Chapter Fourteen.

Miles Confesses

Doctor Coat signed, in a neat, small hand, and Uncle Peter added a scrawling, infantile signature.

“Will you keep it for me, please?” she said to Purvis. “Thank you all very much… Now, I’ll just run up to say good-bye…”

She ran up the stairs, and found Aunt Emma in the upper corridor.

“It’s done,” she said. “Signed and witnessed. Now please tell me--”

“Coat’s coming up!” said Aunt Emma. “I don’t care to be found talking alone to you just now. Go down in the kitchen and ask Miles. He’ll tell you all you want to know.”

“I don’t want--”

“Then you’ll have to want,” said Aunt Emma, and turning on her heel, walked into Uncle Rufus’s room just as Doctor Coat’s benevolent and stupid face appeared at the head of the stairs.

“I can’t wait!” thought Di. “I mustn’t be so cowardly about Miles. He can’t make any trouble here, with Doctor Coat and Mr. Purvis in the house--and that driver out there. I’ll go and ask him anyhow. And if he’s--impossible, I’ll insist upon Aunt Emma telling me at once. She can’t get out of it. I can threaten to tell Mr. Purvis to tear up the will.”

But she dreaded the thought of seeing Miles again.

“On the borderline,” Aunt Emma had said, and alcoholism would soon send him across it. Was that true? Her father “technically insane,” Uncle Rufus a paranoiac, Uncle Peter mentally deficient… all of them…? And she herself?

“I won’t think about that now,” she said to herself.

But she had thought of it, and the horrible shadow would not leave her. She went down the stairs and into the lounge, where Purvis and Uncle Peter stood talking together; she went past them without a word and into the dining-room that was in complete darkness.

“My last will and testament…”

“What have I done?” she asked herself, stopping halfway across the room. “I wish… I hadn’t…”

But even here, through the window, she could see the lights of the waiting taxi, her link with the world outside. She went on, resolutely, pushed open the swing-door, went through the pantry and into the kitchen.

Miles was sitting on the edge of the table, smoking. He glanced at her as she entered, but he did not speak or move. He was white as chalk, and on his handsome, wasted face was a queer, blank look.

“Miles!” she said, in as matter-of-fact a way as she could manage.

But he did not answer.

“Miles,” she said again. “Please tell me what happened to Mr. Fennel--”

He sprang to his feet, stood looking at her with dilated eyes.

“Aunt Emma said you’d tell me--” she went on, unsteadily.

Still he did not speak; she looked at him, and was appalled by the expression on his face.

Then suddenly anger flamed up in her.

“Miles!” she cried. “Stop--staring like that! Miles! Can’t you talk like a human being…? I--I’m sick and tired of all this… Where’s Mr. Fennel?”

“He’s in hell!” shouted Miles.

She caught him by the arm and tried to shake him.

“Tell me!” she said. “I _will_ know!”

“You’ll never see _him_ again,” said Miles, with a laugh.

That laugh brought her to her senses. This was not the way to handle Miles. Her hand dropped from his arm; she drew a long breath and began, in a friendly, easy tone.

“Please tell me all about it, Miles. Aunt Emma told me to come and ask you.”

“I can’t!” he groaned.

“Yes, you can, Miles!”

He flung himself into a chair, and covered his eyes with his arm, a childish and pitiable gesture.

“Oh, Di!” he said. “Oh, Di!”

She laid her hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Miles!” she said, encouragingly.

Evidently he was filled with remorse for whatever part he had played in this affair, and she was sorry for him. But no doubt he was exaggerating as usual; she would have to sift out the truth from his words.

“I didn’t think--I _could_ do _that_,” he said, still with his eyes covered. “I didn’t mean to… But it was because I love you so… She promised to help me. She said you’d marry me. And you would have loved me, if he hadn’t come. You liked me at first. If he hadn’t come…”

He let his arm fall, and looked up at her, with a sort of anguished bewilderment.

“That night when we cooked the dinner together, Di… That was the happiest hour I ever had in my life… Then when you went upstairs to dress, she told me she’d heard you promise to meet that fellow at nine o’clock, in the clearing… She said I could stop it. She told me she’d keep you in the house as long as possible, and I could meet him. I was to tell him that you and I were secretly married and ask him to lend us enough money to get away, and ask him to clear out for a few days--for your sake--so that no one could question him. She said that would disgust him with the whole show, and that if he thought _you_ were mixed up in everything he’d simply drop it--anyhow, until you’d had a chance to get away… But when she couldn’t keep you in the house--when you ran out like that, Di, I--couldn’t stand it. To see you, hell-bent on meeting another man… I went after you. I only meant to stop you… But I missed you, in the dark. I couldn’t find you… I went to the clearing, and I saw him standing there… He had heard me coming… I found I had Uncle Rufus’s loaded stick in my hand. I don’t remember taking it. I swear I had no idea of--of _that_--when I left the house… But when I saw him… Di, I didn’t mean to do that! I swear I didn’t!”

Her hand had fallen from his shoulder; she was leaning against the table, looking and looking at him.

“What--was it--that you did?” she asked.

“I only struck once, Di I swear it…! And then I heard someone coming down the hillside, and I dragged him back, among the trees. It was you…! Oh, God, Di! You called him! You sat down there--and waited for him--you called him again… And he was lying there, not ten yards from you… all the time…”

She stood as if frozen with horror. He was still speaking, but she could not hear.

“Lying there…” she thought. “When I called to him… Dead--_murdered_…”

Suddenly she caught Miles’s sleeve.

“Miles!” she said. “No… Miles, perhaps it’s not true… Miles, you’re not--_sure_…?”

“I wish to God I wasn’t!” he said. “After you’d gone, I tried… But he--was gone…”

“Gone?” she echoed, catching at any straw. “You mean disappeared?”

“No!” he said. “Disappeared…? No. He lay there. I didn’t know what to do with--it… I thought--I’d go mad… I dragged him along--and pushed him into the old quarry… And--later… I went back again--and called him…” His hand covered hers that lay on his sleeve. “That’s why I wanted to kill myself,” he said. “But now--I don’t care. They’re sure to find him. I don’t care. I’m ready--to go.”

“No, Miles--” she protested, almost mechanically.

“I am, Di,” he said. “I’ll be glad to finish.”

He rose, stood looking down at the ground, with a look somber and austere.

“She’s told me, often enough, that I’m not to be trusted. And it’s true. I’ve never done anything but harm. I never could. I’m ready for the police, whenever they come…”

“Aunt Emma will help you,” she said, with the same mechanical kindness.

“She doesn’t know what I’ve done. I’m not going to tell her. She’d get me out of it. There’d be more lies and lies and lies… And there’s nothing ahead for me, Di. I’ve been thinking over--everything. My whole life… I’ve always done what she wanted. She was the only one who did anything for me. My father never had any money. She sent me to school and to college. I suppose she was good to me. But she always told me what a weak, good-for-nothing devil I was… It didn’t help much… But she was right… Di, there in the wood, something--happened to me--something sprang up inside me… I’m not fit to live.”

There was no instinct for revenge in the girl, no impulse to retaliate. The death of this wasted, broken boy could in no way compensate for the life he had taken; it could give her no possible satisfaction to see him punished. But she could not pity him. Not now. She was thinking of Fennel.

It seemed to her the greatest misfortune possible that she was never to know him better, never to see him again. It seemed to her as if the vital, the significant part of her own life had ended with him.

“He came to meet me,” she thought. “If it hadn’t been for me, he would be alive now.”

Miles was still talking, but she did not listen. Nothing mattered at all now; there was no object, no motive left. She could not care what she did, or what happened to her. She wanted to get away, alone and think.

“Well… Good-by, Miles!” she said, with a polite little smile.

She was not even aware that she had interrupted him in the middle of a speech.

“Di…” he cried. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just going back to New York, Miles. I’m--tired.”

“You’re going to _leave_ me, Di?”

“Miles,” she said, with a sort of despair. “I’ve got to go. I--can’t stand any more.” As she turned away, the swing-door was pushed open, and Mr. Purvis entered.

“This taxi-driver insists upon speaking to you,” he said, severely.

“I’ll come--” she answered, and followed him into the lounge, where she found the driver standing with his back to the door.

“I’m coming,” she told him, with that same polite little smile, and went toward the door.

“But--your bag?” he said.

“I don’t care. I’ll send for it later,” she said.

“My dear young lady!” protested Purvis. “Surely you’re going to say good-by to your uncle?”

Again she had forgotten Uncle Rufus. She was very reluctant to leave him like this, yet it seemed to her certain that if she went up those stairs, she would not easily come down again. She had her chance now to get away and she must take it.

“I’m coming back very soon,” she said, and, indifferent to Purvis’s shocked face, she followed the driver out of that accursed house. The Spring night was cool and fresh, she drew a deep breath.

“When I’ve had time to think,” she said to herself, “I’ll find some way to get him away from there. But I can’t think just now.”

The driver opened the door of the cab; she had her foot on the step, when a window on the floor above was opened and Doctor Coat’s voice called, in a tone of severe indignation:

“Miss Diana! One moment, if you please! Your uncle wishes to speak to you for a moment!”

She began to cry. Fatigued and miserable tears, like a child.

“I--can’t!” she called back.

But Doctor Coats had closed the window and retired, and she knew she had to go.

“Well, shall I keep on waiting?” asked the driver.

“Yes,” she said, and once more entered that house. After all, Doctor Coat was upstairs, Mr. Purvis was in the lounge, the driver was waiting. Nothing could happen to her. And in any case, she could not refuse to hear what the old man had to say.

Once more she mounted those stairs to the dimly-lit corridor above, and went to Uncle Rufus’s room.

But Doctor Coat was not there; the room was empty except for the old man lying on the bed with his face to the wall in the almost dark room. She went over to the bed.

“Uncle Rufus!” she said, softly.

He turned his head; she had a glimpse of something in his eyes that made her cry out. Then a hand pressed over her mouth, her wrists were caught behind her back. She struggled in vain, her wrists were tied, and her ankles; the hand over her mouth was supplanted in a flash by a handkerchief; she was jerked backward, someone lifted her feet, someone else her head.

It was Aunt Emma who held her bound ankles. She looked straight into those blue eyes. Then she was carried into the next room, laid on the bed; she saw Aunt Emma and Uncle Peter go out; she heard the key turn in the lock.

“The driver won’t go away,” she thought. “I must keep my head. I musn’t…”

She felt the world slipping away from her, there was a roaring in her head, a swirling blackness before her eyes. It seemed to her that the handkerchief over her mouth was smothering her; she tried to raise her bound hands, and fainted.

* * *

Mrs. Frick… Someone was speaking of Mrs. Frick. She tried to call out, and realized that she was gagged. It was Aunt Emma speaking in the corridor outside.

“No. I don’t know who this Mrs. Frick is. But if--she’s a friend of the poor child’s…”

“Well, then…” said Mr. Purvis’s voice. “I’d better tell that chauffeur, eh? Tell him to communicate with this Mrs. Frick? Apparently she gave him the address.”

“Yes,” said Aunt Emma, with a sigh. “He’d better advise Mrs. Frick to come out here to-morrow and see the poor child. It’s a little beyond me. I’ve knocked and knocked on her door, but she refuses to answer.”

Doctor Coat’s voice intervened.

“You don’t think, Emma…? We ought to--er--force an entrance?”

“No…” said Aunt Emma, with hesitation. “I’m afraid that would make her worse… An hysterical condition like hers is only intensified by attention. It seems to me, Matthew, that if she’s let alone, she’ll come to her senses more quickly. But if you advise--”

“No,” he said. “No, I agree with you, Emma. No… Most unfortunate…”

“I noticed,” said Purvis’s voice, “that she was distraught. As to that fantastic idea of making a will…”

“I’m sorry you humored her,” said Aunt Emma gravely.

“Yes,” said Doctor Coat, in the same grave tone. “A mistake, Purvis. She has this notion that she’s responsible for her uncle’s illness… Of course, in a way, she _is_. If she hadn’t run off like that to meet this man…”

“Fortunately,” said Aunt Emma, “Rufus seems to be doing very well. But it’s quite possible, of course, that he may take a turn for the worse. And if he should, I’m afraid it would completely unbalance her… She’d believe she had practically killed him. I can only hope that this Mrs. Frick will take her away.”

“You don’t consider her… er--?” said Doctor Coat.

“Insane?” said Aunt Emma. “Not at all. She is uneducated, impressionable, childish. But no more insane than nine people out of ten. Her father encouraged her to believe in her own importance. She’s capable of the most irrational actions, due to her faulty training and her lack of reasoning ability… If I had time and opportunity, I believe I could do a good deal with her. She’s attracted to me--as you’ve noticed. But I have my hands full, just now. I shall be glad if this friend, this Mrs. Frick--will come and take her away to-morrow.”

“Well!” said Purvis. “We’d better be going now, Emma. You’ll let us know, of course, if poor Rufus is worse…? I’ll explain to the driver then, that he’s to notify Mrs. Frick, as she told him to do… Very unfortunate.”

“Yes,” Aunt Emma agreed. “But to-morrow morning when she finds her uncle improved, she may be more reasonable. Good-night, Matthew! Good-night, Sam!”

In desperation, in a passion of helpless anger, Di had struggled to call out, to make any sort of sound that would attract their attention. And, as she heard their answered “Good-night, Emma!” she deliberately rolled off the bed on to the floor, with a thud that made her dizzy.

“What’s that?” asked Purvis.

“The children,” said Aunt Emma. “They’re in that room.”

The faint squeaking of someone’s shoes died away. For a few minutes there was absolute silence. Then Di heard voices below, in the driveway; the engine started, the door of the cab slammed, the tires crunched over the gravel. They were gone.

She had thought that nothing mattered, that she did not care what happened. But it was not so. Every valiant and healthy impulse of her soul rose in revolt against this ignominy, this defeat. She lay still, gathering her strength.

“Everything’s come out just as she wanted it,” she thought. “I’ve made my will. I’ve played into her hands perfectly… Now she thinks she’ll get rid of me. She has some plan all made, of course… Well, it won’t succeed! I’ll do something. I’ll find some way…”

She had read stories and seen pictures of people who escaped from bonds like hers, who freed themselves from more urgent dangers than this. And she tried; she tried to narrow one hand so that it would slip out of the bandage that held her wrists; tried to move her ankles. But she had never realized before how it hurt to have one’s hands tied behind the back, or the pain of a gag. And worse than anything were the tides of panic fear that threatened her again and again, in this utter helplessness. She could not make a sound; she could not even sit up; her struggles had no other effect than to leave her panting, desperate, with a cold sweat on her forehead. She lay quiet again, in the dark room.

And then an appalling thought struck her.

If Aunt Emma were to profit by that will, not only must she herself die, but Uncle Rufus must die first. That will had condemned him to death, as surely as if she had sent a bullet through his head; perhaps even at this moment--

She remembered the utter terror she had seen in his eyes. First Fennel, and then this forlorn and helpless old man, both to die because she had made fatal errors…

She strained her ears, to catch any sound from that next room, and once more that panic desperation assailed her; she tugged wildly at her bonds, made strange stifled sounds that frightened her.

She did not know whether hours or minutes went by. There were periods when she was scarcely conscious, and other times when she reflected, with a cool, impersonal lucidity.

“If Aunt Emma’s going to let Mrs. Frick come out here to-morrow, that means that she’ll be ready for her. She couldn’t possibly afford to let me talk to Mrs. Frick. She can’t afford to let me go--after this. She doesn’t mean to let me go… There’s no one to help me. She can make Miles think and act as she pleases. Mr. Fennel’s--gone… Wren’s gone. Mr. Purvis and Doctor Coat will believe what she tells them. The taxi-driver’s doing just what I told him to do--notifying Mrs. Frick. I’ve got to help myself.”

But how?

“I don’t know,” she said to herself. “But I won’t give up. I shan’t struggle any more. I’ll save my strength. I’ll try not to think of what’s happened…”

She made a gallant effort to remember poems she had learnt in school, to fill her mind with fine and beautiful thoughts. But while she repeated lines to herself, horrible images came into her mind: Uncle Rufus in his terror, Fennel at the bottom of that old quarry. Fennel, above all. She could see him so clearly, could recall the tones of his voice, his vivid smile.

The door opened, and a sturdy white figure stood before her, outlined against the dim light in the hall. She paused a moment, and then entering the room, screwed a bulb into the electric light socket and turned on the switch, closed and locked the door, and kneeling beside the girl, untied her hands.

Di gave a smothered scream of pain as her arms dropped to her sides and the blood began to circulate. Aunt Emma untied the twisted handkerchief that had cut so cruelly into the corners of her mouth, and that done, sat down on the edge of the bed.

“My God!” she said, with a sigh.

Her face looked drawn with weariness, its fresh color vanished; she sat staring at the ground.

“Miles has told me,” she said. “What folly! What criminal folly! All my plans ruined…”

Di sat down in a chair, and tried with numb, clumsy fingers to untie her ankles.

“Everything ruined…!” Aunt Emma went on. “And I’m dragged, against my will, into a dangerous and repugnant course… I never forsaw this…” She sighed again. “It’s too late now,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Uncle Rufus--?” asked Di, with dry, stiff lips.

“He doesn’t really matter,” said Aunt Emma. “It’s you I’m thinking of. It’s you I’m sorry for.”

Her ankles freed, Di looked up, into that tired, middle-aged face, framed in gray hair. This could not be a criminal, a monster of duplicity and evil…

“Then--if you’re sorry--” she began.

“I’ve never disliked you,” Aunt Emma went on, indifferent to her words. “I hoped at first that you’d marry Miles. That was my first plan. That would have kept the money in my control. And it would have been a very good thing for him. But that failed. And now that you know what he’s done… That’s the end, of course.”

“What--do you mean?” asked Di.

“Why, that you can’t live,” said Aunt Emma, sighing again. “And I’m sorry.”

“Do you mean,” asked Di, “that you’re going to try to murder me?”

“There’s nothing else I can do,” said Aunt Emma.

They both spoke in ordinary, normal tones, sitting in that commonplace hotel bedroom, filled with the garish light of the unshaded bulb.

“You can’t expect not to be found out,” said Di. “Mrs. Frick will make inquiries. Even Doctor Coat and Mr. Purvis will ask questions.”

“I think I’ve planned it pretty well,” said Aunt Emma. “But I didn’t come here out of mere wanton cruelty--to gloat over you, and so on. I’m really very sorry. Only, it’s a question of my safety, the opportunity to go on with my work, against your life; and naturally… The idea of killing you is horrible to me. And no doubt to you, also,” she added, politely. “I thought--I hope you’ll take the way I shall suggest. It is as your mother did. It will look quite natural to outsiders. Coat and Purvis believe that you were filled with remorse for your uncle’s condition. They’ll see that when you heard of his death--”

“His death…?”

“You committed suicide,” Aunt Emma went on. “I give you my word to make it as easy as possible for you. The ground out there slopes down pretty sharply. The chances are that it will be a fatal fall. But if it isn’t, if you’re injured and in pain, I’ll attend to you immediately. I’ll see that you don’t suffer at all.”

“And if I don’t do that!”

“Well, you’ll have to go out of that window,” said Aunt Emma. “If you won’t do it voluntarily there’ll have to be a very unpleasant struggle.” She rose. “Think it over!” she said. “Think of your mother in this room. She found that life wasn’t worth living. And it isn’t for you either. You’re ineffectual, incompetent. You’re of no value to anyone. There’s nothing ahead of you but a lifetime of poorly paid work.”

She unscrewed the bulb and put it in her pocket. Di made a rush for the door, but it shut in her face, and the key turned outside.