Chapter 16

COMPELLING SPEECH

She was gone before I could speak, before I could even grasp the full purport of her decision. I followed the flutter of her skirt up the stairs, half tempted to rush after, yet as instantly comprehended the uselessness of any attempt at influencing her. Even the short space of our acquaintance had served to convince me that she was a woman of resource, of character, and determination. If she felt it right to remain no argument would be effective, or have the slightest weight. Perhaps another night would change her mood, but now, in the sunshine, her courage would hold steadfast. Even as these considerations flashed across my mind, I heard the thud of Coombs' feet upon the steps of the veranda. That he had been drinking I realized at a glance, and it was equally evident that he planned to overawe me by brutal domineering. In spite of every effort to control my expression I could not restrain a smile at the manifest bluster of his approach.

"So yer 've got through eatin', hey," he began coarsely. "Whar 's the female? Thought I saw her here."

"You did," I returned coldly, "but Mrs. Henley has returned to her room."

"Mrs. Henley, huh! Think yer kin pull thet bluff over me!"

"What bluff?"

"Aw, this Henley racket you sprung last night--'bout yer being young Phil Henley come back."

"Did I say that?"

"Yer shure did," eyeing me in some surprise. "I reckon my ears heard all right. Why, what are yer this morning?"

"If I ever made any such claim as that, Coombs, it was merely to assure our admittance. You were not overly-cordial, you know, and I did n't propose having the lady walk back to town. It's different this morning, and I am going to be just as frank with you as you are with me. Is that square?"

"I reckon," uneasily, not yet able to gauge my purpose, and feeling his bluff a failure. "I ain't got nothin' ter lie about so fur as I know. Let's go inside, whar we kin have it out quiet like."

I followed him into the front room, and he kicked out a chair so as to bring my face to the windows. As I sank into it I noticed a dusty mirror opposite which gave me a dim reflection of the entire room. Coombs shut the door leading to the back of the house, and sat down facing me, his big hands on his knees. His effort to look pleasant only made him appear uglier than usual.

"Wal, go on!" he said gruffly.

I crossed my legs comfortably, and leaned back in the chair, quite conscious of thus adding to his irritation. If I could only anger the fellow sufficiently he might blurt out something of value. Anyhow, my best card was cool indifference.

"There is not much to say," I replied deliberately. "I 'll answer your questions so far as I think best, and then I 'll ask a few of you. The lady upstairs is Viola Henley, the wife of Philip Henley. She has come down here to take legal possession of this property. That is the situation in a nutshell. I am merely accompanying her to make sure that she gets a square deal."

His jaw sagged, and his eyes wandered.

"Oh, hell," he managed to articulate. "What is your real game?"

"Exactly as I have stated it, Coombs. To the best of my knowledge Philip Henley is dead--at least he has disappeared--and his widow is the rightful heir to this estate."

"Wal, I reckon he ain't dead--not by a jugful."

I felt the hot blood pump in my veins. Did the man know this to be true, or was he merely making the claim for effect?

"That, of course, remains to be proven," I returned smilingly.

"Oh, does it, now! So does this yer wife business, to my thinkin'. Wal, it won't take long ter settle the matter, believe me. Who are you enyhow?"

"My name is Craig--Gordon Craig."

"A lawyer?"

"Not guilty."

"A damn detective?"

"Same plea."

I thought he gave a grunt of relief; anyhow there was more assurance in his manner, a fresh assumption of bullying in his voice.

"All right, then; I reckon I got yer number, Craig. Yer after a little easy money. Somehow yer caught onto the mix-up down yere, an' framed up a scheme to cop the coin. Might hav' worked too if I had n't been on the job, an' posted. Damn nice-lookin' girl yer picked up--"

"Drop that, Coombs!" I interrupted sharply, leaning forward and staring him in the eyes. "Let loose all you care to about me, but cut out the woman!"

"Oh, too nice, hey!"

"Yes, too nice for you to befoul even with your tongue. If you mention her name again except in terms of respect there is going to be trouble."

He laughed, opening and closing his big hands.

"I mean it," I went on soberly. "Don't think I am afraid of you, you big slob. No, you keep your hands where they are. If it comes to a draw you 'll find me quick enough to block your game. Now listen."

Had I been less in earnest, or less puzzled as to the real situation, I would have laughed at the expression upon the man's face. With hat pulled over his eyes, he sat stiff, staring at me, his fingers twitching nervously, unable to determine just the species confronting him. I made no display of a weapon; he could not be sure that I was armed, yet my right hand was hidden in the side pocket of my coat. I could read the doubt, the indecision in his mind, as plainly as though expressed in words. The brute and the coward struggled for mastery.

"I 've told you the truth about who we are, and our purpose in coming here," I went on slowly and clearly, "because I have decided to fight in the open. Now I want to know who you are? What authority you have on the Henley plantation? Speak up!"

The reply came reluctantly, but there must have been a sternness in my face which compelled an answer.

"I told yer--I 'm the overseer."

"A fine specimen, from the looks of the place; what was you ordered to grow--weeds?"

"Thet 's none o' your business."

"It 's the business of the lady upstairs, Coombs, and I am representing her at present. It will be just as well for you to be civil. Who appointed you to this position--the administrators?"

"I reckon not."

"Ever hear of a man named Neale, P. B. Neale?"

"No."

"Or Justus C. Vail?"

He shook his head.

"No one sent you any word then that we were coming? or gave you any orders to look after us?"

The blank expression of his face was sufficient answer. I waited a moment, thinking, endeavoring to determine my next move. This knowledge made one thing clear--we were playing a lone hand. As well planned as was the scheme of those two conspirators they had reckoned without sufficient knowledge of the existing conditions here. But was this true? Would villains as shrewd as they be guilty of such neglect? Besides, they had assured me that the overseer would be notified of our coming. Suddenly there flashed back to my memory a picture of that murdered man in the rear room. Could he be the connecting link? the overseer sent by Neale? If this horrible suspicion was correct it only proved the desperate character of those against whom I contended. And if true only the harshest measure would compel Coombs to acknowledge the truth. I drew in my breath, every nerve braced for action. Then I jerked the revolver from my pocket, and held it, glimmering ominously in the light, across my knee.

"You probably have some reason for lying to me," I said coldly, "and now I am going to give you an equally good reason for telling the truth. What do you know about the administrators of this estate?"

He was breathing hard, his eyes on the shining barrel.

"There is one named Neale, is n't there?"

"I--I reckon so."

"How do you know?"

"Wal," feeling it useless to struggle against the argument presented by the blue steel barrel, "Hell, all I know is a fellow com' 'long yere a while back with a paper signed Neale, thinkin' ter take my job."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, he just nat'ally got kicked out inter the road, an' I reckon he 's a running yet. He was a miserable Yankee runt, an' I did n't hurt the cuss none to speak of. What yer askin' all this fer enyhow," he questioned anxiously, "an' a drawin' that gun on me?"

"It seemed to be the only available method for extracting information. Pardon my insistence, Coombs, but was n't that dead man up there the fellow Neale sent?"

"Not by a damn sight," and I could see the perspiration break out on his forehead. "Why, there wan't none enyhow. That guy skipped out North agin."

"All right; we'll let it go this time. Now one more question and I am done. Under whose orders are you in charge here?"

He was so long in answering, his eyes glaring ugly under heavy brows, that I elevated my weapon, half believing he meditated an attack.

"You 've got to answer, Coombs," I said sternly, "or take the consequences. I 'm in dead earnest."

Suddenly I became aware that his glance was not directly upon me, and I lifted my own eyes to the surface of the tarnished mirror behind where he sat. It reflected the large portrait of the late Judge Henley hanging on the opposite wall, and--by all the gods!--I thought I saw it move, settle back into position! I was upon my feet instantly, swinging aside into a better situation for defense. Perhaps that seeming movement, swift and elusive, might be a figment of imagination, a mere trembling of the glass. But I was taking no chances. The very conception of some hidden peril threatening me from behind awoke the savage in me instantly. Before Coombs could realize what had occurred I had the gun muzzle at the side of his head.

"Now answer," I commanded sharply. "Whose orders put you here?"

He choked, shrinking back helpless in the chair.

"By God! you won't always have the drop on me--"

"Well, I have now. Speak up; who is the man?"

His eyes ranged along the wall, an expression in them like that of a whipped cur.

"Philip Henley," he whispered, so low I scarcely caught the name.

"What!"

"Wal, I told yer," he growled resentfully. "Yer kin believe er not just as you please, but, so help me, that's the truth. I reckon I know."

As I stared at him, half believing, half incredulous, I became conscious that she stood in the hall doorway. Coombs lifted his head, glad of any respite, and I glanced aside also, dropping the revolver back into my coat pocket.

"You--you were quarreling?" she asked, coming into the room, "you were so long I became anxious, and came down."

"Nothing serious," I assured her, smilingly. "Coombs here was a little reluctant to impart information, and I was compelled to resort to primitive methods. The result has been quite satisfactory."

"Kin I go now?" he asked uneasily.

"Yes, by way of the front door."

I watched his great hulking figure until he disappeared along the path leading around the house. I had no fear that he would ever face me openly; all I needed to guard against was treachery. Then I turned and looked into the questioning eyes of the woman.

"What did you learn? What did he say?"

"Only one thing of real importance," I answered in subdued tone, "and I dragged that out of him by threat. He was not employed by Neale, and the fellow who was sent down here to assist us was disposed of in some way."

"Killed, you mean?"

"I suspect as much, but Coombs claims he was kicked off the place, and returned North."

For a moment she stood silent, breathing heavily, her eyes on my face. In the pause I saw again the picture of the old Judge, and remembered.

"Why is he here then? What authority has he?"

"Come outside into the garden, and I will tell you the whole story. Somehow I feel here as though we were being watched every minute. Never mind a hat; we will find shade somewhere."