Chapter 17

CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE

In front of the veranda, and to the right of the brick walk, the latticework of a small summerhouse could be discerned through a maze of shrubbery and weeds. No path led toward it, yet we made the difficult passage, by pressing aside the foliage, and discovered a rustic seat within, where we were completely screened from observation. I felt the slight trembling of the woman's form from suppressed excitement, but the adventure with Coombs had only served to stiffen my nerves. With flushed cheeks, and eyes bright and questioning, she could scarcely wait for me to begin.

"Now tell me; surely we are out of sight and hearing."

"I do not think I shall ever be entirely assured as to that until I know more of our exact situation," I replied, speaking cautiously. "We may have been seen coming here, and those weeds would easily conceal an eavesdropper. The truth is, I have gained very little information of value, and am as mystified as ever. If that fellow told the truth it is beyond my understanding."

"But you are sure he knows nothing of those men who sent you here?"

"Yes, he had never heard of Vail, and all he knew about Neale was that name was signed to the orders of the new overseer."

"Under what authority is the man acting?"

I hesitated, not venturing to look at her, conscious of a personal feeling which I must conceal.

"Do you not wish to tell me?"

"It is not that," I hastened to explain, but finding the words hard to speak. "I think he lied, and yet cannot be sure. He claims to be working under the orders of Philip Henley."

"What! Impossible!"

"So I felt, and consequently hesitated to tell you, but now that I have been compelled to do so, I will explain in full. He said this under the menace of a revolver, a condition which often inspires men to speak the truth. I can scarcely imagine his making up such a story, for he is a dull-witted fellow, and even before he had threatened to test your claims to be Henley's wife."

"You told him, then?"

"Everything, except the original cause of our being here. I determined this morning to fight in the open, under my own name. That is the right way, is it not?"

"Yes, I think so," and she lifted her eyes to mine.

"I like you better for that."

"I think I like myself better also," I said with a laugh. "I confess I did n't care much at first. The whole affair merely represented a lark, an adventure with me. But after what you said the night of our arrival I began to view the thing in a new light, and to despise my part in It. Yet even then I felt bound to carry out my agreement. It was only when you told me your identity, that I felt free to decide otherwise."

"Why should that make such a difference? If I had not been the one, then it would have been some other woman defrauded."

"True, but a mere unknown, a shadow. Besides, I had no reason previously to know that a fraud was contemplated--those rascals told a most plausible story, leaving me to believe I served the real heirs. Now I comprehend their true purpose and--and, well, knowing you it has become personal."

"I do not altogether understand."

"Why, it is simply this," I went on desperately, "I want to serve you, and I want you to respect me. Down in your heart you have n't really been assured that I was not one of that gang of conspirators. You came down here to watch me. Now I am going to stand up as Gordon Craig, and fight it out for you."

There was a knot of blue ribbon at her throat, and I reached out and unpinned it before she had time to protest.

"See, there are your colors, and I do battle under them. Whatever the final results you are never going to doubt me any more--are you?"

Her eyes were veiled by long lashes, and I could see the heaving of her breasts.

"No--no. I scarcely think I ever did doubt you, only it was all very strange. Nothing seemed real; it was more like a stage-play in which I acted a part--our first meeting, our being thrown together on this quest. I have not known what to think, even of myself."

"We are both getting our heads above the mist now," I interrupted gently, "and deep as the mystery appears, when finally solved it will likely prove a very sordid, commonplace affair. The main thing is for us to thoroughly understand and trust each other."

"You need not doubt me."

"I have already learned that. It is more important that you fully trust me."

"I do," and both her hands were impulsively extended. "I have from the very first. I did not come here to watch, but because I believed in you. Truly this was my motive rather than any thought of the property. Indeed I hardly realized at the start that this was my affair; I merely had a feeling that you needed me. That--that morning on the bench," she paused, her voice choking in her throat, her eyes misted, "why, I--I was scarcely rational; my mind could not even grasp clearly what you endeavored to tell. I was so far from being myself that I failed to recognize my own name. Perhaps that was not strange as I always lived under another. So it was not that, not any selfish motive, which impelled me to accompany you. I came because--because I knew you needed me. I had an intuition that you were going into danger, into some trap. I cannot explain, no woman can, how such knowledge lays hold upon her. I merely acted instinctively. It was not until that afternoon that I realized clearly what this all meant to me personally. I seemed to wake up as from a dream. Then I sat down in the rest room of one of those big department stores, and thought it all out. At first I determined to tell you everything, but I did--did not know you at all. I trusted you, I believed in you; you had impressed me as being a real man. But this was merely a woman's intuition. There were circumstances that made me doubt, that compelled caution. I--I had to test you, Gordon Craig."

"My only wonder is that you retained any confidence."

"Oh, but I did," she insisted warmly. "That alone brought me here. I thought of appealing to a lawyer, to the police, and then your face rose up before me, and my decision was made. I came back to you that night because--because I believed you to be a gentleman."

"And now? henceforth?"

Her eyes never wavered, although there was a high color in her cheeks as my hands clasped her own more closely.

"I am convinced I chose aright. You are the man I thought you to be. I am glad I came."

For an instant the hot blood coursed through my veins; I seemed to see only the beauty of her flesh. Wild words leaped to my lips, only to be choked back unspoken, although I scarcely knew what strength combined to win the swift struggle. Impulse, made with sudden revelation of love, swept me perilously near to outburst, yet reason held sufficiently firm to restrain; the flood of passion. I knew I must refrain; I read it in the calm depths of those eyes fronting me in frank friendship. A word, a single, mad, ill-considered word, would sever the bond between us as though cleft by a sword. With any other I might have dared all, but not with her. Reckless as my nature had grown in the hard school of life, I shrank from this test, dreading to see her face change, her attitude harden. And it would; there had already been sufficient revealment of her character to make me aware of how firm a line she drew between right and wrong. It was not in her nature to compromise. She trusted, me--yes! But as a "gentleman." Should I fail in that test of her faith I could never again hope to regain my place in her esteem. I have wondered since how I ever won that swift, deadly battle; how I ever crushed back the wild passion, the mad impulse to clasp her In my arms. Yet, under God's mercy I did, my voice emotionless, my face white from restraint, my lips dry as with fever. The one thing I was sure about just then was that we must break away from this personal conversation; flesh and blood could stand the strain no longer.

"Let's not talk of ourselves then," I said, releasing her hands, "but of what we must face here. We trust each other; that is enough for the present surely. You will not leave, and let me ferret out the mystery alone, so we must work together in its solution. I have told you that Coombs claims to be working under the orders of your husband. Is that possible?"

"I cannot conceive clearly how it could be, and yet he might have received notice of his father's death in time to assume control of the estate by telegraph, or even by letter."

"I hardly think Coombs has been here so short a time."

"He might have been the old overseer, however, and retained."

"True; yet how could Philip Henley know that he had inherited the property?"

She thought a moment seriously, a little crease in the center of her forehead.

"Of course, I can only guess," she hazarded at length, "but it would seem likely he was notified of his father's death by one of the administrators, and doubtless told at the same time of his inheritance. He was the only son, and there were no other near relatives. It would be only natural for him to retain the old servants until he could come here and select others."

"There is only one fact which opposes your theory," I acknowledged, "otherwise I would accept it as my own also. Coombs plainly threatened to confront you with Henley to test your claim to being his wife."

She pressed her hand to her temple in perplexity.

"Even that would not be impossible," she admitted reluctantly, "for he must have known of the Judge's death even before--before I left. Only I do not believe it probable, as he was in no condition to travel, and had very little money. Besides," her voice strengthening with conviction, "those men who sent you here--Neale and Vail--would never have ventured such a scheme, had they been uncertain as to Philip Henley's helplessness. I believe he is either in their control, or else dead."

"Then Coombs lied."

"Perhaps; although still another supposition is possible. Someone else may claim to be the heir."

This was a new theory, and one not so unreasonable as it appeared at first thought. Still it was sufficiently improbable, so that I dismissed it without much consideration. She apparently read this in my face.

"It is all groping in the dark until we learn more," she went on slowly. "Have you decided what you mean to do?"

"Only indefinitely. I want to make a careful exploration of the house and grounds by daylight. This may reveal something of value. Then we will go into Carrollton before dark. I cannot consent to your remaining here another night after what has occurred. Besides, we should consult a lawyer--the best we can find--and then proceed under his advice. Do you agree?"

"Certainly; and how can I be of assistance?"

"If you could go back to the house, and keep Sallie busy in the kitchen for an hour; hold her there at something so as to give me free range of the house."

"With Sallie!" she lifted her hands in aversion. "It does n't seem as though I could stand that. But," she added, rising resolutely to her feet, "I will if you wish it. Of course I ought to do what little I can. Why, what is this? a seal ring?"

She stooped, and picked the article up from the floor, out of a litter of dead leaves, and held it to the light between her fingers. As she gazed her cheeks whitened, and when her eyes again met mine they evidenced fear.

"What is it?" I asked, when she failed to speak. "Do you recognize it?"

She held it out toward me, her hand trembling.

"That--that was Philip Henley's ring," she said gravely. "Family heirloom; he always wore it."