and skimmed rapidly over the details.
"Don't know where they got the facts, but it looks like they got 'emright."
The captain scratched his head, then for the next few minutes he looked out of the window and watched the passing throng; he was pondering deeply. Finally he inquired:—
"What did you do?"
The desk-sergeant grinned.
"Not a bloomin' thing," he answered.
The captain shot a glance of surprised approval at his inferior.
"For once, by gum," he conceded, "you hit the nail upon the head. This isn't a case for the police—not yet."
"Then for who?" The desk-sergeant looked dubious.
"For Peter Broderick," said the captain, nodding.
"What's Peter Broderick got to do with it?" inquired the desk-sergeant, still doubtful.
The captain seized the telephone, but paused to explain:—
"Peter Broderick has got everything to do with it, since the people put this blatherskite Murgatroyd into the prosecutor's office. You know as well as I do that there's been too many rumpuses in Cradlebaugh's—and Murgatroyd sent word from the court-house that the place would be closed up, cleaned out, if there was any more trouble there."
"And Broderick?" persisted the sergeant.
"Broderick gave me orders to be tipped off hard when anything happens to Cradlebaugh's—no matter what. And that," concluded the captain, "is enough for you and me; we've got to obey orders—see?"
He removed the receiver from its hook and was about to talk to Central, but changed his mind, hung up the receiver, wheeled round on the sergeant and asked:—
"Were you going home?"
The other stretched his arms and yawned.
"Yes. Why?"
The captain passed over two black cigars.
"Smoke 'em—they'll keep you awake. And say," he went on, placing his hand soothingly upon the other's arm, "you wouldn't mind looking up Chairman Peter Broderick, would you? It isn't everybody I can trust."
He seized a pad and wrote hastily for a moment, and finally handing the slip of paper to the sergeant, added:—
"First, try these four addresses. If he's not at any of these, then try his home; you'll be sure to find him there. But see him—don't take no for an answer, and after you have told him the whole story, get his orders—see?"
It took an hour and a half to locate Chairman Peter Broderick; the sergeant found him home—in his rooms on the ground floor of the Iroquois Club. He waited for some time before he could gain access to that estimable gentleman, for Peter Broderick's hour for rising was high noon. The boy who aroused him awakened a slumbering lion; the Iroquois Club cowered when Broderick woke up; others cowered, too. Broderick's word was law everywhere, and yet he wore no badge of authority, held no office—he did not even want one. He was higher than authority, stronger than civic force: he was power personified. He had attained that mystical position in the universe, known wherever men cast ballots as Chairman of the County Committee, which meant to owe no man a duty, but to demand servitude and fealty from every man. It meant more—it meant to hold the bag! It meant that whatever Peter Broderick wanted he got.
"Well!" roared Broderick to the sergeant; "what in thunder do you want?"
The desk-sergeant briefly set forth his credentials and authority, and then plunged boldly into the purpose of his presence.
"The captain wants to know what he's to do about this Hargraves murder?"
Broderick stared hard at him.
"Hargraves murder?" he repeated. "What Hargraves?"
The sergeant told him.
"Great Scott! So he's dead. Confound him! He bled me like thunder at draw the last time I met him!"
The sergeant went on to give him the facts; Broderick the while was thinking deeply. Finally he interrupted the other with the question:—
"Look here, sergeant, what was there to prevent Hargraves being shot down by a highwayman or a thug? Can you tell me that?"
"Officer Keogh says——"
"Hang Officer Keogh!" yelled Broderick. "Keogh is going to say nothing but what he's told to say. Look here—do you know who killed Hargraves?"
"No."
"Does anybody know?"
"Not yet."
"So far so good. Now, then, that's a dark street, isn't it? And other houses as well as Cradlebaugh's have an opening on that street, haven't they? I say that this thing wasn't pulled off inside of Cradlebaugh's; it was the work of an unknown assassin—a thug. Do you understand?" he declared emphatically.
"You want the captain to work it out on that theory! Isn't that it?"
"I don't want the captain to work it out on any theory!" yelled Broderick. "Let the captain sit still—do nothin'!—say nothin'! I'm doin' this thing—I'll work out all the necessary theories! Do you hear?"
"The captain told me to remind you that Prosecutor Murgatroyd——"
Broderick sprang to his feet and stood glowering over the sergeant.
"Murgatroyd! Nobody has to remind me of Murgatroyd—confound him! I'm always being reminded of him. He's the only office-holder in this burgh that hasn't got the decency to know that whatIsay goes! Sergeant," he went on confidentially, "this is a blamed important thing, and before I do anything I'm going down-town to consult Mr. Graham Thorne. I'll bring him up to Cradlebaugh's; you tell your captain to meet us there in an hour and a half. That's all he's got to do—all you've got to do—I'll do the rest. Now go!"
Twenty minutes later Broderick waddled into the private office of Graham Thorne, Esquire, counsellor at law.
"Thorne," he exclaimed, lounging back comfortably in a chair, "have you seen about this thing? Do you know what happenedtherelast night?"
Thorne smiled grimly and pointed to the pile of morning papers on his desk.
"I knew about it at six o'clock this morning. I've been waiting for you to turn up for the last four hours." There was a note of superiority in his voice, which, strange to say, Broderick in nowise resented.
Broderick ever since he had met Thorne, had felt an admiration for this tall, handsome, dignified young man, with the grey just commencing to creep in his hair. Thorne possessed all the qualities that go to make up a clever, astute counsellor at law. Of his antecedents, it is true, no one knew aught; he had merely arrived a few short years before, opened his big law office, stalked into the courts and out of them, into the clubs and out of them. It cannot be denied that he made his best impression upon laymen and not upon the lawyers, although even the members of the Bar conceded that Thorne had ability. That he earned a great deal of money was quite manifest, for he spent it with a free hand, if a trifle too ostentatiously. He was not a politician in any sense of the word, and yet unquestionably he had the air and the earmarks of the man who some day might become a statesman. He hobnobbed with the best people, knew everybody worth while, and everybody worth while knew him. Broderick felt that if fate could regenerate him he should like to be Thorne.
"Well," blurted out the politician, "what are you going to do about it?"
"What arewegoing to do about it?" asked the lawyer in turn.
"I can handle the police," Broderick affirmed.
"That goes without saying; but we're up against something more than the police."
"If Tom Martin or Sam Apgar was the prosecutor now," wailed Broderick, "we'd have no trouble. They used to come to me regularly for instructions——"
Thorne rose slowly, paced the entire length of his long private office, treading noiselessly the thick, green carpet like a cat.
"But," he protested, "Martin isn't prosecutor, neither is Apgar. Murgatroyd is prosecutor, and——"
"Confound the man!" interrupted Broderick. "He's so straight that he leans over backwards. It was he who said six weeks ago that the Tweedale suicide was the last straw; that if another fracas occurred inside of Cradlebaugh's it would be good-bye to Cradlebaugh's. And now there's this blamed murder!"
Thorne looked Broderick in the eye for a moment and asked:—
"Do you know that this murder happened inside of Cradlebaugh's?"
"No; but I'm satisfied it did."
"Have you talked to Pemmican?"
Broderick stared in surprise.
"No; but haven't you?"
Thorne shook his head.
"You forget that I waited here for you. Now that you're here, my idea is to see Pemmican and get the facts."
"The captain of the —— Precinct will be there," explained Broderick. "He understands that you're counsel for Cradlebaugh's—see?"
"Come on," repeated Thorne; "we'll go and see Pemmican."
Broderick remained seated. Presently he said hesitatingly:—
"Just a second, counsellor—I wish you'd draw a cheque for five for me."
"Dollars?"
"No."
"Hundreds?"
"No."
"Five thousand!" Thorne whistled. "Coming it just a bit strong, Broderick."
Broderick vigorously shook his head.
"Now, look here, Thorne, I've got no complaint to make of you, and you've got no complaint to make of me. You've paid me well, but you've had blamed good returns for it, haven't you? Come now!"
"Yes," admitted Thorne. "But——"
"No buts," interrupted Broderick. "This is a crisis."
Thorne drew down the corners of his mouth.
"Do you think that I don't know it's a crisis?" He went back to his desk, drew forth a cheque-book and wrote a cheque. Before passing it over to Broderick, he looked him squarely in the eye, and added:—
"Peter, I've always paid you by cheque and taken your receipt."
"Sure!" returned Broderick. "I'm no office-holder. You could publish it in the newspapers; nobody could find fault."
"The point is," continued Thorne, referring to a memorandum, "that I've passed over to you a sight of money."
"And you got a sight of influence in return," retorted Broderick.
Thorne passed over the five thousand dollar cheque, seized Broderick by the arm, marched him out, then he began to relieve his mind.
"Broderick, I want more influence. I've got a pet scheme, a great ambition that is overweening, overwhelming. It won't down; it owns me body and soul." He paused a moment before finally coming to the point. "I want some day to sit in the Senate of the United States."
"Phew!" whistled Broderick. "Nothing stingy about you!"
"I shall want every iota of your influence," Thorne went on; "I shall need it. And, Peter, I want to know whether I'm going to have it. I want to know thatnow."
Broderick stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk and shook him by the hand.
"Thorne," he exclaimed, "there isn't a man I'd rather send to the United States Senate than you! I mean it; there's my hand on it." And pushing Thorne into the waiting taxicab he commanded the driver to take them to Cradlebaugh's back entrance.
"Quick as you can!" he added, as they drove off.
Once in Cradlebaugh's, the domineering influence of Broderick again asserted itself.
"Where's Pemmican?" he inquired gruffly; and without waiting for an answer: "send him along right away!"
The liveried man who did his bidding bowed a bit familiarly to him, but very deferentially to Thorne. The latter he knew as a patron of the place, but one who did not play.
Almost instantly Pemmican came. His face was haggard, pale, his eyes heavy with sleeplessness, and upon him generally was the air of a man who had passed through some nightmare that with the dawn had turned out to be hideously true. He took them at once to the private room where the captain of police was waiting.
"Captain," said Broderick, "this is my counsel. He's a rattler for advice when a man's in a tight hole, and I thought I'd just fetch him along. Captain Whally—Counsellor Thorne." And turning at once upon Pemmican, Broderick proceeded to interrogate him.
"Now just where did this thing happen?"
Pemmican looked at the captain, at Broderick and then at Thorne before answering. Then he said:—
"Room A."
"Then itwaspulled off in here?"
"Yes."
"And how did he get out there on the street?"
Pemmican rubbed his hands together, looking first to Thorne and then to the captain for approval.
"I dragged him out."
"Good work!" was Broderick's brief comment.
"Who did this thing?" asked Thorne.
Pemmican gulped. After a second he answered:—
"Challoner."
"Laurie Challoner? You don't say!" ejaculated Broderick. That was all the surprise manifested. Challoner's proclivities were too well known to everybody in the room; besides, Cradlebaugh's was always expecting the unexpected to happen.
"Challoner," exclaimed Thorne with a show of satisfaction, "is a client of mine!"
Broderick's eyes brightened.
"Great! That simplifies matters. You'll defend him?"
"I shall," admitted Thorne, "if he be apprehended."
"But we must fix it so that he won't be," remarked Broderick.
"Or, if apprehended," continued Thorne, "so that he won't be brought to trial." And turning again to Pemmican: "Where is Challoner?"
Pemmican spread his hands apart, shrugged his shoulders and finally answered:—
"Gone—nobody knows where."
Just then the telephone bell rang. Pemmican answered it, listened for an instant and then resigned the receiver as he called:—
"Captain, it's for you."
The captain with some trepidation seized the instrument, and talked in low tones while the rest remained silent. Finally he hung up the receiver and announced:—
"It's my office. Murgatroyd is there now." The captain looked worried as he declared: "He wants to talk to me."
"Let him wait!" Broderick blustered out. Nevertheless a shadowy gloom settled down upon them all. Thorne was the first to break the silence.
"If Murgatroyd drags Cradlebaugh's into this murder case there'll be the devil to pay."
"He's got to keep it out," insisted Broderick. "Confound it! If he drags Cradlebaugh's into it, he'll drag into it his own organisation! He doesn't know the men who are behind it—its party affiliations, its patrons. If he makes this case a handle for his confounded investigations—well——"
"He will!" interrupted the captain of police. "See if he don't..."
"What if he does?" protested Broderick. "There isn't a grand jury ever been picked that would indict Cradlebaugh's! And there you are!"
"So long as public opinion don't get to work," ventured the captain.
Broderick started.
"You've hit the nail upon the head, captain," he assented, as he smote the table with his clenched fist. "That's why I'm worried. If public opinion gets to work, why say, it will——"
"Keep cool now, keep cool," counselled Thorne. "I'll see Murgatroyd," he went on; "this is the time of all times that he's got to do what we tell him to do; and if he don't—we'll break him on the wheel!"
Thorne smiled and jerked his head toward Pemmican.
"We even have the sole witness to this tragedy in the hollow of our hands."
There was a gentle tap on the door. Pemmican opened it and held a whispered conversation with one of the attendants of the house. Then he came back into the room and looking at the captain, he said:—
"They say down-stairs that two of the prosecutor's men were seen leaving the 'Elevated' a few minutes ago, and that they were working their way over to the West."
"Jumpin' Jerusalem!" exclaimed the captain, leaping to his feet. "They're coming here. That ends me—I'm off!" He caught up his cap and disappeared.
Pemmican once more locked the door; then Broderick resumed the conversation.
"By George, that's so!" he said to Thorne. "Pemmican isthewitness; we can keep him muzzled."
Pemmican edged forward from his position near the wall. Advancing to the table he placed both hands upon it and looked at the two men belligerently.
"But you won't keep me muzzled!" he exclaimed.
Broderick gasped:
"W—what?"
Pemmican drew himself together. Hitherto his attitude had been one of fearful deference toward Thorne; now he was defiant.
"You can't keep me muzzled!" he repeated.
Broderick took a long breath and rose as though to throttle Pemmican. Thorne waved him to his seat.
"Pemmican," said Thorne, "you need some sleep."
"I don't need sleep nor coaching either," retorted Pemmican. "I'm going to tell the truth about this murder."
"Well," said Broderick soothingly; "you've told it—to us."
Thorne fastened Pemmican with his cold, penetrating glance of displeasure. Pemmican shivered, but was game.
"This murder," Pemmican maintained desperately, "was committed by Challoner in Room A of this gambling house! I don't care if the house does pay me my salary, I don't care if I am in charge here, the house can't make me lie!" He paused for a moment and then went on:—
"This killing followed a row over a game of cards. I heard the row; I saw the shooting; and it's up to me to lay my cards down on the table. I'll give up what I know!"
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" said Thorne threateningly.
"I'll do nothing else!" retorted Pemmican hotly.
"If Murgatroyd comes here," suggested Broderick, "or sends for you, you keep mum—do you understand? That's your game! We'll take care of you the same as we are going to take care of the captain. He's true blue; and you've got to be true blue." And pointing toward Thorne, he added:—
"There's Thorne—he's your counsel, too. You do as he says, and he'll take care of you."
"I can take care of myself," returned Pemmican, doggedly, "and I'm going to do it. I'm going to tell the truth about this thing to Murgatroyd!"
There was another knock upon the door—a short, sharp, curt, commanding knock. Pemmican sprang to the door, unlocked it and threw it open.
Three men entered: One was Mixley; another McGrath—both detectives in the employ of the prosecutor's office in the court-house; and the third man was William Murgatroyd, the newly elected prosecutor of the pleas.
The yellow light of the early June afternoon grew softer as it sank into, and was absorbed by, the deepening dusk; but to Miriam Challoner, propped up with red silk cushions in a strange attitude of expectancy, these things had ceased to matter; for out of her life a living presence had gone, leaving a void more harsh than death. For weeks now she had patiently waited, her ear strained at every sound, trying to associate it somehow with her husband's return; the servants seemed to tread on tiptoe, as they went about their duties; the house was curiously hushed as though listening, always listening.
The room that she was in was beautifully proportioned and panelled in dull red; there were numerous divans well furnished with cushions and upholstered in the same hue as the walls; and as her eyes wandered over its rare pictures, bronzes and costly knick-knacks, she was reminded of the early days of her married life, when it had been her purpose to make this—Lawrence's room—as attractive and pleasing to him as money could make it. Fate, indeed, had played havoc with their lives; nothing was left but the memory of the happiness that once had been hers.
"Oh, why doesn't he come!" she cried, an agony of despair in her voice, and began to pace the room in nervous agitation.
At that moment a man noiselessly entered the room. She did not hear him until, suddenly looking round, she saw Stevens, the butler, advancing respectfully toward her. For an instant it startled her; disappointment and embarrassment struggled within her; finally she asked somewhat fretfully:—
"What are you doing here, Stevens—I did not ring—I——"
Stevens held the silver salver before her, on which were several letters. Taking them apathetically from him, she sank back limp among the cushions, her nerves on edge as she proceeded to scan each in turn. There were nine in all—the last of which she quickly tore open as the sole missive fraught with possibility. But she was doomed to disappointment; and handing them back to him, she told him to put them on the desk.
The man complied, and then stood quietly at attention.
"And, Stevens," she added falteringly, "send Foster to me at once."
Stevens turned on the instant and found Foster in a passage-way, shuddering.
"What's the matter with you?" he whispered, at the same time placing his arm about her.
"What are you doing?" exclaimed Foster with indignation, but made no attempt to release herself from his embrace. "Don't you hear the newsboys? What are they saying?" she went on, nestling closer to him. "Listen!"
They did not have long to wait, for just then the hoarse, raucous voices of the newsboys calling early specials reached their ears; but such words as were at first distinguishable seemed of no importance to them. Then like a bolt from the blue rang out the words:
CHALLONERCAUGHT IN CHICAGO!
CHALLONERCAUGHT IN CHICAGO!
"They've caught him!" the maid almost shrieked, pushing Stevens violently away from her; and starting in obedience to her mistress' commands, she added sympathetically:—
"I hope she hasn't heard——"
And as fortune would have it Mrs. Challoner had not heard, but went on to inform the maid that she was going to her room to lie down for a while, ending with:—
"There are some things which I wish you to attend to first, Foster."
On reaching her room, however, Mrs. Challoner abandoned her intention to lie down; apparently calm and collected, she took a seat near the light and started mentally to place her house once more in order. Item after item she checked off from her memorandum upon her household pad until at last, with her finger upon one hasty entry, she looked up and said:—
"Foster, ask Stevens if the stone masons have finished patching up the cellar wall; and then you may fetch me those letters I left on Mr. Challoner's desk."
Meanwhile, the French window looking on the rear porch in Challoner's room slowly opened, and a man quickly but stealthily entered, directed his steps to the table-desk, switched on the green-shaded light there, picked up several letters and proceeded to scan each carefully in turn—just as Mrs. Challoner had done a few moments previous. Suddenly the sound of footsteps reached his ears, and with the same movement that characterised his entrance he retreated to the balcony and disappeared, leaving the French window open behind him. The night was cool, there was a strong breeze from the east, and the chill, spring air poured into the room.
When Foster came into the room a little while later, she saw at once that the green-shaded light on the table-desk had been switched on, and that the letters that her mistress sent for were not there. Then all of a sudden she noticed that the window was open and there was a general air of mystery about the room. She fled into the hall and called:—
"Stevens! Stevens!"
Stevens, who dogged the maid's footsteps and who was generally to be found in her vicinity, was soon on the scene.
"See! The window's open!" she whispered tremblingly.
Stevens shook his head.
"I locked it myself," he said, going over to it to examine the lock.
"It has been forced," he informed her, and beckoned to her to come and look at it.
With the gloom which the newsboys' cry had cast over them, the sight of the broken fastening filled them with horror.
"Who did it?" wailed Foster.
Stevens stepped out upon the porch; there was no one there. He glanced into the restricted space below; he saw nothing, heard nothing. So he stepped back into the room and closed the window, and looked at Foster with significance. Finally he answered:—
"One of those stone masons must have done it. He looked queer, acted queer; that is, to me."
Foster caught him by the arm.
"Could he have anything to do—with the case?" she gulped.
Stevens pointed hastily about the room at various objects of value easily appropriated.
"Just like as not," he answered. "If it was a thief, he'd have taken that an' that an' that——"
"Isn't it terrible!" gasped Foster; "and isn't it shivery and cold!" She seized a match, crossed over to the fireplace and lit the fire.
"What's that?" she started suddenly.
There was an almost unheard tinkle of an altogether unseen bell; and before its sound died away Stevens had stolen from the room and plunged almost headlong down the stairs. Foster quickly followed him to the door, where she encountered Mrs. Challoner coming down the hall.
"I thought I heard the door-bell just now?" she asked; for while oblivious to the noises of the street, there was little that occurred indoors these days that escaped her notice.
"Yes, ma'am," Foster stammered; "Stevens is answering it."
One glance at the maid's face, however, had sufficed to convince her mistress that something had happened; and for a moment it took all the courage she could summon to her aid to keep her from breaking down completely.
"What is it? Speak!" she exclaimed in a tremulous voice; and then without waiting for an answer, for the sound of voices in the hall below reached her ears: "If that's somebody to see me, I don't want to see them—I don't want to see anybody—I can't see anybody—I won't!..." she ended almost hysterically; and gathering her trailing skirts in her hands, she fled to her room.
But no sooner had she reached the door than Shirley Bloodgood followed on her heels.
"It's I, Miriam," she began; "and how are you, dear?" And without further ceremony she pulled off her gloves, tossed off her hat and planted herself in a chair.
"I just simply couldn't stay away from you any longer," she declared. "I know you don't want me here, but I can't leave you."
Miriam Challoner sank weakly at a table and covered her face with her hands. Alone with the servants, she had borne up, but in the presence of the strong, sympathetic girl, Mrs. Challoner's courage vanished. Finally she leaned toward her visitor, and asked, a world of pathos in the question:—
"Is—is there any news outside?"
Shirley glanced at the fire sputtering in the grate; she hesitated imperceptibly, then she answered:—
"None—I—I haven't seen the papers—no, there's nothing new."
Mrs. Challoner rose, staggered across the room to the girl and threw her arms about her.
"Shirley, Shirley, I'd have gone mad, I think, if you hadn't come!" she cried, and fell to sobbing; but after a moment she straightened up again. There was a defiant look in her face now, a tremor in the voice that said: "I don't care what he's done—I want Laurie to come back, do you understand? I want him back—I want him...."
Shirley Bloodgood bit her lips.
"I know, I know, Miriam—I do understand——"
"Oh, but you can't understand," she persisted; "you haven't a husband and you don't know ..."
"Yes, yes, Miriam, I know," were the only words that rose to the girl's lips to comfort her, for at that moment the faint sound of the insistent door-bell broke in upon them.
Mrs. Challoner's slight frame shook with sudden agitation as she exclaimed:—
"That door-bell will drive me crazy!" And almost instantly recovering her composure she gasped:—
"If it should be Laurie!"
The girl glanced at the smouldering fire in the grate, where to her excited fancy in all their hideousness rose before her the headlines she had read in the evening papers: "Challoner Caught In Chicago!"
"It isn't Laurie," Miriam went on; "no, of course not; but whoever it is, Shirley, you must see them for me—unless it should be—" she faltered. "Then come back, but don't leave me to-night—you'll stay, won't you?"
"Yes," the girl assured her. "But you must promise me that you'll rest for a little while—there—on that sofa. Then we'll have a bite together, and——"
Without a word Miriam Challoner went over to the sofa, and soon gave way to the first sleep she had had in many days.
"How are we ever going to break the news to her," sighed Shirley, as she noiselessly crept from the room. Just outside of the door she encountered Stevens, and quickly placing her finger on her lips, she motioned him to be silent. When they were well out of hearing he announced in a confidential tone:—
"Mr. Murgatroyd, Miss Bloodgood."
"Mr. Murgatroyd! William Murgatroyd? What does he want, Stevens?" She was plainly excited.
"Sh-h-h!" warned Stevens gently; "he's the prosecutor of the pleas."
"Oh, then itisMr. William Murgatroyd. But what does he want?"
Stevens shook his head, for they were now well in hearing. The next moment Shirley Bloodgood had entered the drawing-room and stood gazing into the face of William Murgatroyd.
For an instant the man started back; he could not believe his own eyes.
"Shirley Bloodgood!" The name fell incredulously from his lips. "You here?"
Shirley held out her hand.
"And you—what are you doing here?" she asked quickly. "I didn't know that you were a friend of the family?"
Tall, well-built, with a smooth-shaven face, a square chin and a nose that stood well out into the air, Murgatroyd was a man who appeared to be without enthusiasm; but although sharp and business-like, his manner was easy. Turning to Shirley, he came to the point at once.
"I want to see Mrs. Challoner," he announced. "But I'm glad you're here, for I don't know her very well, and——"
"You can't very well see her now," Shirley interrupted, shaking her head. "She's frightfully unstrung—she's ill. You know it's almost three weeks now since Laurie first went away, and——"
"I know," he broke in just a bit impatiently.
"What?" Shirley gasped, the truth at last dawning upon her; "you don't mean to say that you're here in—in your official capacity?"
Murgatroyd smiled grimly.
"It's the only capacity in which I'm likely to be here, Shirley," he reminded her.
"But," she protested, "I thought they left these things to——"
"The police," he finished; and again smiled grimly. "They do, but there are reasons—You see," he went on to explain, "since I was appointed prosecutor of the pleas, I've turned up a thing or two in the Police Department, and, well, the Police Department and I are somewhat out of tune. This case they have put up to me and my men——"
"Surely you can't mean to imply that you have to do this kind of thing yourself?" The girl looked askance.
Murgatroyd raised his eyebrows.
"Yes, it's up to me...."
Shirley shifted her position. She didn't like Murgatroyd in this new rôle, and yet there was something in the grim determination of the man that pleased her.
"I am sorry to remind you," he went on, the full responsibility of his office upon him, "that I am here to see Mrs. Challoner; to find out where Challoner is; to persuade her to persuade him to come back." Murgatroyd chopped out the sentences as though he were a machine.
"Then he wasn't caught in Chicago!" Shirley exclaimed almost jubilantly; and then touching him on the arm a bit familiarly, she added:—
"Billy, you don't really believe that Laurie murdered Colonel Hargraves?"
Murgatroyd laughed a short laugh.
"If I didn't know you, Shirley, I should imagine you were sparring for time.... If I didn't know you I wouldn't answer your questions. As it is, I must answer them in the same way that I would do anything you asked of me—short of crime."
"If you put it that way," returned Shirley, drawing away from him, her tone growing cold, "you needn't answer me at all."
Murgatroyd did not heed her.
"I don't know," he went on evasively, "whether Challoner murdered Hargraves or not."
"You don't know ..."
"No," returned the prosecutor; "so far the evidence is purely circumstantial."
Shirley Bloodgood had been hanging on his words. She drew a long breath and echoed excitedly: "Circumstantial—" There was a flicker of a smile on her face as she added:—
"Then the newspapers were wrong when they said it was a certainty!..."
Murgatroyd held up his hand and went on to explain:—
"What I tell you is confidential—you understand?"
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently; "but tell me about it—the real facts—that is, if you can."
"There's no reason why I shouldn't, I suppose," said the prosecutor of the pleas. "The real facts as we have them ... as we have them, mind, are simple. Challoner quarrelled with Colonel Hargraves——"
"What about?" asked Shirley impulsively.
Murgatroyd flushed.
"That makes no difference," he answered with some confusion; "the point is that they were enemies. It was a quarrel in which the passions of each were roused to the utmost. To make a long story short, Colonel Hargraves won ten thousand dollars at Gravesend—the men met in Cradlebaugh's—another quarrel followed——"
"And then?"
"Then," went on the prosecutor, "they parted. That was all—save at two o'clock next morning Hargraves was found in the street back of Cradlebaugh's with a bullet through his heart."
Shirley was quivering with suppressed excitement; nevertheless, she managed to ask:—
"What does that prove?"
"Nothing—only a man named Pemmican of Cradlebaugh's witnessed both quarrels—and Challoner has run away. Looks bad for Challoner, I should say."
"But," persisted Shirley, "surely that evidence is not conclusive...."
"One moment, please," went on the prosecutor calmly; "Hargraves had the ten thousand dollars in cash with him, and——"
"That is conclusive," she commented. "Surely you don't think Lawrence would steal?"
Prosecutor Murgatroyd paused for an instant and placed finger-tip against finger-tip, then he answered slowly:—
"Frankly speaking, I do. I believe," he went on, speaking as though with conviction, "that Challoner would do anything."
Shirley shook her head.
"It's impossible! Why, the Challoners have any amount of money!"
Murgatroyd shrugged his shoulders.
"Challoner's wife has, but——"
"It's the same thing," Shirley protested; "and she just adores him—you do not know how much she adores him, Billy!"
Again Murgatroyd shrugged his shoulders.
"But how about him?"
The girl shook her head and answered somewhat sadly:—
"I know, I know, she's blind to everything, Miriam is ..."
Once more she placed her hand on Murgatroyd's arm, unconsciously, impersonally but impulsively.
"Oh, it's perfectly dreadful, the whole thing!"
Unwittingly, Murgatroyd changed his mood to meet hers.
"Yes," he said, "to have ruined himself like this! It's a tragedy to see a man like Challoner go down hill. In the old days he was such a decent chap."
"You were a friend of his, weren't you?"
"Yes, before he married, when he was poor and decent like the rest of us—yes, I was a friend of his."
Shirley Bloodgood drew her brows together.
"Indeed! You must have been a good friend to let him take his downward course."
For an instant this imputation seemed to rest heavily on Murgatroyd's shoulders; but he cast it from him quickly with a sigh, and answered:—
"A man's best friends are like a man's good wife; they do not desert him, whatever happens; he deserts them. And so it was with Challoner."
"And so at the last he has no friends?"
"Evidently not, save a flock of vampires that feed upon his purse and will continue to feed so long as he has a purse." He pulled out his watch. "But," he protested, "I am wasting time—I—Oh, pardon me," he quickly corrected, flushing with embarrassment, "I did not mean my time, exactly; but frankly, I must see Mrs. Challoner."
Shirley shook her head.
"Miriam Challoner is ill, much too ill to see any one. She gave orders——"
"Excuse me, but Mrs. Challoner is not too ill," persisted Murgatroyd, "to walk from room to room. My men have seen her through the windows. I wish you would say to her, please, that I must see her."
Seeing the futility of resisting further, Shirley made a movement to go.
"Oh, I can't tell her!" she cried. "I'll ring for Stevens." She rang. "Stevens," she said, as he came into the room, "will you tell your mistress—Oh, I can't—I can't," she faltered.
Murgatroyd stepped into the breach.
"I am the prosecutor of the pleas," he said to Stevens, "tell her that, and that I'm sorry to disturb her, but I must see her."
The servant left the room. Shirley sank into a chair and half covered her face with her hands.
"I don't believe—I never will believe that Lawrence did these things!"
There was a pause. After a moment Murgatroyd remarked half aloud:—
"There is but one way to reform a man like that——"
The prosecutor did not finish, for standing in the doorway was Miriam Challoner, pale as a ghost, a look of interrogation in her eyes. Shirley ran quickly to her.
"Miriam, dear, I didn't send for you!" she cried, placing an arm around her. "It was Mr. Murgatroyd...."
Mrs. Challoner bowed and smiled faintly.
"I believe I have met Mr. Murgatroyd before," she said with a grace peculiarly her own.
Murgatroyd returned her greeting with:—
"I need not assure you, Mrs. Challoner, that this is a very painful duty."
Mrs. Challoner moistened her lips and held herself together with great effort.
"Please don't apologise," she said gently, "I understand. It may be easier for me to have some one whom I've met."
Murgatroyd bowed; and placing a chair for Mrs. Challoner, begged her to be seated.
"If you don't mind, Miriam," spoke up Shirley, "I'll leave you now, but if you need me—call me."
Miriam clutched the girl by the shoulder, and cried excitedly:—
"No, Shirley, stay where you are—I want you here with me!"
Murgatroyd placed a chair for the girl beside that of Mrs. Challoner; he took a seat opposite.
"Mrs. Challoner," he began in a voice that was even more gentle than at any time before, "believe me that I've no desire to give you trouble unnecessarily."
"Please don't apologise," Mrs. Challoner repeated holding fast to Shirley, as though she pinned her faith to that young woman.
"I shall begin at the beginning, Mrs. Challoner," he said. "I suppose, of course, that you have had the report that your husband has been found in Chicago?"
"What! Found?" To the great surprise of the prosecutor no emotions other than joy and relief were visible on the woman's face.
"Laurie has been found!" she went on. "Thank heaven! I'm so glad—now he must come back home."
"I had thought," said the prosecutor, in even, business-like tones, "that the news of his arrest would—would have been an unpleasant shock to you ... I find that the shock is yet to come."
Quick as a flash Miriam Challoner read the truth in the man's face.
"You don't mean—you can't mean that——"
Murgatroyd bowed.
"I have already told Miss Bloodgood that the report was a mistake. Your husband was not arrested in Chicago."
At that Mrs. Challoner really broke down. She sobbed silently on the shoulder of the girl beside her. "Oh, Laurie, Laurie, then you're not coming home!" she cried. "Most three weeks, Shirley, he's been away!"
Murgatroyd waited patiently until she had recovered, never once forgetting that he was the servant of the people. His was a double duty. He must apprehend the guilty, and so do it as to save the community great expense. Of late murders had been expensive luxuries. Murgatroyd knew that in this case he would be hampered by lack of funds.
"Mrs. Challoner," he said with simple directness, "the whole substance of the matter is this: I believe—we believe that Mr. Challoner has not left the East, and that he may still be here in town—in this house even." He had reseated himself, but suddenly rose again.
"In this house!" Miriam returned with a faint smile. "I wish he were, indeed I do wish he were——"
"Mrs. Challoner," the prosecutor went on, ignoring her words, "it is necessary that my men, now while I am here, while you are here, should search these premises—this house——"
Shirley Bloodgood shook herself from the grasp of Miriam; she stood erect, her slender form tense.
"This is an imposition; it is preposterous, Mr. Murgatroyd, that you should doubt her word!"
Murgatroyd was unmoved.
"It is necessary for my men to search this house," he repeated; and not unwisely, for he well knew that there is something that brings men—good, bad and indifferent men—back to their homes.
But Shirley was adamant.
"No, I won't allow it!" she exclaimed indignantly.
Mrs. Challoner placed a restraining hand on the girl, for Miriam Challoner once more held a strong grip upon herself.
"Search the house if you wish, Mr. Murgatroyd," she consented; "if you find my husband, no one will be more pleased than I."
Murgatroyd left the room and returned almost instantly followed by two men—Mixley and McGrath. It was one of these men a short while before who had stolen in through the French window and tampered with the letters on the desk.
"You will search here first," he ordered; and turning to the women: "Would you prefer to go or stay?"
"We'll go, of course," Shirley flung at him as she drew Miriam toward the door.
"Of course not, we shall stay," said Miriam, freeing herself from the girl.
The men passed in unceremoniously and proceeded to search the room—places that even Miriam had forgotten about; they overlooked nothing, but silently, quietly in their business-like way turned everything topsy-turvy, replacing things, in the end, as they found them. Presently they turned to their chief, and said:—
"It's all right, Prosecutor."
"Cover the rest of the house," again ordered Murgatroyd.
They grinned sheepishly.
"That's all done," they answered.
"What?"
McGrath nodded.
"Yes, while you were talking in here," he said, "we showed our shields and they showed us through." He drew near and whispered: "We thought it best to take 'em by surprise; they hadn't no time to fix things, don't you see?"
"Nothing found?" asked Murgatroyd.
Simultaneously they shook their heads, and answered:—
"Nothing."
Murgatroyd waved his hand and commanded them to wait for him at the door, ending with:—
"I won't be a minute." And turning to Mrs. Challoner, he said a trifle apologetically: "My men tell me that your husband is not in the house. One thing more, however; if you know where Mr. Challoner is—"
"She doesn't!" snapped Shirley.
"If you know where he is," Murgatroyd repeated, ignoring the interruption, "if you have any means of communicating with him——"
"She hasn't!" once more interposed the girl sharply.
"I want you to use your influence with him to make him come back. His flight amounts to a moral confession of crime. He has nothing to gain, you see," he went on to explain, "by staying away. He is bound to be caught; he cannot escape!"
"I want him to come back," stammered Mrs. Challoner. "Yes, yes, he must come back and face this charge. You—you don't think him guilty, Mr. Murgatroyd?"
Murgatroyd walked toward the door. If he had spoken his mind he would have answered in the affirmative; but instead, he compromised with:—
"I don't know;" and abruptly left the house.
"Brutes every one of them—and Billy Murgatroyd the worst of all!" The exclamation fell from Shirley Bloodgood's lips.
Miriam Challoner had been resting her head forlornly on her arms as she sat at a table, but on hearing the young woman's bitter remark she raised her head and smiled a wan smile.
"Mr. Murgatroyd?" The tone was one of surprise. "Why, I thought you liked him, Shirley?"
The girl hunched her shoulders expressively.
"You have things badly twisted, Miriam—helikesme." And suddenly rising to her feet, she clapped her hands impulsively. "Oh, Miriam, I almost forgot—I've good news—good news for you!" Then she ran swiftly toward Mrs. Challoner and swiftly back again to the window. "No, they're out of sight—almost...."
"Good news? What good news?" Miriam asked incredulously.
Shirley placed a hand upon her lips.
"Prosecutor Murgatroyd," she began, "told me in confidence——"
"In confidence!" Miriam repeated; "then you had better not——"
Shirley shook her head belligerently.
"Oh, no!" she laughed. "It's all right! Billy Murgatroyd likes to tell things to me. He told me once that he believed that to be one of the controlling motives that led to matrimony.... That a man should have somebody to tell things to."
Mrs. Challoner's curiosity got the better of her.
"And he told you—" she inquired eagerly.
"He told me the facts—gave away his evidence to me." Shirley tossed her head.
"But—" again protested Miriam.
Once more Shirley silenced her.
"No—I shall tell you—this may be a matter of life and death; besides, you are entitled to know the truth."
"Yes, yes," assented Miriam, "tell me—I must know—but first, wait a moment." She pushed a button and Stevens entered.
"Stevens," she said in a low, strained voice, "don't let any one in the house. Do you understand? I simply cannot stand it—to see another person."
When Stevens had left the room the girl resumed:—
"Murgatroyd told me, Miriam, the greatest cock-and-bull story you ever heard." Miriam looked as if her brain would snap. "It seems that the papers have distorted, exaggerated everything. The fact is, Miriam, dear, the case is the flimsiest...."
Miriam drew a deep breath.
"How? Explain yourself!"
Then Shirley went on to tell that nobody had seen Hargraves killed, nobody had seen the shot fired; that they had only got some disreputable gambler or other who claimed to have witnessed a quarrel between them.
"And, oh, yes," she added a moment later, "the man that killed Hargraves robbed him of ten thousand dollars—and of course Lawrence Challoner wouldn't rob a man, much less kill one—so don't you see, there's nothing in the story at all."
"I don't know," answered Miriam slowly, "whether he would or not."
"What!" gasped the girl.
"Don't misunderstand me," pleaded the woman. "There are two Lawrence Challoners—one is the man I love—that loves me; the other is the Lawrence Challoner who—well—I don't care," she added fiercely, "what he's done, I want him back." She sobbed for an instant. "You didn't know, Shirley, that we had a quarrel—I treated him badly, shamefully; he hasn't come back since."
"You quarrelled—you, Miriam!" The girl opened her eyes wide. "What about?"
"Money," admitted the conscience-stricken woman—"money. He wanted me to give him some—a perfectly natural request, wasn't it?—Men have got to have money," she went on, repeating his words, "and I wouldn't give him any. It was brutal in me—I can never forgive myself!"
A look of astonishment crossed Shirley's face.
"You wouldn't give him any money? And he didn't have any when he went away?"
Miriam wept. After a moment she answered:—
"No. My poor Laurie—think of him starving, freezing, perhaps dying!"
Shirley Bloodgood drew a long breath.
"And Colonel Hargraves was robbed," she murmured to herself.
"I don't think you understand," Miriam went on, breaking in upon her thoughts. "Of course I don't believe that Laurie is guilty of the things they charge him with; but he must come back and stand trial and be acquitted—and I must stand by his side through it all." She broke down completely.
"On the evidence they have," Shirley returned, trying to comfort her, "they'll——"
"What's that?" inquired Mrs. Challoner, starting up nervously, in alarm. "It's that horrible bell ringing again," she went on breathlessly. "Don't you hear voices below? Listen—I thought I heard...."
Shirley stole to the door and listened. Presently she called back:—
"Don't worry—whoever it is, Stevens is sending them away!"
"I hope so," sighed Miriam, "for I can't see any one—I won't see any one, unless—Oh, Laurie, Laurie," she cried out, "why don't you come home!"
Suddenly Shirley fell back from the door; it was being stealthily pushed open.
"Oh," she gasped, "it's only Stevens! How you frightened me!"
Stevens stood in the door at attention, looking neither to the right nor to the left, but straight over the heads of the women. He drew a long intake of breath, then he spoke the name:—
"Mr. Challoner."
And hardly were the words out of his mouth than he was thrust aside, and there stood in his place a spare, gaunt, tottering figure—a man dishevelled, soiled, exhausted—James Lawrence Challoner had come home!
At the sound of the name the young wife's face turned pale, and for a moment words failed her. Then all of a sudden she sprang to her feet and rushed to him, crying in an ecstasy of joy:—
"Laurie, Laurie, you've come home to me at last!" And throwing her arms around his neck, she kissed him many times, laughing hysterically and crying the while: "You've come back to me!" And once more the freshness of youth, joy and hope were in her voice.
But Challoner, still standing just within the entrance of the room, did not heed her; he cast her off with a frantic sweep of the arm.
"Keep away—keep away from me!" he cried. "I'm tired, dog-tired—I've got to sleep, sleep."
Painful as was the scene, Shirley was keenly alive to what his presence there might mean.
"Stevens," she called, pointing to a window, "pull that curtain down. I pulled it up aftertheywent; pull it down."
Challoner now turned upon her.
"Leave the curtain alone, I tell you," he said, "I don't care if it is up. I don't care about you either—nor you," looking at his wife. "I don't know you. I must have sleep—sleep—sleep."
Deep down in her soul Shirley knew that she should not hear all this, and she would have fled if she had not promised Miriam not to leave her. Suddenly she wheeled upon Stevens as if she and not Miriam were the mistress of the house, exclaiming peremptorily:—
"Stevens, leave the room!"
Stevens obeyed her as he would his mistress, and left the room post haste.
Miriam now went over to the girl.
"You're not going to leave me!" she exclaimed, clinging to her. "You and Laurie are the only friends I have—you must stay here with Laurie and me."
Shirley saw the agony in her face and patted her affectionately as she promised:—
"There, there, Miriam, dear, of course I shall stay." And Miriam, at once reassured, darted back to her husband, and cried:—
"Laurie, dear," kissing him and pushing the hair back from his forehead, "so tired—so tired."
But Challoner, a wolf now and not a man, jerked away from her, and answered:—
"I came home, didn't I? Well, then, I must have sleep, sleep, I tell you, sleep." And tottering over to a dainty silken covered sofa, he threw himself upon it with a deep sigh, saying as though to himself: "Sleep—I must have sleep."
Spellbound, Miriam watched him for a moment, then following him to the sofa, she went down on her knees and drew him to her in a close embrace.
"Everything's all right now that you've come back," she told him in soothing tones. "And, dear, you'll forgive me for quarrelling with you—I'm so sorry, yes, I am, Laurie," kissing him on the lips, the face, the forehead. "Say you'll forgive me, Laurie, dear?"
His answer was a snore. Challoner lay supinely where he had thrown himself, sleeping as does the beast that has crept back to his lair after days of hunting by the man pack.
"Miriam," the whispered name came from Shirley, "you and I, dear, must now think of things. We must not forget that Murgatroyd and his men have only just left. We must not let him lie here; it was lucky they searched the house when they did...."
Miriam waved the other back.
"No," she objected strenuously, "he must sleep; we must let him alone."
"No, no, Miriam," persisted Shirley, putting great emphasis on the words, "we ought to tell him what kind of evidence is against him. He ought to know that. If we didn't warn him in time, he'd never forgive us—he'd never forgive you. He's a man...."
"Perhaps you're right, Shirley—you seem to be always right. Yes, I suppose he ought to know." Gently Miriam shook him, rocked him to and fro upon the sofa, as some fond mother might wake a drowsy, growing boy on a lazy summer morn.
"Lawrence," she cried softly in his ear, "wake up! Wake up, dear, wake up!"
For an instant Challoner stirred. Presently there came in guttural tones:—
"Yes, yes, that's all right...." But he slept, and kept on sleeping.
"I can hardly realise that Laurie is back," murmured Miriam, happily. Unconscious of the other's words, she remained kneeling at the side of the dainty sofa with its far from dainty burden, her arm still about the neck of the man who slept upon it.
"Yes, yes," returned the girl, "but don't you think we had better warn him? He must not be found——"
The other laughed joyously, trying lovingly to smooth out his tangled hair. After a moment she answered absently:—
"They'll find him now, I suppose; but I don't care—I've got him back." She turned and kissed him once again. "My Laurie," she murmured in his ear. Somehow she thought he heard and was glad to hear.
The girl stooped down and caught her by the shoulder.
"But, Miriam," she expostulated, "we must take no chances—we ought to wake him."
Miriam looked up at the girl helplessly.
"You must not stop, Miriam," insisted Shirley, "we must wake him——"
At that instant as they stood clustered about the sleeping thing, the bell once more broke out in feeble clamour. They clung to each other in abject fear.
"The bell!" chorused the women, and stood frozen, silent. They heard Stevens toiling up the stairs; waited; watched the door; finally they saw him enter. Neither of the women spoke, but gazed at him questioningly.
Stevens met their gaze with frightened eyes. At last he found his voice.
"It's the prosecutor's men again, Madam. They've come to——"
"Stevens," interrupted Shirley, "surely you didn't tell them that——"
"Not one word, Miss Bloodgood. But they said they saw him——"
Shirley groaned and pointed to the sofa; Mrs. Challoner rose to her feet and stood before it as if to hide the man upon it.
"You left them outside, Stevens?" Miriam was calm and apparently in full control of herself now.
"One of them—the other forced his way in and sent after the prosecutor."
There was a tap at the door, and the maid, quivering with fear, excitement and indignation, entered, bursting forth with:—
"There's a man coming upstairs, Madam—but I stopped him. He said he'd wait out there on the landing to see you—said he knew Mr. Challoner was in the house and he was going to arrest him."
Challoner continued to sleep noisily.
"Oh, dear, there's nothing to be done, I suppose, but to let the man in." Mrs. Challoner was speaking to Shirley now; and then without waiting for a reply she ordered Foster to show the man up, adding: "I hope he'll wait until Laurie wakes."
Instantly Miriam crossed to the sofa and once more rested her soft, warm face on his, hoping that he could feel the love that she bore for him, then she shook him somewhat roughly.
"Laurie, dear, you must wake up." And then like a flash the thought of resistance crossed her mind. She sprang up with a cry, rushed past Shirley, past Stevens, reached the door, closed it, fumbled for an instant, and finding the key locked it tight.
"No, no," she muttered, "they shan't take him—I won't let them—he belongs to me!"
In a frenzy she piled up the light chairs and tables, and pushed them against the door to form a barricade, crying the while to Stevens: "Help me, quick! We've got to keep them out! We must not let them in, must not...."
Shirley went over to her and caught her in her arms, whispering while she affectionately rested her head on Miriam's shoulder:—
"Don't, dear, don't! We can't help it, don't you see? There's no other way out of it but to let the men come in."
"Of course we can't help it," after a moment Miriam said resignedly, and proceeded to pull the chairs and tables away that she had so vigorously piled up. "Yes, yes, let them in," and wearily fell into a chair.
Stevens unlocked the door, and Mixley entered the room, McGrath following soon after.
"There's no help for it, ma'am," they spoke as one man.
At the sight of them Miriam rushed back to her husband and shook him slightly, speaking his name softly. Then she turned plaintively to the men:—
"If you would only let him sleep—just a little while longer," she said falteringly.
"You must leave him to us, ma'am," spoke up Mixley; and pointing to the far corner of the room, added: "Will you take that chair, there, please? Don't be afraid, ladies," he went on, glancing at Shirley; "we won't hurt the gentleman, see if we do."
And suddenly, together, the men bodily lifted Challoner from the sofa and as suddenly dropped him back again.
At this use of physical force Miriam covered her face with her hands and cried:—
"Don't do that—please don't...."
They desisted, but for quite another reason.
"There's a hump here that we'd best attend to," said Mixley to the other detective, meaningly, running his hand over the outline of Challoner's clothing. "He may not be so sound asleep as he seems to be."
At this juncture Shirley motioned to Stevens to leave the room; the next instant revealed a revolver which they took from Challoner's hip-pocket.
"Is the thing loaded?" queried McGrath. Together they examined it; then simultaneously they glanced in the direction of the women.
"Ma'am—ladies," said Mixley, crossing the room, "we're fair people, and Prosecutor Murgatroyd is fair. You seen us take this here firearm from Mr. Challoner just now, didn't you?"
Miriam and Shirley nodded in acknowledgment. Challoner dropped back into his former position and continued to snore.
Mixley came closer to them and requested that they take a good look at it.
"Don't give it to me," cried Shirley, eluding the outstretched hand and its contents.
"Give it to me," said Miriam, unhesitatingly.
McGrath crowded up.
"You see that there's five chambers loaded, don't you, Mrs. Challoner?"
Mrs. Challoner turned the revolver upside down and looked at it helplessly.
"Five chambers loaded?" she asked innocently, unsuspectingly.
"Here," broke in Mixley, "let me show you." And he counted slowly: "One, two, three, four, five—all full, see?"
"Yes, five chambers," Mrs. Challoner agreed.
There was a pause in which Mixley looked meaningly at McGrath; then he said:—
"And one chamber empty?"
"Oh, yes," she acknowledged almost eagerly, as he placed his finger on it, "there's surely one chamber empty—I see it now."